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Mikasa wipes a trail of sweat from her brow with the back of her fist, taking in even breaths. There’s no scrunched brows, pinched eyes or panting breaths to signal any exertion. She’s stone-faced, unseeing as she stands and waits for her next opponent. Another one steps up, a burly guy with a smug smile. She doesn’t even properly look at him by the time the fight starts. It’s like she’s not even fully there but a body pulled on strings to react and engage. She beats him without a bruise left on her. She’s been at this since she was kidnapped as a little girl to be sold like cattle, her parents murdered in front of her. She’d escaped somehow, the memories blurry. Some boy with a red scarf had dropped in, stabbed two of her kidnappers and left by the time she’d picked up a knife and finished the job. And now, she’s here: a robot that moves just a bit out of reach every time, quick on her feet and unrestrained in her movements. There is no pattern, just adjustments made to counter each opponent. When she’d first started out, it had been a sorry sight. Hit after hit, beaten down so often she feared she wouldn’t make it. But an unrelenting fury had burned within her, and she’d thought if she was burning, everyone else should be too.
“Don’t calm down.”
A small Mikasa’s meltdown was interrupted. No parents, alone, underground with no one to turn to, with blood she didn’t regret on her hands and ‘ what am I supposed to do now ,’ a girl stood in front of her crouched figure.
“What?” Mikasa had looked up at a face she’d never seen before to find steely eyes and a hardened face.
“Don’t listen to them. Your anger is your fuel. It’s power,” The girl had stressed, clutching Mikasa’s shoulders and looking intensely into her eyes, trying to ingrain something deep within her. “Use your anger. Don’t fight it.”
Too stunned by the strange girl, Mikasa could only stare back numbly as the girl continued burning holes into her, fingers digging into her skin. “It’s burning you up, isn’t it? There’s power in that. Exhaust it. If it’s true anger, you’ll never be able to. It’s an endless source. You have to hone it into a weapon. Don’t waste your energy trying to suppress it. Suppress it and you’ll go mad and stay weak. Use it and you’ll be a force to be reckoned with.”
A force to be reckoned with had rang in Mikasa’s head, empty of everything but that. A force. Not the beaten, not the kidnapped— a force.
Mikasa had noted the girl’s appearance: her sunken eyes, her dirtied, simple dress that must have once been white, the white headband with blond strands falling out. She had lived the consequences of not doing what she was asserting. “How?” Mikasa had managed to mutter, trying to absorb everything.
“Tire yourself out. It’s hard to focus when you’re angry, right? Go running, spar, punch, kick, anything physical. Get moving until your tiredness wins out against your anger. And don’t forget what you’re angry about throughout it. Work all your anger out—try to. You might not be able to, but that’s good too, use it, you’ll keep using that anger. Anger will keep you alive.
“Anytime you think of defeat, think of your anger instead and you’ll keep going. How dare they? How dare they make you afraid—afraid to do anything, afraid to live? They don’t get to. Don’t ever let them win. Remember what they’ve done to you and keep going. Make them pay.” The words struck deep in Mikasa, magically describing exactly what she was feeling when she hadn’t even had the words to explain it. There was a burning in her chest. The more she had absorbed the girl’s words, the more they had resonated with her. Mikasa’s eyes had met hers again, this time with a similar weight to them as hers had. Her voice had sounded foreign and absolute when she’d vowed, “I will.”
Now, she ends match after match, standing alone in the ring, waiting on the next challenger, again and again. Her hundred-yard stare is etched onto hollow eyes and she doesn’t utter a word nor make a sound.
—----------------
Mikasa is a gangster, a delinquent, a street-rat. Thousand is what they’ve started calling her. A woman with strength equal to a thousand soldiers. The title was almost always used in a jeer more than anything else but it was a name nonetheless. And if she wants to survive, she needs to maintain it. Which is to say, Mikasa does everything she can to never look pretty. It undermines everything she wants to display. Pretty means male attention. Pretty means I’m a doll to look at, come try your luck. Pretty means she’s a desirable woman and in a world with men, that was as good as dead. She couldn’t look like what they wanted a woman to look like if she wanted to instill fear. She applied the only makeup she had, eyeshadow the shade of a purple bruise, to darken her dark-circles. Her face was gaunt and tinted sickly pale. Her tangled and unwashed hair was either tied back in a small ponytail or left open in untamed, matted waves. She made a point to wear a tank top that showed off the muscles, grime and scarring there. No, she wouldn’t be an easy target, she declared wordlessly , and she certainly wouldn’t be a desired one. She was all sharp angles and smudged dirt. That paired with her blank stare was all she had to indicate fuck off and hope to establish some danger when people saw her. Of course, it wasn’t enough. Some assholes found a way to test her anyway. Depraved creatures looking for anything to get their hands on. Like right now. The guy wasn’t even trying to hide his stare at her chest after he had had the audacity to interrupt her walk and come up to her. Without a care for whatever nonsense he was spouting, she grabbed his face with one hand and pulled his face close to hers, effectively snapping his eyes up and shutting him up as her fingers harshly clutched his jaw, squishing to the bone. Her other hand had risen close to her chest in reflex, fist clenched. She uncurled one finger to point to her eyes while staring him down. “Keep your eyes up. Or you’ll lose yours.” She only gave him a second to process her words before carelessly throwing his face to the side, causing him to stumble back. She didn’t wait for him to regain his balance and continued on striding to her destination while listening closely for any foolish attacks from the back. When she didn’t hear any rushing footsteps coming towards her, she wasn’t even relieved, always tense for a fight, always a target, never safe.
—----------------
A guy named Levi drops in one day, tells her he’s her cousin and that he can get her a job above-ground. She doesn’t quite believe him but she agrees all the same. It’s not like she’s fond of the shit-hole she’s stuck in. She doesn’t know what she’d been expecting when Levi had offered her a job but the prospect of being a bodyguard has never crossed her mind. It’s almost laughable that her job now is to protect instead of attack but she supposes it crosses over her skillset enough. It’s excruciatingly boring though. As a fighter, everyday was spent in a flurry of movement and twitching muscles, if not from the matches then from the extra training she added onto her days to get stronger. There was never any time to sit around and she preferred it that way. There was no time to dwell on her thoughts, to have thoughts. Wake up, train, fight, patch-up, sleep and do it all over again. A routine that she completed on auto-pilot. Now she stands around, idly, as the guy she’s assigned to, Eren, sits in meetings or in his office. She’d seen a similar burn in his eyes when she’d met him and thought to herself What the hell does he have to be angry about? It was quickly overwritten with a What the hell does he have to be afraid of when it was revealed that he was her client, so as to speak. His furrowed brows hadn’t faltered when she’d glanced at him and that was just as well. Either way, she’d listened as Levi explained her duties, pretended to take in the information on the contract when she’d only really glanced at her salary and signed it without a word. And the deal was complete. Three-months. It was a trial period, as Levi had told her pointedly and it wasn’t difficult to understand why. There was no documentation on her, no resume, no interview or test she had completed. She didn’t have the faintest clue how Levi had arranged this but she wasn’t one to hesitate on an opportunity. The thought that Levi was setting her up or planning to cash in a favor from her had crossed her mind but she decided she would handle that when it came to it. It wasn’t anything she was unfamiliar with—people trying to get something out of her. She would manage. She always did. When she had mentally run through the worst of what this job meant, she’d flicked her eyes to her client again and found the same slight frown she’d seen before. So Eren wasn’t fond of her, so what? She’d dealt with far worse. He could be upset all his life for all she cared. He’s a big target apparently, for reasons she can’t be bothered to care about. She knows she should, as a bodyguard it’ll do her good to know her enemies but as she stares out the window of Eren’s office, a hand propped on the windowsill with which to support her head and the other absently rocking a pen to knock against the surface, she thinks she’ll take anyone who comes her way happily. “Can you stop that?” Eren says irritably from his seat. He’s always irritable though, so it isn’t saying much. Mikasa takes delight in it anyway. She still hasn’t figured out just what his problem is but she takes great joy in pissing him off when she does, which is almost always unintentionally. “No,” she says simply. Her breath fogs up a small part of the window with how she’s almost pressed up against it and she watches with a mind-numbing boredom as the white fades away into nothing in seconds. Eren huffs something from behind her and she shuts her eyes in an attempt to calm her nerves. It doesn’t work. She opens her eyes and finds her head somehow more heavy and clouded. She pushes away from the window with a sigh and turns her back to the setting sun to stare blankly at the opposing wall instead. It’s her first day and already, it’s unbearable. Agitated enough to feel like a trapped animal, she tells herself this can’t be the thing that defeats her. The minute she gets off, she packs her gloves, a water bottle and heads to the nearest gym. She returns home when the gym closes with her knuckles bloodied and her body finally calmed, or more accurately, exhausted. She’s asleep the moment she hits her bed.
—----------------
The meetings are worse. She can’t even wander about to entertain herself. She has to stand behind Eren and show propriety . At least for today, she muses. Maybe someday she’ll throw that out the window and see what happens, see what the contract says about that . People give her looks when they enter, seeing Mikasa for the first time. Some smile at her in courtesy. She can’t bring herself to return the gesture. A particularly friendly guy comes up to her, standing near Eren. “Hi! I’m Armin, a friend of Eren’s. You must be his bodyguard.” He’s rather nice for someone close to Eren. She glances at Eren and finds him watching them but not disapproving of anything spoken. Mikasa brings her attention back to Armin and gives him a small nod. “I’m Mikasa.” Armin smiles brighter, as if she’s said something nice and nods back happily. “It’s nice to meet you!” She returns the sentiment, albeit more sedately, and he leaves, meeting beginning. She tries to pay attention to the slide show, she still doesn’t know what this company even does but they stay stuck too long on the first slide and her attention drifts to other things. It doesn’t tell her anything to know the meeting is for “ Status Checking ,” whatever that means. She’s leaning against the wall, head tilted back to stare at the ceiling and zone out when she recognizes a voice is being directed at her. “I might be attacked in my sleep,” A man drawls rather loudly. When she tilts her face down she sees his eyes locked on her from the other side of the room, “won’t you leave me your bodyguard for a night?” She can tell from one look that he has no real interest in her. This is a performance. Seeing Eren open his mouth, it’s easy to tell just who the man’s real target is. “Like hell-“ “You have no chance with me,” Mikasa interrupts. Heads turn to her. Her voice is a stark contrast to Eren's angry cut-off tone, indifferent and simple compared to quick fury. They hold weight despite her voice not having been raised, piercing through the room and commanding attention without having made a show for it. “Don’t waste anymore time on it.” The man’s greasy smile doesn’t falter nor does his gaze leave hers. “How harsh,” he comments mockingly. “That was kindness,” Mikasa states with a blank face and words that never agitate against the composed current that she is. “Trust me.” His smile vanishes for outrage. She feels a sigh at that, so predictable, useless men are. Just as the man opens his mouth to say anything more, Eren, surprisingly, decides to step in with a firmer grasp on himself. “Floch, stop bothering her. Your business is with me. Pretend she’s not even here.” Floch , the man with the terrible haircut, huffs and puffs, adjusting his blazer but drops the topic. Mikasa doesn’t thank Eren, not that she needs to considering that she had it handled, but she recognizes support when she sees it and doesn’t play with any noisy items for the rest of day.
—----------------
It becomes a routine after that. A new one. Wake up, go to work, find something useless to fidget with to occupy herself with (it never works) with the side-bonus of annoying Eren, go to the gym, knock-out and do it all over again. She doesn’t know how to feel about it. She doesn’t feel anything about it. The anger still burns within her, as persistent and dissatisfying as always. She doesn’t want it to go away regardless. There is nothing else.
Your anger is your fuel.
She recalls the words as easily as if the girl had spoken them to her yesterday. She should be grateful, for getting out, for being above-ground, for the fact that she’s started a real life now, for all that it matters. But how can she be when all that she can think about is what she’s had to go through to get here, how the paranoia never leaves once you’ve seen the perpetrators up close, how you can’t be relieved when at every corner you’re reminded that you’re a woman in a world that rapes and silences them. “Mikasa,” Eren calls from his desk, bringing her back to the present. Her ire remains, always, a flickering but constant flame. On the surface, she looks at him placidly in response. He frowns and she wonders if her silence bothers him too. That and it’s probably that he’s been in a grumpier mood than usual. That meeting had not gone well from what Mikasa had observed at the tail-end of it. If only she’d paid attention to what they were saying to know what that matter was about. Oh, well. “There’s a work event tonight. It’s a formal event so if you could,” he gestures vaguely to her like it is of any help, “wear something more… formal, it would be good.” She doesn’t glance down at her outfit to know what he’s referring to. As per her old underground days, she’s worn a ratty black tank top and loose pants everyday she’s been at work. The attention had made her uncomfortable when she’d spent a lifetime trying to blend in as plain but she’d taken a look at work clothes and decided it wasn’t something she’d want to fight in. The possibility of which seems to be slim to none considering that despite it having been half a month, no threats have been made on Eren’s life. It could be worse, she reminds herself. She’s getting paid to sit around and do nothing, but dear god if it isn’t maddening. All her knuckles are already busted so she’s taken to kicking now. “Work events aren’t part of the contract,” Mikasa tells him. “ Yes ,” Eren stresses like they’ve been arguing for hours, “it is.” Honestly, she doesn’t know. She truly hadn’t taken in a thing from the contract but if he’s so distressed about it, she’ll allow it if only so he can stop talking to her and she can go back to staring out the window. “When?” “Seven. You’re technically supposed to arrive with me, being a bodyguard and all, so my car can pick you up.” He looks at her expectedly, leaving his statement as a question of sorts. “Sure,” she confirms and that’s that.
—----------------
She shouldn’t have agreed. She stands in front of her mirror, conflicted and anxious. She knows she’s supposed to look nice for the event. Hell, Eren had spelled it out for her so she can’t even pretend otherwise. But. But she can not stand the idea of looking nice. She doesn’t want to. She looks over the dress she’s bought on short notice, a plain black maxi dress that’s loose and comfortable. Not flashy, not quite pretty, but professional, and that’s enough. She brings her gaze to her face and looks away. She’d stopped wearing her usual makeup once she’d been hired when Levi had not-so-subtly hinted at “cleaning herself up” for the sake of getting the job after whatever strings Levi had pulled. But to use makeup to soften her edges, to make her look pleasing— she shudders. She can still feel the stares, the leers, all the attention she’s never wanted, all the harassment, undermining and underestimating, and decides a plain face will have to do. She can’t look in the mirror a second longer and drive herself insane over what marks makeup could cover up for her in the name of beauty. She places her feet in her black flats that have the slightest heel on them and keeps reminding herself, this is fine, it’s the same as always. Just because this is the first time I’ve done this doesn’t make it any different. Same people you see everyday. Just dressed-up. It’s fine. It’s not enough. She feels naked and vulnerable even with the bare-minimum that she’s adhered to the attire for the night. Her knives are strapped under her dress, but they’re still farther than they usually are, tucked into her pockets for quick access, hilts sticking out and visible for all to see. She can end a fight without them but to be unarmed, in and of itself is cause for concern when you grow up surrounded by filth. There’s a knock at her door since she doesn’t have a phone, a fact that Eren had been bewildered by.
“Are you serious?” He’d asked, disbelief clear in his voice. “How can you not have a phone?”
She’d shrugged, nonchalant as ever. “What do I need a phone for?”
“Everything!”
Mikasa is all too happy at the interruption and strides to the door to get out. Having opened it though, it dawns on her that in her eagerness to leave, she’d forgotten to prepare herself for the fact that she’d be seen . She’s plainly dressed by all standards but it still feels like too much to her and she finds herself self-conscious in a pathetic way she’s never been before. She only wants to look rough and tough and now… now she’s supposed to assert the sort of allurement that she hates. Eren’s dressed in a crisp black suit, his tie the shade of his eyes. It suits him well. He takes in Mikasa’s outfit and drags his eyes back to hers. “Not bad.” The usual response is enough to make her exhale a small sigh of relief, the familiarity of their exchanges reassuring her. It’s the same as always. Nothing’s changed. Just the same duties at a different time. Her lips twitch up in the barest of smiles, one she’s unaware of. Eren responds with a small smile of his own and she’s stunned. Maybe she was wrong, this is different. He gives a small shake of his head, like some joke is playing out in his head and she feels her nerves return tenfold. She looks down at her dress but before she can spiral again Eren’s voice breaks in, softer than usual and with a hint of a mirth, “Come on,” he holds out a hand. She glances at the offered hand, at Eren, then back at the palm as if trying to read some nuance or ridicule she’s missing. She finds nothing. She, uncharacteristically hesitantly, places her scabbed over and bloodied hand in his pristine one, afraid of something she’s not sure of. All of that disappears when his fingers curl around hers gently and she sees the smile on his face again. She rips her eyes away and follows him out without a word.
—----------------
Mikasa takes in the hall as she steps in, hand in Eren’s and eyes searching for all possible exits. Two doors, three counting the one that leads to some other room instead of the outside, and eight windows. It’s a huge place and Mikasa wonders just how prestigious her workplace is. Armin rushes to them, excited. “Hey, guys! You look great!” Mikasa nods her thanks and observes the room while Eren and Armin do the majority of the talking. A few minutes in, Eren breaks off from her with Armin to greet some of their other friends and Mikasa wanders to the food table with a lack of anywhere else to be. It’s while she’s aimlessly walking around the room that she halts. Her eyes scan the room to locate Eren and snag on his back, conversing in a small group. She rushes over, just short of running because there’s no explanation for the sudden danger she feels but she’s not stupid enough to ignore it. Just as she’s about to reach him, a woman passes behind him and Mikasa recognizes a dagger in her hand without having seen it. “Eren!” Mikasa’s hand shoots out to close around the woman’s arm and yank her away. Eren turns around in her periphery but she doesn’t pay him any attention as the woman, undeterred, moves with the motion to thrust her knife towards Mikasa’s torso. Mikasa easily dodges, shifting a foot back. With the woman facing her, it becomes apparent who it is. Annie doesn’t give her a moment to process anything, already jabbing forward at an alarming speed. Mikasa dodges the other two thrusts and wraps her hand around Annie’s for the second time, stopping the movement of the knife. Mikasa pushes forward, striking and swiping which Annie blocks and dodges and she’s reminded of the long matches she used to have underground. Those had always been the worst days, their skills only matched by the other. Mikasa manages to knock the knife out of Annie’s hand but not before Annie swipes at her eye. The knife clatters to the ground and Mikasa feels something drip down the curve of her cheek. In a rare moment of stillness, Mikasa brings up her hand to touch her face and can’t believe her eyes when it comes away red. For the first time in years, Mikasa suffers an injury. “ Annie,” Mikasa seethes. It must come out louder than intended because she notices people take a step back from the corner of her eyes. “ Thousand,” Annie says flatly. It’s a whirlwind of movement after that, limbs striking out and bodies shifting at a pace no one can follow. There’s a thrill that comes with it, and Mikasa is loath to admit that as infuriated as she is with Annie, it feels good to fight someone who can keep up. Movement from the edges of her vision has her eyes snapping to the side to see people she assumes are the authorities or security or something but they’re coming her way and no one is screaming in fear at the sight of them so they must be on her side. Mikasa’s focus darts back to Annie. She can keep her occupied. She’s had a lot of practice with that. Annie seems to have noticed the backup too and jumps back to get away. In a flash, a knife is embedded in Annie’s shoulder. Annie hunches over slightly, a hand over the blood with eyes glaring at Mikasa between strands of hair. When the backup rushes towards Annie, it’s a laughable sight at how easily Annie disarms them in a minute, standing in front of Mikasa the same as before. Only, instead of pursuing further, she bee-lines it towards one of the connecting doors to what must be the kitchen. Mikasa takes a step after her but is quickly blocked. By Levi.
—----------------
The night afterwards was a blur, people rushing out of the venue, police sirens blaring and lights flashing. Eren was immediately led back to his car while Mikasa was brought over to the paramedics, from whom she denied any and all help, and hailed a taxi for a ride back. Today, she walks into Eren’s office and sees Levi standing in front of Eren’s desk before both of their attention swivel to her. “What the hell happened last night?” Levi demands. Mikasa belatedly realizes that the question is directed at her. “What?” Levi narrows his eyes. “ Last night ,” he repeats uselessly. Mikasa doesn’t deign to respond. “You are only meant to disarm and apprehend ,” he says tightly. “Not kill .” “I didn’t.” She says with an edge. He furiously steps forward, “I could tell you were about to.” “What the hell is that supposed to mean?” Mikasa asks sharply. If Levi can’t seem to speak plainly, she won’t be wasting time entertaining his baseless anger, and she definitely isn’t just going to stand there and take it . “She attacked me—attacked Eren. I was doing my job.” Her own anger surges, “ You were the one who let her get away. I could’ve gotten her.” “You would’ve killed her!” he spits. “Do you think I don’t know that look? That I can’t recognize it?” “Where the hell even were you?” Mikasa breaks in, “I didn’t see you the whole time I was there and believe me, I looked at every inch!” “Do you need a babysitter? It’s none of your business where I was, brat! I didn’t get you this job so you could incriminate yourself and drag us down with you,” he says hotly. “What the hell are you talking about? I didn’t do anything incriminating. Even if I had killed her, it would’ve been self-defense. No one’s getting dragged down.” “You know it’s not that easy,” he says immediately and she does, but she just needs something to throw in his face, anything to cut and destroy. “The news is already everywhere, they would’ve had a field-day with you if you’d killed her. You would’ve gone to trial and everything about you would’ve been examined. Everything,” he emphasizes, which really means nothing . They would’ve found no official records since her birth, which would’ve been worse paired with what was known leading up to that gap. “Not even a law firm can protect you from that.” The way he says the last sentence sticks with her. For a moment there’s a silence that makes it apparent just how loud it was until she feels a huff of breath leave her, and then another and then it’s a chuckle without any warmth. Her voice cuts like a knife in her next breath, “You got me a job at a law firm ?” If she’d thought it was funny before, it’s hilarious now that she’s become not only a protector, but a protector for the justice system that is anything but. The rage pours in all at once, “What the hell is the matter with you? How is that not the first thing you mention? How is that not in the same sentence as ‘ I can get you a position?’” “Have you not been listening to a word I’ve said?!” He shouts. “How stupid do you have to be to not know you work at a law firm after having been here for weeks! And then you can’t control your bloodlust, going after someone who recognizes you, knows you! You’ve just given yourself away! Ruined everything I did to get you out of that shit-hole and ruined the reputation of the Scouts! All things that we can’t afford!” Mikasa recognizes herself breathing harshly in the quiet that follows. She glares at him. “I haven’t. Nothing happened.” Levi quiets alongside her but is no less cutting. “Because of me . No more mistakes, Mikasa.” He stares hard into Mikasa for a few seconds following the statement, then turns and walks out. “Eren, keep an eye out,” he calls before his hand grabs the knob. Mikasa’s eyes slide to Eren, forgotten from the space for the whole argument. He gets out a hasty “I will,” by the time Levi is halfway out the door, only receiving a closing door in response. Eren turns to face Mikasa. She looks back before realizing just what she’s looking at and turns her gaze to the side and down to the floor. She can still feel her breaths trembling, not even like they should be. Her fists clench as she forces herself to take in a breath and then let it out. She can’t remember the last time someone had made her winded. It doesn’t help to think of the fact that she’d just been scolded , like a misbehaving student, that too in front of someone else. She’s definitely never had to put up with that before. The walls feel more suffocating than ever. Another cage for her, another series of fights. The only difference is that she’s losing, something she’s worked hard to grow unfamiliar with. There’s nothing to punch and kick at here. There’s nothing here. “Mikasa,” Eren calls in an unusual tone. Mikasa looks at him from the corner of one eye. She doesn’t want to deal with him. She wants to walk right out and never return. “Thank you.” She slowly turns her head, both eyes finding his. “For saving me last night. You were so quick,” he glances down at his table. When he looks back up, his eyes stick to the new, small scar under her eye. “It was insane, watching you move like that. You’re insane.” His words hold an awe that she’s never had experience with. She can only look at him blankly, too many things on her mind. He clears his throat, looking away and to his monitor, dragging his mouse around to light up the screen. “Also,” he continues with his eyes glued to the screen, “Levi said that we’re going to be living together—as a precaution. Against future attacks. He must’ve forgotten to mention it.” Great.
—----------------
When Eren had said we’re living together , he’d meant Mikasa would be moving in to his place. Not that she’d have it the other way around, but still. She packs the few clothes she has along with her toiletries and knocks on Eren’s door to live with him for the next month and a half. She has to live with a man . How had her life come to this? She’d brought up the contract again, partly because she loved that it’s become something that evokes annoyance and partly because she wanted to hold onto the privacy of having her own space to return to. Eren had rolled his eyes and told her to take it up with Levi, who had looked at her, unamused, and said that considering the stunt she’d pulled, she’d be living with Eren, contract be damned unless she wanted to be fired. So she’d moved in. Eren’s apartment is a single bedroom, so she doesn’t even get a room, just the couch to sleep on. He’d been quite gentlemanly though, saying she could take his bed since she was already forced to give up her own. She’d declined. She wouldn’t have been able to sleep in someone else’s room, let alone rest on someone else’s bed. The only respite she gets now is at her after-work gym visits. She spends her evenings and nights there, up until the gym closes and she has to walk back to Eren’s. It’s not safe, but there’s nowhere she will be. Tonight, the empty streets aren’t so empty. “Annie,” Mikasa announces without turning around. “That was a surprise,” Annie says in lieu of a greeting. “I didn’t think I’d see you above-ground. Definitely not as a bodyguard to him .” Mikasa turns around to face her. “What’s so special about him?” “It’s unusual for you not to know, Ten-thousand,” Annie responds airily. “He’s a threat. He’s been taking cases to expose the corruption within the military police. Apparently, his mother was a victim. Ever since, he’s been gaining attention for his recklessness in court.” Annie inspects Mikasa for a second before continuing. “You know, you’d like him. He’s stubborn like you. And not all that bad.” Mikasa hears the compliment clearly. In truth, she doesn’t think she would kill Annie unless it was serious enough for kill-or-be-killed. As much as Mikasa had hated losing money to her, Annie had been the only notable girl in her time underground. It was obvious that Annie didn’t have any malicious intent towards her and while they’d never been friends, there was a solidarity in knowing Annie was someone like her. It was something she’d never admit out loud, but she felt the slightest tinge of camaraderie with Annie, just for having been there. In an attempt to respond in kind, in as subtle a manner as she can manage, Mikasa says, “And no match for you.” The corners of Annie’s mouth twitch up for a second and Mikasa can tell the message has been received. “Good for him that I'm not going after him anymore.” “You’re not?” Annie shrugs, looking to the side. “My job was a one-time thing. I failed. Too bad they’ll never catch me.” Something nags at Mikasa that this might be the last time she’ll ever see her. Maybe it’s because she’s seeing her after so many years, seeing that they’d both made it out alive, that has her feeling like a tiny thread of connection is about to snap forever. It’s too early to be softening up, Mikasa muses, but it does nothing for the sudden rush of emotion within her. “Don’t lose your edge,” are her parting words. Annie shakes her head lightly, amused. “You’re a beast , Thousand.” Mikasa walks to Eren’s with a bittersweet smile.
—----------------
Mikasa’s just finished her nightly shower when she stumbles upon Eren in the kitchen, getting a glass of water. “Hey,” he greets. She nods, drying off her hair with a towel in one hand and holding her discarded clothes in her other as she makes her way to the couch. Just as she sits down, he pipes up, “Oh, Mikasa, could you start the dishwasher?” Mikasa freezes. Then immediately forces herself to relax. “I washed all my dishes,” she says, feigning normalcy as she reaches for the bag sitting on the floor against the couch. “Oh. Uh. I mean—,” he breaks off. Mikasa zips open the bag, her back to him, and starts folding her clothes. “It would be nice if you could do my dishes too. I cook for both of us, and that uses up a bunch of pots and pans.” “You don’t have to. I’ll stop using the dishes.” “What? Mikasa,” he sounds upset now. She lets out a sigh he can’t see then turns to face him. “Don’t be like that, you hate doing the dishes that much?” She wouldn’t know. She doesn’t know how to use a dishwasher. Eren takes her silence as an answer, sighing. “Fine, fine, whatever,” he rolls his eyes. “I’ll do the dishes, just keep eating, okay?” In an attempt to ease the mood, she insists, “You don’t have to keep cooking for me. I won’t bother you.” Eren shakes his head, adamant but no less grumpy. “It’s fine, Mikasa. I can do the dishes.” He bends down to look at what she presumes is the dishwasher when he adds sympathetically, “It must not be easy for you, living here, right?” Well. Actually, it had been. Sure, she didn’t have her own room but she noticed all of Eren’s acts of hospitality to make her feel comfortable. Mikasa usually returned to an empty space at night, Eren in his room except for the occasions he’d come out to get water or go to the bathroom so that Mikasa could get some time to herself. He’d leave out dinner for her at the table, either something he’d made or a box of takeout. She had to move in but it can’t have been Eren’s preference to have someone else in his home either. He could’ve been nasty about it, made her life a living hell like many housemates did. But he hadn’t. He’d been welcoming. “I don’t know how to use a dishwasher,” Mikasa admits quietly. Eren hears her anyway. “What?” Mikasa doesn’t look at him. “I don’t know how to use the dishwasher.” He’s quiet. There’s nothing else she wants to say. “Oh,” he whispers, having come to some sort of conclusion. “You know, it’s fine. I’ll just do the dishes. It’s nothing.” Mikasa gulps around the dryness in her throat and shuts her eyes. This is what you wanted, right? He understood how miserable you are without you even saying it. She picks up her shirt, rushing to move past this and forget all about it. “Um, Mikasa?” And resists the urge to groan. Mikasa looks up. “That girl—at the event, she called you something, didn’t she? What was it…,” he trails off, thinking, “Thousand?” Mikasa is caught unsure again. Should she tell him? Is she supposed to? Her mind goes to how kind Eren’s being, his actions so considerate of Mikasa. She can give him this. “Yeah,” she confirms. The tense atmosphere evaporates, replaced by curiosity clear on his face. “Why?” She tries not to sound smug but she would be lying if she said she wasn’t proud of the title she’d earned. “It means I have the strength of a thousand soldiers. It was a name I got underground.” “You’re so cool,” Eren reveres, as easily as if he were talking about the weather. “I’m glad Levi found you.” Mikasa is completely out of cards to play. She doesn’t know how to respond. Thankfully, she doesn’t have to as Eren walks back to his room with a “goodnight.” Mikasa finishes placing her clothes in her bag and lies down. She can’t stop replaying Eren’s reaction when she’d explained her nickname. Strangely, Eren had looked proud of her too.
—----------------
At the start of the second month, another meeting is called. Mikasa pays attention this time, though she’d argue it’s impossible not to, considering the high-stress environment everyone is in. Even weeks later, the chaos has not died down. Mikasa had failed to ask Annie who her client was, caught-up in saying goodbye to the only sort-of acquaintance she’d had but she doesn’t think it would’ve made a difference. As Levi had told her, it wasn’t her job to track down her opponents and kill them like an assassin. She was only meant to hand people over to the authorities lest she take the risk of exposing her own dirty past. The anger blazes anew every time she thinks of the hypocrisy—condemned for something she was forced into, jailed for her only means of survival, while the truly guilty walk free. It’s always what she’s supposed to do , like the world isn’t the wretched place it is where what is supposed to happen is spit upon as the strong and powerful fuck around and the rest pay with their blood. The meeting revolves around the cases Eren wants to take and how they’d be presented while doing damage-control for the reputation of the Scouts. (Yes, that’s the name of the company Mikasa works at. Mikasa had actually let out a disbelieving chuckle when she’d processed that while overhearing Levi’s conversation with Eren, making both of them turn to her). Floch cuts in, “Why is he taking any cases right now, anyways? It’s best to keep him out of the spotlight if we don’t all want to be losing clients.” “It’ll be more suspicious to hide him away,” Armin defends. “Besides, if Eren can win these cases, it’d be a bigger scandal for the military police, taking attention off of the Scouts and Eren.” “I think we’re past that,” Floch dismisses. “It’s a miracle the judge didn’t put Eren behind bars for murder.” “What?” Mikasa blurts out before she can stop herself. Attention shifts to her but she can only look expectantly at Floch to elaborate. Floch smiles, misconstruing Mikasa’s disbelief for horror, happily explaining, “It’s the gossip of the country. Eren was a kid when he killed two men underground. It’s a stroke of luck that there wasn’t any substantial evidence or he’d be locked up like he deserves.” Her mouth moves simultaneously to her thoughts. “ How dare you.” Floch’s smile falls. “Huh?” It’s not her fight, but isn’t it? Couldn’t it just as easily be her he’s talking about? “How dare you sit there, never having stepped underground, and speak about what he deserves? It’s so easy, to claim what’s right and wrong from your position, isn’t it? The law is right and everything else is wrong.” It’s not her place, she knows. It’s never her place. And that’s exactly why she speaks up. The rules have always been against her and she’d be dead if she followed them. “It’s so easy to divide good and bad when you’ve never had to fight for your life. Anyone with blood on their hands must be bad and punished for it, right? Because there’s always another way? We don’t all get the choice. We don’t all have the luxury of having your morals. Of living cleanly.” Now that she’s started, she can’t stop. A lifetime of being looked down upon, used as entertainment for rich bastards, hearing their cheers over spilled blood and their displeasure when it wasn’t “exciting,” all from a protected little box where they were seated upon like they were any better, like they had any right to pass judgment on them, flashes before her eyes. Everything that’s been swirling around in her head for years, boiling her blood, flows out like a stream of molten lava. “It’s so easy to live in a world that’s black and white when you’ve never been forced into the black. Never seen the black—-never experienced it. It’s so easy to call yourself righteous and good for so brazenly exacting consequences on those you think deserve it when you’ve never seen the shit that happens! You sit there, spouting your morals like you understand anything! And you have the audacity to think you’re a better person for it! A good person!” The room is still as her last words echo in a harsh hush. She realizes after the fact that she’d gotten derailed, dumping all her hatred for the law, the world, and stupid, naive people with their stupid, naive morals on what was a conversation about Eren. She reigns in her wildly beating heart and decides to end it professionally so that it may take precedence over her outburst. Her volume is lower when she starts again. “It’s foolish,” she wants to say presumptuous but she’s afraid she might mispronounce the word (there was never a need to be formal underground), “to convict Eren when we don’t have all the facts. I’m sure others will realize it too. Face can still be saved.” At the end of her speech, the room is still shell-shocked. Mikasa refuses to fidget or look down. Armin ends up breaking the silence, “Mikasa is right. We can still work around the rumors.” Gradually, voices speak again, discussion resuming. Mikasa feels eyes on her and catches Eren’s. It’s only a split-second before he breaks away to contribute to the meeting. Mikasa doesn’t look at Levi, who’s actually present at this meeting, knowing she’s on thin ice.
—----------------
When she reaches Eren’s that night, Mikasa’s surprised to see Eren sitting at the kitchen table. He’s usually in his bedroom by the time she returns, a dinner set out for her despite how often she’s insisted it isn’t necessary. His eyes meet hers at the same time she notices him. “Hey.” She nods, walking past Eren and towards the couch that acts as her bed. She lowers her gym bag to the floor. “You should wear a jacket,” Eren says from behind her. “It’s getting cold nowadays.” “It doesn’t bother me.” It does. But Mikasa doesn’t have a jacket. She sits on the couch. “Are you still eating?” Eren ignores the question, opting to sigh, “ Mikasa. You’re going to get sick.” “I won’t.” He gets up with another sigh and Mikasa wonders if she’s offended him. She doesn't get much time to parse through that thought when he comes back holding something. He stops a step away from her. “Here,” he outstretches the item. She looks at it, confused. She slowly moves to take it from him. It’s long and soft and when she pulls at the bundle of fabric, she realizes it’s red. She stares at it, breath catching. It dawns on her, everything that was revealed this morning. She’d been distracted by her outburst during the day to focus on it, but Eren had been underground once. “Eren,” her fingers curl into the scarf. “When did you go underground?” “Huh?” “Today, at the meeting,” Mikasa wrings the scarf. “You’ve gone underground. What happened?” “Oh.” Eren shifts his weight to his back leg, puzzled at the line of questioning. “Do you…really want to know? It’s a long story.” “Yes,” is the immediate response. “Please,” follows quieter. Eren observes Mikasa, debating. Mikasa stares with bated breath. “I was supposed to meet someone. My dad was taking me to make a friend,” he rolls his eyes. “But when we got there,” he looks down, “her parents had been killed, their daughter missing. They were going to leave it to the military police,” fury seeps into his voice, “but I knew they weren’t going to do anything. They’re useless.” He takes a breath, glances at her. She’s raptly listening. “So I found a trail myself. It led underground.” He stops. Mikasa can faintly recall something similar. Her mother telling her they’d be having guests, Mikasa wishing it was a girl she’d be meeting but hearing it was a boy—- the Yaegars. Eren Yeagar. Mikasa can hear her heartbeat pounding in her ears. She has to know. With her eyes glued to the scarf, she asks, “Did you find her?” Eren exhales, despondent. “Not really. I made it to her,” eyes shift to Mikasa, how she’s slightly curled in on herself, a head of hair all that he can make out with her face turned to the scarf in her lap. He hesitates. “Are you sure you want to hear this?” She nods. A beat passes. Then, “I killed two of the scum that had kidnapped her—-they were going to,” his eyes squeeze shut and his jaw clenches. “They were going to sell her,” he spits. “They’re the worst type of scum—-they’re not even human, they don’t deserve to be one of us. I stabbed them with all I had.” Mikasa’s head snaps up. She never thought she’d hear anyone admit what she’s been thinking her whole life. People were always either indifferent or righteously opinionated. They were never angry enough. But the anger Eren’s speaking with is raw and deep. It’s a mirror reflection of her own. Respect and admiration and everything that’s lining up has Mikasa’s eyes stinging. Eren carries on, caught in the memory. She quickly turns away, afraid of being seen. “But there was one I missed. He came up from behind me just as the girl warned me. She was the one who got him. When I turned around she was gone and my father showed up right after. We couldn’t find her. My dad was scared of staying too long underground.” Mikasa tries to regulate her breathing. She could’ve been rescued. If she’d just stayed for a minute, she wouldn’t have had to suffer all these years. Someone had come for her. Eren had fought for her. He understood her rage like it was his own. She blinks furiously to keep the tears at bay. “Eren.” Lost in thought, he hums, “hm?” Even with her eyes glassy, Mikasa feels it’s important that she expresses her gratitude wholly. She lifts her head slowly, eyes traveling up from his jeans to his face. She tries to muster all her feelings into her voice. “Thank you.” Eren’s brows furrow in question, back to himself. “What?” She looks to the side, mouth thinning and eyes closing as she wills herself to be steady. Steeling herself, she looks back at him. “ Thank you ,” she presses earnestly, “for helping me.” For thinking like you do, for understanding my anger, for seeing my side, for wanting them to pay like I do, for wanting something better than I have to live with. All her bravery leaves her now that she’s finished with what she wants to say and she jerks her head away. Tears cascade down her eyes, leaking out three at a time. She buries her face in her hands, breath hitching. No noise escapes her, her mouth clamped shut but she can feel herself shaking. “Mikasa.” Eren’s voice is far closer than before. He sounds heartbreakingly tender. She doesn’t think she’ll ever stop crying at this rate. Mikasa can’t respond. Hands rest lightly on her wrists, the smallest of pulls urging her to move her hands away from her face. She doesn’t budge. Eren sighs and lets go. A moment later, something is being curled around her. She looks up before she can stop herself and catches red. Hands loop the scarf around her, covering her up to just below her eyes. Eren steps back when he’s done, glances at her for a second with a look of comfort that has more tears pooling in her eyes and then turns away to give her some privacy. A pathetic sob breaks through. Eren whirls back but she’s faster, burying her face in the scarf. She holds onto it like a lifeline. She’s never letting it go.
—----------------
Mikasa feels like shit the next morning. She rubs a hand over her crusty eyes and down her face, all of last night fresh on her mind. She hasn’t cried like that in…probably ever. She’d been too numb to let out anything for most of her life. She doesn’t know how to face Eren. Will he be different now that he knows? Will he look down on her? Pity her? Think it was all her fault for not staying in one place? A door swings open with an accompanying yawn. At least it’s the weekend, Mikasa thinks sullenly. Footsteps come closer, “You up?” Mikasa can’t find the voice nor the will to respond. Eren comes into view, standing above her. Mikasa’s eyes slide to him and he gives her a small smile. “C’mon Mikasa, lazing around’s not like you.” And damn it all, his stupid little joke brings a stupid little smile to her own face. His smile brightens, catching it. “What do you want for breakfast?” She rises up, sitting and swinging her legs over the couch. She takes in a fresh breath, holds it and lets it go. “Something sweet.”
—---------------- Two months in, Mikasa cracks. The gym isn’t cutting it anymore. She needs a target that can fight back, that can think. There’s also the creeping doubt that she’s losing her skill from the months she’s spent without an opponent challenging her. Fighting’s the only thing she’s good at, her only defining trait and the thought of losing it has her anxious. “Eren.” Eren looks away from his laptop to Mikasa. “Can you fight?” Confusion paints his face, a small frown tugging at the corners of his lips. It’s kind of a pout that shouldn’t look cute but somehow does. Then his eyes snag on Mikasa’s scarred knuckles and the confusion is wiped away by understanding. “Levi would be a better sparring partner for you.” “Levi?” Mikasa echoes. Eren brings a hand up to support the side of his head, giving Mikasa his full attention as he nods. “He knows how to fight?” Mikasa checks. She can’t imagine it. He doesn’t seem like the type, too uptight to get dirty or resort to fistfights. Eren laughs at that. “Why don’t you ask him that and find out?” Mikasa studies him for a bit, feeling much like he was playing a prank. Eren catches on, ceasing his chuckles. “Yes,” he says sincerely, “Levi fights. Probably the best we have.” Eren pauses. “Well,” eyes Mikasa, “maybe not the best .” Mikasa, stupidly, like a child and not the gangster she is— was, has been all her life—feels touched. Struck dumb, she just stands there while Eren’s smile lingers on her. She leaves shortly after, stopping by Levi’s office. He’s not happy to see her. “What is it, brat?” “Can you— do you fight?” Levi’s deadpan eyes look up from his work. “Hah?” “Eren said you can fight. I was looking for a partner to spar with.” Levi leans back in his chair, contemplative. Mikasa thinks it’s a pretty simple question but chooses not to verbalize that. She takes the opportunity to inspect him. He still doesn’t look like the type but then again, that’s always been a common mistake to make. “You want a fight?” Levi probes. Mikasa nods. “After work.” “One hour.”
—----------------
Three hours later, Mikasa and Levi sit, panting and sweating. Mikasa sits on the bench, wiping sweat from the back of her neck while Levi’s settled on the mat, a water bottle in hand. “Not bad,” Levi throws. Mikasa lets out a huff. “Don’t act like you’re so much better.” Neither had kept score, their focus solely on the fight. With how long the matches were and no side gaining an upper hand, it was clear they were equally matched. It was a matter of one move that often granted the end of an intense spar: one well-timed swipe, one trick of a block, one twist in the heat of the moment that declared a winner. Levi had been surprised at first, when the fight wasn’t over in a minute, and then threw himself into it. Mikasa was similarly shocked at Levi’s skill. She recognized the ease with which he moved, one that was only gained through the need of survival. No hesitance, no panic, only a need to win, only the next breath to use. Unlike Annie, who had a distinct style that Mikasa would bet was learned from a professional type of martial arts, Levi fought like everyone else in the underground did, with moves picked up and made up based on pure instinct and the fear of what losing meant. What set him apart though, was his speed. When they’d started, Mikasa had to adjust in the span of a couple of seconds in order to not meet the floor. “Have you fought underground?” Mikasa tests, pretending she doesn’t know the answer. Levi finishes gulping water, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. He gives her a look that screams obviously. Mikasa glances at her hand towel, rubbing her thumb over the material. She doesn’t want to ask…but she kind of does.
The unrest hasn’t abated, no matter how long she’s spent away from the underground. She’s still just
so. Angry.
How dare they
, repeats in her head, pounds in her skull, every moment of every damn day.
How dare they make me live like this: afraid and paranoid for my own life, just for being alive, just for being a woman.
There is no peace for her.
“Have you… Are you…” Mikasa shuts her eyes, frustrated as she steers past her rapidly rising rage to get her question across. He won’t be able to understand completely, but he’s the closest connection she has to her background. All her words feel useless as she struggles to phrase it.
“Are you still burning?”
Mikasa wishes she could take it back, say it better but she can’t think of anything else. Nothing besides how
wretched this world is, full of wretched people—
“Yeah,” Levi says easily, surprising her. “I am.”
He looks at her, pensive and observing. Then he lowers his eyes, staring at the wall behind her but elsewhere. “It doesn’t go away.”
What would be a curse sounds closer to a comfort than it should. Levi doesn’t say anything more and Mikasa doesn’t ask.
She sits with roughened skin and jumbled up thoughts, insurmountable levels of wrath flooding her system, always ready to tear through skin and spill over at the nearest chance.
Use your anger
, she hears again.
Mikasa will. It’s the only thing that’s hers. The only thing that can’t be taken away.
Use it and you’ll be a force to be reckoned with.
Mikasa smiles to herself despite everything. Mikasa is.
With a fire that never stops burning, Mikasa will always be.