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Though the meeting had run late, she emerged from headquarters to an arid breeze – the last remnants of yet another hot, dry day. The last week and a half had been plagued with days much the same, and the results were already showing: the land was drying out. It wouldn’t be a problem if they didn’t depend on crops for more than eighty-five percent of their food. But now – crops were dying.
Shading her eyes, she glanced up at the falling sun.
She didn’t exactly have faith - but she had science. Rain would come. Records of the last decade’s weather patterns suggested they were nearing the limits of nature’s ability to hold a dry spell.
But until then – the Survey Corps would use this weather to their advantage.
The lack of rain had left the ground dry and the dirt packed hard – ideal for riding. This weather, as unideal as it was for local crops, had presented them with the perfect opportunity for a bit of speed-scouting towards the Eastern wall.
Since the operation was focused on speed and efficiency, only a select few would be going. It was during the previous meeting that they’d decided on the mere thirty that would be able to take part in the last-minute expedition.
Of course, she’d been one of the first to volunteer.
As she’d sat up, flinging her hand in the air, she’d briefly wondered if maybe she should fess up to Erwin about soreness in her throat and the ache between her eyes, a steadily building presence for the better part of the last day. But really, what was a minor sore throat and headache going to do? They’d probably be gone come morning. Just in time for the expedition.
So caught up was she in this particular train of thought, that she almost missed it: the flash of color beneath her boot. Muscles locking, she froze, balancing on the tips of her toes. Her foot hovered, inches above the ground.
Lifting the boot up and to the side, she saw what she had very nearly flattened: a flower.
Alone, it sat smack dab in the middle of the dirt yard. She marveled at the sight.
Beneath her boots the parched earth was dry and cracked. The only other visible life grew in tentative tufts, brown and wilting. And yet here, in the middle of it all, the small, purple flower bloomed.
Squatting beside the bud, she cupped a finger beneath paper-thin petals. Adjusting her glasses, she leaned forward, peering closer.
What was it that made this little guy the lone survivor amongst a yard of dried out, dead foliage? Mentally sifting through a very limited knowledge of local plant life, she tried recall this hardy plant’s name.
Light purple in color, it had oval petals. Yellow stamen – three – twisted up from its center. Beneath it was a sturdy, green stem.
It was a pretty flower. And considering the week it’d managed to survive, it seemed even more so. It was beautiful, really.
“What are you doing?”
The voice was dry, verging on impatient. It was obvious who’d joined her, but balancing a hand on the ground, she turned a look over her shoulder anyway.
Levi, who’d still been at the meeting when she left, stood behind her, arms crossed over his chest.
She gestured, as if it were obvious. “Looking at the flower.”
A beat of silence.
“Let me clarify. Why are you on the ground, looking at a stupid flower?” His eyes flicked down. “You’re getting shit all over your pants.”
She looked down. Red dirt had indeed begun to smear over her knees. She frowned. It would come out – probably.
“I’m trying to figure out what kind of flower it is.”
A slow breath through his nose. “Again. Why?”
“Well, I mean, look.” She waved a hand at the barren yard. “The plant life out here is decimated. But this little guy is still going strong!” She smiled down at it, feeling a bit of un-earned parental pride.
“Here. I’ll take care of it. Make the whole yard a nice uniform brown.” He stepped forward, lifting a foot.
She swatted it away. “How dare you?”
The corners of his lips tugged down, but his eyes were dancing.
The jerk probably hadn’t planned on stepping on it in the first place.
And then – her mind, still idly running – stumbled upon a hit. A leather bound beauty of a book she’d read in her late teens. Botany: An Illustrated Guide.
“Crocus!” She snapped her fingers. No wonder it was so hardy.
“Huh?”
Still riding the high of having figured out the mystery flower’s species, she grinned up. “It’s a crocus flower. As a species, it’s incredibly adaptable. They’ve even been known to survive through an early snow.”
“Where, beneath all that greasy hair, do you store this shit?”
It wasn’t a compliment. Not really. But she decided to take it as one. She tapped her head. “A steel trap.”
“And yet three days out of the week you can’t remember to eat dinner.”
“Irrelevant.”
He opened his mouth.
She shushed him with a raised hand. “But Levi! Think about how amazing it is! Out here, amongst the wizened weeds, this thing had the evolutionary coding that allowed it to outlast them all. It may not look it. But it’s a survivor.” She stared happily down at the small plant.
“You gonna give it a name too?”
“I wasn’t. But I will now.” She narrowed her eyes. “Jessie. I name you Jessie.”
“Is it a girl or a guy?” As soon as it left his mouth, he closed his eyes, as if he already regretted contributing to the continuation of the current conversation.
“I don’t remember enough about plant physiology to make an educated guess as to gender. So the name’s gender neutral.”
Another pause.
“Are you going to sit there all night?”
She didn’t answer. Unattended, her mind had been working, spinning furious analogies around the life of the tentatively blooming plant.
“Levi?”
“What?” He answered, clipped, impatient.
“Do you think it’s beautiful?”
“No.”
She stared down at the flower, chin perched on her fist. “I’d like to think – maybe humanity’s like the Crocus flower. Even though we seem weak, as a species, we’re more hardy than we let on? Like the flower – maybe we have just enough survival coded in our DNA.” She brushed a finger over the round petal. “And like this little guy, somehow, you and me, we’ll make it through?”
She wasn’t sure when she’d transitioned from talking about humanity – to the two of them in particular. But Levi didn’t comment on it. Instead, he held out a hand.
“Get up. Tonight’s going to be one of the four nights you actually eat.”
She took his hand. “You don’t want to talk about the flower?”
He pulled her to her feet. “Not really.”
He turned, not waiting to see if she’d follow.
Glancing over her shoulder, she gave the flower a final look. It swayed, its purple petals strikingly vibrant against the dirt. Spinning on her toe, she followed after him. “Levi, wait up!”
“You going to wash those pants?”
“Maybe.”
True to his word, Levi made sure she ate.
But despite the food in her stomach, the pain in her temples stubbornly refused to abate. Having left Levi in the mess hall, she was nearly to her room when the first wave of dizziness struck. Bracing a hand on the wall, she swayed.
Alone in the hall she wondered, when had the space between her eyes begun to pound?
Leaning against the wall, she closed her eyes.
She just needed to rest - a couple minutes at most. Taking measured breaths, she slowly slid to the floor.
And it was there, that Erwin found her.
Fifteen minutes after that, she was in sick bay, all set to stay the next several nights and with strict orders from Erwin, himself, stating that she was not to take part in the upcoming scouting expedition. Of course, she’d argued, albeit ineffectively. Her head really was beginning to feel warm. By the time Erwin left, the order was final. She couldn’t go.
When the sun rose the following morning, she watched the yard fill with a heavy heart. Green cloaks fluttered, illuminated in the warm, morning light. Her one consolation was that Levi wasn’t going on the expedition either. If he’d been going, she was certain she’d feel more acutely the sense that she was missing out.
As they rode out, leaving a cloud of churned dust in their wake, she sat back, resigned to her fate. Maybe they’d find something worthwhile – or bring something truly fascinating back for her to study.
By the time four o’clock rolled around and the sun had finally sunk low enough to spill into the hospital room, warming her bed, the news had arrived.
The expedition had failed. Of the thirty who’d left, seven had returned.
The news must have traveled faster than the straggling survivors, because several minutes had passed before doctors began to shout and the squeaking wheels of gurneys mixed with agonized screams, loud in the halls.
Atop the white blankets, she folded her hands together – and squeezed.
If she’d gone – it wouldn’t have made a difference. If anything, in her current condition, she’d have been an additional threat to her fellow soldiers. A liability in need of protection.
In her room, separated from the pained screams, she repeated these facts to herself several times over.
It didn’t help.
Such were the sounds outside that she didn’t hear the approaching footfalls until they were nearly outside her door.
Tap tap tap.
Pause.
Tap tap tap.
Pause.
She imagined someone hurrying down the hall, peering quickly into each room before continuing on. By the sound of it, they were searching for someone.
It was his dark hair she saw first. Peering quickly around the doorframe, he took a step, as if ready to move on. And then he blinked, focusing on her.
Levi stopped, his boots squeaking on shiny linoleum. His chest rose and fell, evidence of a barely concealed pant. Wide eyes belied a face otherwise wiped clear of expression. Blinking, they flicked back and forth: looking from her face, to her body cocooned in blankets, and finally, back to her face again.
Something was wrong. Digging an elbow into the mattress, she half-rose. “Levi? What is it? What’s going on?”
With nothing to go on but his barely concealed panic, her mind ran wild. Who’d been on the expedition? Had Mike decided to go at the last minute? The wall? Was it still intact?
Dazed, he spoke, automatic. “The expedition. Word came back - it was bad. They said what few left were mangled, half dead.”
It took her a full second to make sense of his words, strange as they sounded coming from his mouth in that blank, hollow tone. After a half a second more, she connected the dots.
She breathed the revelation, an astonished whisper. “Erwin didn’t tell you. I didn’t go. I got sick. He wouldn’t let me.”
He stared. In his eyes, there was - something - hints of emotions he’d learned to keep from his face.
It was that something that held her immobile, and kept her tongue still.
Finally, he blinked. “Oh.”
For a moment longer, he simply stared.
“Levi?”
He turned on his heel.
His retreating steps echoed in the hall, even and unhurried.
“Levi?” She called after him.
No response.
She fell back to her pillow. When she spoke, it was to an empty room, “What the hell.”
By the time the moon rose over the yard and the city below had grown silent, seven survivors had become five.
Rolling on her side, she tried not to think of the carnage that had taken place outside the walls. But she’d lived through enough massacres of her own. All too many images had already rushed, unbidden to her mind.
Doing her best not to dwell on the sounds of pain that still occasionally pierced the thin walls, she closed her eyes.
When she blinked, suddenly awake, the room glowed white, ethereal, almost dream-like in the pale light of the moon.
Squinting, she levied herself up – and found herself staring into a pair of eyes.
Reacting on instinct, she pushed back with her legs. But her sleep must have been rough - the blankets were tangled around her legs. She dropped off the bed with an undignified squeal.
“Hey, shitty-glasses. I’m pretty sure you’re under order to stay in bed.”
“Levi?” Bracing a hand on the mattress, she peered over rumpled sheets.
Sure enough, the shorter man was settled in a chair beside the bed. With one leg folded over the other, he leaned to the side, the side of his head braced on a fisted hand.
He looked like he’d settled in. Exactly how long had he been there, she wondered.
She rolled back into bed. Thudding heavily behind her ribs, her heart was only just beginning to slow. “You scared the crap out of me.”
When he didn’t reply, she craned her neck – and caught sight of the nightstand.
In the moonlight, its pale violet appeared white. Beside the bed, the Crocus flower sat in a small pot.
“Jessie?” She looked to him, astonished. “You brought me Jessie?”
Scratching at his neck, Levi avoided her gaze. “I was out there this morning. When they were getting ready to leave. And the stupid, shitty flower was just sitting there, right in the middle of it all. DNA be damned, no flower survives the underside of a horse’s hoof. I assumed you were running late, as usual. I didn’t want you to arrive and start crying about it like you do for your shitty titans.” He wrinkled his nose, as if reluctant to speak the next words. “So I…dug it up.”
She could see it now, the image of him squatting out there amongst the readying troops, tiny shovel in hand, surreptitiously scooping a tiny, purple flower from the dirt.
Low giggles became a bubbling laugh. Wiping tears from her eyes, she spoke. “Levi, you absolutely perfect specimen of a human being.”
Reaching out, she grasped his knee.
His gaze traveled down, observing the touch.
“Thank you. Really. For bringing it here. And – for coming with it. Staying and looking after me. It means a lot.”
If he was avoiding her eyes before, now he was really avoiding them. Studying the wall behind her, he shrugged. “I couldn’t sleep anyway.”
Releasing his knee, she leaned back. “Why don’t you head back to your room and try again? My fever broke before I went to bed. According to the doctors, I should be on the up and up.”
“Watching your ass fall out of bed gave me a second wind. I’ll stay up a little longer.”
She rolled over with a snort. “Don’t blame me if you fall asleep there and wake up with a monster crick in your neck.”
“Yeah, yeah. You just focus on being more like your stupid flower. Clearly, you could do with some resiliency.”
Warm under the covers, she’d already begun to sink into a light sleep. She mumbled against her pillow. “You said it. Even resilient flowers get smooshed every once in a while.”
He sighed, “That’s what I’m here for.” He spoke, his voice low. “Go to sleep.”
And she did.
On her first early morning rounds, a nurse found him. Legs propped up on the bed, he was slumped low in the hard, wooden chair. From his slack, open mouth, wheezed low snores.
He woke up approximately twenty-six minutes later, the sleeping woman occupying his sight, a balm to emotions still strained from the day before - and with a neck that was indeed sore.