Chapter Text
Treetops swayed smoothly in the warm wind and a short distance away, past the humble graveyard, the popple of a small river was carried in the air along with the fleeting twittering of birds. The sturdy columns of the building, erected some paces from the rusted wire fence of the graveyard, supported three floors. Behind it stood two wooden edifices – dormitories, with the latter offering shade to a dilapidated stable, whence neighs and hooves digging into dirt could be heard even on the levelled training ground between the dormitories. White chalk indicated the corners of the range, but a tangled ball of dried weeds could be seen boldly trespassing, seeing as nobody was present to note the felony. The main building was the last destination at the end of a dusty road few cared to walk, more so after the recent change in commerce in the region.
A discrepancy stood out in the corner – a small tent-like contraption meant to offer shade from the sun, which remained merciless even in the beginning of September. All inhabitants of the aforementioned buildings were acquainted with the intruder, and a majority used the word “intruder” because they were fearful of repercussions should they apply another term. The Survey Corps Headquarters had established itself in the area a month ago, moving their belongings in carts and only noticing the issue after they’d had enough time to banish their heat-induced fatigue.
Now the barely trodden path had a traveller, from the discrepancy in the corner to the cool shade of the stony walls. The recruit moved with the rigidity of one burdened with great responsibility and grave news; the soles of his leather boots echoed softly up the three flights of stairs until he stood petrified before the first oak door down the hallway, perspiration lining his tan temples. He'd been instructed not to knock on his way back in – so he did not; instead, he took one deep breath and felt the doorknob slide in his clammy hold. The door opened wide, and he marched inside, feigning composure in the face of the dreadful announcement he was about to make. It was this:
“She refuses to move, sir.”
At the table ahead, the six seated figures moved their eyes till they locked with the source of the voice. The recruit could swear he was shaking, so he used a salute to mask it ever so unsuccessfully. Five of the superiors gathered exchanged glances with each other while the last simply let his gaze dart back to the papers displayed on the table.
“Dismissed.” The booming voice spared the boy further unwilling tremors. All occupants of the room heard the haste in his departing footsteps. The blond man who had spoken - Erwin Smith, 13th Commander of the Survey Corps – gave a heavy sigh which made everybody else stand at attention. “It would seem that mere recruits aren’t good enough for the job. I never thought the woman would be such a pesky predicament.” He didn’t, however rueful his wording, sound disheartened.
“She doesn’t have food at hand – maybe she’ll go soon,” the one immediately to his left – Hanji Zoe – suggested with an air of somebody who often played mediator. Her brown hair was in a high ponytail, and a pair of thin-rimmed glasses sat on the bridge of her arched nose.
“Ah, she goes to the field every day to pick berries,” Mike Zacharius interjected. “I heard the farmers complaining about their crops being robbed, too.” As though to insinuate their predicament had done that, but to also absolve her of fault in case it hadn’t been her. Evasive was often the adjective that could be pinned to most of his statements.
“Not to mention our own cadets bring her bread every once in a while,” Nanaba added in her stoically disapproving manner. She refrained from running her fingers through her ashy hair while Hanji kept shaking her head – having begun the action the moment Mike opened his mouth and ending it now that it was her turn to speak again.
“Maybe it’s just not something we can handle. What’s the harm in leaving her there?” Another peaceful suggestion, this time thinner towards the end, as though sensing incoming backlash. Only two of the people present hadn’t expressed their opinion hitherto. The one whose temper had not yet come to be characterised by taciturnity was, in fact, the sole occupant of the room whose indignation with the matter at hand ran deepest.
“It’s detrimental to our reputation,” he spat in cold reproach, refraining from slamming a fist against the table. Levi Ackerman’s glare was ferocious and untamed for the lack of future experience that would drain the unbefitting fire inside and replace it with glacier sharpness. “The Military Police already have an inside joke about it. We can’t leave this alone.”
“What do you suggest be done?” The lone silent member of the small council challenged. “She won’t budge. We’ve tried for a month now.” Dita refused to budge when his glare rested on her instead of Hanji.
“We chased away the rest of her friends successfully. A recruit isn’t fit for the job because a recruit has no authority.” Came the cold conclusion from Levi’s mouth.
“Wasting our time with that is out of the question,” Nanaba objected instantly, sensing the insinuation in his words. It should’ve been common knowledge that not a single high-ranked individual saw a benefit in handling the situation on their own and still, Levi had indirectly said one should volunteer and do just that. Except nobody would volunteer – they all had more important things to do; besides being entirely disinterested in whether the predicament remained or went.
“Which is why we won’t. Levi, you will.” Erwin Smith’s words made four faces contort in disquiet and one – in alarm. The Commander’s deep blue eyes – cerulean in this exact lighting – settled on the ebony-haired man immediately to his right. As he spoke, only the sardonic curl of his lips betrayed the provocation he aimed to achieve. “I assume a Captain – albeit newly-promoted – will have enough authority to get it done.” In loose translation, it inferred that Levi wouldn’t deserve his rank if he couldn’t do it and would, on the other hand, justify his promotion if he accomplished the task everybody else was too superior to perform. The raven was insulted enough to take the bait.
“I’ll get it done then. Right now.” He slammed his hands on the table and rose from his chair, wasting no time with further words or salutations on his way to the door. When it closed behind him, Hanji glanced at Mike to her left, only to find him already looking at her. Erwin proceeded with the interrupted discussion, and only Dita and Nanaba listened attentively.
“He’ll fail,” Zoe muttered regretfully at Humanity’s Second Strongest Soldier.
“I know. I can smell it.” Zacharius shook his head slightly and his tone was grave and low enough for nobody else to catch. He stared at Hanji a second longer before both decided to grant their Commander the attention he’d briefly allowed them to turn away from him.
Meanwhile, the treetops outside kept swaying, but the deceased paused in their repose to perk what remained of their ears in order to follow the storyline, which impatiently stomped down the stairs to the heavy entrance of the headquarters and marched outside with a dignified air and a wild blue fire intensifying the closer the leather boots got to the tent-like contraption in the corner. It would be offensive to address its inhabitant as a predicament more than needed but Levi hardly acknowledged her as a woman – and yet, what a wonderfully terrible woman she was! Adorned in rags contrary to clothes which did little to hide the inviting albeit coarse silhouette of her figure, with dirt sticking to the rough soles of her feet, hair so long and tangled it enticed and repulsed at the same time, and a countenance always mirthful and full of vitality even when years of unprofessional labour should’ve left stains all over her tanned complexion.
“You have to go. We won’t have any of your kind tarnishing the Survey Corps’ reputation.”
The order served as a greeting even though his footsteps had already announced his presence. She didn’t mind the sharp edge to his voice but she didn’t think herself presentable enough for guests in her current position, so she rose from the ground and stood before him, towering a proud set of four inches above his form. He hated her all the more for it and it showed in the grey of his eyes when he was forced to look at her from up close.
“That’s quite rude of you, sir. I assume you’re not a cadet – not with that audacity.” She dusted off her skirts, playful tone painting a startling contrast to his manner and yet, a complimentary image to the sunny surroundings.
“You’re the audacious one, harlot. Remove yourself from the premises immediately.” Levi abstained from vulgarity – not because she was a woman, but because he wouldn’t waste vulgarity prompted by an explosive temper on somebody this familiar, in his opinion, with the dirt on the ground. Still, this somebody by the name of (Y/N) (L/N) had no intention whatsoever to adhere to the well-established rules of conversation wherein one person speaks and the other responds accordingly.
“I remember you – you gave me the stink eye when you were moving in,” she piped with a snap of her fingers, feigning recognition. She remembered him well enough without pretending to mull it over prior to resuming: “I think Juliette tried to approach you – she’s always had a thing for short guys. You nearly hit her, am I right?” His deadpan darkened to show how unamused by her blithe nonsense he was. She turned a blind eye to it, flashing a seductive smile he considered revolting and stepping closer to him. “Maybe we can negotiate, sir. I can pretend to have a thing for short guys, too.”
“Do not touch me with your dirty hands.” He took a quick step back, finding her purposeful provocation entirely infuriating. “There will be no negotiations. This is the last time I’ll repeat myself: leave the premises.” His timbre turned abrasive as he spoke it. Anybody else would be scared.
“Where are the premises?” she asked simply.
“Here.” He put his foot down where she stood, drawing a line in the dust that, if extended using the imagination, would cross the insides of the tent she called a home. She did the mental gymnastics with a high-pitched hum and smiled wide at Levi right after.
“Well, if it’s like that…” She took one big step back, smile slowly morphing into a grin. “I’ll just be over here.” His thin brow twitched in a barely restrained fit of vexation. She tilted her head to the side and fluttered her lashes at him, knowing very well she meant to annoy contrary to charm. “I’m not bothering anybody this way. And I must say, you’re helping my business. You could personally help my business, too, but I can see you’re not very keen on that idea.” His stoic expression was on its way to fall apart. “If you’re struggling not to repeat yourself again after saying you won’t do it anymore, we’ll be out here a long while and I know dinner starts at six. You don’t want to miss out on your nutrition, sir.”
“Leave.” Her very manner was infuriating – patronising even when what she called a business put her in a category lower even than that the rodents pestering the floors of the dormitories occupied.
“No,” she stated with a bright smile.
“Do I need to force you?” The question made her hum. Maybe threatening her with violence would work better than orders. Levi’s intimidating air made him look capable of going through with the implied consequence. Knowing, however, (Y/N)’s nature, no sort of intimidation would be enough to move her. Unfortunately, Levi wasn’t yet acquainted with her nature and if asked, he’d deny ever wanting to change that.
“If you’re having those types of fantasies, go ahead,” she invited with a benevolent gesture of the hand. His brows twitched once more at having her raise his bluff with a suggestion so outrageous it made his teeth grind together. “I charge by the hour, starting from the moment you touch me. Three silver pieces.” She lifted a matching set of callused fingers in the air.
“You’d rather be paid to take a beating instead of leave while I’m still being civil?” He could hardly believe he was asking it. She smiled wide and gave an affirmative nod.
“Yes, sir.” Her voice was so chirpy, so innocently frank it baffled. It baffled and then it spited him. He knew the type of woman she was and he hated it. He despised her most of all because of her profession – why, he knew nothing else of her as it was – but that hatred took up so much space in his mind that there wasn’t room for anything else.
“Sit still and be poor then,” he spat through gritted teeth. “I’ll make sure you don’t see a single silver coin for the rest of your life.” And that threat, similarly to the ones before it, did nothing to hinder the woman’s good mood. In fact, the helplessness it showed served to lift her spirits further. Levi swivelled, incapable of looking of her, and marched back to the entrance of the headquarters with a jaw so painfully clenched and a glare so fiercely piercing it would make a green cadet duck away from sight.
“I was very close to agreeing to leave, just so you know! Maybe next time!” she called after him, lying so evidently and having so much fun it did little to help how enraged he was. Her muffled cackling rang in his ears even when he slammed the front doors and it kept ringing like an annoying leftover, like the first of drops trickling down the smooth glass of his overflowing patience as he climbed the stairs and approached the meeting room on the third floor. In her tent, (Y/N) was still laughing, even when he re-entered the superiors-filled space, even as he stomped back to his chair, even as the anticipatory gazes glued to his pale countenance stuffed the shameful wound with salt to the brim.
“She’ll leave,” he seethed coldly when he’d had enough of their staring. “She’ll leave in due time, when the weather worsens. The temperatures will drop, food will be scarce and snow will pile up. She’ll die or leave – in both cases, she’ll be removed from the premises.” The spiteful speech made a few mouths purse and a few pairs of brows furrow uncertainly. The shame rolled off Levi’s body in waves. He thought how he’d behold the process. Three months was the most it would take.
Erwin concluded the meeting with a doubtful hum and his doubts were justified the very next day because (Y/N) remained in her spot even when the first autumn rain poured down from the skies. Exactly one change took place and that was the woman moving her tent two feet farther from the building, where it no longer trespassed the premises, according to Levi’s words. She kept sitting inside when it rained and skipping around looking for business when it didn’t. Three days later, Levi happened to be walking down the hallway and his eyes strayed, vouchsafing him the sight of her talking fervently to some kids. He went on after pausing for less than a second, frown deepening. On the following day, the same happened again.
With each rising and setting of the sun, he developed the habit of monitoring the woman, grey eyes pinned to her whenever he passed a window pointing east – sometimes she’d be laughing with the friends who moved but came by to visit, sometimes she’d hand something to the kids, sometimes only her dirty feet would be visible, poking out of the tent while rain assaulted its thin body. He always glanced and resumed walking, progressively madder at the stubbornness she displayed.
Despite that, whoever crossed paths with him during those moments and was aware of his reputation would stare weirdly – it was a rumour, but all newbies were warned in secret that they should always take the far left of any corridor to not clash with him. It was such a simple thing – that the Captain never strayed from the middle of the hallway, like he never left a speck of dust in his office, and he never fell victim to distraction. His behaviour and habits were studied by the veterans – once you’d survived one expedition, you were named a veteran – for the sake of those who came after them, but the ruthlessly straightforward pattern was breaking apart.
Levi clashed with two cadets and five others barely dodged a collision during his bouts of staring out any window that pointed eastward. New rules had to be distributed among the ranks – the poor souls who suffered the consequences of either running laps or being on kitchen duty made sure of it not only for their comrades’ sake, but for their own. Each miscalculation on their end made their superior twice as harsh towards the masses they were included in. All that to say, the newly appointed Captain became an object of covert fascination, trailed by inquisitive eyes during each step of his routine. By the end of the month, the new rules were established by whispered word of mouth during meals and showers or in the privacy of dorms right before curfew.
The new rules stated that whenever Captain Levi Ackerman walked a hallway with an east-pointing window, it was mandatory that you should walk on the right; that you should under no circumstances whatsoever regard the woman outside with a glance in his presence; that you should not speak of her and if spoken to about her, you should pretend not to have heard anything if the conversation should be held in proximity to him. However, once the rules were established, bit by bit, question by question, the cadets began developing theories as to why their mannerisms should rely upon the presence of the woman outside. Some thought it outrageous; others thought it unfair; third considered it suspicious and fourth took, with all the empathy they had left, to pitying the object of their superior’s contempt.
What came of that was an assembly of random recruits – both girls and boys – who wanted to play the good samaritan in their spare time; half of them did it out of spite for their Captain’s prejudice while the other half was altogether occupied by individuals with the kind of selfless good nature it took to enlist in the Survey Corps in the first place. For a faction which placed itself in great jeopardy should their clandestine actions be discovered, the cadets displayed outstanding tactical skills, much bravery and a surprising amount of teamwork in their efforts to go against what their most feared superior would find agreeable – their superiors might’ve even been proud of that, had they known.
Around noon each day, four cadets would stand post – one positioned by the stairs on each floor of the building and one just outside the heavy front doors. When each had given the agreed-upon sign – nothing more than a mere nod aimed in no particular direction – a fifth would emerge, promptly carrying a plate of whatever they had had for lunch that day, place it inside the tent in the corner regardless of whether its inhabitant happened to be there or not and just as promptly return to the building. The combinations of faces and names were different each time for the sake of inconspicuousness and the rebels dispersed without as much as a glance in the others’ direction afterwards, relishing their unanimous satisfaction at precluding the starvation and subsequent death of whom they refused to call an intruder.
For a time, their efforts were invisible and commendable, and for a time, as far as naïve generosity goes, all was well. Strengthened morality and improved teamwork as a result of rebelling arrived as an unexpected consequence. However, there is only so much that could be kept secret within the walls of an establishment with strict rules and stern governors, who upheld honour and reputation above all else. A naïve newbie would think plain humaneness would be included in that list of values, but they’d be proved wrong if allowed a glimpse past the stoic curtains woven into their superiors’ faces because valour and compassion mattered not in a structure supported by budget – and a budget that was one libelous rumour away from diminishing greatly in spite of its scarcity.
It so happened in the middle of October, when the torrential rains grew in frequency and the temperatures bore a mild but noticeable drop, that Commander Erwin Smith began the fleeting lunch break beloved to all soldiers with an announcement to be carried out by Captain Levi Ackerman. The short ebony-haired man seemed to tower when the whole mess hall fell silent under his scrutiny. Hanji and Mike’s bewildered eyes added to the tension, joined by the bafflement on Keith Shadis and Nanaba’s severe expressions.
“I want you all to hear me very well – you are not doing our predicament a kindness with your heroic whimsy.” His eyes relentlessly scanned the vast majority who dared face him – those who didn’t weren’t necessarily the rebels but he wasn’t so precipitate as to conclude otherwise. He proceeded, timbre becoming progressively harsher: “What you consider a good deed feeds your ego more than the harlot outside and when I find out who’s responsible, you won’t be kicked out of the army – in fact, I have a special place for you in the frontier on our next expedition since you like to play heroes. If I see any of you near that fucking tent without an order that puts you there, you’re dead meat.” Once the speech was concluded, dread seemed to be the predominant scent a predator might sniff out in the air. To soften the blow of the radical threat, the blond Commander cleared his throat.
“In other words, please refrain from endorsing the prolonged stay of our unwelcome guest. The Survey Corps has enough weight to shoulder as it is, and we do not need our reputation being sullied in addition to that. Bear in mind that you’re responsible for your comrades as well as yourselves, and each action of yours that proves to be in opposition with the greater good of our men is punishable.” He was no more merciful in his manner than the one who would become his right-hand man in time, but his talent to inspire authority contrary to fear through speeches was honed throughout the years. It had a mollifying effect on the soldiers, who went as far as to salute to show they’d acknowledged his words. “If you understand that, you are free to proceed with your lunch.”
The mess hall came back to life only after both superiors were seated again. Not one rebel buckled under the pressure in a visible enough way as Levi had hoped, but he secretly fancied that his intimidation had done the job of discouraging further disobedience. To his utmost misfortune, that was the one thing it didn’t do – if anything, it reinforced the faction’s determination to be twice as cautious in their now official insubordination. Food, miraculously enough, kept being supplied to the predicament in the corner. The soil had no time to dry, for it rained every day, and every day, Levi thought that if the cadets would not cease their blind naivete, perhaps the predicament itself would find solace in a space of neutrality contrary to the hostility he oozed through each east-pointing window. Those notions bore no fruit either.
…
It was a day on which he was hurrying out of his quarters on the third floor to the training grounds when a sharp click made him halt in his step. A dirty sparrow had pecked the window with its beak in search of food, thin talons digging into the wooden frame. Circumstances were dire even for the fowl which remained inside the walls during the cold months. Levi was struck by the momentary thought of how stupid humans were in comparison to birds, who were self-serving enough to seek comfort whenever anything proved to them inconvenient in terms of survival. As though to prove the simile true, the ebony-haired male neared the window to behold the stupidity in the corner. What he saw made his eyes narrow.
Their feet were splattered with mud. Smiles stuck to their faces like a leech stuck to flesh. Lunch had taken place two hours ago. The tent-like contraption was damp and dripping – insufficient to keep the rain away from that which rested under its protection – and that which should’ve been protected by it was altogether a revolting sight – hunched over, scrawny and gesticulating with one hand, wild mane matted. Levi watched her other arm bend at the elbow. Then he saw the gleam of one of many plates cadets on kitchen duty had scrubbed clean, untouched and abundant with the leftovers the rebels had spared from their own plates to deliver to the despicable woman.
It was not the insubordination which fazed him. It was the extended hand and the two grubby pairs which reached for the contents of the plate, stuffing baked potatoes and stale bread down starved throats as the third one watched. It was not a miracle and he did not immediately perceive it as kindness, but the two children were smiling with their crumb-littered mouths and a weak sense of discomfort seized Levi’s stern jaw when he glimpsed the gaps left by a few fallen milk teeth. The empty plate sought to fill its void with rainwater and dirt upon being dropped to the ground following the violent onslaught of affection, which meant to busy the predicament’s two arms with patting the backs of the grateful children. Packs of strays stuck together – that was the rule.
Levi’s gaze averted because he would never admit to himself the similarity between past and present, how he’d substituted food he stole and gave away to his only family with hopes of better times and spite, how the times for him to have his stomach be full had come but the family was gone in spite of the stone tablets in the far right corner of the cemetery that would wish to argue and how, for the harlot in the rain, he was the annoying obstacle between starvation and freedom, as the glowering merchants and mean streets had been for him.
This simile he did not wish to dwell on – in fact, he was so adamant to remove it from his mind that the harsh click of his tongue as he resumed down the corridor startled the innocent sparrow into flight. When it fluttered its wings and chirped fearfully, Levi had already turned away and missed how the predicament outside sought the source of the noise with her bright eyes, glancing the short silhouette past the glass. It was not curiosity, Levi would affirm a thousand times, that which imperceptibly moved his eyes in her direction. However, another name for it is hard to find. The cadets, for instance, would call it pure malice due to the fact it was exactly what he exercised in his ruthless practices during the training he conducted.
Rumours were all one could call them and they certainly did not touch on the amorous, but the masses of cadets began wondering what exactly in the woman drove their superior to such near-crazed detestation because, by the time October rain became November thunder and chill, everybody had sagaciously concluded for themselves the source of the glowering vexation was indubitably she. Whispers travelled the short distance between bunk beds past curfew, scoured the rickety tables by the kitchen sinks and innocuously hopped between stable compartments during chores.
One carried on its shoulder the audacious speculation that Captain Levi Ackerman hated women, another brandished at it his aversion to all things unclean, including people, a third fought ferociously to defend that he’d come from the Underground, where such “predicaments” were abundant and a fourth nodded along because it suggested that maybe a predicament of this sort in the past had left a sour taste in his mouth for all them. Close as they brushed with the simple truth, none quite sat upon it – all were enshrouded by a certain mist of ridiculousness that demolished their plausibility.
The simple truth itself had grey eyes that were a bit hard to recall and hair the exact shade as Levi’s. It had gentle hands and wore tattered clothes, and had given her life to the disgusting act (Y/N) (L/N) named a business, if only to put on the table a meal for the starved mouth of her child – no less malnourished than she had been. It would be rather precipitate to call Kuchel Ackerman hateful as she rested in an unnamed grave and though Levi recalled his mother fondly the few times he consciously bothered to do it, the presence of somebody so similar made him sick to his stomach – a constant reminder that some chose for themselves to be this wretched instead of being forced into it, a reminder of ancient misty memories locked away somewhere they couldn’t hurt – of reeking floorboards, creaking beds, forced smiles, pained screams and stains, so many stains.
Not one cadet could come up with the simple truth and not one cadet, if they’d known, would’ve been able to bring the simple truth down to this succinct version: the Captain’s mom had been a whore, without having their faces scrunch in ineffable pity at the conclusions that entailed. Yet it was the simple truth and the simple truth for Levi that, in seeing itself manifested anew, drove him to detestation contrary to pity in his attempt to deny seeing something he’d lived with and found painful in all his vague memories of childhood.
…
It was November when the weather settled for a day, as though to allow the ebony-haired man successful passage to the humble graveyard by the headquarters. Mud stuck to the soles of his boots and the withering trees whined at the human being disturbing their detached existence. The river murmured something the bare branches couldn’t understand the language of. Soft dew clung to short leaves of grass. The low-hanging wire fence of the cemetery needed only a knee-high step to be surmounted. Levi didn’t see, on his way there, the meager dirt-ridden feet of the predicament poking out of its tent, but could not care for them either.
When he’d taken his place by that of Farlan and Isabel, the sky was clear above his head, but the ground stayed hostile. Levi didn’t for a second believe himself welcome among the deceased. He had no flowers to place on the graves. He simply stood by them, fingers gingerly wiping at the stone with a handkerchief to reveal the engraved names beneath the thin coat of dirt that had accumulated.
Only the presumptuous ones would think mourning ceased. It was almost as though Levi always had something to mourn. He mourned now even the blue sky, for his desire to see it had killed his only friends. When vulgarity and passion were too disrespectful to display to the dead, Levi acquired that solemn expression which would sit on his face permanently in the heavy future, and fell as silent as them, perchance in a hopeless attempt to connect rather than respect. It was during this pensive silence that he caught the sound of a yelp, followed by a soft chuckle. His head turned instinctively, watchful eyes scanning the vicinity for the other intruder. If it was a cadet slacking off when they were supposed to be running laps, he’d most certainly give them a piece of his mind – and a generous amount of kitchen duty. It was, however, no cadet.
It didn’t register immediately in his mind that the predicament was before him, located a few paces past the line of trees, with her legs in the river. Maybe because she didn’t fade into the backdrop as she usually did. Levi didn’t realise he was staring.
Her skin gleamed with water, drops almost like beads on her shoulders, in her hair, rolling down her arms and legs and torso. She was humming a tune the wind was reluctant to carry into Levi’s ears but it bore more semblance to the song of a nymph than a wretched creature. Her eyes were bright against her wan face, her fingers were almost graceful as they washed her body. The man who could see a titan when it was just a speck on the horizon did not miss with his vigilant gaze the soft swell of her breasts contrasting the coarse edge of the hipbones. The apples of her cheeks along with her shoulders and palms had acquired that shade of red particular to those parts of the body weakest to freezing cold water. It could be said that the body of a woman puts man into a trance.
For a split second, the same repulsive woman whose laughter he could not bear to hear, the same abhorrent harlot he found himself spying through each east-pointing window only to then glare at, was the most beautiful sight he’d beheld in his life, coming second only to the vast blue canopy spread above their heads. A split second was all it was, for when it ended, a tart knot made his breath hitch. He found her revolting and himself no better for perceiving her anything but a predicament stripped of human qualities. He nearly threw himself on the ground to conceal the sight from his treacherous eyes, which, for some reason, did not wish to abandon it. It is needless to account for the way he paced back to the building, disrupting the tranquil stagnation of dew, dirt, grass and worms as he did. The haste in his step was almost tangible. Something was choking him. It might have been the spite.
The accident was how she would name it in her head, as she was not oblivious that he'd been the one pacing away from the cemetery – unmistakably him. She hadn’t minded the intrusion, though it had been a long while since anybody had seen her naked for free. She was convinced, in that elementary way animals choose either to fight or flee, that the little angry man had been affected by the sight, transforming accident into advantage. There was not a man inside these walls who could resist the sway of the carnal – sexual and violent both. There had not been a man to prove that belief wrong. The line between monster and man was thin in the eyes of those who faced the monster more often. The line was for (Y/N) nothing less than a straggling string of scattered silver coins.
Her clients were few and far between during the cold season. The Survey Corps’s settlement supplied her with meager business but business nonetheless, which she was thankful for, mainly conducted in the prickly discomfiture of a pile of damp hay in the stables, where each neigh and snapped twig prompted a minute glance up and a brief halt of the sloppily thrusting hips. Not one of the faces sweating above her, floating like phantoms in the murk, had been that of a generous benefactor. Those who brought her food and those who fucked her were different – in her head, the former simply didn’t have the resources to be the latter. She took, for a slightly lower price, three virginities in the span of three months. Power seldom rested with her during her work. Exercising control over somebody, she thought, came with the pressure of performing well and setting an example, being responsible for them.
In general, she preferred submission, for it required nothing short of being at somebody’s disposal to be used. Submission was the uglier sister of freedom in the world of prostitutes, where lying still and allowing your mind to float out of your body so it could be rid of all that would be taken from it by the monster was almost synonymous with relief. Submission was rest. Taking care of sores, bruises and gashes was the price. Few could work in the realm of rest, burdened only by consequences and not at all by the present moment, wherein all abuse did not matter. It was paid for – therefore, absolved of blame.
One silver coin could buy one loaf of bread or two potatoes. One coin could also buy a mouth wrapped around a man’s cock for the duration of ten minutes. Two silver coins could buy two apples or two radishes. Two silver coins could also buy forty minutes of pleasure. Three silver coins… well, she’d never had three silver coins to spend all on her own. The ones with prejudices would say she had a pile of money to hoard that could purchase a whole house in Sina. She did not want to be perceived by the ones with shrewdness. Being seen as anything but a greedy harlot horrified her. It’d been long since she’d been a woman – perhaps never, in fact. The only feminine quality she bore was that of the motherly instincts which had taken over in the face of those too innocent to be allowed to see the world as it was.
Every first, third and last day of the week, Hans and Mattie sought her at the tent, eager mouths, gleaming eyes and grubby hands. They did not – being only seven and nine years old respectively – acknowledge the value of money. If she refused to feed them, perhaps she would be able to save up for a nice cottage wherein she could lay their corpses, because if she did not feed them, nobody would, as nobody had before she and Juliette had taken the task upon themselves after the mother passed away. They split the load evenly – one took care of shelter and the other took care of food. Secretly, both were grateful for the fact that their sister in misery had given birth to boys. In due time, they’d begin working at some farm, run errands for merchants or become apprentices to a master of trade in the area. Ere long, they’d forget her. That would be for the best. Memories of her were cheaper even than her body.
…
The first snow of the year was falling when she was surviving off scraps, growing weaker by the day. Sunlight was dissipated, engulfing the bleak scenery in a misty bubble. The stone edifice of the Survey Corps Headquarters was full of hubbub, earning itself curious glances from sparrows, squirrels and, of course, the prostitute struggling to reinforce the dripping roof of her tent. Clatter, muffled voices and footsteps mingled with the crispy air. When the heavy oak doors spread, a band of soldiers in uniforms marched down the muddy path, not yet coated by the gentle snow. (Y/N) observed the strict formation keenly, witnessing a few clients she could barely distinguish in the sunlight, one or two benefactors who didn’t run the risk of looking at her and a few faces belonging to the youngest of recruits that childishly protruded their tongues in an attempt to catch with them a snowflake.
Levi Ackerman walked in the back. She’d asked a client about him once to learn the name. Nobody made eye contact with her safe for him. It occurred to her suddenly that this man could fade perfectly into a winter background. His features were all black and white. She felt a dislike for the eyes, which, admittedly, brought to her the sensation of being a thing contrary to a person like many others, but did it with an unhidden sort of intensity she found slightly disturbing. Where many would pretend, this man didn’t try to conceal. She made sure to smile widely at him as they watched each other – the gesture proved, as always, to vex him enough to look away.
She, however, kept watching. Her gaze was glued to the milky hand extending to set straight the straying attention of the closest recruit who’d seemed to take an interest in their wordless interaction. She considered herself a decent judge of power. The slender fingers which curled into a fist at his side seemed capable of strangling the life out of her. Watching them flex, she thought briefly she might let them, could almost feel them closing around her tight throat. It took her a moment to realise what she’d imagined. She knew, if she got the chance, she’d try to seduce him. She knew, if he got the chance, he would probably murder her. Rather a monstrous contrast.
When the band of soldiers disappeared down the road, she turned back to her dripping tent with her feet nearly frozen, her fingers red and numb, and her cracked lips stretched in the slightest of smiles. The snowflakes in his hair, albeit as cold as the rest of his exterior, were quite an endearing sight.
…
Levi might have had a premonition that something was bound to happen on a day as cursed as the one of his birth twenty-seven years ago. On it, he found his bouts of insomnia intensified, and the cure he sought was always the same – namely, a walk. Drinking did not help, he’d learned years ago. On birthdays he’d spent with Isabel and Farlan, he’d thought of his mother. On birthdays he'd spent alone, he thought of all three of them, mistaken attachments whose painful absence left only a void to be filled with empty notions of how it had been.
His boots crunched in the snow, and his breath, even in the dark, came out in fuzzy white puffs. His chest and shoulders, where the uniform straps had already left their mark of discolouration, felt stiff. His eyes were blank, aimed at everything’s nothingness. If he closed them, the scenery would remain identical, blurry greyish spots marking where the snow had piled up on the training ground, the rooftops of the dormitories and stable, and the bare tree branches. The moon was partly obscured by clouds and the night was supposed to be tranquil, albeit freezing. The former made the latter easier to overlook. Maybe he’d spent about ten minutes staring up at the sky, perceiving it more as a dome than an endless expanse, when he heard the muffled sound of footsteps.
Cadets frolicking past curfew, was his first assumption. Or mayhap an errant client returning to the comfort of his bed. Whichever, Levi determined instantly to hand out severe punishment. He faced the direction of the noise and witnessed with growing suspicion two small dark silhouettes rounding the corner of the headquarters. They saw him, too, because their lost mannerism was at once eradicated. Instead of running away, they ran at him. The closer they came, the more audible the whimpers. The closer they came, the brighter the gleaming drops on their faces. When the first cold hand latched onto his sleeve, he froze.
“Please! Please--- (Y/N), she’s--- please, please, please---”
The child choked on its saliva. The younger one was wailing, panicking. It was the one clinging to him, the one with the many missing milk teeth. His features contorted. The choppy whimpers jabbed needles into his side. The overflowing tears and the horror twisted the knife. Children were terrible. He’d looked like these twenty years ago. Nobody had entered the room.
“Please, help! Help, please, (Y/N)---”
They weren’t supposed to be here, in the cold, in the dark, in the middle of the night. That was none of his concern. He was sprinting.
The snow yielded under his feet, muscles straining with urgency. Even his breath could not catch up with him. In a matter of seconds, he could see the tent-like contraption, lopsided and feeble. By the time he’d hunched over to observe the body inside, the children had joined him – a soft cacophony of crying, sniffling and ragged breaths. The sight of her, even in the dim moonlight, made his blood freeze. She looked dead. She looked dead, and his thundering heart stilled because it wasn’t his mother’s face, but it might have been the exact ashy shade of her skin and the emaciated features she’d worn. He could not remember his mother's face.
“Will (Y/N) die?” The quivering whisper forced his eyes back on the children. The older was consoling the younger, letting him cling to his tattered clothes. The big, teary eyes were begging Levi to do something – do something about the predicament, which, to these children, was no predicament at all. It brought him, so to say, to his knees.
“Go home immediately.”
His voice came out stern and abrasive, on the brink of cracking. He was reaching into the inept shelter, grabbing flesh and mistaking it almost for remains. His breath slipped past in thick white clouds. When she was in his arms, he felt a chill. He handled the one he’d been abhorred to even think of touching and did so with startling precision and haste, not an inkling of care for it would not matter to the dead whether they’d been cared of in their final seconds. It mattered only that they remained living. He was pacing towards the headquarters, footsteps echoing down the empty hallways, and she was heavy in his arms, a responsibility that weighed more on the heart than the body.
“Get up and help her,” he ordered on his way into the doctor’s room, adjacent to the infirmary. He nearly kicked down the door and the man, drowsy but at once alert, tumbled out of bed with his hair pointing in all directions possible. His nightrobe swayed and his eyes were sharp as he instructed Levi to place her down on a bed in the infirmary. “So?” The question seemed as though to tear unwillingly from his mouth while he stood by, scrutinising the doctor’s nimble hands feeling along the corpse-like body for pulse, checking for breath and evaluating the severity of the condition in the weak light of a candle hastily lit.
“Hypothermia, most likely. I need to warm her bit by bit so the heart doesn’t stop due to shock,” the doctor explained while grabbing a pair of scissors and cutting through the rags she wore. When Levi glared, the man defended: “We need to remove the wet clothes from the body.” The raven turned away from the sight, feeling his body stiff and overheated. He could hear the snip of the scissors and the tear of the fabric. He could hear the doctor gingerly shifting the body on the bed to remove the rags.
“When will she wake up?” Levi’s eyes were drilling a hole into the wall. The doctor sneezed.
“I can’t tell you. It might take hours. Or a day. There is not much we can do, if I have to be honest,” he spoke once he’d covered her with a thin blanket. Levi found her features to be frighteningly still in the candlelight. “Cadets with colds visit more and more by the day. It might be that their immune systems have become weakened by the vigorous training and lack of nutrition.” Levi scoffed at the indirect accusation. “What I mean is that I’m prone to catching something, and she’s on the brink – the smallest intrusion can knock her over. I can’t risk watching her the whole night. I don’t expect you to either, because you need your sleep.”
“So we just sit and wait?” Levi watched the doctor’s solemn expression – waxen and almost discouraged – as he gave a nod. He paused minutely while glancing at her face one last time. He didn't take the candle on his way to the door. At it, he paused again, seeing as Levi had not moved.
“Adding two more blankets till the morn should help. And checking regularly if she’s breathing.” The words floated out of his mouth into the still air, wafted up towards the ceiling and stuck to it like a lousy paint job. Levi’s eyes narrowed, but he remained motionless, listening to the soft click of the closing door. His eyes were pinned to her face until he realised, with dreadful bitterness, that it had looked the same as now for the past two months. Except, every time she’d smiled at him, the vexation had had him overlooking the sickly frame.
He maintained it was insomnia, not kindness, which rooted him to the floor of the infirmary. When the first candle melted, he placed another blanket on her. When the second candle melted, he repeated the action. By the time the third was collapsing, slimy and dripping at death’s door, the sun had shown, shyly peeking over the horizon and painting in its bashful wake the snow-covered landscape with soft golden strokes. Levi’s fingers were numb, carefully hovering above the sick face’s mouth. The warmth of a weak air current caressed their pads, his hand withdrew and he sat in the chair he’d moved close to the bedside, rigid shoulders, lilac dark circles, resting eyebrows and steady heartbeat. He left at some point, made a cup of tea in the kitchen and returned to leave it by the candle he had blown out. It was not kindness.
“Enter,” the booming voice permitted on the third floor, where Erwin Smith, dressed in full uniform, sat at his desk. Levi stepped into the room, not a sign of sleep deprivation in his movements. His lax features had hardened once more into the usual frown. “What is it you wish to discuss so early in the morning with me, Levi? I should’ve thought you’d like to sleep in on your birthday.” The blond’s manner was not accommodating in the least, but it was straightforward and, after as many as three years of camaraderie, rather earnest.
“I’d forgotten about it,” Levi lied in a flat voice. “I’ve thought of the perfect way to remove the predicament from the premises.” He was aware that Erwin was no supporter of speech adornments and ambiguity when others spoke with him. Levi didn’t have the patience to apply them either way.
“Is that so? Please share it with me,” the blond urged smoothly, a hint of doubtful mockery in his voice. It was certainly amusing how he – the best mind in the building – had not come up with the perfect way to dispose of the woman and should now hear it from somebody else.
“I need a secretary,” Levi blurted out coldly. “She can do that.” To another, the idea would appear outrageous and out of character. Erwin was not the person to overlook Levi’s complexity.
“How is that removing her from the premises?” His eyes narrowed slightly, and Levi, for whom spontaneity became more and more distasteful, defended the suggestion with logic to prevent his superior from seeing through the fact that it was not one he’d put much thought into.
“It’s removing the predicament, not the woman,” he corrected. The distinction occurred to him in the night. “It’s obvious that she’d rather freeze to death than leave. If we employ, house and pay her, she won't need to give out the kind of services that distract our soldiers.” It was logical. It had come to him three hours ago. It was perfect – distasteful, but perfect. Did the old piece of wisdom not state that one should keep his friends close and his enemies closer?
“So we take away the issue by making a prostitute into a secretary?” Erwin squinted, paraphrasing for the sake of removing any deceitful adornments from the situation, and bringing forth with that particular word towards the end a sense of discomfort in Levi.
“My secretary, so it doesn’t burden anybody else’s reputation,” he specified. It was beneficial. More beneficial than, let’s say, having a corpse on their hands. A newspaper would make sure to mention it. “The room next to my office is vacant and small enough to preclude her being spoiled. I’ll make sure she ceases her previous business and she doesn’t need to show her face around the building unless she’s eating with the rest or showering.” He would adopt the role of reluctant caretaker, in other words. Erwin hummed thoughtfully, weighing the hypothetical in his mind.
“It sounds tempting, Levi, this solution you’ve come up with. Certainly, it wouldn’t be a waste in terms of resources, seeing as the recruits, to my knowledge, have not stopped feeding her.” Levi had to bite his tongue to not correct that, technically, the recruits had, all along, been feeding two children instead of her. Such an inference seemed to him obvious when he knew that freezing to death should’ve come for her later if she’d consumed each daily meal supplied to her.
“If she’s inside the building at all times,” he said instead, “I’ll also be able to keep a close watch on all she does. It minimises the risk of insubordination on part of the cadets.”
“Yes, I agree.” Erwin nodded firmly. Levi compared the words to the face – the blond’s furrowed brows didn’t seem to agree. “The issue is of another nature here,” he cleared after the discrepancy had become visible to Levi. “I’m afraid our budget is scant enough to barely cover everything, and one more paycheck, in the long run, is entirely impossible to fit into it. Ultimately, will a prostitute prefer shelter and food to money? I doubt it.” His big hands gesticulated to further prove the point. Levi had not considered money. Erwin patiently waited for him to do it now.
“I’ll be the one paying her then. The budget doesn’t need to change.” Was the conclusion. Levi wouldn’t think of it as a loss, taking into account that he refused days off and the little money he used, he spent on replacing the occasional broom and maintaining his supply of tea leaves. A monthly salary of seventy silver coins could easily be distributed between a stingy soldier and a prostitute without much business.
“You’ve convinced me,” Erwin said. Usually, when he agreed to something reluctantly, a sigh accompanied the words. The sigh was not here. “However, there is one more thing.” His fingers intertwined on top of his desk. “We’ve made a decision on the part of somebody we’re not entirely sure will cooperate.”
“I’ll make sure she does. And starts today. If possible, can we procure decent clothes for her?” It was of vital importance that nobody learned she’d left her tent, if only to preserve his reputation. He could see somebody accusing him of lenity, but he couldn’t see the uproar that would wreak havoc in the dormitories, rumours spiralling into gossip, theories woven from dense air, phantasmagories battling scandal-worthy claims.
“You can talk to Mike about that. You know how sentimental he is. He’ll have uniforms hidden away somewhere.” Erwin whisked his hand through the air, and Levi made a step toward the door when the blond said his name. When they were facing each other again, the somber expression drawing harsh outlines against the Commander’s face would’ve nudged an innocent cadet towards the misplaced notion that they were discussing murder. “We’ll have to keep this from the Military Police. Converting a prostitute into a secretary is not a headline that will get us benefactors. For everybody else, she left the premises. Dismissed.”
It was a necessary precaution, an act of prudence required not so much by the dubious reputation of the Survey Corps in the public eye – because Erwin Smith knew cadets mingled and gossiped, and the public would learn at some or later point – but by a plan of the Commander’s mind that he would enact at his own discretion over the next few months. It was all for the greater good. He’d spent days mulling over the issue and his strongest soldier had solved it for him. When paws were on the board, it would be a waste not to sacrifice them. Levi left the room after saluting, by way of habit. His first destination was Mike’s office, where he procured an old uniform for his new secretary. His second destination was the doctor’s quarters, where his intimidation prevailed, forcing the meek professional into silence on the topic of his nightly endeavours. His third destination was the infirmary next door.
Her face had regained its colour, was the first thing that struck him. He stepped closer softly, eyes narrowing at her resting features. His mind was preoccupied with what he’d done. It was not like him to be merciful to those whose stubbornness bordered on the suicidal. But if he hadn’t taken the walk, the kids would’ve roamed mindlessly to no avail and she would’ve passed seamlessly, unknown and unheard, and alone. They would’ve known, at some point, that she’d become a corpse, but how long would it have taken somebody else and who would that somebody have been – attentive enough to shoulder the reveal? Sourly, he realised it would’ve been him, not the rebels, because he’d grown, since the beginning of December, the habit of spying on the tent-like contraption until a sign of life made itself known. He huffed and shook his head. He didn’t do it for her. He did it for them.
“I’ve been thinking, maybe I should charge you for touching me.” The words tore him away from his thoughts. On the snow-white pillow, a pair of twinkling (e/c) eyes stared up at him mockingly. He scowled. “Or were you not the gentleman who carried me inside?” She was thoroughly amused, watching the unrestrained twitch of his features. In a world where the survival of the whole depended on a cage made of stone and the survival of the unfortunate individual relied upon wit and circumstances, (Y/N) (L/N) thought herself a pragmatist and the man before her – a sort of distraction.
“Get dressed,” he spat the command, tossing the clothes at the blankets she was trying to remove. She glanced down at them and he turned his back to her in what she considered a tedious display of pride.
In a world where the survival of the unfortunate individual relied on wit and circumstances, (Y/N) (L/N) was used to being called ungrateful by people who thought their pseudo-kindness deserved recompense. She did not take anything for granted, but that was not to say she was naïve enough to forget everything had a price. Experience had taught her to always make the best of a situation and if somebody felt robbed due to the careless way in which she took without giving, it was an issue they had to sort on their own through a lengthy reflection on what charity was and what they thought it to be. This case was similar.
She’d wound up inside the building, carried by the mysterious ulterior motives of somebody who hated her. She’d consumed, just minutes prior, her first cup of tea since childhood. She tried to remember whether it was her mother's or father’s favourite drink, failing miserably, for the fact memories were hard to dig up when “family” was a word that sat foreign on a tongue diligently trained in the art of superficiality. She wouldn’t call this kindness because there was something behind it. Perhaps the sick satisfaction of having her owe him or the selfish urge to prove himself a true soldier of righteousness who saved lives regardless of their status. It was something and she didn’t intend to pay for it – the only currency for services she accepted was silver.
“Well, if you’ll excuse me and my new clothes.” Her breezy manner did not match the strenuous effort she put into pretending not to struggle while standing. He turned around and watched her dust off the white pants and tap the heel of the leather boot against the ground to test the foreign sensation of the shoe. “I’m not sure whether they’ll attract clients, but---”
“Shut up and sit down. You’re not going outside.” It was time for the payment, she assumed instantly. To her, however, it was a brand-new transaction. Her lips stretched out in a smug smile as she complied with the order, making sure her legs were generously spread and welcoming as her finger reached for the first button of the shirt she’d taken a while to put on.
“Captain, if that was your intention, you shouldn’t have wasted time in telling me to get dressed. How would you like it?” The rasp in her voice spoke of an impending cough reinforced by a weak immune system incapable of thriving in the cold. She didn’t think these were her best days, but maybe the best he could have in this forsaken building. He glared viciously. It seemed to her, by the momentary twitch of his hand and the way his chin dipped slightly, he suppressed the urge to pinch the bridge of his nose in exasperation.
“Stop angering me and listen. You’re not getting any more clients. You’ll be my secretary and you don’t have the right to refuse.” The flat words possessed an undertone of authority that drew her in. However, this was no client. Submission was out of the question just yet.
“Secretary? As in, papers?” Her fingers remained glued to the first button, fiddling with it.
“Yes.” He looked, in spite of the cold exterior, somewhat intent. She saw no benefit in being a secretary. Papers – when did she last hold any? Men devoid of humour, she found, had an appalling way of joking. It was a ridiculous kind of foreplay to her. Perhaps he fancied mental stimulation?
“Is this a sort of role we’re supposed to play? Is that what you like?” Her brows flashed in innocent surprise to add to the bewildered quality of the words. Unbeknownst to her, he’d realised, in that exact moment, that she was entirely incapable of perceiving anything unrelated to sex as disconnected from it. “I’m more used to pretending to be a mistress or a sister,” she conceded with a hum.
“It’s not a role. It’s your job henceforth,” he cleared coldly, irritation steadily simmering to a boil in the face of her clueless defiance. She was not defiant and inquisitive, mind, for the sake of annoying him but for the sake of processing the ulterior motive lurking behind the flat speech.
“A job entails payment.” She squinted suspiciously, not letting the smile slip from her lips. It was not customary for a prostitute to not smile during negotiations. The same went for merchants. Both sold equal amounts of useless frivolities and necessities to men who fancied themselves smart but fell victim to the charm of false promises and self-serving tactics. Being told by a prostitute that you’d spend an unforgettable night with her was the same as being told by a merchant that his product was something you wouldn’t be able to live without. Another common trait was the emphasis they laid on money.
“Forty silver coins a month.” Her brows flashed. “In your condition, I think that’s more than you’d usually get.”
“Well, on a good month---”
“I didn’t give you permission to speak,” he cut off imperatively. Her mouth clamped shut, jaw screwed in place by the sharp eyes and the harsh edge to the deep timbre. “Your room is upstairs right next to my office. Every day, while I’m on the training ground with the cadets, you’ll clean it top to bottom. Every evening, when I’m dealing with paperwork, you’ll handle half of it. You’re allowed to leave the third floor only to attend meals at the mess hall. Again, you don’t have the right to refuse.”
“I thought you didn’t like to repeat yourself,” she mocked lowly, not perturbed by the orders and the glare he aimed at her or at least not visibly so. The benefits listed themselves in her head: despite the demanding limitations, she’d have a private space, clothes, protection from the forbidding weather, a functioning shower, money, three meals a day, two of which she could freely hand over to Mattie and Hans, and, most importantly, convenient proximity to future and regular clientele. She kept her smile tame and reluctant when she said: “Well, it sounds half-good. When do I get my salary?”
“On the first day of every month,” he answered promptly.
“So that would be a few days of unpaid labour till then?” Her brow quirked and it didn’t stop irking him – the audacity of this woman, the way she could treat generosity with condescension entirely unbefitting of her social rank and how her eyes remained, during the entirety of the conversation, stubbornly fixed on his face, like she intended to eat him whole the moment he tossed a coin at her.
“That would be a few days of you not dying outside.” The correction made her laugh. He’d compare it to bleating, but it wasn’t. It had that same irksome quality that left echoes in his ears even when it ceased.
“And life is priceless, right? Lead me to my room?” She followed him out, matching her step to his no matter how much he sped up. It was always the domineering men who got a kick out of being superior who walked briskly ahead. Her eyes did a quick scan of every wall and floor, every crack in every window frame, every speck of dirt on every glass, every reflection of light on every doorknob. The bare trees were swaying outside, abused by the merciless wind and as though flailing their arms in desperate search of protection. (Y/N) couldn’t help them because she had to protect herself from the tempest walking at her side first. “You think yourself smart for putting me out of business, don’t you?”
“I do.” She was prepared for his arrogance and just as unprepared for anything else, because she didn’t know, like everybody else did, that he was, in fact, not arrogant at all.
“Well, don’t you think being inside the building and having an actual bed makes it easier for me? You’re essentially doing me a favour.” He checked with her briefly to see if she was bluffing. She could choose to call it honesty, but if anybody else heard it, they’d say it was an admirable display of reverse psychology. If he thought the words merely a taunt, he’d have only himself to blame for dropping his guard due to thinking himself too prepared and her – too confident.
“I have enough work for you to pass out every night, harlot. And I’ll be keeping an eye on you.” Even when he spoke it, she harboured the notion that he’d buckle eventually – though the current arrangement wasn’t the carefully orchestrated plan of an overly possessive man, it wouldn’t be long before he took advantage and demanded exclusivity. It’d be as hypocritical as it would be entertaining. It occurred to her then – the one issue which might make him regret making of her a secretary.
“Actually, I think you need to---”
“I need to not have your voice give me a headache.” The gesture he’d suppressed in the infirmary couldn’t be contained now. He pinched the bridge of his nose and glared at her. “Cleaning supplies are in that closet. Use them to make your room presentable. After you’re done, I want you in my office.” He didn’t open the door for her nor pointed it out. She watched him enter the neighbouring room. The wail of the hinges as the door slammed related his sour mood.
Left at the mercy of chores, (Y/N) curiously scouted the closet and took a broom into the room she assumed would be hers. Being part of a travelling band for most of her conscious life, she felt the space to be claustrophobic. The idea it was hers to do with as she wished, however, elevated the discomfort with elation. She’d spent her childhood in a house, but, after turning fourteen and being whisked away by that unpleasant Cutbert, entered rooms only when her clients allowed it. This one was hers. Not just to reside in for an hour, but a whole day and the night after – even the following morning. The frugal interior didn’t extinguish the stars in her eyes. In the corner by the typical military-style wardrobe she found a door. It led to a cramped bathroom. She beamed at the water flowing out of the pipe when she turned the faucet – once in the wrong direction to get it right. She ran outside to fetch a bucket from the closet.
Levi listened to the ruckus in the hallway and pinned it to clumsiness contrary to the child-like exultation of a grown woman having to clean her first very own room. She got rags and a mop and a weird solution she knew people called bleach but hadn’t ever had to use. If Levi had watched her pour it into the bucket before mixing it with water, he would’ve paled. (Y/N) didn’t even pay attention to the way her skin tingled as she dipped the rag in and out of the mixture to wipe down the windows – her windows! Mild chemical burn was a low price to pay for the happiness she felt, even if she used no protective gear while cleaning and performed each task with such inexperience as would bring a housewife to the edge of despair.
After she’d swept and scrubbed the floors, wiped the windows and every other flat surface, fluffed the pillow that felt wonderfully soft in her hands and collected the cobwebs from every corner of the room with the help of a chair she thought was disrespectful to step on, her stinging red hands were clasped in front of her in barely suppressed glee. Pride could not describe it. This was her room.
When her harsh superior led her to the mess hall for breakfast, it was an understatement to say that the cadets stared. The silence was grave – the prostitute was sitting at the higher-ups’ table, if only because Levi thought it wisest – and Erwin agreed – to keep her away from those who’d be easily swayed by her lowly tactics. Keeping an eye on her was no lie. She could feel the searing glare on her temple even during the harmless act of eating. She could turn it sexual, but saw no point in wasting effort thus when she was too starved to be patient. Hanji Zoe and Mike Zacharius, along with Dita, Nanaba and Shadis, were profoundly shocked to see the reason for Levi Ackerman’s seemingly permanent bad mood present at his very side during the meal.
In confidence that was by no means quiet enough not to be overheard by the cadets straining to lend an ear to it, the 13th Commander of the Survey Corps explained to his subordinates that the unrefined lady would be a comrade of theirs henceforth, bearing the title of Humanity’s Strongest Soldier’s secretary.
“She should be treated with due respect,” the blond instructed further. “The fact that she will not participate in missions and training does not mean she will not be part of our institution. It is advisable, however, not to be too friendly. We are not, after all, a shelter.” The warning spoke against insubordination through endorsement of old habits and overwhelming amicability that would predispose the woman to feel catered to at the same time. It was eloquent, and the cadets who caught it passed it on until the whole mess hall knew what the Commander had said word for word.
Low discussions ensued and their volume increased once the majority left. It was impossible to prevent recruits from gossiping when they had nothing particularly exciting in their own lives safe for the occasional joy of going home to visit family and catching word of hormonal affairs taking place around the dormitories that would later turn out false or too fleeting to be worth remembering. True love bored, brawls were relatively rare, training was strict, friendship was a given, chores were tedious, expeditions were draining and the sun rose and set tirelessly each day, but, somehow, the army faction most concerned with decorum harboured a prostitute in its midst as the most fearsome soldier’s secretary. It was a newspaper headline and the most interesting thing to happen in ages – even the veterans agreed on it.
By the end of the day, the rebels had lost their cause, the prostitute had consumed three whole meals that made her stomach bloat and rumble, Captain Levi Ackerman had given fifteen cadets stable duty for murmuring far too indiscreetly about the affair which didn’t seem to leave anybody’s mouth and the tent in the corner was removed altogether from the landscape – scraps only Hanji Zoe would bother to try and use as material for some sort of contraption.