Chapter Text
It’s been seven years since Erwin can last remember taking any time for himself.
The last instance was forced upon him in a certain regard, the end of a prestigiously unpaid postdoctoral appointment studying the development of the three-dimensional maneuver gear. It was three months in limbo before he was offered an assistant professorship in the University of Paradis history department. It was hardly a break as he recalls. He passed the full anxious length of it in his old bed back at his parents’ house at 33 years old so he wouldn’t have to sign a lease until he landed a job. He whiled away the hours chewing on his nails and sleeping with his feet hanging over the end of his too-small twin bed, watching the glow-in-the-dark stars still stuck to the ceiling.
Before that, he thinks, there was a two week gap between his PhD and his postdoc position, but he spent that time scrambling through a cross-country move. The last legitimate break might have been ten years ago--that miserable summer he spent in Marley--but even then it had been for a research position to work on the excavation site for the first Eldian Siege of Liberio.
“You know you don’t have to pack all this up, no one is trying to jump in your grave. Your office will still be here when you come back.” Hange has been somewhat helpful. They duct tape another cardboard box stuffed with miscellaneous books and papers shut that Erwin assumes they haven’t packed with any semblance of order. “You could even work out of your office. The national archives are just across town.”
“You know how I feel about commuting…” Erwin rifles through his desk drawers to collect his favorite pens because he has grown quite particular about these things over the years. “Besides, it wouldn’t be much of a sabbatical if I stayed here.”
In a sense, this break has been forced on him, too. He and Nile, the humanities dean, have been friends since he was still ‘Mr. Smith’ instead of ‘Dr. Smith.’ He insisted this leave was well-earned and well-warranted. Something about being able to sniff burnout from a mile away, but that sounds suspiciously close to something Mike would say. A little bird played a role in this plot too.
“You know, most people treat these things like a vacation. You could have gone someplace fun, like Hizuru. Or down to the southern coast. There’s a lot of sites with remnants of The Rumbling by Kruger’s Wall in New Shiganshina.”
“It’s not supposed to be a vacation, it’s supposed to be about taking time to focus on research.”
“You’re too by the book…” Hange sighs. “Maybe you’d get some kinder reviews on rate-my-professor if you loosened that old-fashioned noose around your neck once in a while.”
“I’m not interested in The Rumbling.” Erwin reaches up self-consciously to adjust the collar over his bolo tie after Hange’s teasing.
“You enjoy the company of dead men too much.” Hange’s lips curl into a devious smile. “When was the last time you spent any time with one of the living variety?”
Erwin’s cheeks go hot and he busies himself with pretending to rifle through the desk again.
“That’s a rather unprofessional remark–”
“Awww, Ervy, you know I’m just–”
“Coming from someone who spends their own time with cadavers or whatever it is you do over in anthropology.”
“That was one time! You’re never gonna let me live that down, are you?” Hange huffs and rolls their eyes.
“You should have seen the look on Moblit’s face, I thought he was going to spill his lunch at the smell.” Mike knocks twice on the open door in a show of pretend politeness and lets himself in.
“Mike, thanks for coming.” Erwin gives him a friendly hug and claps him twice on the shoulder.
“Well I figured these boxes weren’t going to carry themselves out to the car, not on your diet of air, coffee, and chinese take-out.” He lets out an ‘oof’ hefting one of the boxes Hange was stupid enough to back to the brim with nothing but books.
“My diet is perfectly healthy, I’ve subsisted on it this long.”
“Yeah, that’s why you spend thirty minutes in the staff restroom every morning.” Mike starts for the elevator and Erwin and Hange follow with some of the lighter boxes. “Have you ever thought about roping yourself a nice gal to cook you a home cooked meal once in a while?”
Twice in one day. If Erwin were a less clever man, he’d suspect his friends were conspiring against him.
“Gee, is that all Nan’s good for?” Hange throws him a life preserver, whether they mean to or not.
“Nothing but a meal ticket.” Mike lifts the boxes into the trunk of the sedan and shakes his sweating button down. It’s nearly autumn, but it’s still pretty hot inside the city limits. “No companionship, no personality, no looks. Married her for the cooking, I did.”
Erwin and Hange both laugh because they’ve seen enough drunken PDA over the years to know it’s a joke.
“Don’t hold it against me now, it’s a fair exchange of goods and services. Reckon she married me for my—”
“Enough!” Hange is in a fit of giggles and almost drops their box. “I don’t need to hear about your exploits.”
“Hmm well maybe Erwin does. Might light a fire under his ass.” Mike raises an eyebrow in his direction, but Erwin merely shakes his head, and clears his throat to signal a much-desired change of subject.
“Thanks, both of you, for coming to help me pack up. I’m going to miss you both a lot this year.”
“Quit acting like you’re leaving for the other side of the globe when you’re just going across the river.” Hange gives him a tight hug around the ribs. “You better not be planning to be a stranger. Lets at least keep our standing trivia reservation at the tavern.”
“Perhaps the other teams would like a chance at victory without the 54-week reigning free pitcher champions to stand in their way?” Erwin hugs back because it is true, it will be strange not having them around. “It always did feel rather unfair.”
“Hange is right, at least let us have you over when you’re free.” Mike gives him a big bear hug too. “I’ll even have Nan cook.”
Erwin jangles his keys in his pocket and gives them a short parting salute.
“I’ll at least come back for the gala, how’s that for a deal?”
And with his office locked up and packed away, Erwin is off beyond the walls of Paradis University for the first time in years.
The national archives are situated at the end of a long boulevard, consequently taking up the halls of the old Pradis military headquarters from the age before the fall of the walls. These days the army has seen fit to build a more regal fortress. Something more fitting their aires of worldly influence and colonial intimidation, the sort of gasconading and feather preening that Erwin has little support for. It's an ancient, crumbling structure but it's monarchical trappings remain frozen in the bygone era that captures his imagination and so Erwin is quite fond of it.
The interior has been renovated and outfitted so the main rotunda houses two great frescos. The one on the left seems as old as time itself--ostensibly donated by some noble house of Rose for a hefty tax exemption--depicting the myth of Ymir. The great tree with knotted limbs spans the breadth of the canvas. Beneath it's umbrella rests a flat rendition of Fritz and his slave guarded by one limb and on the other side of the broad trunk his three daughters feat jovially on the limbs of their mother as if her flesh were that of a spring lamb.
The other is a more recent work, commissioned by the government following the Eldian victory in The Rumbling. A vast swath of the Marleyan coast is beset with the thundering footfall of Collossals while the people of Libero are crushed underfoot in a bloody rouge that litters the streets and hillsides beyond. Erwin does not linger long before either piece.
Instead, he opts for the door in the center leading to the reception desk and away from the sparse collective of tourists who, not unlike himself, see some value in gazing upon the signatures and sentiments of those who came before them and laid the foundation for the Eldia they know today. The woman manning the post, Rico, seems far less entranced with the mythos of the ancients as Erwin and barely looks up from flipping through her phone when she throws her thumb over her shoulder, telling him this is the tourist information desk. Administration offices for access to the files are on the third floor. Brass elevator. By the bathrooms. Can't miss it.
Erwin parts with a thank you she likely ignores and opts for the stairs instead.
He tries three different hallways before he finds the right corridor with the right brass placard reading "Records -- Isolationist Era." He knocks. Waits. Knocks again. When no one answers, he tries the knob, and finds it's open.
This section of the complex looks not unlike any other modern cubicle farm, complete with ergonomic chairs and file cabinets, bright fluorescent lights and an overworked coffee maker. The main desk is helmed by a sable haired gentleman, short enough only his eyes are visible from over the computer monitor. He doesn't look up, and the room is filled with the eerie charm of his fingers clacking in uninterrupted time over the keyboard.
"Hello." Erwin walks up to the desk with a bright, excited smile.
"Yeah, hi." The little raven doesn't quit pecking long enough to turn his direction.
“I don’t believe we’ve met before, do you come here often?” Erwin smiles and fights back laughing at his own lame joke. The archivist gives him an unamused frown over the rim of his glasses and goes back to typing.
“Transferred from the Stohess branch.” He deadpans.
“Transferred? That sounds more like a promotion. Congratulations...” Erwin smiles and squints at his name tag. “Levi.”
“Is there something I can help you with?” Levi makes it clear in his tone that the offer is merely an obligation not a magnanimity.
“Yes, actually. I am looking for the archive specialist who manages the Survey Corps fonds from 840 to 850.”
“That would be me.” Levi heaves an exasperated sigh before finishing under his breath 'unfortunately…'
“Perfect, I--”
“Did you make arrangements with Petra?” Levi speaks fast and makes no effort to hide he’s trying to get Erwin out of his hair as quickly as possible. “The originals aren’t available to the public without prior authorization, but we have open access translations available for some of them in the online database.”
“With who?”
“Bubbly girl. ‘Bout yea high. Ginger hair. Works in the admin office.”
“Oh, Miss Ral, yes…” Erwin fumbles while opening his briefcase which Mike tells him makes him look twice his age and thumbs through the clearance documents. Pages and pages of it. Unsurprising that an organization dealing with preserving paperwork has a healthy respect for it in their own operating procedures. “She told me to give you this, I think?”
Levi snatches the forms from his hand and licks the pads of his fingers before flipping through the stack. He marks the signature lines with a rubber stamp and starts typing something into the computer again. The silence is awkward.
“So, Dr. Smith…” Levi finally turns to look at him again while his access badge is printing.
“Really, just Erwin is fine.” He holds up his hands in a placating gesture.
“What are you serving this sentence for, Dr. Smith?”
“I’ll be spending my sabbatical working on my biography of the Thirteenth Commander of the Survey Corps. I'm particularly intrigued by his development of the novel scouting formation tactics and other strategic advancements in the area of Titan warfare. However, I suspect my work may naturally take the direction of focusing on his personal life, particularly in the time leading up to the operation to reclaim Wall Maria as the current translations of the documents leave much to be wanting--"
“I should rephrase.” Levi pulls the badge off the printer and slips the key card into a plastic protector before tossing it on the counter. “Just tell me what you need me to pull for you, not your whole life story.”
"Right, my apologies..." Erwin clears his throat and stares at his feet. "I don't mean to trouble you, I am quite familiar with the organizational system as I spent a semester in Trost when I was working on my thesis. I'm certain I can map my way around with the index."
"Tch. That's what the last asshole said." Levi's silver arrow stare bores straight into him with a threatening aura. "Don't go fucking up my files. They're organized and I work hard to keep them that way. That's my rule, abide it and we won't have any problems. If you need something, ask my interns: Farlan and Isabel."
"Aye Aye, Captain." Erwin rests his hand over his heart and Levi just rolls his eyes. He thinks, though, that one corner of his lips curls up just before he turns back to the computer.
When he starts to walk away, Erwin curses himself under his breath. There's one thing he forgot. Here he goes, already breaking his promise to Levi not to be a bother...
"Is there something else you need? Maybe a long walk off a short pier?" Levi thumbs the mounting furrow out from between his brows when he notices Erwin lingering around in his orbit for a touch too long.
"It-It's nothing, I can come back later." Erwin tries to wave it off.
"You've already interrupted me, might as well get on with it." He sighs.
"If it's not too much trouble, I'd be interested in reserving a carrel for my time here. That is, if they aren't all taken..." Erwin gives a sheepish shrug and rubs the back of his neck. Something about Levi's assertive attitude continues to catch him off guard. He doesn't exactly meet the stereotype for the meek librarian.
"Knock yourself out." Levi barks out a laugh. "I don't think any of them have been used in years. Just bring me a post-it with the desk number when you've picked one with a stunning view of your favorite stretch of basement, yeah?"
‘A right waste of space the lot of them…’ Erwin catches Levi murmuring to himself before he makes his way to get acquainted with the hallowed depths of the archives that will be his new home for the next twelve months.
"Thanks again for your help, Levi." He flashes one last toothy smile when he tests his keycard on the fireproof door.
"Whatever."
Levi isn't wrong, of course: the basement is bleak. The HVAC dehumidifier system leaves the stacks dry as the desert sands and Erwin feels his lips growing chapped already. The atmosphere is unnervingly quiet as well. This deep into the bowels of the archives, the rooms have not been completely renovated to modern standards and a majority of the space is cobblestone walls and flooring with a maze of industrial shelving and cheap rugs that swallow even the sounds of footsteps from the floors above. His ears ring in the unnatural silence.
Erwin finds that none of the carrels are taken on this level which means that, for better or for worse, he'll be whiling the hours away alone down here for the duration of his stay save for, presumably, Levi and his interns and their habitual maintenance on the records. He finds a desk on one of the far walls at the edge of the sanctuary where a small window peaks out between the rows and rows of folios near the ceiling. It lets in the warm light of the setting sun to offset the cold and inhospitable fluorescence of the rest of the collection. The Isolationist Era military records are on basement floor one, but the archives run far deeper than this. He writes the desk number--104--on a small slip of paper to be returned to Levi and begins setting up camp.
It's peaceful here, in it's own way. Limited distractions. No students coming to plead for reevaluations on their disappointing essays, no exams to draft or grade, no department meetings looming on the horizon. Nothing but time. Endless and endless stretches of it to be filled with his work. Even his cell phone gets poor service down here. He will have to remember to ask Levi for the wifi password, but he resolves to only enter it in on his computer in a forceful aid to his focus.
It isn't until several hours have passed and Erwin has finished two cups of coffee and a disposable water bottle, legions of notes he'd drafted ahead of his arrival spread out across the plane of the desk, that he is backed into a corner where he will have to start fishing things out of the stacks to make any semblance of forward progress. It makes him nervous. He spends twenty minutes winding through the stacks until he finds the denoted code for what he needs. Nothing so valuable, it's simply a record of the cadet listing for the Survey Corps dated 930, the year the commander enlisted. Still, Levi's words echo through his skull and he fists and unfists his fingers, unwilling to draw the papers out.
What if his hands are too oily? His palms have grown terrifically clammy over the course of his indecision. What if he puts it back in the wrong spot? How long is he allowed to keep it out for? Should he keep it under glass? Erwin sighs to himself.
"Are you the resident troublemaker I got an earful about this morning?"
Erwin turns around and spots a lanky blond man leaning up against the stacks with his arms crossed, giving him a once over. He doesn't know how long he's been standing there. He looks like he knows something Erwin doesn't, and it's infuriating.
"I guess I get the fuss now..." He snickers and reaches out his hand for a stiff shake. "Farlan Church. Levi probably called me 'the intern' but for the record I've been working this department longer than he has. Not my fault we run on a shoestring budget down here."
"Erwin." He takes his hand and Farlan's shake is confident, but his fingers are thin and cold. "It's a pleasure."
"Oh yeah? You don't have to lie, you know. Most the transients we get down here don't really want to touch this dungeon with a thirty-nine-and-a-half-foot poll. Parliamentary aides and paralegals, mostly." He shrugs.
"Well, I assure you Miss Ral presented enough hoops for me to jump through to get approval for this appointment that I wouldn't have gotten this far if I didn't absolutely want to be here." Erwin assures him while Farlan slips past to pull the documents down off the shelf. He acts like he's going to hand them over before he snatches them out of reach at the last second.
"A word of advice, cowboy." That's a... choice. Mike has assured Erwin over and over again that he is the very picture of city-slicker yuppie. "The big man upstairs doesn't like pawprints. And please, for the love of all that's holy, keep these away from your coffee cup collection."
"I wouldn't dream of doing otherwise." Erwin accepts the fond with both hands so as not to wrinkle the delicate paper and notes that even Farlan seems to live in the ever-looming shadow of Levi's impending wrath. He resolves to treat the documents with the respect he'd give his first-born child.
"If you need anything else pulled, shoot me and Isabel and email and we'll get to it when we can."
"I appreciate the help."
His excitement gets the better of him and he loses track of time, parsing the tangled administrative web of the rank and file that made up the cadet-to-be-commander’s inner circle in his youth. A waste, truly, since most these green recruits would have little to say about him in their writings. Most were illiterate, and those who weren’t hardly knew him long enough before their own demise for him to have left a remarkable impression.
Still, he hopes to find something insightful among the rabble to include in his introduction. Something that speaks to the boy becoming a man.
There’s only one letter of interest, written by an MP, Nile Dok, to his fiancé but apparently never sent.
I fear he’s charmed the others with the hollow promises of the fruit of knowledge. As for me, I presume he chases the same ruin that befell his father. I will not eat of it.
Is contentment not a virtue of equal merit to zeal? What value hold dreams for me when that which I hold dear lies within these walls, not without?
The commander’s father… Erwin has not seen mention of him prior and makes a note to ask Isabel to contact the records department in Utopia for the census documents from the sleepy hamlet of Steinmauer on the northern plains of Wall Rose.
When Erwin departs late that first evening, it’s nearing two and the orange glow of sodium lamps light the path out to the car park. He’s exhausted. Leaves his desk in media res for his return in the morning, still littered with the relics of his caffeine addiction and derailed train of thought. He’s too tired for much else. The price of getting old. He can still remember the all-nighters he habitually pulled in graduate school but these days his body turns back into a pumpkin the moment the clock strikes midnight.
He doesn’t think much on it until he returns the next morning to find he’s been visited by a fae in the night. All his wrappers and cups have been cleared and his notes stacked neatly on the desk, awaiting him with a fresh, clean start. The whole surface is tidy and disinfected. It’s nice.
That afternoon, a bubbly little red-head pops by his desk with a monumental stack of photocopies in tow. Erwin recalls his meeting with Petra and wonders if Levi has a type. The thought makes him frown. He’s mature enough not to lie to himself when he sees someone who suits his tastes, but he’s also wise enough not to assume that means anything.
Mike and Hange are right. He is a sorry specimen if he’s taken an instant shine to the prickly archivist, the first new face he’s seen in ages. He really ought to get out more.
“Utopia faxed over the census documents you asked for.” She’s chewing gum and it smacks her lips when she pops the bubbles between her teeth. “I’m Isabel by the way. Levi’s, like, my uncle or whatever. Kinda.”
Erwin is monumentally appalled by his earlier thought process. It’s a lucky thing she can’t read his mind.
“Oh? That’s… wonderful.” He nods along because he can’t think of a better response for that volunteered information.
“Yeah, he helped me get this internship cause I’m still in undergrad.” She shrugs. “It’s pretty boring and all but at least it pays, and it’ll look good on my job applications.”
“What are you studying?” He falls back on his classic perfunctory ‘advisership hours’ script.
“Nursing.” She pops her gum again and Erwin winces.
“Uhhh…” Erwin tries to think of how archiving documents and hospital work are tied together in remotely any way. “Well, you’ll be marvelous with record keeping when you’re finished here. Perhaps you could work in clinical trials? I’ve heard it requires very strict oversight and developing new medicines is a wonderful way to do good in the world.”
“You think so?” Isabel’s face lights up with the sort of brilliant smile you hate to let down. “I’ve been trying to think of a good way to sell it. You’re pretty smart, ya know?”
“Allegedly.” Erwin chuckles.
“Hey, so umm…” She leans down to speak in a low voice as though Erwin has passed a test that’s allowed him to be privy to a secret. “I know Lee comes off a little chichi sometimes, but he’s got a heart of gold if you know where to dig for it. If he gives you a hard time just give it right back to him. He respects that.”
Lee. Adorable. Erwin struggles to suppress a smile. Isabel nods solemnly as if she has imparted Erwin with the wisdom of the ancients.
“I’ll be sure to keep that in mind.”
Erwin works late again that night. The archives have a liminal atmosphere where time doesn’t pass at its usual rate and Erwin finds it easy to get lost in the mysteries of the past. Still, before he leaves, Erwin leaves a quick post-it note of thanks for the janitor.
T U E S D A Y
Thank you for picking up! :)
W E D N E S D A Y
For you! :)
T H U R S D A Y
You’re not supposed to be eating down here.
But thanks for the scone.
I won’t tattle if you don’t
F R I D A Y
If you’re trying to bribe me, I’m partial to lemon bars.
I hope this is a bit nicer than the ones they sell in the museum cafes :)
S A T U R D A Y
More of these boring letters between the commander and the high command? Quit wasting your time and skip straight to the captain’s. Thank me later.
Do you take an interest in history?
M O N D A Y
No, I took this job for the fantastic pay.
It's that sensation, when one is entrenched in a deep and dreamless sleep and suddenly struck with the sensation of falling that shakes Erwin out of his stooper. He realizes, belatedly, that he wasn't falling at all--someone had kicked his chair and resuscitated him back from the brink of a small, exhausted death. It takes him a moment to collect his bearings, blink his bleary eyes again the fluorescent lights and pick out the time on the small kitchen timer he's tucked in the corner of the carrel. 4:36 AM
"This isn't a Motel Six, you know. I charge extra for bunk space down here." Caught slacking. By Levi, no less. In the past week or so, Erwin hasn't had any opportunity to leave a better impression than his first and the second seems to be sour as well. He flushes, and hides it by thumbing the sand out of his tired eyes.
"I didn't think you were charging me at all." Erwin plays it off and Levi gives a quiet tch under his breath when he rolls his eyes.
"Yeah, well, who says I won't change my mind, huh?"
"Then I'd pay in the pleasure of my company." Erwin smiles and he thinks there might be a slight blush on the top of Levi's sharp cheekbone but perhaps it's just the shadow off the rim of his glasses. "It gets terrifically lonely down here most days."
"Do you honestly think people join this line of work because they like being in rooms full of hot air all the time?"
"Mmm, perhaps that's something we can find common ground on. My friends seem to think I prefer the company of ghosts to men, but what do they know?" Perhaps he's coming off a bit cavalier, but who could blame him? Levi has adorable feathers to ruffle and Erwin hardly gets many chances to entertain this side of himself. It's innocent enough. He raises an eyebrow. "I suppose I've been caught in the act, but what are you doing here so late, if I might ask?"
"Early." Levi comes over and starts reaching over his desk to collect his litany of empty beverage containers starting to fester and toss them in the bin. "I try to work in the off hours. Spares me the pleasure of ignorant company."
He slips his way into Erwin's personal space and without any apology starts collecting his papers and notes into neat piles, straightened and orderly rows with the margins lined up parallel to the edges of the desk. Erwin clears his throat.
"Would it honestly kill you to pick up after yourself once in a while? You still live with your parents or something? The university foot the bill for some little assistant? Figures. Bloated academic administrations find the stupidest reasons to piss money down the drain." When he's satisfied with his cleaning job, Levi steps back to level a punitive glare over the rim of his wire frames. "Cut it out, alright? I don't want... bugs down here. They eat the paper."
Erwin does not dare mention that twelve hours is hardly long enough for fruit flies to take up residence in the dregs of his strawberry smoothie or that they're not the variety of pest that eats paper in the first place. He gets the impression Levi will not be amused with back talk. But then his mind catches up with the conversation.
"Levi... Have you been... cleaning up my desk every night?" He feels more than a bit abashed now at the whole situation.
"You clearly weren't planning to do it." He spits.
"You really don't have to do that, I can... I'll make the effort. Levi, that's not part of your job." Erwin rubs the creases between his brow so he doesn't have to make eye contact with his steely stare.
"Wait. Did you think I was the fucking janitor?!" Levi is offended. "It's not his job to clean up after you either, Smith!"
"Erwin. Just Erwin is fine."
He smiles and it must catch Levi off guard because he doesn’t snark back right away. “Did you like the lemon bars?”
“Call me crazy, but I think they taste better at my desk that isn’t in the archives room.”
“Well, if you’re ungrateful I suppose I could stop bringing them…” Erwin raises an eyebrow and Levi scrunches his nose and kicks his feet. “I’ll have to think of another way to thank you for cleaning up after me. Perhaps we could have lunch at the cafe–”
“I’m not picking up your messes anymore. Keep your shit clean.” He turns tail before Erwin can get a look at his face and storms up the stairwell.
Erwin chews his lip and frowns at the stack of letters on the desk.