Chapter Text
The past few weeks in the interior went by in relative peace and quiet. If Mikasa is honest, those days were actually rather dull when they weren’t training or strategizing. She does her best to fill the quiet hours by talking with Armin and the other scouts. With Eren constantly working with Hange and Levi, there is little time to interact with him, which saddens her. It’s all for the benefit of the mission, she knows, but she finds herself missing their training days. It wasn’t long ago that the three of them saw each other daily; she misses eating every meal with her two closest friends, idling away down time with them—even combat and ODM training were less grueling because of their presence. Now their once inseparable group is split apart, and only fragments of those days remain.
On this particular quiet evening, the remaining members of the 104th regiment, sans Eren, are gathered in one of the castle’s more comfortable drawing rooms. Being in the same room together is nostalgic, but the empty spaces where friends should be carry a heavy presence of their own. No one dares comment on the loss for fear of dampening the high spirits and sentimental atmosphere they’ve cultivated.
Without warning, Connie and Sasha burst through the door laughing, each with a box of clinking glass in their arms. The rest in the group look up from their idle chatter to the two raucous scouts.
“We found booze!” Connie shouts as he pulls a brown glass bottle from his box, holding it triumphantly in the air.
A few cheers erupt from the group, and Mikasa watches with amusement from her seat as Jean pulls Armin towards the table now laden with alcohol. Bottles are passed around quickly, and Mikasa silently accepts the bottle passed her way. It would be a shame to dampen the mood by sitting out; besides, what’s the harm in having a drink with friends?
Mikasa feels the joy and wistfulness that suffuses the room seeping into her bones and tries not to dwell too much on Eren’s absence. It would be nice if he could be here, to share in the camaraderie, but she knows he’s too focused on perfecting his hardening power to come idle away the hours drinking. If she thinks about it too long, what they’re doing seems frivolous, really. Instead, she finds what comfort she can in the friends around her. It’s nice to see everyone happy. She thinks again about their years training and smiles fondly as a gentle buzz from her second drink sets in.
She’s lost in thought and feeling the slightest bit dizzy when she notices Historia sit down on the cushion next to hers. She turns her attention to the girl— no , the Queen —getting comfortable next to her and notices the nearly-full bottle in the blonde’s hands.
“Is that still your first?” Mikasa asks when Historia is settled. She tilts her own bottle towards Historia’s for emphasis.
The other girl giggles and shakes her head loosely. “I tried some of the wine Sasha found before, but this is my first beer.”
Mikasa watches as she takes a swig from the bottle and chuckles under her breath when she sees Historia’s face screw up in distaste. “I don’t really like it,” she says through her grimace.
Mikasa takes the last sip of her own beer and starts to stand. “I’ll trade you,” she suggests before making her way to the table littered with bottles.
She finds what she thinks is a good red wine and pours a healthy dose into a glass that looks unused. When she returns to her seat next to Historia, she holds it out in offering and takes the bottle offered to her in return. They clink their respective containers before each taking a drink. Historia looks much more pleased with the wine.
They sit in mutual silence for several moments, each content to watch the scene before them. Jean is wrestling Connie for the corkscrew, insisting that the other boy would poke someone’s eye out trying to use it—to Jean’s credit, there had already been one close call. Mikasa and Historia both chuckle when Sasha sneaks up behind Jean to poke his ribs, giving Connie just enough leeway to break out of Jean’s hold and make a dash for another wine bottle.
“I’ve missed this,” Historia sighs beside her.
Mikasa turns to see her, surprised by the melancholy in her tone. When she stops to think about it, though, it shouldn’t be surprising.
Since she became Queen, Historia hasn’t had many opportunities to spend time with them. Even their trainings are held on the outskirts of the interior, far from the castle where Historia spends the days speaking to officials and signing documents.
Mikasa suddenly feels guilty that she never considered how isolated Historia must feel. Even if being a scout is grueling work, Mikasa is at least surrounded by friends and comrades. Historia is essentially alone.
“You should join us for training tomorrow,” Mikasa suggests. “I’m sure you’re still good with ODM.”
Historia smiles briefly before looking down into her wine glass, slowly swirling the liquid inside. “If I can find some time, maybe I will.”
Mikasa is almost certain Historia won’t be able to “find” the time. From what she knows, the Queen’s schedule is generally packed with tedious work.
Mikasa takes another sip of her drink as she contemplates her friend’s situation. She can feel her face and neck begin to heat up as the alcohol courses through her. This third drink should probably be her last.
“You should just make the time,” Mikasa says, surprised that her words mildly slur together, but pushing forward regardless. “You’re the queen, can’t you make the rules?”
She’s looking forward again and watching Sasha pour wine directly from the bottle into Connie’s open mouth, but she can see Historia turn to face her in her periphery.
“Not as much as you’d think,” Historia replies quietly. Her voice is tinged with a sadness that Mikasa hates to hear from those she cares about.
She turns again to ask if there’s anything she can do to help, if she can take anything off Historia’s plate so she can spend more time like this with friends, but she’s unprepared for the tear she sees running down the other girl’s cheek. Mikasa has never been great at dealing with others’ strong emotions, but she feels the innate need to help, to do something to alleviate the pain she sees there, even if it’s just providing company and conversation. She’s starting to feel a little too tipsy to successfully provide the latter, so she opts instead to lay a comforting hand on the other girl’s back to rub gentle circles there.
Well, it feels more like a stiff hand on her back, and the circles are more lop-sided than circular. But she’s trying.
“I miss her,” Historia whispers.
Mikasa’s hand freezes momentarily before she reminds herself to keep “comforting.” She feels a little stupid for not immediately understanding that Historia’s pain is bigger than missing out on time with old friends. Historia lost someone dear to her, possibly forever.
Mikasa thinks about reassuring her that Ymir might come back, but even as the words form in her brain, she doubts their honesty. Seeing Ymir carried away on Reiner’s back felt final. It felt like Ymir was saying goodbye; Historia had expressed this sentiment to Mikasa and the other scouts once they returned to the safety of Wall Rose. Historia was inconsolable for days following their return. Despite others’ efforts to either reassure her that Ymir was tough enough to survive or persuade her that Ymir was a traitor to be forgotten, Historia simply mourned. Mikasa feels bad about it, but she’d avoided Historia during those days; she’d been afraid that the other girl’s grief would trigger something in her that she had no time or interest in confronting.
But now, with Historia crying at her side, her grief is impossible to ignore. Mikasa keeps rubbing her back, unsure what to say and not necessarily trusting herself to say it clearly even if the words come to her. She finishes her third drink without really thinking about it and sets the empty bottle on the floor. The air in the room feels stuffy, and though it’s probably only the booze causing her to overheat, Mikasa suddenly needs to cool off.
“Do you want to get some fresh air?” Mikasa asks gently, stilling her hand on the other girl’s back as she waits for a response.
Historia nods.
Mikasa stands, albeit less smoothly than she’d like, and extends a hand to help Historia up after her. She means to let go once the other girl is on her feet, but she feels Historia’s fingers slip into her own, and it doesn’t bother her to keep their hands clasped as the queen leads them away from the noisy room and towards a balcony at the end of the long, castle hallway. Mikasa has never seen this part of the castle; it's tranquil, and the breeze cools her skin pleasantly.
Historia releases her hand when they approach the railing, and Mikasa rests her forearms against the cold metal bar to take in the moon-lit scenery below.
The sensations of moments ago—loud, humid, bright—are starkly contrasted by the conditions outside. Mikasa hums, content, before turning her gaze back to Historia to check on her. Her eyes are still mired in sadness, but Mikasa can’t see any fresh tears. Because it seemed mildly helpful before, Mikasa returns a hand to her back and rubs more circles between her shoulder blades. They lean against the railing like this for several minutes, both at peace with the comfortable silence between them, until Mikasa feels Historia shiver beneath her hand.
With the alcohol coursing through her, Mikasa still feels quite warm, but the cool night air must be chilling the smaller girl. She’s about to ask if Historia wants to go back inside when the other girl slides into her and presses against her side for warmth.
Normally this gesture would be unremarkable, a simple movement to keep a friend warm in the cold. Tonight, though, with alcohol coursing through her and weakening her mental and emotional barriers, the close presence makes Mikasa’s head spin. It’s probably a result of the drinks, but Mikasa feels lightheaded as she looks down to see a head of blonde hair tucked against her shoulder. It’s probably because she’s drunk, but when the girl next to her looks up to meet her gaze, Mikasa feels like she’s falling into her blue eyes. It must be the alcohol—it has to be—but when Mikasa looks at Historia, all she sees is Annie.
And it’s definitely the booze that causes Mikasa to capture the other girl in a sudden and searing kiss.
Mikasa closes her eyes but hears a muffled gasp as their lips crash together. It’s quickly followed by a sigh as arms reach up around Mikasa’s neck and pull her closer. Mikasa feels dizzy; her gut twists as several emotions battle for dominance, and although guilt and hesitation wrestle for control, neither outweigh her gnawing desperation as she grabs the blonde’s waist and pulls her closer. Behind closed eyes, Mikasa imagines the waist beneath her hands to be a little more taut. She imagines the nose bumping against her own to be a little more prominent. She kisses and nips at the bottom lip before her as though it’s familiar, and she thinks of Annie. It’s easy to do, for when she opens her eyes slightly, blonde hair and flashes of blue fill her vision.
There’s a nagging thought in the back of her mind that she’ll regret this the instant it’s over, that she’ll hate herself for using someone else—a close friend!—to fill the gaping hole in her heart that she’d been ignoring for nearly three months. But that thought can’t compete with the vivid memories flashing rapidly behind her eyes: Annie against a tree at night after sparring. Annie on her back in the grass, flushed and breathing hard. Annie pulling her into the showers after everyone else has gone to bed.
“Annie,” Mikasa chokes the name against Historia’s lips and jerks away the second she realizes her mistake.
This entire thing was a mistake.
She never should have—she can’t believe she’d take advantage of Historia, she—
Her panicked thoughts stutter to a halt when she feels hands run over her shoulder and up the back of her neck into her hair. She turns her eyes back down to the girl in front of her—to Historia , she pointedly reminds herself—and stares in disbelief at the half-lidded gaze she finds there.
Historia threads her fingers gently through Mikasa’s hair, nails gently scratching at her scalp in a way that makes an unsolicited shiver run down Mikasa’s spine.
“I don’t mind,” Historia whispers as she pulls Mikasa back down, stopping just before their lips reconnect, “if you think about her.”
Historia doesn’t keep pulling, but simply holds Mikasa close enough to mingle their breaths.
Mikasa should back out now. She should say “no” and “I’m sorry” and forget this ever happened. But her mind is buzzing, and her skin is still hot, and her heart aches with an intensity she’s been denying up to this point.
“I miss her, too,” Mikasa whispers against Historia’s lips before kissing her again.
She thinks she feels Historia smile against her mouth, but that’s probably the booze, too.
Mikasa pushes the nagging thoughts down and lets herself pretend with the self-made promise that she’ll regret this in the morning.
***
Apprehension hangs over the scouts like a dark cloud the evening before the expedition to reclaim Wall Maria. Connie and Sasha suggest another round of drinking, but Mikasa isn’t in the mood for revelry. Things ended strangely after she reminisced with Eren and Armin about their childhoods outside. Joining the others for drinks would feel too much like saying ‘one last time.’ It would feel too final.
Most of the scouts decide to call it an early night and get some rest. Jean and Armin return to their own private rooms in the barracks—a luxury afforded to those close to the queen—while Connie and Sasha protest and wander off to make their own fun, no doubt needing a distraction from their anxiety about the mission.
Mikasa’s own anxiety simmers in her gut. She won’t be able to sleep until exhaustion takes her naturally; her thoughts are too loud. She wanders the halls and runs over the expedition plan repeatedly in her mind, hoping that knowing the details inside and out will take the edge off her bubbling anxiety.
It works for a while, but her mind eventually wanders to recent events, conversations and briefings about the mission, and the threats awaiting them.
Erwin hadn’t pulled his punches when he briefed the scouts on the risks of this expedition. That many will die is a fact; it is inevitable. Mikasa remembers a couple of the newest recruits throwing up during Erwin’s speech the prior evening. She’s sure a few of them tried to sneak away afterwards. It wouldn’t be hard for a handful of soldiers to slip away into the night and defect. She finds it hard to blame them; very few are cut out to risk their lives fighting titans. Mikasa just happens to be one of the few.
She rounds a corner and paces down another dimly lit corridor. She’s lost track of where exactly she is, but her thoughts are racing too fast to spare any true concern for her location. Worse comes to worse, she’ll ask a guard to direct her back towards her room.
She keeps a slow pace as she walks down the long, echoing halls. Her mind jumps from the mission to Eren. Is he really ready for this? She hasn’t seen him nearly as much as she’d like the past couple of weeks. She’s heard positive news about his hardening ability, that he’s much more consistent now than he was even a week ago. She worries for his mind, though. He’s been so isolated from her and Armin, and she hopes he doesn’t feel like he’s truly alone. His friends are all here—they’re technically in the same building as him—but he feels so far away lately. The three of them just had a heart-to-heart moment—the first in a long while—but upon Armin’s retirement, Eren had quickly dismissed her saying he needed to meet Hange for final preparations. When they reclaim the wall, she hopes that he’ll come back to them. She misses how things used to be.
Her mind flits back to childhood memories of Eren. Then to thoughts of Carla and Dr. Jaeger. Her own parents inevitably follow. She thinks about happier times, and for a moment these alleviate her anxiety, but too many bad memories tinge the edges of the good. She pushes away thoughts of the men at her family’s door. She pushes out visions of titans swarming Shiganshina, but those memories are especially persistent, and they remind her too much of the upcoming mission. Returning there after all this time...What’s even left of the city she once called home? Her anxiety spikes, heart beating fast as her past and future collide in her mind’s eye. She starts to feel sick, enough to make her stop walking and support herself against one of the cold, granite walls.
She tries to pluck more recent memories, pleasant ones, to cancel out the old. Most of her good recent memories come from their training days. She thinks of Sasha opening her jacket to dole out stolen bread rolls. She thinks of countless dinners with Armin and Eren. She thinks of Ymir’s wisecracks—the memories of the brash, mysterious girl are bittersweet, but precious, nonetheless.
Her heart rate begins to slow, and the bile she felt rising in her throat recedes. This is helping, at least. She keeps cycling through fond memories—Connie’s jokes, Sasha’s antics, Armin’s stories, Eren’s speeches—until her thoughts lead to a vault overflowing with memories that she’s sealed shut. She’s been keeping thoughts of Annie at bay for months, ever since they tucked her away in some Military Police basement, far from light and prying eyes. It hurts to think about her, but if she’s honest, it hurts just as much to suppress such a large piece of her past. If she keeps holding them back, she’s worried they might crash to the surface of her mind at the worst moment.
Mikasa’s afraid to open that vault door, though. The last time she’d thought of Annie, really thought about her, she’d done something she now deeply regrets. She’s grateful that Historia hadn’t brought up the kiss to her afterwards. Mikasa would rather not face that embarrassment in the sober light of day; since Historia seems willing to forget the whole thing ever happened, Mikasa is more than happy to do the same. Just one more memory to lock away.
She’s seen the queen many times since. Nothing between them has really changed, and she’s glad of it. Mikasa considers Historia a dear friend; during their final year of training, Historia was one of the only people that knew about Mikasa and Annie…and with Ymir gone, Mikasa suspects that Historia is now the only one left with that knowledge. She’s not entirely sure what Historia got out of that drunk kiss they shared—maybe Historia was simply suspending her own loneliness for a moment, just like Mikasa—but she’s appreciative that the other girl didn’t hold the moment of weakness against her. After all, hadn’t they bonded a little over their secret relationships in their days as cadets? If she can trust anyone with her lingering thoughts of Annie, she’s sure it’s Historia.
Mikasa’s equilibrium returns, and she rights herself against the wall of the barracks. Her pulse has returned to something approaching its normal pace. Her mind is no longer racing. If she returns to her room now, she thinks she might be able to rest.
She turns to start retracing her steps down the long, empty corridors. She takes a couple of wrong turns but soon sees familiar tapestries that lead her back in the correct direction. Before long, she rounds the corner to the hall where the former 104 th cadets are being accommodated and makes her way to her room at the end of the gallery. She slows when she sees someone in front of her door, hand poised to knock.
“Historia?” Mikasa calls out gently to her as she approaches, surprised to see the queen at her door, especially so late at night.
The smaller girl jumps in surprise; the hand she’d been preparing to rap on the door shoots to her own chest and grasps the fabric of her nightclothes there tightly. When she recognizes the source of the question, she relaxes, her entire body drooping momentarily in relief.
“You scared me!” she exhales as Mikasa steps closer to the door.
Mikasa can’t help the small smile that pulls at her lips; sometimes it surprises her that Historia is technically a trained—and very capable—soldier. In moments like this she looks like she couldn’t hurt a fly, never mind take down the largest titan ever seen.
“I’m sorry,” Mikasa responds, and she is. “Did you need something?” Mikasa leans against the wall adjacent to her door and crosses her arms casually waiting for the other girl’s response.
Rather than answer, though, Historia turns her gaze to the floor. She almost looks shy, and Mikasa’s stomach sinks at the thought that being alone with her after sharing that kiss might make Historia uncomfortable.
Although, Historia came to Mikasa’s door on her own, she reminds herself.
Rather than jumping to more conclusions, the dark-haired girl simply waits for Historia to react in her own time.
After a moment, Historia looks up to meet Mikasa’s gaze, but her eyes quickly slide off and land on the doorknob between them instead. “Can we talk in your room?” she asks quietly, as though ashamed to ask in the first place.
Mikasa hesitates for a split second but feels guilt swiftly follow. She can’t let one drunken mistake ruin the trust and friendship she shares with Historia; it’s innocent to talk to a friend, and Mikasa of all people knows that Historia is probably similarly anxious about tomorrow’s expedition. Even though she won’t be accompanying them in person, Mikasa imagines Historia is troubled by the looming risks and apprehensive about the sacrifices that will be made in the name of success.
Mikasa pushes her own pride down and opens the door before gesturing Historia inside ahead of her. The blonde smiles and walks to the center of the room. The accommodations Mikasa and the other survivors of the 104 th have been enjoying are comfortable, but not terribly spacious. Standing in the center of the room, Historia takes up most of the floor space, and Mikasa has to skirt around the smaller girl to make it to her bed and sit on the edge. These rooms were made to be utilitarian, not to entertain guests. Thankfully her room is furnished with a small desk; Mikasa can reach the wooden chair tucked under the desk from where she sits on the bed, and she pulls it out for Historia. When the blonde is situated, Mikasa prompts her again.
“Are you okay, Historia?” The question feels a little foolish as she says it; with such a dangerous mission around the corner, are any of them really okay?
Historia nods and hums noncommittally. “I’m worried about the expedition.”
Mikasa guessed as much, but hearing it confirmed tugs the corners of her lips down regardless.
“We all are,” Mikasa responds quietly. “But it’s necessary.”
Historia’s eyes are locked on the floor between them. “I have this bad feeling,” Historia continues after a few beats, “that I’m about to lose everyone I care about.”
Mikasa’s stomach twists. She knows the feeling well. She’s had the same doubts leading up to this expedition; there’s a nagging feeling, something like a premonition, that if she doesn’t stick close to her friends—her only surviving family—she’ll lose them in Shiganshina. But that’s why she’ll stay close. As long as she’s breathing, she won’t let them go.
Mikasa channels that resolve into her voice and sits up straighter when she replies. “We’ll come back,” she says with a confidence that from anyone else would sound unfounded. “I’ll make sure of it.”
Historia lifts her gaze at last and locks eyes with Mikasa. The queen looks torn between incredulity and unwavering faith as she takes in Mikasa’s promise.
“I want to believe that,” Historia whispers. “I trust you and Levi and Erwin…But I can’t shake this feeling.”
Mikasa thinks she should reach out to soothe the other girl, but the gesture doesn’t materialize. She’s unsure how to help; all she has to offer is her strength and determination, but apparently these aren’t enough to ease Historia’s anxieties. She waits quietly, unmoving, instead.
“I can’t lose anyone else, Mikasa. Not after–” Historia’s eyes screw shut and her voice breaks.
She doesn’t have to say it. Mikasa knows.
They sit in silence for a while. Mikasa thinks that any reassurance now would feel disingenuous. The odds of Ymir coming back are slim. The others have stopped bringing Ymir up entirely around Historia, afraid that any mention of their former comrade would only drop the queen into another bout of depression. Mikasa wonders where everyone else got the idea Historia ever escaped that state of mind; she’s seen the way Historia’s eyes peel off towards nothing when she's not talking to people, and Mikasa can tell the blonde is still drowning in her sadness.
When Historia regains her composure and meets Mikasa’s gaze again, the blonde’s eyes are dull. She looks tired, like she hasn’t had a restful night in weeks.
“Mikasa,” Historia starts again, before pausing, apparently choosing her next words carefully.
Mikasa leans forward slightly, inviting the other girl to continue.
“You know what it’s like. To lose someone.” Historia’s tone is somber and low; she sounds more serious and subdued than Mikasa can remember hearing her. Even in mourning, Historia’s words tended to overflow with emotion. Now her voice is composed to the point of sounding clipped and cold.
Mikasa nods in return. Now it’s her turn to look at the space between them as flashes of her loved ones rush once again behind her eyes. “Yes,” she responds quietly, “I’ve lost many.”
Her parents, her surrogate family. Over the past few months, she’d lost many friends, too. Even Eren was briefly lost to her in Trost, the only one of her family to escape death and return to her.
And Annie…No matter how much Hange insisted Annie was alive, that there had to be some way to break her out of the crystal, seeing Annie’s body inside that glass coffin before it was hauled away, Mikasa could only see a corpse. The body of someone she couldn't recognize.
She hears Historia sigh before she continues, “Then you understand when I say it’s absolutely torturous being alone.”
Mikasa furrows her brow in confusion. She’s not alone. She still has Eren and Armin; she still has Connie, Sasha, Jean, and Historia, too. They’re fewer than they were a scant few months ago, but their little band remains close.
She tries to express as much to Historia, but the blonde quickly cuts her off: “That’s not what I mean.”
Mikasa feels her shoulders tense slightly, realization slowly dawning. Most people eventually found out about Ymir and Historia—well, Christa back then—but she and Annie had been much more secretive. The only ones who ever caught them had been Ymir and Christa; the four of them mostly minded their own business about it, but a few times over the course of their training, Christa pulled Mikasa aside to gush about the tall, freckled girl. There was no one else to talk to, really. At least no one that would partially understand or indulge the blonde girl’s rants—sometimes positive, sometimes frustrated—about Ymir. Mikasa never shared much in kind, but Christa was persistent, eager to gossip with someone in a similar situation. Mikasa did what she could to appease the other girl without revealing too much about her and Annie—she knew the latter would be furious if she shared anything too personal about their…whatever it was. Relationship sounded too formal.
Now Mikasa thinks she understands why Historia came to her door. There was, once again, no one else to talk to, no one who would understand Historia’s situation, except Mikasa.
She really doesn’t want to do this. She’s been trying to push thoughts of Annie away since that day in Stohess. She keeps her memories under lock and key much like the traitor herself. Aside from that impulsive, drunken kiss and a few stray thoughts here and there, she’s been fairly successful, too. Now, no doubt, Historia wants to reminisce together about their time as cadets.
If it will make the other girl a little less miserable to talk about those old days, to reminisce about their lost lovers, then Mikasa could power through. She only hopes she has the strength to put those memories away again when they are done.
Mikasa lifts her face to Historia’s and tries to give a reassuring smile, some indication that she is ready to listen and talk to the other girl’s content. It’s the least she can do for a friend, especially one who has recently been through so much.
Even though they are all struggling to deal with the loss of friends and comrades, Historia’s burden is heavier. Her past revealed, her future dictated by her royal blood, her closest friend and lover taken away—Historia is taking on more than her share lately.
Mikasa waits patiently for the other girl to speak; having heard how little of her own life Historia was able to control in the past, Mikasa thinks it’s only fair to let her lead. Mikasa is relieved when the corners of Historia’s lips turn up slightly in return, and she listens carefully as the blonde opens her mouth to speak.
“We don’t have to be alone, Mikasa.” Historia extends a hand to Mikasa’s knee, fingers gently pressing into the top of her thigh.
The taller girl is immobilized by the words and the gesture alike.
This is not what Mikasa expected at all.
Her steely gaze zeroes in on the dainty hand on her leg. Surely Historia isn’t suggesting what Mikasa thinks she is…They’re close, but their interest in each other is only friendly, isn’t it? They lost Ymir and Annie only a few months ago; she still catches Historia wiping tears from her eyes any time they pass each other in the castle halls or around the barracks. Things can’t change so fast, can they?
Mikasa is ripped from her thoughts when she feels the thumb above her knee run gently back and forth. She can still turn this conversation back to safer ground; they can talk like they used to in their training days, for old times sake. Mikasa regrets the way she phrases it the instant she hears her words out loud: “What about Ymir?”
Historia ducks her head again momentarily, but her hand remains. When she lifts her face again, her eyes are closed, and she wears a wistful smile. “Who says I’ve forgotten about her?”
Historia opens her eyes and pierces Mikasa with her stare. “We might never move on, but we could help each other, Mikasa,” Historia says, her words sounding more like a request than a statement.
Mikasa is at a loss. It feels like her friend is crying for help, but the solution is completely unclear. “I’m not sure what you mean,” is all Mikasa can say in the meantime.
Historia’s thumb swipes against her knee again gently. “You miss her, don’t you? You said so. Before.”
Mikasa furrows her brows in confusion. Suddenly her own words—hazy, nearly forgotten thanks to the alcohol—come back to haunt her. Drunken thoughts of Annie before she kissed Historia. She remembers waking up that following morning absolutely mortified and guilt stricken. She’d kissed one girl while thinking of another; not only that, but she’d used a friend to indulge in her own selfish fantasies about an enemy .
“We don’t have to be so lonely. And if you want to,” Historia says, voice wavering and sounding far less certain, “I wouldn’t mind pretending.”
Mikasa’s stomach drops. Any hopes she had that Historia forgot about that drunken kiss or disregarded Mikasa’s actions that night are now dashed. It's clear the blonde remembers it all clearly, and even worse, it’s starting to sound like Historia is suggesting a reprise.
Clearing her mind, Mikasa removes Historia’s hand from her knee and gently returns it to the other girl’s lap before sitting back down on the edge of the bed and meeting Historia’s gaze again. Whatever Historia has in mind, Mikasa worries it would hurt more than help. They both have open wounds; picking and prodding will only keep them from healing.
“Historia,” Mikasa starts calmly, trying her best to show the girl before her the gentleness and friendship she deserves, especially when she’s so fragile. “You know I’m here to help. I’m your friend. But I don’t think it’s a good idea.”
Historia’s face flushes pink, and Mikasa’s not entirely sure whether she’s embarrassed, or angry, or both. “But you kissed me ,” Historia says, indignant.
Mikasa flinches at the reminder and sighs. “I’m sorry, Historia. You’re right. I was thinking…I was thinking of her and not you.”
Mikasa feels shame thrumming through her and feels her ears burning with her embarrassment and guilt. “It was my mistake.”
Mikasa scoots to the very edge of the bed and takes the other girl’s hands in her own, praying for the blonde’s forgiveness and understanding. “You’re a good friend, Historia. I’m sorry that I hurt you.”
Mikasa holds the other’s hands steady, watching as Historia’s lip trembles and her eyes well up. Finally, Historia breaks down, and Mikasa’s heart sinks to see the girl cry.
“I’m sorry,” she chokes out between tears. “I just—” a sob rips through the smaller girl and the intensity of it makes Mikasa move to her feet. She moves one of her hands away from Historia’s and lays it between the blonde’s shoulder blades trying to soothe her as she cries.
When she calms enough to speak, Historia continues her broken train of thought: “I just miss her. It hurts, Mikasa. And I thought—” Historia cuts herself off, burying her face in her hands and sniffling. “It sounds stupid now, but I thought since you lost Annie, too…”
Mikasa keeps rubbing circles and is grateful Historia can’t see how Mikasa’s face twists up at the reminder. This entire conversation, so laden with memories of the past, is breaking down the barriers she’s been carefully crafting over weeks—no, months now. Every mention of Annie brings the past crashing a little closer to the present, and Mikasa’s not ready to confront it.
She’s not sure she ever will be.
“You don’t need to be sorry,” Mikasa soothes. “I’m here for you. We all are.”
Historia sniffles again. “But you’ll be gone tomorrow,” she whispers, and Mikasa feels the looming anxiety press down on her again. How many hours until morning? How long before they leave? She’s lost track of the time wandering the halls and then talking with Historia.
“We’ll be back,” Mikasa reassures her, channeling the most certain tone she can muster. “I promise.”
Mikasa feels her fingers squeeze tightly and holds back a pained gasp. Historia’s hands have reached out to grab her free hand, gripping so tightly, Mikasa can see the bones protruding.
“Stay with me,” Historia barely forms the words as another sob wracks her body. “I don’t want to lose anyone else.”
Mikasa is sure that Historia knows that simply isn’t possible. The scouts have to go. They need to reclaim Wall Maria. They have to get to the basement. They need to know so much more if they’re going to survive.
And Mikasa has to be there with Eren and Armin. She can’t lose anyone else either.
She presses a little more firmly against Historia’s back as she rubs the tension away. “I can’t stay.”
Mikasa’s statement is resolute, but she maintains her gentleness.
“But you have my word,” she moves from Historia’s side to kneel in front of her, trying to catch the other girl’s red-rimmed eyes, “we will not fail. We will come back.”
Smiling doesn’t feel appropriate, so Mikasa punctuates her declaration with a steely stare, mouth set in an unyielding line. Mikasa was already determined to protect her friends but making the promise to Historia is oddly helping to reassure herself as well. With someone else—the queen of all people—counting on her, Mikasa can’t possibly break her promise.
Historia hiccups as her tears peter out. Eventually her breathing returns to normal and her shoulders relax. Mikasa sits back down on the edge of her bed waiting as Historia rests and regains her composure. When Historia wipes the lingering dampness from her cheeks and looks up at last, Mikasa greets her with a small, sympathetic smile.
“I do mean it, Historia,” Mikasa says when Historia hesitantly returns an embarrassed smile of her own. “We’re all here for you. You’re not alone.”
Historia’s eyes slide away again; whether embarrassed or unsatisfied with Mikasa’s response, the taller girl isn’t sure. She adds for good measure, “You’re my friend. I’ll be here when you need me.”
Historia doesn’t lift her eyes again, but Mikasa can see the faint smile widen slightly. They sit in companionable silence for a few minutes more before Historia exhales and stands from the wooden desk chair. She sways somewhat, her body unsteady from the force of her sobbing earlier, but she quickly rights herself.
“I should let you rest,” she says quietly as she smooths out the creases in her white nightgown, wrinkled from doubling over as she cried. “You have a big day tomorrow, after all.”
Mikasa thinks Historia means the last comment to be a little playful, but the blonde’s tone is still too tinged with melancholy for it to sound light.
Mikasa stands as well and follows the blonde as she moves to exit the small room. Historia stops on the other side of the threshold and turns, meeting the taller girl’s gaze once more as they say their goodnights.
“I’m sorry again.” Historia almost whispers it. Mikasa waves the apology off and offers a small smile.
“Don’t be. I should apologize to you.”
“Then let’s call it even,” Historia exhales, and it’s the closest to a laugh Mikasa has heard from her all night.
“Done,” Mikasa offers with a light smile.
To her relief, Historia returns it with a smile that actually reaches her eyes. Mikasa suddenly thinks she looks more like the Christa she knew, gleeful and slightly less burdened.
“Sleep well,” Historia says, turning with a wave and heading back down the long, dark hallway towards her own private chambers.
Mikasa wishes her the same and turns back into the tiny room, the door shutting gently behind her.
The dark-haired girl kicks off her boots and finishes stripping out of her leather jacket, ODM harness, shirt, and pants before she throws on a pair of loose, linen shorts and shirt and lays down on the bed. The exhaustion that she felt when she first returned to her room to find Historia standing outside is long gone. Alone in the confined and silent space, Mikasa is confronted once more with her own thoughts. She tosses and turns on the narrow bed, throwing an arm over her eyes as if it will disrupt the images forming behind them.
After talking with Historia, the vault door is broken off its hinges. Memories and scenes crash over her, eroding her carefully constructed barriers.
It's no use.
She can’t push Annie away any longer.
When her thrashing finally yields to exhaustion and she falls asleep, her dreams are filled with familiar words and shattered hopes.
***
Tangled together and basking in the afterglow, Annie traces gentle circles over Mikasa’s bare shoulder. Her head rests on the taller girl’s chest, and Mikasa lets her own fingers run softly up and down Annie’s spine.
Tomorrow, they graduate from the corps and commit themselves to a branch. It’s probably the last time they’ll be together like this, but neither of them has admitted as much out loud.
Mikasa is still holding out hope, just a sliver, that the blonde will change her mind tomorrow. She doesn’t want this to end. She wants to ask Annie to join the scouts, to stay with her, but they’ve never been the kind of people to express their desires in words. With them, it’s always been physical. That’s what works.
Despite their limited verbal communication, Mikasa feels she knows Annie better than most people and vice versa. She can read Annie’s body language from across a room and know exactly what the other girl is feeling. They share a language of their own, easily reading the other’s moods, desires, and worries in facial expressions and posture.
Numerous times, Annie has pulled Mikasa away at night, not to have sex or even make out, but simply to rub the tension out of the taller girl’s knotted shoulders; Mikasa never realizes how much she needs it until she’s already relaxing under the perceptive blonde’s hands. They show more than they tell, which gives what they do choose to say all the more weight.
Mikasa wraps her arms a little tighter around the girl laying half on top of her, as though holding her close will keep her from slipping away to the Military Police come morning.
The added pressure must surprise Annie, for she stops drawing lazy circles on the other girl’s skin for a moment. When she moves again, she lays her hand flat over Mikasa’s heart and fans her fingers out gently. Mikasa breathes deeply and exhales into the blonde’s hair. She’s trying her best to focus on the sweet and not the bitter. Mikasa wants to savor this moment; since it’s probably the last time, she wants to remember it fondly. She wants to remember Annie the way only Mikasa gets to see her: tender and warm and hers.
She’s surprised when Annie whispers against the chest: “I want to stay with you.”
Mikasa’s heart leaps beneath the blonde’s hand still splayed there. She wants to believe this means Annie’s changed her mind, that she’ll join the scouts tomorrow instead, but deep down she knows better. Just because Annie wants to stay doesn’t mean she will.
“I want that, too,” is all Mikasa can think to say in response.
Trying to push the subject won’t help. They’re both too stubborn to change direction now; they both made promises to loved ones and to themselves that they intend to keep.
If only they weren’t so similar in that way. If only one of them could bend.
Mikasa presses a kiss to the top of Annie’s head. “I know you can’t. It’s okay,” Mikasa whispers.
She feels the hand on her chest tense as the blonde lifts her face to the crook of her neck and burrows there.
“I won’t ask you to stay with me either,” Annie mumbles into the side of Mikasa’s neck, “but I wish you could.”
Mikasa recognizes vaguely that this is the closest they’ve come to putting their relationship into words, to saying out loud what this all means to each of them. Words, Mikasa thinks, don’t suit them all that well, but she can feel them collecting in her throat regardless: I’ll miss you. Will I see you again? Please don’t forget me. Don’t go.
Mikasa can’t bring herself to voice her thoughts, so she relies on a more familiar language. She brings her free hand to the blonde’s chin and gently lifts her away from the space at her shoulder. Annie follows her movement easily, lifting herself enough to hover her face over the taller girl’s, their breaths mingling before Mikasa pulls the blonde down into a slow and unusually tender kiss.
Normally, they kiss with escalation as the only goal, with the understanding that the kisses will quickly grow harsher, and their bodies will tangle together as lust takes over. But on occasion, as now, they allow themselves to slow down and kiss for kissing’s sake, unhurried yet no less passionate.
When they pull away after a long moment, their gazes lock. Annie’s eyes—habitually half-lidded and crystal clear—have always been one of Mikasa’s favorite things about her. When gazing into one eye simply isn’t enough, Mikasa moves her hand from the other girl’s chin to her bangs and tucks the loose strands behind her ear.
The unspoken words claw at her throat. And hell, if this is the last time, she doesn’t want to have any regrets. She throws restraint to the wind and lets the words she’s been holding back all night take shape.
“You’re beautiful, Annie.”
The blonde’s shy reaction—the blush dusting her cheeks, the dip of her chin to break their eye contact, the surprised sigh that escapes her kiss-swollen lips—only intensifies Mikasa’s desire to shower her with the praises she often thinks but is too reserved to share aloud. Mikasa punctuates her statement with a kiss on Annie’s cheek; her skin there is hot with embarrassment. It only spurs Mikasa on.
“I like touching you,” the dark-haired girl continues as she moves a hand down the blonde’s back and drops a kiss on her jaw.
Distantly she feels Annie’s hand tighten against her collarbone and feels a breathy sigh ghost across her own face.
“Even though you’re so strong,” she continues as she leaves a trail of small kisses towards the other girl’s chin, “you’re also so soft.”
As she finishes her sentence, Mikasa’s hand arrives at the swell of Annie’s ass, and she grips the tender flesh there firmly to emphasize her point.
“Mikasa,” Annie quietly moans in response, her own hands beginning to move over the taller girl’s flesh.
Mikasa feels a hand slide down from her collarbone to her breast to knead her there gently. Mikasa’s groan comes out more ragged than she expects, and she absent-mindedly thinks that perhaps they weren’t just kissing for kissing’s sake a moment ago; this is definitely leading somewhere, but Mikasa wants to draw it out as long as possible.
When Mikasa’s trail of kisses reaches Annie’s chin, she lifts up to dart her tongue across the blonde’s lower lip, too fast for Annie to reach out and meet it with her own, much to the shorter girl’s frustration.
“I like kissing you,” Mikasa whispers, practically against Annie’s slightly parted lips.
She darts her tongue out again to trace the other girl’s top lip this time, but pulls away when Annie tries to follow her tongue with a kiss. She watches as the blonde hovering over her starts to lose her cool completely, the combination of unprecedented praise and teasing licks and touches overwhelming her.
“Then do it,” Annie grumbles before crashing their lips together, her tongue immediately seeking entrance into Mikasa’s mouth, which the dark-haired girl gladly grants.
Mikasa does like kissing Annie. Not that she has much to compare against, but Mikasa feels that Annie’s kisses always carry something extra with them. Often when their sparring matches turned into make-outs, she felt the frustration and tension ease away from Annie’s body as they kissed, swiftly replaced by hunger and a hint of competition. On occasion, especially when nightmares kept both girls awake and led them to loiter outside the barracks at night to pass their restless hours gently caressing and soothing each other, Annie’s gentle kisses felt healing. Tonight, Mikasa can sense the desperation behind the other girl’s frantic nips and licks against her lips, and a tinge of something Mikasa can’t quite name but makes her heart hammer harder in her chest with longing.
With a sudden, deep thrust of Annie’s tongue inside her mouth, Mikasa grunts and flips them over so that the blonde’s back is flat against the floor. Mikasa slots a leg between Annie’s before lowering her face and whispering, “Do that again,” against the blonde’s lips.
As soon as she says it, Mikasa crashes their open mouths together again and groans as she feels Annie’s tongue lick across the roof of her mouth. She’s overcome with the need to be as close to Annie as she can possibly get and having the blonde’s tongue deep within her own mouth is scratching that itch nicely.
She needs more, though.
Bringing her leg up to the apex of Annie’s thighs, Mikasa presses down and thrusts her own hips forward earning a throaty moan from the girl below her that Mikasa swallows hungrily. Mikasa breaks away from Annie’s mouth to suck at the pulse point at her neck, a place she’d learned long ago was incredibly sensitive for the blonde. She drives her leg into the other girl again and again as she makes her mark against Annie’s throat, relishing the vibrations she can feel below her lips as she tears more whimpers and moans from the girl beneath her. Hands tighten in Mikasa’s hair, and short nails no doubt leave indents in her scalp. Annie starts lifting her hips eagerly to meet Mikasa’s now slick thigh, and Mikasa is surprised by the primal growl she hears come from her own throat as she drives her hips forward with increasing force.
“Mikasa,” Annie keens beneath her, and Mikasa continues her rhythm until the blonde repeats herself, more insistent this time, “Mikasa, wait.”
The dark-haired girl stutters to a stop, suddenly nervous she’d done something wrong or hurt Annie somehow.
“Move this,” Annie rasps, tapping Mikasa’s unused leg with her knee, “I want you between my legs.”
Mikasa tries to meet Annie’s gaze, wants to ask her more, but the blonde’s eyes are cast off to the side, face beet red with apparent embarrassment at speaking her own desire.
Rather than embarrass the girl more, Mikasa follows her request and moves so that Annie’s thighs frame Mikasa’s hips. She waits for Annie to look up at her. When shy, blue eyes finally lift to meet gray, Mikasa feels herself smile slightly, utterly captivated by the sight before her.
“What now?” Mikasa asks, not because she doesn’t have an idea what Annie wants, but because she wants Annie to have control.
Annie breaks their eye contact again when it becomes overwhelming and, rather than speaking her command, she wraps her legs around Mikasa’s hips to pull Mikasa flush with her own body. When their hips collide, both moan at the sensation. They’ve done this before, and while the position didn’t provide as much direct contact as a thigh or hand between legs may, the feeling of pressing their bodies together was always intense and pleasurable in its own way, a connection built more on pleasures of movement and proximity than on any explicit touch. Mikasa noticed a while ago that Annie was particularly fond of this position; it was never enough to get either of them off completely, but the rhythm and pressure always got the blonde worked up and close to the edge.
After a moment spent pressed close together, Mikasa lifts her hips before driving them back down and eliciting another moan from the girl beneath her. She repeats the move for a while, pausing to roll their hips together a few times before she begins to worry that her own hip bones are digging sharply into Annie’s spread thighs.
In a swift move, Mikasa threads her arms under Annie’s bent knees and maneuvers them so that the other girl’s legs are draped over her the crooks of her elbows; they’ve never tried this exact position, but Mikasa expects it will give her more room to move her hips without hurting the girl beneath her. Once situated, she drops her arms on either side of Annie’s body and drives her hips forward once more, this time connecting her own mound more precisely with Annie’s hot, wet center.
The blonde chokes down a surprised howl and clings tightly to Mikasa’s shoulders, her blunt nails digging into the taller girl’s back at each tight roll of their hips. Mikasa continues to drive her hips forward, her pace increasing when she sees Annie’s head arch back further than she’s ever seen and as blue eyes roll to the back of her head in bliss.
Seeing Annie so worked up, seeing what merely feeling Mikasa move against her does to the blonde, the dark-haired girl starts to lose it, too. The pleasure building in her gut feels heavy, and with each press against Annie she feels it coil tighter. She’s panting now, partially from the exertion of holding herself up on her arms and straining her hips, and partially because Annie’s whining and writhing are making her lose control.
Annie looks so beautiful like this; it’s all she can think as she stares at the blonde’s face twisted up in pleasure, eyes screwed shut, mouth open and likewise panting in unrestrained ecstasy.
Mikasa is overtaken by the need to see her eyes. She wants to watch Annie come undone beneath her, and with this open passion building between them it seems entirely likely that it will happen, and soon. She needs to see her, needs Annie to watch her as she tips over the edge.
“Annie,” Mikasa husks between labored breaths, never slowing her momentum, “look at me.”
The blonde moans loudly at the command and lifts her head to comply, her eyes so heavy with lust that her eyelids hardly lift. It’s enough, though, for their gazes to lock. Encouraged, Mikasa slams home even faster, both girls’ breathing picking up as arms and legs flex, fingers digging more firmly into any and all available flesh.
Mikasa groans and works hard to keep her pace when she sees Annie’s eyes widen. She’s close. Just from this closeness between them, without a single proper touch. Fuck, that thought makes the coil of desire in her gut tighten more, too. Mikasa dips her head to suck at Annie’s neck, but a hand on her chest stops her.
“Keep watching,” Annie breathes out, eyes still locked on Mikasa’s.
“God, Annie.”
Mikasa doesn’t usually sound so whiny when they’re together, but watching Annie come undone before her eyes is tearing her apart in ways she didn’t know were possible. Annie’s legs flex hard and Mikasa feels the body beneath her tense.
“Mikasa!” Annie sobs brokenly as her body shakes.
Mikasa feels herself crest the peak with her, core tightening around nothing but the passion between them, and the pleasure that wracks her body is so intense that her vision blacks out momentarily despite her concerted effort to keep her eyes locked on Annie’s. When the first shockwaves pass, Mikasa can’t help but partially collapse onto the girl still spasming beneath her. She manages to hold herself up enough so as not to hurt the other but firmly grinds her hips against Annie’s center a few more times, drawing the pleasure out completely and slowly helping her come down from her high.
When Annie can move again, Mikasa helps to disentangle the blonde’s legs from her arms, and even helps to gently lower her legs back down to either side of Mikasa’s hips after they’d been bent stiffly for so long. Once settled, Annie wraps her arms tightly around Mikasa’s neck and drags her down into a searing kiss.
Annie’s kiss this time is laced with thanks and the bitter-sweet taste that Mikasa has been avoiding all evening. She’s reminded too suddenly that this is coming to an end, and the realization makes her weak.
When Annie releases her lips, Mikasa drops her head into the crook of Annie’s neck to nuzzle there, a safe space to rest her head now that her neck has given out and she feels the bonelessness take over.
She feels fingers gently thread through her hair, nails lightly scratching at her scalp before the pads of fingers run down her neck to tenderly rub out the tension there. Mikasa’s heart leaps into her throat at the gentle treatment, at the familiar and comforting smell of Annie, at the competing feelings of satisfaction and angst that course through her.
She doesn’t want this to end.
She doesn’t want to say goodbye.
Tears prick her eyes and she’s glad to be hidden in the crook of Annie’s neck.
“I don’t want you to go,” Mikasa hears herself whisper against Annie’s skin.
She didn’t mean to say it aloud—they both already know how this turns out, there’s no real point in dwelling on tomorrow.
Annie’s arms tighten around her, and she presses her face closer to the blonde’s neck in return. Annie doesn’t respond with words. There’s nothing left to say, really.
Mikasa tries to find some solace in the fact that neither of them want this to end, but that only makes it sting more. Life is beautiful and cruel—it gave her Annie, but it will also take her away tomorrow.
For the rest of the night, they lay together in relative silence, expressing through touches and glances words they are both unable to voice: I already miss you. I need to see you again. I’ll never forget you. Please stay.