Chapter Text
Erwin Smith came into his world like a bolt of light. Sudden and blinding, dazzling him so that he had to stumble back three quick steps and blink, his sight mashed and hazy, and wonder if this person was real. And he knew in his heart – even though he refused to accept it at first, even when he hated Erwin Smith – that he, Levi, would follow no King or Commander but him.
X
The first sign (Omen? Premonition?) that something was wrong was when Mike got the drop on him during sparring exercise. But if Levi was Humanity’s Strongest, then Mike was a close second. He’d watched Mike and Erwin move during expeditions, had made a study of their strength and speed, and he knew that Mike was good. In fact, he was sure that as long as the Commander didn’t fight dirty, Mike could beat Erwin in a fight.
So, Levi didn’t take it as an omen of worse to come when he missed a step, moved just a hair too slowly, and felt Mike’s hand on his bicep, a shoulder shoved against his ribs, the ground tilting away from him. And then he was flying through the air. Like a wingless bird, he landed ungracefully, jarringly, his knee singing with pain. He knelt there for a second amidst the autumn-crisp leaves, panting, breathing in air that smelled of apples and damp earth, Mike out of sight behind him but still casting a shadow over him. Tall bastard.
Mike was good at what he did. He was strong and fast. So Levi didn’t linger on the fact that he’d been feeling off all week. That there was a greasy not-quite-pain in the pit of his stomach that had haunted him all week. And that though he knew the right way to move, the right step to take, he’d moved too slow, his feet sluggish and watery, like in a dream.
“Are you alright?” rumbled Mike, coming up behind him. Stupid of him, to come within striking distance. Your opponent isn’t defeated until he’s flat on his back, Kenny had always told him.
Levi pushed off his right foot, pivoting, then punched straight upwards. Again, he was too slow, he could feel a thrum of resistance in his muscles. But Mike took it on the side of his face and flew back a good distance, rolling to a controlled stop.
“Idiot,” said Levi. “Why didn’t you dodge it?”
“You were always too fast for me,” said Mike, shrugging, even though it wasn’t true. At least not that time.
He had no appetite later at dinner, staring sullenly at a piece of gristle in his soup while everyone else laughed and slurped and scraped their bowls clean. They were in high spirits, excited for the upcoming expedition. The fires were roaring, the roof slats opened to let out the smoke. The air coming in was crisp and smelled of autumn, rain and leaves and sweet hay. He should have been hungry but he wasn’t.
The bench dipped as Mike lowered his bulk next to him. “You alright?” came that quiet rumble again.
“I’m fine. Are you?” Levi countered, looking at the plump bruise under Mike’s left eye.
He shrugged a hefty shoulder. “Had worse.”
Levi huffed and looked away. Dipped his spoon a few times. Didn’t bring it to his mouth. He tried not to notice that Erwin’s seat across from him was empty.
Mike ate some bread and butter, took a nut from the communal bowl. He sniffed once, discreetly, at Levi. “Are you sure you’re alright?”
“I’m fine,” Levi said testily, even though his bones were aching and his middle felt spiked with thorns. Soreness. Overworked muscles. Nothing more. He flicked an annoyed glance at Mike. “Do you need me to kick your ass to prove it?”
“Hah, no.” Make sipped from a wooden cup and didn’t say anymore. He’d bathed before heading to the mess hall for dinner. He smelled of bland soap and male musk, a hint of salt from some remnant of sweat on his collar. It wasn’t like Levi to notice, really notice, the smell of an Alpha.
Then he smelled old grease and human bodies and candle wax, the crushing inside smells, and his stomach turned. He pushed away his untouched food to a fellow officer, who took it without much convincing. He ignored Mike’s concerned look as he left the mess.
It was too hot inside, but it was suddenly too cold outside, his body alternating fussily between sweating and shivering. He hugged himself as he walked, feeling pathetic, going nowhere.
A new smell swatted at him, something damp and green and sweet, an air pocket memory of summer. It made him waver in his tracks, blinking rapidly. He’d managed to wander into the patch of garden under Erwin’s office. The garden was crescent shaped, wrapping around that wing of the building. On a summer day, the Commander’s window opened out onto rose bushes and a brick-bordered herb bed.
Levi panted against the cool brick, a hand to his middle, and looked up at the closed slats of Erwin’s window like a lovelorn kid. There was a fingernail of light at the bottom edge. He imagined Erwin at his desk, straight-backed even in private, neat hair bronzed by the candlelight, brain still buzzing, buzzing, underneath that shapely skull. It was impossible to imagine him doing anything else in there but working. If it was any other high-ranking officer, Levi could have pictured him napping, maybe taking a neat drink with his collar unbuttoned, maybe making time with a woman or an omega. But not Erwin.
Working, working, planning, planning. Erwin took his meals in his quarters half the time so he didn’t have to stop, the food already cold, carried from the kitchen two buildings over.
The cool scent of herbs swatted at him again, almost playfully. Invoking. A lifetime ago, a life ago, when he’d been new to the Corps, still pale and bristling from the Underground, he’d stood here with Erwin.
Deeming the instructor useless, he’d snuck out of training and stumbled across the Commander at the garden, jacketless, wearing gloves, his knees dirtied. He was putting up a trellis for new vines. Levi was new to Erwin then, his moods and habits, and hadn’t realize what a rarity it was. Erwin himself had been caught off guard, his face open like he’d been woken from a dream.
“Lavender,” he’d explained to Levi, pointing at one plant after another. “Rue. Marigold. Basil. For medicines. And climbing roses for beauty.”
Levi had pulled his cloak tighter around his neck, wrinkling his nose at the smell of damp soil and hay. “Dirty work,” he’d grumbled. Erwin had cracked a small smile.
There’d been a ring of wild mushrooms, moist and squishy, a bit way off. And dandelions and patchy, prickly weeds. Levi gestured to them with his elbow, his arms crossed under his cloak. “You’ll need to clear that mess out.”
“Maybe,” said Erwin, his smile going sideways with his gaze. “Maybe. But wild things can be beautiful too.”
Levi shrugged. “Dunno. I’m no expert.”
It was the closest thing the Commander had to a hobby, and he didn’t talk about it much, as if it was something to be ashamed of.
The rose vines were bare now, brown and stringy and thorny. They looked like things that grew Underground, ugly and crooked and mean. They looked sharp even in the darkness. Again, Levi felt spikes in his stomach. His arms prickled with gooseflesh even as he sweated. He wanted a bath.
Private baths were usually reserved for the highest-ranking officers or for special occasions. But Levi managed to charm (bully) a few awestruck cadets into procuring one for him. They dragged the tin tub into his private quarters and filled it with barrels of steaming hot water.
He waited until he was sure the cadets had left, their footsteps faded down the hallway, before undressing and sinking into the bath with a sigh. It felt like a hug. It soothed him, made his entire body feel watery, loose. He simultaneously craved a warm embrace, yet being near people made his skin crawl, and so the communal baths had been intolerable. He felt completely unlike himself.
Under the water, he stroked his arms, his chest, his stomach, a knee. In purely non-sexual way, he wanted to touch. Be touched. He felt… in need. Like his blood was thrumming for something. As he pressed fingers into his skin, his mind floated to Erwin again. He was imagining the straight-laced commander like this, loose and naked in a bath. How did Erwin bathe? Probably quickly and efficiently.
As his mind wandered, his hand wandered between his legs, wavering, afraid to really touch. He hadn’t touched himself there in ages. Hadn’t wanted to. The urges had died with his heats long ago. But now…
A trickle of something warm came from between his legs. He sat up, disgusted, wondering if he’d pissed himself, then flinched back. It was blood. A wavy trickle of it floating to the surface of the bath. He was bleeding from there.
Two hands on the sides of the tub, he pushed himself up and nearly fell stumbling out. He grabbed a towel – not big enough, he wanted to wrap himself up until he smothered. He yanked a sheet out of the linen chest and flung it around his dripping, shaking body, collapsing finally at the foot of his bed.
He could no longer deny what he already knew. It was wholly unlike him to deny, to sugarcoat, to do anything but face the cruelties of the world head-on with gritted teeth and clenched fists.
He’d been denying it for 12 hours and it was already too long. Even as he huddled at the foot of his bed, teeth chattering, aching, he started to count the days as only an Omega would. The cause of his troubles was clear: biology. To be more specific: heat.
Thirteen days, not even a full two weeks, since his last supposed heat cycle. Not that he ever lived through one since his teens. He couldn’t. He wouldn’t.
He could feel an unwelcome curdling in his stomach and throat, the sourness of fear.
His ears burned, filled with an imaginary, rhythmic thumping, and he slapped his hands over them, trying to block it out. He was five years old again, huddling, cowardly, under a cheap bed that rattled and creaked like a house in a storm. That thumping, as methodical as chopping wood. A deep male groaning, a gurgle of cruel laughter. Another voice, weak and piteous, that wailed and screeched like a bird that had lost its wings.
Let the poor birdie fly, let it fly away, he’d thought to himself as he’d curled fetus-like with his hands over his ears, his nose inches away from a dead bug, the underside of the bed thumping against him, rhythmically. Fly free…
And the smell… bitter, bloody, musty and sweet all at once. Something like flesh and flowers.
Hours later, many men later, when the thumping had finally gone silent, he’d crawled out on clawed hands and feet. He’d caught a glimpse of the bird out of the corner of his eye, a pale limb, a broken fingernail, a smear of hair across a pillow, and he ran, he ran out of the sex-stinking room and across the hall and down the stairs, grease and beer and male sweat haunting him, until he reached his mother’s room in the brothel, and he flung himself at her, almost knocking her over.
She gave him a tongue lashing while she cleaned a scrape on his face, What did I tell you about running off, if you’re that bored then practice your letters. She did it roughly, she did everything a little roughly, hugs and baths and even kisses, like she wanted to be gentle but wasn’t entirely sure how.
He told her about the bird and the horrible thumping, and she said, almost nonchalantly, in words he didn’t quite understand, You mean Leda? She’s an omega. She… sells herself during her heats. Or her pimp makes her, anyway. Men, especially Alphas, pay twice as much for that.
Then she suddenly hugged him to her chest, so tight he was almost scared, and she sounded like she was crying when she said, more to herself than to him, Never do that to yourself, you have to swear to me, not you, not my baby boy.
And then he was fourteen and he was an omega, and the world was tilted and warped, and he was alone and frightened and in heat, scrabbling in the dust of an alleyway, crying angry tears, trying to find a crevice to hide his stunted body in, wishing, praying: Don’t see me, don’t smell me, not me, not me. Wishing to fly free.
He came back to himself in breaths and heartbeats, and he was no longer trapped Underground, wingless.
He got up, tossed the sheet over the fire to dry, wiped up the puddles on the floor, dressed himself in the loosest clothes he had with a robe over everything, then had someone come and remove the cold bath. He locked the door behind them, not caring if they whispered about the thread of blood still in the water. Let them think it was from a training injury.
In a locked drawer was a tin box containing a blend of dried flowers, grasses, and semi-poisonous herbs. He put a kettle on, washed a mug in hot water, took two grayish-green pinches of the herbs, then steeped and stirred and waited. He did this every month, this screwed up tea ceremony.
Growing up in a brothel, everyone knew someone who knew someone’s mother who knew how to make some version of this mixture. It stopped a man’s seed from taking root, ended early pregnancies, and killed an omega’s heat. He took it every month without fail for years. Except it did fail. It was failing, now.
It had only been 13 days.
He took the steaming cup, blew once on it, and drank it down. The bitterness stung his tongue and throat. He sat down, his head spinning slightly, waiting foolishly for it to work. But then his throat was closing up and his mouth was filled with an awful burnt metal taste and he doubled over, retching, and it felt like he was belching smoke. He vomited the entire cupful into a basin, then dry-heaved wretchedly, unable to see for a good minute or two.
He contemplated letting himself be angry and weepy, maybe throw some things. But what good would that do? It wouldn’t change a thing.
He knew what he had to do, even if he didn’t want to do it. He felt very much alone.
X
He made an appointment with the doctor first thing in the morning. His rank and notoriety got him bumped up on the schedule, so he was in the medical office right after breakfast. But it was the wrong doctor.
Unlike Levi’s usual, Dr. Franke was simpering, cheery-optimistic, and liked to hug. He used euphemisms and was prone to hand-patting. Rosy cheeks and wobbly chin.
Damn. Tell it like it is. Call a cock a cock and a someone with a broken back a cripple. And no hugs. Levi hated Dr. Franke.
He jittered in his seat, waiting a good fifteen minutes in a sunny nook of an office before Franke fluttered in with many cheerful good mornings! and hand waving, cheeks plump and rosy as ever.
“I am so pleased to see you, Levi! May I call you Levi?”
“Call me Captain,” he replied, just to be difficult.
“What a lovely day we have, hm? So warm for autumn. Now, I have your medical files here from Dr. Bauer, but it seems you’ve skipped the last two checkups, and…”
“I’ve been feeling off,” Levi cut in, wanting to get it over with. “I think it’s heat-related.”
“Not to worry, not to worry! It happens to the birds and the bees. Tell me all about it. What are your symptoms?”
“Dizziness, nausea, lethargy. Some vomiting. Some bleeding.”
He undressed before the doctor was finished telling him to. He let Franke palpate his stomach, check his mouth, his genitals, then lube up a gloved finger and check between his legs. He winced at the intrusion, focusing on a cloud outside while the doctor probed. It hurt more than he thought it would.
“How long since your last heat?” said Franke, when Levi was dressed again.
“About 13 days, I guess. I don’t really get them anymore, I just take the medicine each month.”
A plucked eyebrow went up. “You mean the standard issue suppressants?”
“No, those aren’t strong enough. They don’t really get rid of the heats, just suppress them.” Levi showed him a bagged sample of the herbal blend.
Franke sniffed it, poking through it with a chubby pinky finger. His eyes went kittenish round. “You know this is banned in apothecaries in Sina? Some of these herbs are highly dangerous.”
“They’re just herbs. They’re not illegal.”
“Maybe not by themselves. How long have you been taking this?”
Levi shrugged. “About 16 years.”
“16 years?!” Franke squealed. His face had contorted into a flushed, wobbly version of childlike surprise. Levi wanted to smack it off him. “You mean you…?”
“Look, where I come from, heats are a damned nuisance at best. Dangerous at worst. And in this job, they’re not exactly convenient.”
Franke flapped his hands agitatedly, then retied the bag of herbs, careful to wipe his fingers with a frilly handkerchief. “Ahem. Well, I think I know why you’ve been feeling… under the weather.”
“Yeah?”
“I’m afraid your body is breaking down.”
Levi frowned. “Excuse me?”
He steepled his fingers and put on what was supposed to be a sympathetic look, pouting girlishly even though he was a grown man. In fact, that expression would look stupid even on a girl. “There is a reason why omegas bodies’ go through heats. A function. It’s not just for, ahh… mating purposes. Our bodies are regulated during these periods. Our hormones are balanced. It’s essential. Even mild suppressants, the kind dissolved in milk, shouldn’t be taken constantly.”
“So what now? Just lay off the medicine for a while?”
“We-ell,” said Franke, voice cracking. “It’s not that simple. I’m afraid you’ve been damaging your body over a long period of time. 16 years…” He shook his head. Then cleared his throat, “Ahem-hem. Have you been having, uh… relations with anyone? Of a sexual nature?” He licked a lip nervously. It would have been less disgusting if he’d simply said fucking.
“No, I haven’t been fucking anyone.” He pretended not to notice Franke’s girlish little flinch at his language.
“Hmmmm. I see. Well, your body is out of balance for the time being, and quite seriously so. What you need is to put it back into balance.” He made a series of totally unnecessary motions with the flat of his hand, tilting it this way and that. “You need to let yourself go through a regular heat. But even that may not be enough. The body needs to go through a normal, sexually healthy cycle. It would be best to…”
Levi felt his stomach lurch. His blood pounded in his wrists and at his temples. He could hear the thumping again. “You want me to…” he almost choked on a dry throat. “I have to mate with someone?”
“I realize it’s a difficult situation, especially if you weren’t previously having relations with anyone. But I believe it’s necessary.”
“Not happening.”
“Is there perhaps someone you’ve had a relationship with? Long ago? Someone you trust, who can… ahem… help you?”
“No, I’ve never fucked anyone.”
“Never? Ohhh. I see. You’re a… a virgin?”
Levi bristled at that. “Yes. Is that a problem?”
More hand waving and cooing. “Only in the medical sense. If you had sexual relations in the past, then your body might adapt faster and regulate itself more easily. But…”
“Ugh. So what? What if I just lay off the herbs and lock myself in a room, go through a heat?”
“Like I said, it won’t be enough. Damage done to your body over a period of 16 years… this is quite serious. If you don’t take care of this matter, it could lead to permanent infertility, organ damage, even death. You mentioned bleeding? That’s not normal for male omegas, not at all. It’s not menstruation, it’s a rupture of some kind. It’s a sign your reproductive organs are shutting down.”
“What the hell…” Levi groaned, rubbing his temples.
“And it will only get worse,” Franke whimpered, in a thin and reedy voice that was meant to be compassionate. “But it’s not irreversible, if you act quickly.” He reached over to pat Levi’s hand. Levi snatched it away with a dark glare. “You don’t even need to mate permanently. Just… find someone who can… assist you. Sexually.”
“I don’t do that,” Levi whispered harshly. Again, the thumping. It was getting louder, a constant, rhythmic drumming against his ears. He couldn’t. He wouldn’t. Not like that. Himself, crushed under an Alpha, broken bird noises torn from his throat as he was mercilessly pounded into… he can’t. Not with anyone. Not with anyone but…
Oh, Erwin. If only.
As Franke wheedled and simpered, Levi fought back a dangerous prickling in his eyes.
He’d thought about it once. It was no great feat to be attracted to Erwin Smith. He was attractive in the ordinary sense, even if the man was far from ordinary.
Levi had considered propositioning him, but he’d lost his nerve. He’d thought Erwin was heartless. Admirable, but heartless, stunted inside somehow, unable to love. He had eyes that shone with blue fire, eyes that stared right through flesh and bone, through the Walls, through Levi himself, to some fixed point beyond their world. Untouchable. Unreachable. Levi had never seen someone so driven.
Then one night, a few officers were sharing a fire and some ale that wasn’t terrible, and Erwin was in a rare maudlin mood. Levi lurked in a corner armchair, elbows jutting out aggressively, not really with the group but not really apart, watching Erwin.
No, there’s no woman or omega in my life, Erwin had said, in response to someone. Once, there was… But as long as I’m the Commander of the Survey Corps, my life is not my own. I don’t know when I may be called upon to sacrifice myself. It could be any moment. Any type of relationship… it would be… unwise.
So Erwin Smith did have a heart. It just wasn’t for Levi. Erwin, bloodied though he was, ruthless though he was, had honor. And Levi would never cause him to lose that honor.
And in that cramped, sunny room, while Dr. Franke wrung his hands and pleaded with him to prostitute himself to a stranger, Levi decided.
No one would touch him.
The expedition was in less than two weeks. He could hold out until then.
And then… he would die.
He would ride out, breathe the clean air, feel the wind in his hair, and he would do what he did best: kill titans. He would fly high, no longer a wingless bird trapped underground, but a Captain of the Survey Corps. He would be the spearhead of Humanity, carving through the enemy, one after another, until he himself died. He would not ride back. He would not be among the survivors. He would give his life and his wings to make Erwin’s dream – that far dim point on the horizon – just one step closer.
“Levi… I mean Captain… you must consider that your life is on the line here.”
Levi stood. “I’ll consider it, Doc. See you later.”
He walked out without saying Thank You, because he didn’t feel thankful. He felt… determined. And he knew what he had to do.