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As Jean stepped out of the taxi, he almost couldn’t believe he was standing at the right place—even though the address he’d been given was correct, even though he had the letter in his hand and his driver had known and espoused his own love for the little teashop, assuring him that, Once you give the owner two or three or five chances, I promise, it will be your new favorite; you’ll never want to go anywhere else. It was, dare he think it, a charming little building on the edge of the city proper: one story with a garden on either side, one open and set with seating for patrons and the other well-gated wrapped within the house itself with an Absolutely No Trespassing sign hung neatly across the fence. The shopfront windows were wide and inviting and there were well-tended flowers planted in the boxes out front, growing up the posts of the veranda. The sign for Kuchel’s was hand painted in a fine bright lettering that was unmistakably not Levi Ackerman’s handwriting. Shaking his head, reshouldering his bag, Jean stepped forward and through the door.
It opened to a comfortable sitting room that was quite bustling. It was much homier and more inviting than he had somehow pictured it to be, with warm yellow walls and well-kept floors, cut flowers on the counter and understated but elegant china for the customers. “Welcome in,” the woman at the counter said brightly, drying and organizing clean teacups. “Can I—” when she looked up, she narrowed her eyes at Jean, obviously trying to place him.
“Gabi, you’ve grown,” he said, taking in the sight of her. He hadn’t seen her for easily ten years: plenty enough time for her to grow from gangly pre-teen to the woman she was, her long brown hair only loosely pulled back and draped over her shoulder. She had grown up to be both slender and sturdy in the ways of most women that could kill you with their bare hands—a realm of study she always gladly wrote that Levi adamantly continued to encourage even after her warrior candidacy was rendered irrelevant. Her loose calico dress was a bright floral print over her cream-colored blouse, her sleeves rolled up as she’d worked, and she seemed to be completely and utterly oblivious to any inconvenience that may have been caused by just how pregnant she was. Seven months or something like that, Levi’s recent letter had said. As Gabi’s eyes widened with recognition of Jean, though, her smile did too.
“Mr. Kirstein!” she squealed, nearly bounding around the counter and throwing her arms around him in an unexpected and crushing hug. “You made it! Levi was so sure you wouldn’t—I mean, you know him, he never thinks anything good’ll ever happen to him, I swear to God—but you’re here!” Jean extracted an arm from beneath her to try to return a bit of the embrace.
“I’m glad it’s a good thing,” he replied. Gabi pulled back, still gripping tightly to his shoulders.
“You—” she stopped herself, shaking her head to derail her train of thought. “Was the trip fine? No one gave you any trouble?”
“No, not with all your and Historia’s letters of vouching for me. We were all promised free travel between here and Paradis from here-on out; you can thank Commander Armin.” Jean took a deeper breath, forcing a smile on his face. “And Reiner says hello. And all of us say congratulations to you and Falco. Everyone wanted to send something, so I have letters and packages for you three for later.” Gabi’s own smile widened, still oblivious to Jean’s feelings about her cousin and the deeds he’d committed in their youth.
“I have to hear—wait, no, you’re here for a week, for shit’s sake, I’m sorry, you’re not here for me either!” Gabi released him and shook her head, chiding herself halfheartedly. “Levi!” she hollered over her shoulder towards the open door behind the counter, disturbing several of the patrons with her bull-like demeanor. “Jean’s here!” Jean didn’t try to hold back his smile. No wonder they get along so well. She’s probably as much of a nightmare as he was at her age, in her own special way. They quickly heard a very muffled “Don’t yell in front of the money!” Gabi cackled and jerked her thumb to a doorway behind her, rolling her eyes at some poignantly offended looks (probably from the non-regulars) that came their way. “You’ll find him,” she said dismissively, then she stepped away without another comment.
Jean made his way through the door past the counter and into the shop’s kitchen, and, finding it empty, he made his way through the next. It was brightly lit sitting room, obviously the beginning of the private house rather than the shopfront, and the sun shone warm through open windows overlooking a well-tended garden courtyard. Gauzy white curtains, drawn to let in the air, danced in the slight breeze. It was a cozy space, but there wasn’t much to be said of clutter or most other personal effects. A closed secretary desk was in the corner beside a meticulously organized bookshelf. In the center of the room, the light shadows falling through the curtains fell across the small table, surrounded by three chairs and one conspicuously empty space: he realized what it was for the moment he glanced at the next doorway where an empty wheelchair was butted up facing the threshold to a farther room. Instead of the yellow in the teashop proper, the walls were washed with a soft and recognizable blue. But it almost shocked Jean to see the many photographs, framed and lining the far wall.
The largest among them was an official portrait taken not long after The Rumbling of the surviving members of the 104th and the remaining Warriors, Captain Levi and Commander Armin seated in the center. Jean almost shook his head at how young they’d been. Levi was still in his bandages. Even Gabi and Falco are older now than we were then, he though, seeing plainly the exhaustion on his and his comrades’ faces. But it did fill his heart to see their salutes: the new veterans, as they had thought of themselves, had begun it at the thinking of Armin. Instead of their right fist over their heart and left behind, they had reversed it, showcasing their left in honor of their fallen 13th commander. Levi hadn’t known until after the photograph had been taken, but when he’d seen it, every one of them had seen the way Levi’s eyes had suddenly tightened as he breathed a hoarse Thank you, leaving before anyone could see him lose any more self-control. Beside it was a candid photograph of Hange in their lab (still experimenting even after taking command), smoke billowing from something behind them as they smiled just as wildly as ever. It was rather obviously taken by themselves by the way their arm was stretched towards the camera at such an awkward angle, and a touch blurry—maybe because they were about to drop the camera to attempt to contain the smoke, whatever it was. Another was of a nearly feral Sasha halfway through devouring a roast at a party Jean remembered: Connie’s eighteenth birthday where the brats, Commander Hange, and even Captain Levi had descended on the Blouse family's home for an all-day picnic. The rest were snapshots of various Scouts and a few of Gabi and Falco and Onyankopon, with one of a horse that Jean realized with surprise and warmth was Pepper, Captain Levi’s ill-tempered and well-loved mare through the entirety of the 104th’s time as cadets that had even survived the retaking of Wall Maria. Levi himself was only in a few of the photos: an official portrait of him and Hange, one that Hange had taken of him yelling at them for Sina knew what, and one of him in his wheelchair, glowering, sat between the elated Gabi and Falco at their wedding a few years ago. Most of the more recent ones were sent in the letters that had been exchanged over the years since The Rumbling, passed on to Levi by way of Armin or Reiner whenever they ended up in Marley. But sitting atop the secretary desk settled into their small brass easels were what Jean could suddenly not tear his eyes away from. They were small, easily recognizable as halves of the sort of palm-sized pocket portraits many carried of their loved ones, their front covers removed. Both frames were well-worn from handling and age and the paintings themselves had sustained a bit of damage over their years (a bit of smeared dark something across the bottom and ground into the frame of the left, with water damage on the right), but the skill with which they’d been painted must have cost a small fortune. Both subjects were immediately recognizable. And while Jean knew them, he never could have pictured them like this.
Neither man could have been out of their twenties. Both were busts, the neatly buckled chest straps of their 3DMG showing beneath their jackets. On the left was Levi: scowling with a split eyebrow and healing bruising to his neck. Jean breathed a laugh. Probably from out on an expedition, knowing him, he thought. Probably threatened the painter with physical injury to actually paint him as he was instead of trying to flatter him. He was surprisingly boyish despite the fierce set to his jaw and he wasn’t wearing his signature cravat—Maybe he didn’t until he was older, Jean thought as he took in the sight of Levi’s close-cropped undercut and jet hair. No matter the scowl on his face, though, there was a lightness to his eyes and a bit of a spark of mischief. Seeing a portrait of Captain Levi as a cadet was one thing, but it was the other portrait that caused Jean to gasp in spite of himself.
While Jean walked past his official portrait in Sina at least every few weeks when he met with the queen, this seemed to depict a different man entirely: Jean had never seen a soft smile so open and genuine on Erwin Smith's face. His hair was the same neatly kept blonde as always and there was warmth to his cheeks, but his skin was smoothed of the few small wrinkles and all the hardness that had been present by the time Jean joined the Corps. Erwin's eyes were bright in a way that Jean never could have wrapped his head around if he'd not been lucky enough to witness it once himself decades ago, his commander barely conscious in the military hospital weeping with pain and relief to have come home in pieces but alive to the arms of his husband. In another odd detail, his shirt collar was empty of his emerald bolo tie. It must have been before Wall Maria fell and he took command, he realized. Whenever they were painted, they were probably Erwin’s idea: Levi didn’t seem to go for these sorts of things. Had the both of them carried them all along? Had Erwin died with Levi in his pocket; was the dark smear across the edges blood? Had the portrait of Erwin been soaked through when Hange had drug Levi into the river to escape the Jaegerists years ago?
Jean nearly jumped when a familiar voice called from the next room. “I’m half blind, but I can hear you from a mile away. Get in here and help me, won’tchya?” Almost by reflex, Jean did just that—rolling the wheelchair out of the way enough to find his way into the final room.
This appeared to be the private kitchen of the house. It was stocked well enough; Jean knew Gabi and Falco or their families cooked for Levi rather than he do it for himself. His captain was standing leaning heavily on the small counter between the sink and stove as he worked. “I can never get that shitty thing over that bump in the threshold.” Levi glanced back over his shoulder. “Walls, you’ve gotten slow as shit,” he grumbled as Jean made his way beside him. “Other side. I can’t fucking see you, Kirstein,” Jean jumped and quickly stepped around him to the left, in view of his former captain’s surviving eye. A smirk flitted over Levi's face. “That’s better.”
“It’s good to see you too,” Jean said dryly. Levi shook his head in mock annoyance, throwing in a quiet, “Tch” for added effect. He was steadying himself heavily as he slowly measured out his tea, gingerly lifting a steaming kettle to steep it. Jean couldn’t help the odd sink of discomfort that passed over his own face at the obvious struggle it was for Levi to lift the full kettle even with his good arm—mostly because that was what he was using as his main support against the counter. He didn’t dare offer help, though. Instead, as Levi set the kettle back on its trivet with a hard clack, Jean reached forward for the tea-tray letting his former captain pick up the cane he'd hooked to the counter, and Jean carefully carried their tea out to the sitting room. He tried to take it slow, but even hearing the sound of Levi’s unsteady gait and cane clicking slowly behind him was disconcerting enough—Levi, for his part, bypassed the wheelchair in the doorway and shuffled to an empty chair that Jean pulled out for him. He nodded in thanks, settling into the chair slowly, schooling the ache from showing on his face as he did so.
“If you tell Falco I’m not using that right now I’ll beat you to death with this,” he said, gesturing vaguely with his cane before he hooked it on the edge of the table. “Lil’ shit’s worse than Moblit was with Hange and he doesn’t even have to worry about me drinking experimental poison on accident. Or on purpose.” Jean allowed himself a smile as he settled into his own chair, and they sat in silence as they waited for the tea. He knew better than to try to coax Levi into speaking before he was ready, and he had the kind of internal clock for tea that, once focused, could not be derailed. When ready, Levi gestured towards the pot and let Jean pour their cups. Jean tried not to stare as he watched Levi lift the teacup by the rim with his three remaining fingers, taking an appreciative sip and letting his eyes slip closed, relishing in the taste. The former captain had grown thinner over the years of his “retirement.” He still kept his hair cut the same, though now it was far more salt than pepper. The scarring on his face and neck had healed nice enough at the time but as his age had truly began to show on his face the furrows of his once barely-there crow’s-feet and frown lines had only set the scars deeper. But even though his right eye was clouded and unseeing, it was still just as capable of the same glare he’d given before. He still didn’t quite have the most “welcoming” image even if he was wearing a finely hand-knitted green cardigan that he’d made himself—all the former Scouts had been flabbergasted the first Christmas they’d all received their own hand-knit gifts shipped all the way from Marley and then every year since, packages piling on as the children grew in number—but despite it, they’d all heard whispers that he adored the patter of little feet that sometimes overtook his home, and only pretended to mind reading to Gabi’s young cousins, and would never dare mention that he was equally over the moon about the one they had on the way.
“So, Kuchel’s?” Jean asked, finally breaking the silence. Levi rose an eyebrow at the question. “Who were they?” Levi shook his head in faux exasperation.
“The hell you think? My mother. Kept me alive a lot longer than most of the other sorry shits I knew.” Levi took a long sip of his tea. “Why the fuck would I name it after anyone else? I’m not going to name it after myself. Or—” he cut himself off. “Or most other people.”
“Good enough reason,” Jean agreed. Levi hummed.
“How are Mikasa and your little shits?”
“They’re good. Carla’s six, now. Looks like her mom. But unfortunately, she acts a lot more like me than anything.” Jean sighed. “None of us are thrilled about that.” The corner of Levi’s lip curled.
“I’m glad I’m not there to see it.” He glanced at Jean. “Glad she settled for you, though. She’s done worse.” Jean rolled his eyes, but he did agree. “Did Pieck end up marrying what’s-his-nuts? Falco said she said something about that in her last package. You know, that guy from the—”
“She did, actually; that MP? Since she can’t really travel, she’s still doing a lot of work from the home front at Paradis. She worked pretty close with them to get the military under control. But since the Jaegerists lost power, she and the queen have been pretty valuable voices for peace. Armin, of course, too.” Jean smiled fondly. “Annie doesn’t seem to really care either way, sometimes, but, you know. Even though Armin’s wrapped around her finger, he’s got a backbone that even Erwin would be proud of. And…and Reiner. He’s helped.” Jean tried his best to avoid Reiner, even still, no matter how valuable he knew the man was. He knew his reasons. He understood them now. But—
“You never have to forgive him, Kirstein,” Levi said quietly. “Doesn’t matter what good he does the rest of his life. I know I wouldn’t.” Jean watched Levi’s face. It was impassive—but, again. Most of the time it was. “Maybe it’s better that most of us didn’t make it through. Shit went pretty sideways for us to get here.”
“Mm,” Jean agreed. “But can you imagine how Hange would have been about airplanes? Or some weird subspecies of grass or something?” Levi snorted a laugh. Only a few years ago, Jean might have thought he was incapable of such a noise—but for now, he didn’t even try to keep his smile to himself.
“Fucking insufferable, that’s how,” Levi agreed. The hint of the smirk that had come back to his face, though, fell away. Levi turned to Jean squarely and looked back at him, opening his mouth to speak, but the words seemed to die in his throat.
Jean knew that Levi would never feel a silence as “awkward,” so he let it stretch, the two watching a bird that had settled on the sill to preen. “What do you think he would have thought of all of this?” Jean asked softly. He hoped he hadn't overstepped—Levi had cooled in the years since the war, but there were some things that he'd probably never want to speak of. Levi's eyes flicked towards Jean, but he kept silent as they settled downwards on the thin gold band he now wore openly on his ring finger. Jean was quickly eased to know that he was only choosing his words.
“Sometimes I don’t know,” Levi replied, running his thumb across the top of the worn metal. “Lot of fucked up shit out here he'd want to fix. It was hard enough to get him to go to bed in the Walls where there was only one problem he had to solve; can you imagine pointing fucking Commander Smith out on all this world's horseshit?”
“They'd be begging to surrender and compromise in a couple hours, Captain. Generals would probably be crying. All of us would be home my lunch.” Jean knew that smiles came a bit easier to Levi now, but that didn’t make him feel any less accomplished when the corner of Levi's lips turned up.
“Merciless bastard,” he said fondly, a touch of sadness in his eyes. “Probably best for the people of the world that they never had to deal with him. He was more than enough for all of us.” He sighed, taking up his tea again and taking a sip. “I think he would have liked the ocean. He loved to swim. Loved it so much that he made me learn how to, too, no matter how much I fucking hated it; dunked Mike and held him under for a bit for making fun of me. It was fine, Nanaba laughed the whole time. But his favorite banned books were about the mountains,” he said quietly. “Big ones, bigger than any of us could have wrapped our small little brains around. I always told him the stories were a crock of shit. I’ve never seen ‘em, never will; I’m too fucking crippled and too fucking old.” He sighed. “Neither of us ever thought one of us would end up this fucking old. We thought we’d end up dying, rotting somewhere in a field; probably in a few pieces, maybe only a foot or an ear or something left recognizable. I’d promised that if I found a severed foot as big as his, I’d know to say goodbye. He said it wouldn’t work the other way around because there were plenty of girls who could have gotten their legs ripped off too and I’d just have to hope he found my hand or some shit instead.” Jean almost choked on his tea.
“Did you break his nose for that?”
“Are you kidding? I couldn’t do that to a face like his. It was all the bargaining he had with half the Sina pigs.” The both of them laughed, Levi shaking his head. “But we always figured that when one of us would go, the other wouldn’t be too far behind.” Levi’s voice faltered. “He had way too much faith that somehow it might work out. Especially nearer to the end. Too much fucking hope.” Levi sighed. “I should have known better than to love a man like that.” Jean looked down at the teacup in his hands.
“He was a good man, Captain.” Levi hummed. He turned back to the window, watching the shadows of the leaves that played across the open frames. “I didn’t understand why you did it then. But I do now. You made the right choice.”
“I know I did,” Levi said quietly. “He was the only home I had to go back to, you know. We didn’t have anything but each other.” He sighed. “He said once that he knew I’d be able to live without him, but that he’d realized he couldn’t live without me. I think…I think he might have been right. I mean, here the fuck I am. Got grey fucking hair and everything. Wrinkles.” Levi scowled, either intentionally or not causing the creases around his eyes and mouth to deepen. “But that bastard was already in reading glasses by the time you knew him—not that you’d ever fucking see him in ‘em. He wouldn’t have fucking dreamed his troops see him with shitty fucking grandpa glasses.” Levi shook his head. “He would have made a good teacher. That’s what his father did, you know. He was a teacher.” Levi took a slow sip of his tea. “For fuck’s sake, Erwin taught me how to read, and I was a shithead when I was that age—what, twenty-something when he strong-armed—well, blackmailed—me into joining the corps? A half-starving, shit-for-manners, twenty-whatever illiterate cutthroat? And he trusted me with…with everything. With himself.” Levi shook his head, shooting a look at Jean. “Like I said, too much fucking faith.” He scoffed. “Sina’s fucking tits, I never used to talk this much. I really am getting fucking old and senile.”
“Whatever you say, old man,” Jean responded as dryly as he could. Levi laughed. “If we’re going to talk about ‘too much fucking faith,’ you are the bastard that put me in charge of my own squad.” Levi shot him a look.
“You’re not dead yet. Said it once, I’ll say it again. Can’t waste the effort that was put into you. So get your knickers out of a knot.” He shook his head. “You know, never in my entire fucking life did I ever think I’d live this fucking long,” he said, a flat grin on his face. “Thought I’d starve to death, get my throat slit. Get eaten. Maybe slapped against a tree and get my head cracked open. That sure happened a lot back then.” He closed his eyes, letting his head fall back. “Never thought I’d be this fucking sentimental, either.”
Jean let the comment hang, trying to formulate what to say. “I don’t think we really have a choice but to be sentimental. This isn’t really a world we were made for.” Jean took a sip of his tea. “We’re all getting old. Not as old as you, ‘course, but you know. We’ve got kids. Houses. We got married. Mikasa grows flowers at the royal orphanage, for Sina's sake. Peonies, zinnias, all of that. Can you imagine?”
“Tch.” Levi rolled his eyes. “I own a teashop of all the fucking things; Gabi keeps telling me I’m going to be a fucking Grandpa, I have two whole damn families waiting on me hand and foot.” He glanced down, eye settling on his right hand. “I mean, what’s left of them, anyways. At least I can still shit by myself. I’ll enjoy that while I can.” Jean failed to hold back his laughter.
Their conversation began to turn a bit lighter from there, Jean going over the newest developments of the rest of the former brats in the 104th. Mikasa with her garden; her and Jean’s two kids along with the couple they’d adopted. Armin and Annie along with the remaining Warriors living from the old scouting headquarters when they weren’t researching or traveling for the queen. Mostly, Levi just listened. Occasionally he chimed in with something dry and snarky, but he seemed more to be genuinely happy to hear that his former cadets were living lives that were much more peaceful and fulfilling than any of them could have imagined. Eventually, their conversation began to trail off into companionable silence. The sun had well-set by now and Gabi had apparently gone home. They could hear the quiet shuffling of Falco cleaning the shop kitchen. Their silence was broken, though, when Levi took a sudden, shaky breath. When he began to speak, his voice was soft.
“Jean, I didn’t just invite you to Marley to shoot the shit.” Jean stared back for a moment, taken aback. Even after all this time, Levi never used first names. What the fuck could be so important? Slowly, he nodded as Levi met his gaze. “I need you to do something for me. You’re the only one left who can.” His voice was tentative—he worked his jaw, somehow seemingly not knowing how to begin again. “You’re the only one left who knows.” As it dawned on Jean, he couldn’t help the overwhelming feeling of something that was growing in the pit of his stomach. “You know I’d never ask—you know this kind of thing is hard for me. I want—” Levi shook his head as his voice broke off. When he began again, there were tears in his eyes. “I’m going to die here in Marley. All of us know that. Hopefully not tomorrow, but fuck, look at me. I used up every part of me when I was young.” He turned his gaze to the dark window. “Back then, Erwin and I—we knew we’d be together in the end. Even if we didn’t die together, we’d rot out in the same dirt. Here…” He turned his gaze to his hands, loosely folded in his lap. “I’m so far. I left him behind. I had to, I always had to—but—” Levi wiped away the tears that were threatening to spill down his cheeks. “I need him here, Jean.” His voice had grown small, trembling as he tried to finish. “I need you to bring Erwin back to me. Please. I can’t leave without him.”
Jean nodded.
“It will be an honor, sir.”
Jean spent the rest of his planned week in Marley with Levi and his adopted families. It wasn’t hard to see why Levi had mellowed so much since he’d come to live with them: no matter how sour Levi might be, they all seemed to adore him, there were more “brats” and “little shits” running around than Jean could keep track of, and Holy Saints, could Gabi’s mother cook. Other than handing over the official documentation and a legal copy of their marriage certificate that might be needed to prove Levi’s right to receive his husband’s body and a letter to Historia explaining, Levi didn’t bring up his request again. Neither did Jean. But on his way to the airyard, Jean stopped at the teashop to say goodbye. Gabi gave him a blubbering hug and begged him to thank everyone individually for the baby gifts (Sina, she is emotional enough for all of us put together, Jean thought as he was nearly choked to death by the force of it) and Falco a sturdy handshake, and as he turned to Levi, his former captain gave him nothing but a short nod. Jean rolled his eyes and waved the clinical dismissal away.
“Tch,” Levi shook his head, crossing his arms—but there was a smile playing across his lips. There was a nervous earnestness to his former captain's eyes that nearly caught Jean off guard. Squaring his shoulders, standing straight, Jean snapped into the veterans’ salute, left fist in front, and again, Levi nodded curtly as he tried to hold back the emotion fighting to overcome him. Levi slowly lifted up his left arm, returning it.
“We will be back soon, sir. I promise.”
***
It wasn’t hard to find; Jean knew well where they’d buried him. The official grave and headstone—far too large and fine for any of their tastes, which they were all positive would have made Commander Erwin’s blood burn (think of how much food could have been bought, how many new saddles, extra bandages not time-consumingly torn from dead comrade’s ruined uniforms)—in the military graveyard was placed over empty dirt like it had been for most of their brothers and sisters. It wasn’t until over a year after that Levi had suddenly up and disappeared for a week, returning with an unmarked wooden crate. He had found Hange and the remnants of the 104th in the commander’s office, and when he’d nudged the door open, carrying the crate like it was holy, there was a spent smile on his lips: the first one that any could remember seeing for a very, very long time. Most of the room did not understand until Hange themselves stepped forward, resting their hands on the lid, tears spilling down their cheeks. Connie, Sasha, Armin, Eren, and Mikasa didn’t understand why Jean's eyes overflowed with his own, too. He never told them that he’d known the truth.
For the private funeral after Levi had returned with Erwin’s bones, the few that had known Erwin as he was (they were all shocked to find that Levi had even reached out to Nile Dok) gathered together at the foot of the old apple tree in the far end of the Survey Corps’ grounds—a spot Levi had chosen—and they laid Erwin’s bones to rest on a cloudless day in autumn. They shared few words. They all knew he didn’t need them. They all knew he wanted none of them to grieve. Hange never really spoke outright to Jean about what he had seen, either, instead dancing around it: around the idea of Erwin their friend and around Levi, who missed him, and all the times they’d shared with the other veterans.
Until one night just under a year after Erwin’s death. Jean had gone to the commander’s office with the intent of working on backlogged paperwork with Hange and Levi, only to find the both of them deep into many glasses of better-than-nothing whiskey, Hange’s arms around the captain, his eyes and face red with what looked to be hours of tears. Hange had slurred when they told Jean to pour himself a glass and lock the door behind him, and they talked—it was their anniversary, Hange said, and Levi nodded, eyes far away as Hange tried to engage him in retelling memories of the wedding itself. Hange fondly relayed in all its short and sweet beauty to Jean as Levi listened, his face impassive as Hange ran their fingers through his hair, their other arm wrapped tightly around him as they held him sagged against the couch. Hange, though, couldn't help their cackling laughter at some points—And after, Mike and Erwin wouldn’t stop singing about the cake and neither of them could ever sing and it sounded terrible, but Moblit played the fiddle—Sweet Rose, Levi, do you remember? Moblit…he was so…they blinked, wiping their own tears off their face, but continued with a sad smile, I got Levi to dance with me, so that was good, except I think it was only because Nanaba pushed him off his chair and wouldn’t let him sit back down, but nobody even started to leave until Levi threw a shoe at Mike to shut him up—you remember that, Levi? A boot! It hit him in the neck, Jean! Do you remember whose it was, Levi?—well, after we finished cleaning up—I mean it’s not like we would have left the newlyweds with all the dishes, we're not monsters—Nanaba and Moblit had to almost carry me back to the barracks because even though Mike said he would he was still laughing too hard, and we all went back to training the next morning and made up some fake summons for Section Commander Smith for some meeting at the Capitol or something, and nobody asked where Levi was because Levi never did a damn fuckin’ thing unless Erwin told him to and all the other Section Commanders—I mean except for Mike and I—hated him for it, but that way the two of them could have a day to themselves for probably the only time in their entire fucking lives, and Shadis barely put up any kind of fight to find out why they'd gone and he never mentioned it again! And Walls, Jean, you should have seen them then, it would have made you sick to see how fucking in love they were, but no one noticed because Levi hated everyone and everyone wanted to get in Erwin’s pants anyways, so no one wanted to believe he was already taken, and I don’t think anyone ever found out, just us and the priest we bribed! Until… they petered out, their gaze rolling over to Jean. Until you, I guess. All Jean could do was nod, accepting Hange's long stare until Levi tried to reach for his glass again, missing and knocking it off the table and watching as the glass shattered, the last few drops of his liquor running across the floorboards. He’d sighed and fell back into the couch and Hange’s arms. I’m tired, he said in a small voice, ignoring the mess. Hange’s smile disappeared and they glanced to Jean, pain written across their face. Let me get it, he offered, and Levi nodded slowly as his eyes slipped shut, letting Hange unwrap their arms from him and lay him down to drape a blanket across him, letting him sleep off his grief on the office couch like he’d done for years’ worth of long nights before. Every year after that—until all hell broke loose—Jean would join the two of them for the night. Levi never really spoke. He never outright said thank you. But both Jean and Hange knew that he didn’t want to be alone. And Jean liked to think that it had made it easier for the both of them—that they weren’t alone in remembering that the Commander was just a man. Still, he never once spoke a word about it to the others of his squad, not even Connie or Sasha, and not even Mikasa now. It wasn’t his place to tell. It never would be.
Now, he still didn’t tell the others what he’d gone to Headquarters for, and he hadn’t bothered with much of an explanation as to why he was leaving for Marley again so soon after returning home. But when the queen had read over the letter Levi had written for her, Jean standing before her as she did, she had smiled. She understood. Whenever you’re ready to go back, say the word. If memory served him right, the weather wasn’t much different on the day he found himself driving his small truck up beneath the tree, and he parked it along in such a way that as he dug, it wouldn’t be as visible to less understanding eyes. It was deep enough not to be disturbed, but the ground wasn’t hard, and it wasn’t long before he’d ended up carefully wiggling the impromptu ossuary from its resting place. He had to say he was pleasantly surprised that even after all the years in the ground, it was still completely intact. As he’d lifted it from its resting place, it felt light enough that he knew no extra mud had slipped inside, and he heard the contents settling softly against each other as he sat it on the seat next to him. He drove back to his own home and sent a message to the queen, letting her know he meant to depart as soon as possible—and as Jean stood in Mikasa’s garden shed carefully cleaning off and wiping down any last speck of dirt that was on the surface of the box, he found himself smiling.
***
Mikasa, Armin and Annie, Connie, and Pieck (along with a random assortment of children) went with him to the air yard. As Jean was saying his goodbyes, though, still not quite giving an answer why he was leaving, they all were startled to see the queen herself had come to see Jean off. Jean nodded rather than giving a salute, and Historia gave him an unexpectedly watery smile, looking down at his belongings to be loaded onto the zeppelin. She had a bundle of dark green folded in her arms. Suddenly, she took a short breath and turned her gaze back to her former comrade.
“I had to say goodbye to him. I never got the chance.” She shook her head. “And I never got to thank him.” Jean returned her smile.
“You didn’t have to. He believed in you either way.” As he turned to pick up the crate himself rather than let someone else load it, Historia stepped forward to unfurl the dark swathe of fabric she carried: an old survey corps cloak. Jean allowed her drape it across the top, the wings of freedom bright in the sun, before he took it up into his arms and the baggage boy came to load up the rest of his things in cargo. Armin gasped, the rest understanding in turn, one after the other. The queen straightened her jacket, resetting her shoulders and giving a reverse salute that was followed by Erwin’s last remaining scouts. Even six-year-old Carla did her best to mimic her parents, bringing a smile to everyone’s faces. The captain called for All Aboard! and with one final quick kiss from Mikasa, Jean was off, his commander by his side as they rose into the sky. He looked out the window as they rose, then down at his charge. He rested his hand across the top of the box.
“You know, I bet you never thought you’d fly again,” he said quietly. “Not sure why I’m talking to a box. I mean, I didn’t open it to check or anything, so I hope you’re still all in there. Or at least enough of you is. Last guy to see you all undressed like that was Levi, probably.” He laughed at his own bad joke, hoping that if Erwin’s ghost were with him, he wouldn’t be mad—but knowing that Levi might have still laughed either way. “I think we all wish you could have seen this. Levi does. But he lived. Barely. Most of him survived. He’s taken care of. Has people he loves—I mean, he’d never say it. You know him.” He sighed. “He misses you. He never loved anyone except you. The rest of us—me too, you know—we all kept going, moved on. But Levi never really did. And we’re not mad anymore. We don’t blame you. None of us. Not even Annie or Reiner.”
Jean looked down, obviously not expecting any sort of reply, but felt better having said it. He let the silence stretch. He sat together with Erwin’s bones, watching the ocean flow beneath them as they soared above it back to Marley: to land Erwin would never walk and never could have imagined, but back to the arms that had held him through the darkest of his years. Jean smiled. You’re going home.