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Of all the things Jean expected when he enlisted, this was the farthest on that list. Clutching Marco’s spare jacket tight to his chest, he wandered down the streets of the moderately wealthy district inside of Wall Rose. Though the residents knew that Wall Maria had been destroyed and they were now at a higher risk of a titan attack, they didn’t show it. Children played in the streets. Their ball-throwing, mirthful laughter made Jean sick to his stomach as he thought about the task he was about to do.
Jean finally came to his destination. He had never been here before, but after hearing Marco talk about it countless times, Jean knew he had come to the right place.
The rose paintings surrounded the house number, just as Marco described. Two small children, a boy and a girl, were playing in the yard chasing each other and laughing. Jean’s chest tightened, they looked so happy and the last thing he wanted to do right now was extinguish that joy. He didn’t want anyone else to feel what he was feeling and Jean knew that however bad he felt it wouldn’t even compare to how Marco’s family would feel. They, after all, knew him longer.
The kids had noticed Jean walking up the path and stopped playing their game. Jean got a good look at their faces. Marco’s sister had his eyes, warm, brown, and loving. His brother’s face was plastered in freckles just like Marco’s was. Jean fought back tears as he made his way to the door and knocked.
Mrs. Bodt opened the door and the resemblance between her and her son was striking. Jean’s heart dropped into his stomach and he clutched Marco’s jacket tighter. He couldn’t do it, he couldn’t bring himself to tell Marco’s mother that her son didn’t make it out of Trost.
“Mrs. Bodt,” Jean’s voice cracked as he addressed Marco’s mother and she seemed to assume what he was there for. She clasped her hands over her mouth, eyes widening in horror.
“Elise?” Mr. Bodt had appeared. He saw Jean in full uniform standing in the doorway trying to keep himself together, and his wife who had fallen to her knees sobs ripping through her body. It didn’t take Mr. Bodt long to put two and two together and he rushed over to his wife, looking up at Jean with anger and hatred in his eyes.
Jean couldn’t take it anymore. He wanted to run as far away as possible. He didn’t want to feel anything anymore. But no, a solider doesn’t run away. What would Marco have said if he could see Jean right now? His stupid freckled face would probably say something like “this is the bravest thing you've ever done” or “I’m proud of you Jean, thank you”
So with that in mind, Jean forced everything else out of his mind and pulled his body into a salute. After everything Marco had ever done for him in their three years of training, Jean owed Marco at least this much; a personal message, something more heartfelt than some member of the garrison who didn’t know Marco from Adam. Someone who would merely hand Mr. and Mrs. Bodt a letter and be on his way to deliver the 20 or so more. No, Jean was going to make sure his friend, his best friend would get a proper send off, from someone who cared deeply about him.
Jean almost punched himself in the chest with the force of his salute. Trembling, Mrs. Bodt had gotten to her feet.
“Marco Bodt, member of the 104th training division was killed in action during the battle of Trost,” Jean said. He was surprised that he was able to keep his voice steady through that sentence and as expected, Mrs. Bodt let out an anguished wail and collapsed into her husband. Mr. Bodt ushered his other children upstairs but judging by their reactions they knew what had happened and why Jean was standing there, clutching a tan leather jacket.
“I wanted to make sure this was brought to you,” Jean said, his voice trembling. Mrs. Bodt seemed to have recovered slightly. She walked over to Jean. He had been expecting her to take the jacket and usher him out. He was not expecting her to throw her arms around him, pulling him into a mother’s embrace.
“You’re Jean aren’t you?” Mrs. Bodt asked. The lump in the back of his throat prevented him from answering verbally so Jean just nodded. “Marco spoke so fondly of you in his letters. It must have taken a lot of courage to come here today. I want to thank you on Marco’s behalf, he would have appreciated it.”
She opened the flood gates. Jean clutched the back of her dress as violent sobs ripped through his body. Tears poured out of his eyes, as they had done every night since Trost. Mrs. Bodt didn’t say anything as she rubbed Jean’s back soothingly. When Jean had finally calmed down, Mrs. Bodt took the jacket from him and lead him into the kitchen where Mr. Bodt had already made a pot of tea.
“Please sit,” Mrs. Bodt said offering Jean a chair. Jean sat down. He was still shaking but something about being in Marco’s house seemed to calm him down. It felt as if his friend was still there, his hand warm on Jean’s shoulder comforting and reassuring. Jean remembered the promise he and Marco had made, sometime in their second year of training. They had told each other when they were both members of the military police, Marco would bring Jean back home to meet his parents.
And Jean never even thought that he would meet Marco’s parents under these circumstances.
“I’m sorry,” Jean said quietly. Mrs. Bodt reached across the table and gave Jean’s hand a small squeeze.
“Are they going to do anything?” Mr. Bodt asked. It took Jean a second to register what Marco’s father was saying.
“They,” Jean felt the lump in his throat again as his voice cracked. “They might have a ceremony for everyone who was killed.”
“Is there a body to bury?” Mr. Bodt asked. Jean understood that having a physical body to bury would provide them with at least some closure but he didn’t want to tell them that he had seen what the titan’s had done to their son. How the kindhearted boy with the warm inviting smile had been reduced to what Jean had seen on cleanup duty.
“No,” Jean managed to choke out. “That’s why,” he took a shuddering breath. “That’s why I brought back his spare jacket. Because I figured his parents deserved something more than just a letter.”
Mrs. Bodt started crying again, tears streaming silently down her cheeks. Mr. Bodt sat down at the table, head in his hands. Suddenly Jean felt out of place with a family that wasn’t his.
“We’ll do something,” Mr. Bodt said turning to face Jean. “If you can get leave, you are more than welcome to attend. Marco thought very highly of you, he would want you to be there.”
“Thank you,” Jean said. He was slightly taken aback at their offer and he made a mental note to ask his new commanding officer for the leave. He was going to make sure he gave Marco a proper send off.
“I think it would be nice if you could speak at his funeral,” Mrs. Bodt said. She was smiling but there were still tear tracks on her freckled cheeks. Marco took after his mother so much, Jean noticed, except a few things he took from his father.
“Yes,” Mr. Bodt agreed. “And I think it would be nice if you spoke as well. If you can get the time off.”
Attending the funeral was one thing. Speaking at it was a whole different animal entirely and this was also with the assumption that the higher ups of the Recon Corps would even grant Jean the time off.
No, Jean told himself firmly. After all the shit Marco helped me through I owe him this at the very least. I will do whatever the fuck I have to do to get this day off.
“I will be there,” Jean said firmly. “I owe him that much.”
Jean stood up, shook Mr. Bodt’s hand, hugged Mrs. Bodt, saluted them both and headed out the door. There was a butterfly perched on the flowers in the front yard. It fluttered over and landed on Jean’s cheek. Its tiny feet tickled his skin and when it flew away Jean noticed that that the spots on its wings looked like freckles. And when the breeze rolled by Jean could have sworn he heard a ‘thank you’ in the wind.