Chapter Text
What can we do? We must go on living!
We’ll live, Uncle Vanya. We’ll live through many long days, many long nights; we’ll patiently endure all the ordeals that God sends us. We’ll work for others, never knowing rest. And in our old age, when our time comes, we’ll humbly die and there beyond the grave we’ll speak of how we suffered, how we wept, how we knew bitterness, and God will take pity on us – you and I — Uncle, sweet Uncle, ahead of us is a radiant, wonderful, graceful life, and we’ll rejoice. Then we’ll look back on our present unhappiness with sadness and tenderness, and with a smile – and we will rest. I have faith, Uncle, I truly believe, truly…
We will rest! We will hear the angels, we will see all of the heavenly diamonds in the sky, we will see how all the evils of the earth, all of our suffering will be covered with mercy – mercy over the entire world. And our life will be as quiet, gentle, sweet, as a caress. I believe, I believe… Poor, poor Uncle Vanya, you’re weeping… In your life you never knew joy, but wait a little, Uncle Vanya, wait a little… We will rest… We will rest!
We will rest!
Anton Chekov - Uncle Vanya (1899)
Before Hange Zoë, six somber souls stand shoulder to shoulder. Each of them unable to reconcile the people they were a week ago with the shells of human beings they are today. Because something had happened. Something terrible. And the undertow they were all swept up in makes only the promise that it will happen again.
Affixed to her left side stands Levi Ackerman, her whole heart, and a force of nature in and of himself. It wasn’t his inhuman strength that humanity relied on against the ouroboros of hatred, but rather, his immaculate heart that cradles the full weight of every life lost. He looks between the shambles of their found family, then to her, and nods in acknowledgment. At the cost of personhood, a shared dream is born anew.
And so, it begins inside the four walls of the late Erwin Smith’s undisturbed office. There on her desk- “her desk”, still an odd thing to say- lies a document with the names of every soldier who perished in Shiganshina. Entire existences, reduced to nothing more than smudged ink on her trembling fingers.
“Then, my first official order as commander is this. We, the remaining scouts, will personally pay our respects to families of the fallen.” Sagging shoulders stand to attention, much too formal for Hange’s liking. “The memorial will be set in the very near future. In the meanwhile, and even after,” she idly presses a finger to her wounded eye, “our priority needs to be with the grieving families.”
None of the expected protests come up, so she presses on, minding that these children didn’t know anything but death lately.
“Of course, I’m well aware that the world around us has changed. Following our victory, came the realization that the enemy surrounds us on all sides.” Hange steels herself, but allows herself to soften, recalling that Erwin surely hadn’t chosen her for only her brain. “But, while this battle has just begun, I want us to carry our comrades. Their dedicated hearts and the hope inside them… isn’t gone, and neither are they. So long as we carry them. That’s why we’re still here.”
Of the few remaining survivors, even those who were relatively unscathed, they all had hit their limits in every sense of the word. Jean’s relatively minor arm injury was healing at a snail's pace, Sasha had only recently regained her appetite, and Mikasa’s empty eyes harshly complement the sallowness of her face. Their mental wounds- the obelisk of their shared grief pins them all to the floor, allowing for only just enough breath to get through the long, long days ahead.
“And while this is an official order, you may refuse to participate. There won’t be any punishment for knowing your limits. In fact, I encourage it-”
“I’ll do it.” Eren declares, verdant eyes blazing. “Our freedom was won at the cost of so many lives…” There’s a quick flicker of anguish, but it’s gone just as quickly as it came. He salutes Hange- his heart on full display, as it always was. “I won’t give up.”
Mikasa nods and silently dedicates her heart, staring at Eren all the while, as if to burn his face into her memory.
“Me too.” Armin pushes through the bone-deep exhaustion in his eyes, where hope bursts through the endless blue of them. “We owe them that much, don’t we?”
“Commander,” Jean begins, “I’m not running away from this.” He steps forward with Connie and a trailing Floch, all joining in on the group salute.
“Everyone…” Hange gasps. Such little remains, but at the very least, a smaller flock meant she could easily embrace all of them at once. Plans of a group hug are halted, only so she can properly tuck away the bruised and battered hearts that earnestly dedicate themselves to her dream- by calling it theirs too.
It’s then that Levi moves from the wall, brushing his arm up against hers. “Between the nine of us, it would be impossible to visit every family. We need to partner up. Split the load.” At the mention of ‘we’, she touches her own hand to her heart. “Hange and I will get in touch with other military personnel who can support us.”
“That’s right.” Hange affirms. “You can’t and shouldn’t do this alone.”
The heavy blanket of determination drapes itself over them all.
“There are procedures in place, of course. Typically, we wouldn’t be the ones to lead this, but given the circumstances…” Hange trails off as she adjusts her bandage, unable to get used to the constant pressure on her eye.
“Well, there’s no choice is there,” Floch sneers, pale faced despite his anger and notable lack of physical injuries, “since we lost basically the whole Survey Corps in a single mission.”
“At least have a direction to go in.” Connie cuts in. “We’re still alive. That’s gotta count for something.” His plastered smile quickly droops, but he makes a sincere attempt at being his old, happy self. It makes her ache. “Right, Commander?”
“Yeah.” Hange answers, masking herself with the unburdened and curated smile a leader must wear. “We’ll do it together.”
Some months ago, the name ‘Historia Reiss’ wasn’t anything more than a well kept secret from the Church of the Walls. With piqued interest, Hange had put together that Christa Lenz- likely named after the benevolent heroine with a similarly pure heart- was indeed the true inheritor of the throne. That chosen name suits Historia still, but now, she carries the weight of her true heritage with pride.
“Don’t feel bad if you can’t make it,” Historia enthuses, half whispering in the hallways of military headquarters after their meeting on Grisha’s findings, “but Dieter wanted me to invite you both to his birthday party.”
“Is that so?” Hange’s hands clasp together in delight. To others, it was surprise that Levi had helped spearhead Historia’s initiative to help displaced children. But, to anyone who knew Levi’s kind heart, it was in perfect alignment with what he already did for the Scout Regiment. “Coming, Levi?”
Levi huffs, but uncrosses his arms. “How old is he turning?”
Historia looks up at the ceiling, and then exclaims, “Eight!”
“Okay. And-“
“-’And what cake flavor will it be?’ is what you were going to ask, right? Levi? Tell me I’m right!” Levi kicks at her shin, but Hange steps aside in anticipation, dodging the blow. “Don’t shatter my shin, alright? I’m already a cyclops.”
Historia goes into a giggle fit. “Excuse me.”
“Excused.” Hange breezes, then her hands come to rest on her hips with a beaming smile. “I wanted to thank you for earlier.”
“For what?” Historia blinks, the wallflower in her once again assuming the front seat. While the young girl smiled freely, it wasn’t difficult to see how the burden of truth- of her birth and all that came with it, tore at her tender soul. In the company of the military elite, Historia was the queen humanity demanded. In the absence of such an audience, she was just a girl with puffy eyes and nothing but an aching promise in her heart.
“For believing in the people. I, too, think it’s up to everyone to decide what to make of the truth. I mean, how long can we run from it, really? So, just,” Hange offers a hand, with the hope it conveys her gratitude to someone just as adrift, “thank you.”
“You’re welcome!” Commander Pyxis boasts as he eagerly shakes Hange’s waiting hand. Behind him, his escort, Anka Rheinberger radiates disapproval.
“Sir, you’re long due for a meeting with-“
Pyxis raises his hand, and turns his attention back to the trio in front of him. “Ready for the next battle?” He winks. “The court of public opinion is quite a finicky one.”
“Yes, sir.” Historia nods, earnest as ever. “I believe the people will make of it what they will, and that we can overcome this new threat without further discord.” Hange nods in agreement.
“And you,” Pyxis looks between the both of them, “How are you both holding up? I admit it’s been a gloomy week, and gloomier yet with the memorial on the horizon… I imagine the both of you have been doing some thinking.”
“It’s fine.” Hange counters, maybe a little too quickly, because Historia looks similarly at a loss. Pyxis only looks between them with an impassive smile, privately filing away morsels of knowledge, as he often did. In an attempt to breeze past the moment, Hange starts, “What do you make of-”
Anka’s tapping foot stops the question in it’s tracks.
“I know, I know.” Pyxis nods, acquiescing to his escort the moment her hand reaches his collar. One of the most powerful men in Paradis turns heel on command. “Just know that we’re allies,” he calls from behind, as he walks away, “for as long as we share the same goal.”
Levi interjects, after a beat. “…Tell Dieter to wash his hands more.” He steals Anka’s idea to drag his commander around like a sack of laundry, and tugs up at Hange’s collar. “And Hange will bring the carrot cake.”
“I will!” Historia chirps, returning to herself, easily lighting up the room with her exuberance.
“-stay!”
Hange’s head shoots up the moment something cold connects with the back of her neck, something she’s sure is the mercy of long awaited judgment. In the pitch black of the office, it’s only a glowering Levi who alone stands above her, and none of the sneering faces of disappointed comrades.
“What did I tell you?” Levi nags, gathering up her overcoat and folder of priority missives. “You’re not sleeping in this office.”
“I have a hundred things due yesterday!” Hange laments with a yawn, but her companion offers no pity. “Berg News is expecting our full findings. Tomorrow. As in, tomorrow, tomorrow.” She emphasizes. “Roy will kill me if it’s full of typos and ‘nonsense’ jargon…”
“And? What difference will a few hours make?” Levi inspects the chaos of her desk, organizing documents into neat piles along the way. Concern dots his brow when he lands on the list of the deceased in front of her, a fixture in her hands lately. “You’re looking at this again?”
“I just don’t want to forget,” she adjusts her glasses to rub at her sleepy eye, careful to hide herself behind their cover, “or I won’t ever sleep again.”
Levi’s eyebrow raises, but if he has anything to say about her disoriented rambling, he keeps it to himself.
Despite herself, a sigh leaves her lips. A well leafed stack of missives calls to her, and it’s only by happenstance that she finds the familiar, practiced scrawl of Erwin Smith’s signature. She puts her thumb to it, the ink long dried, and wonders how much left of him remains in this world, if any. In the dark of his sparsely decorated office, only his shadow looms large.
And, it’s the desire to hide herself in that shadow-remaining there with him and everyone else long gone- that keeps Hange away from the house she’d recently been gifted. As a paltry reward for surviving the horrors of Shiganshina, all nine survivors were awarded cookie cutter houses to either make a home out of or to entomb themselves inside. Neither option seems desirable.
Here, at least, she could recall the memory of bygone days, when the sky still reflected something that looked like the hope she’d spent the past week waxing philosophic about.
Perhaps, if she repeated the lie enough, it would manifest true.
Perhaps, it would stop being a lie altogether.
Perhaps-
“-we should go.”
“Hm?”
“I said we should go.” Levi repeats himself, but it’s not laced with any of his usual temper.
“Where else is there to go?” Hange lets out a breath that comes out shaky. ‘And where did you go?’- a question that is all at once for no one in particular, and everyone- goes unsaid.
“We can go outside.” Levi deadpans, shrugging on his own coat. “The barracks. The bank. The sewers.” He pauses to search her eyes, then gently drapes her coat over her slumped shoulders. “Home.”