Chapter Text
There was a commotion from up above and Eren looked up, listening intensely.
He was a tall young man, dark haired and slim, in his early twenties. The gray standard issue jumpsuit he wore was grubby, somewhat the worse for wear after several weeks’ imprisonment. His dark hair, normally cut short in the military style, was unkempt, and his face was unshaven. He did not move from his spot on the bare floor, but he tensed as he listened for whatever would come next. If there had been some kind of disagreement among the pirates…
Nothing happened. The Magas in their cell across the narrow hallway murmured to each other, and their guard at the end of the hall stood up, staring intently at the hatch. But nothing happened. After a moment he fumbled with the hand not holding his rifle for his Walkie. “This is Simon, come in Leo?”
A long, long pause.
“Leo?” he tried again. “Hello. Anybody, what’s going on up there?” He frowned up uneasily at the hatch. The Magas were whispering to each other. Eren clenched his hand into a fist. The door at the other end of the narrow corridor swung open, and three more of the pirates came in, chattering excitedly in their own language.
“Simon, Simon!” one said in agitation. “Put it down!”
“What?” Simon said.
“Put it down!”
Simon narrowed his eyes at them, and his hold on the rifle tightened.
“What’s going on up there?” he demanded.
“It is–”
There was a metallic creak as the hatch opened; one of the pirates swore and the three of them hurried to put their backs against the wall. They were all unarmed, Eren noted. Strange.
Simon, distracted, looked up. One boot appeared on a lower rung of the latter; Eren didn’t recognize it but it clearly didn’t belong to any of the pirates.
“Who–” but that was all Simon got out. One moment he was standing there, rifle pointed up at the hatch, and whoever was descending–the next he was lying on the floor.
Eren blinked rapidly, his brain trying to make sense of what had just happened. The Magas were clustered at the bars of their door, trying to see. From this angle Eren had a better view of the hallway. Someone–a man–stepped off the ladder and turned to look down the narrow corridor at the cells. There were four of them–three smaller cells on Eren’s side, and one larger one on the starboard side that held the Magas. When this had been a Euro ship these had been some kind of storerooms, Eren thought, but the pirates had haphazardly welded in the partitions and barred doors.
“Eh…” one of the pirates said, “hello, sir, how can we help?”
Eren stared.
The unknown man was small, barely above five feet, and the jumpsuit he wore was nondescript. Eren could see nothing at all in him to inspire such a reaction, but the pirates were cowering against the wall, like a trio of hyenas spooked off their prey by a lion. He wasn’t even visibly armed; he ignored the guard’s rifle lying on the ground. He looked them all over, cool and assessing, and then he walked down the corridor.
His footsteps echoed loudly, and he didn’t pause until he reached Eren’s cell. He looked in, and Eren stared back at him warily. He didn’t look that old–maybe in his late twenties. His dark hair was parted sharply, and hung over his eyes in an oddly boyish style. His eyes were gray. He gazed at Eren impassively, and without turning said, “Open the door.” To Eren’s amazement one of the pirates scurried to obey, fumbling with the keys in his haste to fling Eren’s door open.
Eren stood up, unable to comprehend this strange turn of events.
“Go,” the man said to Eren when the door was open. Hesitantly, Eren left the cell, and then he began to walk down the corridor. The man walked behind him.
“Hey!” one of the Magas shouted after a moment, “What about us!”
The man didn’t respond.
“Hey, we’re talking to you!”
“I’m not here for you,” the man said. Eren wasn’t sure if they’d heard; by then they had reached the ladder and were climbing upward.
Eren felt some trepidation before coming out on the deck, though he tried not to show it. The light was almost blinding after weeks belowdeck, and he shaded his eyes, trying to take stock of the situation. He wasn’t a fool; his rescuer had to be some kind of elite United special forces–or, possibly a bounty hunter? He’d never heard of anything like it, but he could believe such things happened.
The deck was deserted, or rather–there were a few bodies littering the deck. Everyone else seemed to have fled. Eren pondered this. Four down below, three up here. That left seven unaccounted for. Hiding? Or had they been flung overboard?
“Who are you?” he said aloud, half to himself.
“Levi,” the man said, walking past him. “Come on.”
The name meant nothing to him, but Eren hurried after. There was a ladder attached to the side of the ship, and Levi motioned for him to climb down. Eren did, glancing below.
“Whoa,” he said. “You have a mini sub?” It sat close by the much larger ship, like a sleek and ready shark. “How did you–did you just board by yourself–how–”
A hatch on top of the sub slid back, and Eren stepped onto a silvery fin that protruded into the water. He let go of the ladder, and walked carefully to the hatch, swaying a little from the force of the waves. Levi was right behind him. They climbed in, and the hatch closed. Levi moved forward through an open door to what Eren assumed had to be the command center; he followed and when Levi sat down in the captain’s chair he hesitated a moment before sitting in the one beside it.
Levi pressed a few buttons and the sub began to glide forward in the water; there was a thick glass window in front of them, but also a number of screens showing different camera angles, as well as a sonar screen. Levi watched these intently.
“You–do you work for United?”
“No,” Levi said.
Eren stared at him. “But–then why did you rescue me?”
“My cousin asked me to.”
“Who’s your cousin?” Eren asked in bewilderment.
“Mikasa Ackerman.”
“What?”
Levi glanced over at him, but said nothing. After a moment, he added grudgingly, “And I used to work with Erwin.”
Eren’s commander. He closed his eyes in a pained way.
“Are you–are you a bounty hunter?”
“Yes. Retired now, mostly. But they asked as a special favor.” He shrugged, philosophically.
“What happened to the other pirates?”
“What other pirates?”
“There were seven others on the ship–apart from the ones below and the ones you, uh, left on deck.”
“Hmm,” Levi said.
“Hmm?”
“Maybe they were hiding somewhere,” he said. “I only saw two others. They jumped overboard.”
“They jumped?”
“When they realized who I was,” Levi explained.
“And when did they realize…?”
“Probably after I disabled the other ones.”
“So–you didn’t shoot them?”
“I prefer not to. Guns are messy.”
Eren stared at him. “Were you even armed?”
Levi didn’t reply to this; he appeared to be typing some kind of message.
“Did you just walk on and say–'hello, I’m Levi'–is this a Dread Pirate Roberts situation?”
“No, obviously not,” Levi said. “You saw I took out three of them before the others jumped overboard.”
Eren made an inarticulate noise. “Who are you? I’ve never heard of you! And–and Mikasa never mentioned you!”
Levi seemed indifferent to these remarks. “I don’t see how any of that is my fault.”
“Ugh–where are you–where are we going? Back to United?”
“No. I’m taking you to Penzance. Erwin will meet us there.”
Penzance! The floating city. Eren had never been there, though he’d heard stories.
“Is that where you live?”
Levi grunted an assent. Then he said, “Are you hungry? There’s food back there–” he jerked a finger behind them, “in the galley. Help yourself.”
Eren wasn’t foolish enough not to see this as the very transparent attempt to get rid of him that it was, but the mention of food had him on his feet and moving before he could even consciously give his body the command. He had gotten used to being hungry on the ship–he thought he had easily lost ten pounds on the thin rations, if not more–and he suddenly realized how hungry he was.
The galley was tiny, but well-stocked. The little table folded down from the wall, with a narrow bench on either side, and the cabinets were full of cup ramen, crackers, dried fruit and nuts, peanut butter, and the like. There was a hot water dispenser on the wall, and Eren was squeezing a second tube of peanut butter into his mouth and poking at his noodles in their cup, willing them to cook faster, when Levi reappeared.
He grimaced at the mess Eren had made but said only, “Don’t make yourself ill. Did they feed you at all?”
“Rice and fish guts once a day,” Eren said, finishing the tube and setting it aside.
Levi took down a metal canister from a shelf and measured some of its contents into a cup.
“Tea?”
“Uh, sure,” Eren, who had never voluntarily drunk a cup of hot tea in his life, said gamely. “Uh, thank you. For rescuing me. Did they pay you? I’m sorry, I shouldn’t ask, it’s none of my business–”
“Let it steep for a minute,” Levi said, and sat down on his other side. They sat in silence for a minute, and Eren nudged his ramen cup again.
“I was a POW for a while during the war,” Levi said suddenly, and Eren looked up in surprise.
“You–but–” the war had ended more than ten years ago; unless Levi had joined up when he was twelve, he was older than he looked.
“Uh. How did you–were you rescued?”
“Escaped,” Levi said.
“Oh,” Eren said weakly. “Well I did try. But they watched us all the time, and I was by myself–”
“That’s not what I meant,” Levi said.
“Oh. Right. Uh. So Commander Smith–he was your commander too?”
“For a while,” Levi said. “Towards the end of the war.” He finished his cup of tea, then he rinsed it carefully in the small sink and hung it up to dry on a hook. “Further back you’ll find some bunks and the lavatory. You can get cleaned up, take a nap if you want. It will be a while before we get there.”
“Uh, thanks,” Eren said, to Levi’s retreating back. What an odd man. Still, if he was a military veteran–and there weren’t that many veterans, it had been a bloody war–that might explain his strange behavior.
The noodles had been delicious after weeks of no food, and Eren thought he could have eaten three of four more cups with no trouble. But mindful of Levi’s warning (and some vaguely remembered military training on starvation and refeeding) he held himself back, cleaned up the galley, and took a chocolate bar with him for dessert and went to investigate the rest of the sub.
There wasn’t much to explore. The lavatory, a few bunks, storage, equipment room, what Eren guessed was the engine room, and that was it. He was curious about the design. It was modern and efficient and well maintained; clearly not some decommissioned cast-off. He thought it had to have cost a small fortune. Levi, whoever he was, had to have been a fairly successful bounty hunter.
It occurred to him that the sub might be borrowed, but something made Eren doubt it. Levi had been extremely familiar with it; the sub seemed like it was his. No it was more likely that he was just some fabulously wealthy lunatic who could afford a privately commissioned custom submarine. As insane as that sounded!
There was a tiny shower in the lavatory and Eren washed off weeks of grime, soaking his head under the spray. He had imagined he would exhaust the water supply–or at least the hot water supply–before he was ready to get out, but surprisingly this wasn’t the case. Eventually he decided he had had enough for the moment, and turned the water off. He shaved and combed his hair, and only then did he remember he had no clothes except for the filthy uniform jumpsuit. He had left it balled up in a corner of the room and he stared at it for a while before just leaving it there. Levi would just have to put up with him wearing a towel until they got to Penzance, that was all.
But when he came out to the bunk area there were clothes, neatly folded on one of the beds. Some complicated emotion passed through him, and he rubbed his face impatiently until he had control of himself.
There were two folded piles on the bed, and Eren tried not to read too much into that. He put aside the military jumpsuit–one of his own, so Mikasa or Erwin must have given it to Levi–for now, telling himself he’d change into it before they arrived. He put on the other clothes instead. Black pants, socks, shoes, a turtleneck, a sweater that was so dark a shade of green it nearly was black. These he didn’t recognize, but they were a good fit hanging only a little loosely on his slimmer frame. He went back to the lavatory to deal with the soiled jumpsuit but it was already gone. Eren blinked stupidly into the room for a few minutes. It was already mostly clear of fog–the air circulation and ventilation on the sub was very good. He turned around and went back to the bunks, thinking there was no way he’d be able to fall asleep but he might as well lie down for a moment, but he was wrong and very soon he was blessedly, dreamlessly asleep.
He woke up feeling groggy, but the smell of cooking food had him fully awake within a minute. He was starving his body reminded him.
Levi was in the small galley, working over a hot plate. He nodded to Eren.
“Fried rice?”
“If you can stomach it.”
Eren grinned. “It’s not plain white rice with fish guts; I think I’ll manage.”
Had Levi’s mouth actually twitched? Eren thought it was possible.
“How long until we…”
“Another 12 hours or so until we reach the Flotilla.”
Another name for Penzance, the floating city. It was a loose and constantly changing association of ‘independent parties’. It had started as a kind of art project twenty years or so ago, on some islands made of garbage in the middle of the ocean, and had grown into a large and clamorous community of like minded individuals. Not exactly lawless but certainly self governed; not officially recognized by any government but pointedly ignored. The governments of the world had had enough to deal with in the last few decades to bother with trying to govern the affairs of a group of artists and outcasts and malcontents and climate refugees. From what little Eren knew about it, there seemed to be more of a feeling of ‘good riddance’ than a desire to interfere in Penzance’s affairs.
“Have you…lived there since the war ended?” Eren asked curiously. “I’ve never met anyone from Penzance.”
“More or less,” Levi said. He had finished the rice. He pushed three quarters of it onto one plate and set it in front of Eren, taking the smaller portion for himself.
Eren took a bite; it was delicious and he closed his eyes in satisfaction, quickly devouring the rest before Levi had finished his own portion. There was a plate nearby of sliced fruit and Levi nodded at it. “Help yourself.”
Eren reached eagerly for a slice of plum, fully expecting it to be mealy or rock hard, but hardly willing to turn down a fresh piece of fruit after weeks at sea. It was perfect. Firm, ripe, sweet, sour.
A long forgotten memory was suddenly unlocked. He was a young child sitting at the kitchen table in his parents’ old home on a bright summer morning. He was sucking on the sweet-tart remains of a plum pit, waiting for Armin to arrive so they could go to the park.
He rarely thought of his life before his parents’ death. The taste brought the memory back so intense and immediate that for a moment it was as though he occupied two times at once; the innocent naïf of his childhood, the hardened young man he had become.
“Wow,” he said, after a moment at a loss for anything else. “Where did you get these?” They were in the middle of nowhere, thousands of miles from dry land.
“We grow them in Penzance,” Levi said. He slid the plate toward him. “Have as much as you like.”
He passed the rest of the time until they reached Penzance eating and resting, sometimes passing some extremely mild remarks with Levi who wasn’t exactly chatty.
He had been too occupied with the reality of his rescue, with dealing with the basic and immediate needs of his body, to think of what would happen when they arrived. But Levi let him know when they were an hour out. He changed into his uniform, and sat next to Levi in the control room, mute and nervous and sweating. Levi didn’t speak much; he was occupied with navigating the sub as they approached the flotilla.
Eren had made another attempt to ask about his relationship to Mikasa; "I didn't know Mikasa had any living family," he'd said to Levi. "I wouldn't know," Levi had replied, as uninformative as possible, and so he'd given up.
“There’s a United ship on the outskirts of the Flotilla,” Levi said now. “That’s where we’re headed. I’ll drop you there.”
Eren nodded, staring straight ahead. “Thank you. For all that you’ve done. I don’t know how I can repay you, but if there’s anything I can do–”
“You’re welcome,” Levi said without looking up.
There was a pause. “I, uh, left the other clothes–thank you by the way–on the bunk–”
“Keep them,” Levi said simply. “You might need them, sometime.”
“All right. Thanks.”
“We’ll be there in five minutes.”
Eren nodded stiffly.
Levi surfaced the sub, and they moved at a slow, measured pace through the surface of the water. Now Eren could see the large United ship as they approached. He closed his eyes.
They were hailed, formally, and Levi replied in a curt crisp voice. Eren couldn’t have repeated back what was said if his life depended on it.
They were climbing up the ladder to the hatch; another short gangway, a long ladder up the side of the ship.
They were on the deck now. Commander Smith saluted him and he returned the gesture simultaneously. Then Armin and Mikasa were there, and he was overcome in the arms of his friends.
In the uproar and commotion of his arrival Levi had slipped away unnoticed. Eren felt guilty about that, when he thought of it. Levi had gone to great lengths to retrieve him, and he was worthy and deserving of a greater thanks, not that he seemed to want it or care if he got it. He wondered uneasily how much might have been spent on his retrieval as well.
After the quick embrace from Mikasa and Armin he’d been hauled off to the sick bay for a full work up. They’d insisted he spend 24 hours in a medical bed, even though he felt fine, and then when the doctor had released him he’d gone to the smiling, sympathetic United Lieutenant and Captain from the Intelligence Division that had been assigned to his psychological assessment.
He had been prepared for this; he and Mikasa and Armin were only Privates, but they had joined the military academy at 16 and had been enlisted for years. They were well aware that these interviews and tests were a standard part of reentry for any POW. Captain Holland and Lieutenant Devers–two kind and warm women who could have been high school English teachers except for their too-slick military haircuts–were pleasant and apologetic, but vague about when he might return to active duty, so Eren endured the (really quite sympathetic!) interrogations and psychological exams for almost a week before he was summoned to an interview with Commander Smith.
He had arrived feeling trepidation but also eagerness, certain that Commander Smith would have the details of his next assignment. He had fully cooperated with Holland and Devers, answering all their questions about the pirates, the ship, the details of their capture, the Maga prisoners, and the uneventful details about their captivity in excruciating detail. It had been boring and tedious but he’d had no qualms about any of their questions, which had all seemed very standard to him.
He exited the room an hour later, shell-shocked, only to find another two Privates waiting for him.
“Mr. Jaeger,” one of the Privates said to him–and it wasn’t anyone he knew– “come with us please.” Not someone he might be able to sway or complain to, not that there would have been any use of that he reflected bitterly.
He didn’t answer, but followed them wordlessly to the single room he’d been assigned to.
There wasn’t much to pack. Mikasa had brought along some of his uniforms, but none of his civilian clothes. He regarded the things that Levi had gifted him with new eyes, wondering if the older man had known what was going to happen.
There was a knock at the door sometime later, and Eren opened it to his friends. Mikasa and Armin were there; Mikasa looked surprised to see him changed into civilian clothes; Armin just looked uneasy.
“Eren,” Mikasa started as Eren stepped aside to let them in, then she stopped.
They stood awkwardly in the small room. Eren broke the silence. “I’m out,” he said simply. The words hurt to say, they cut, but once they were out Eren felt a sense of finality. It was as if he hadn’t fully believed it was happening until now.
“What do you mean you’re out–” Mikasa said, but Armin was just silent and sad and unsurprised.
“I think it was a foregone conclusion,” Eren said tonelessly. “They can’t trust that I haven’t been compromised.”
“That’s ridiculous!”
“Maga has ways to implant false memories. Don’t they?” he said pointedly to Armin, who weakly nodded. “They can’t trust me now. I was out of United command for weeks.”
“Because you were a prisoner! They can’t do this!”
“They can, Mikasa.”
“We’ll go and speak to the Commander right now!”
“I already spoke to him,” Eren said. “You think I didn’t argue? There’s nothing you can say–”
“Then I’ll quit too!”
“Mikasa–”
“It’s unfair, and I won’t–”
“MIKASA!” Eren said, and she was startled into silence. “If you quit, I’ll never speak to you again,” he said calmly.
Her eyes widened, and she didn’t speak. Eren sighed and sat down on the perfectly made bed. He looked up at his friends.
“It sucks,” he said. “I know it sucks. But it’s my fault. I disobeyed command. I didn’t fall back when I got the order; I stayed to try to get more intel on that Maga squad, and we both got scooped up by the pirates. How do they know I’m not a plant? How do they know I didn’t plan to meet the Magas that night, how do they know I wasn’t paid–”
Mikasa protested, but he held his hands up and she fell silent.
“--or that I wasn’t compromised after the fact. I could be a double agent, for all they know. We work in intelligence, Mikasa. You know what that means.”
“The commander didn’t give you any other option?” Armin said quietly. It was the first time he’d spoken.
Eren shook his head. “I could go home, be a desk jockey,” he said smiling humorlessly. "Requisitions maybe. Stamp pieces of paper and approve supply lists. No thanks.”
“What–what will you do then?” Armin said.
“The Commander got me a ticket for a charter flight back to United,” Eren said. “I’ll stay on the ship until tomorrow and then I’ll get dropped off in Penzance.”
Mikasa and Armin had wanted to accompany him to the flight terminal, but he had forcefully declined. It would have been tricky for them to get leave, anyway; Commander Smith might have granted the request if Eren had asked, but he had no intention of doing that and the Commander had bent enough rules already allowing them to accompany him to Penzance in the first place. He told them both firmly that his flight wasn’t until the afternoon, and he wanted some time to walk around the ‘city’ and clear his head.
They said goodbye sadly on the main deck the next morning; Mikasa looking teary and Armin sober. Eren bore it stoically, and was glad to be off in the motorboat to the main island. One of the privates dropped him off, giving him some friendly directions to a local dive bar he could pass the time until his flight, and then that was it.
Eren had been orphaned young; almost ever since his plan for his life had involved the military. The war’s ‘official’ end had come when he was still a child, but United and Maga had been locked in a cold war ever since and the military was a booming industry on both sides. He and Mikasa and Armin hadn’t had much trouble getting into their military academy high school; they’d all been fast-tracked for future officer training.
And now? What had it all been for? He was cut adrift, and in spite of what he’d said to Mikasa yesterday it was hard not to feel bitter towards the organization he’d dedicated his life to. They had been able to cut him loose so easily as soon as he had become a potential liability.
He didn’t go to the bar; he shouldered his small bag and began walking. It was a warm day, and he soon had to take off the sweater, rolling it up and putting it away in his bag. This was a false island, an island made of trash that had been covered over with dirt and concrete but Eren didn’t think he’d have been able to tell if he hadn’t known. This was the main island where the flight terminal (and most of the tourists–Penzance was out of the way, but that didn’t mean it didn’t have its share of visitors) was, and it was a small cheerful metropolis. It reminded Eren, not unpleasantly, of any number of small coastal holiday towns he and Mikasa and Armin had had shore leave in.
The buildings were a colorful hodgepodge of homes and inns and boarding houses, restaurants, bars, shops, a post office and various other public buildings. A lively outdoor market sold fruit, vegetables, and plenty of other things-–Eren saw long lines of stalls but didn’t stop. There were outdoor cafes and a theater, there were side streets lined with tiny highly decorated cottages. He passed the sign for Pozzi Airport (Pozzi was the name of this island, the biggest, most populous and most official; there were many other islands in the Flotilla, with varying names, some settled, some furiously debated). He walked until his feet were sore, and still he hadn’t explored all of Pozzi. He saw bridges that led to other islands, and he saw water taxi cab stands with barkers offering rides.
He walked until his flight was supposed to leave. He had found a public park of all places–here, in the middle of the ocean, on an island made of trash. There were trees growing on a hill, and there was a grassy field where people exercised their dogs and some children were playing tag. He sat beneath the shade of the largest tree, and he watched the plane he was supposed to be on take off.
He found a room for the night in one of the cheaper boarding houses. He had been honorably discharged, and there would be regular disability payments made to him. The idea of spending the money made him feel angry and sick, but it was there. Even if he couldn’t find work right away if he lived cheaply he could survive. The United ship had orders to leave that day, and after it had sailed Eren composed two letters.
Dear Armin,
I know you knew this would happen; maybe the Commander even told you before he told me. I know he expects great things of you.
I wish you had told me first.
I’m not going back yet. I don’t know what I’m going to do yet, but I need time to think. Don’t let Mikasa do anything stupid. You two have worked too hard to throw your future away on me. It was my mistake, and if it takes you two down with me I’ll never forgive myself.
I need some time. Don’t try to come after me. I want to be alone for a while. When I’m ready, I’ll join the merchant marines or something. I asked around and there’s plenty of ships that stop in at Penzance, they’re always looking for crew. Maybe I’ll see you around when we’re both on shore leave.
Eren
The letter to Mikasa was shorter. He tried to be firm but affectionate; Mikasa wouldn’t understand or respond to the same veiled threats that Armin would; they would only make her more likely to lash out and act rashly. He tried to reassure her, but also make it clear he needed some time to clear his head.
He asked the landlord, and found a cafe next door that rented internet access by the hour. It wasn’t free out here in the middle of nowhere, but it was surprisingly cheap thanks to the satellites the citizens of Penzance had banded together to purchase. Emails sent he returned to his rented room and laid on his bed, wondering what on earth he was going to do now.