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It’s a cool, misty morning with sunlight that hardly breaks through the cloud cover. The overall gloom has everyone dragging their feet slightly to the training grounds.
It’s been weeks since Eren left and Mikasa has a difficult time focusing on the task at hand. Her chest feels constantly tight, and her mood is unpleasant to bear witness to. Sasha, who is normally warm and comforting in even the darkest of times gives her a wide berth and Jean won’t even make eye contact with her since she yelled at him in the mess hall over a misplaced cup.
“Everyone line up, grab your partner and check their gear for proper form, fit, and function,” Jean yells to the group.
This new gear is more advanced with multiple moving parts. It’s versatile and allows for a greater range of mobility, but with more equipment there are more opportunities for something to malfunction which for even the best soldier can prove fatal.
“Mikasa, do you want me to check yours?”
She glances over at Armin, his slight frame neatly dressed in the same black uniform. He’s the only one willing to deal with her nowadays.
“Sure,” she grits out.
He inspects each buckle and gear thoroughly, pulling sharply at the gas canisters on her back and her waist to ensure they’re secure.
“I see why no one partners with you, you’re sure dressed up, Mikasa,” he chuckles.
“I can’t be sure of what lies ahead. I need to prepare for every outcome.”
She doesn’t know how he manages to joke, especially considering the amount of pressure that rests on his shoulders. Over the years he has worked tirelessly to master his titan form, but the burden he bears is not one she envies.
“Can you lift up your hair?”
She gathers it in her hand and pulls it up, but not before noticing it tug.
“It’s caught on one of the buckles,” he says. Armin spends a moment trying to gently untangle it from the buckle but MIkasa grows impatient and simply rips it away with a sharp tug, ignoring the sharp sting as what is surely a sizeable chunk of hair is yanked from the roots of her head.
Armin laughs nervously.
“Here, it’s gotten quite long, let me tie it back for you.”
Her hair hasn’t been long enough to tie back in quite some time, so it’s odd to have it off of her neck this way. After she inspects Armin’s gear for him (not that the condition of his gear matters much) she thanks him brusquely and takes her place in the practice line up.
She watches the newer soldiers attempt to hit the target with the practice thunder spears, the best performer only able to manage using one, and the penetration frankly not deep enough into the target to ensure a complete destruction of the nape, while the worst soldier plummets to the ground and twists their ankle.
Mikasa glances over at Jean, his expression grim and jaw clenched. He’s worried about how this is going to go, and Mikasa can’t say she blames him.
Commander Hanji and Captain Levi walk up over the hill to the training ground, the two of them deep in conversation. Mikasa still has to fight the urge to salute a superior officer, but Hanji has directed that during training soldiers are not to cease their exercises for the sake of decorum; time is too precious of a commodity for fanfare in times of war.
She glares at Captain Levi, the defiant box of blades he carries swinging at his sides as he walks.
Stubborn old man.
Mikasa knows he’s can use thunder spears appropriately, but she thinks there’s an element of pride to the way he clings to his blades. Down to the way he grips them he is defiant in his methods and does not conform for the sake of conformity, a notion that Mikasa understands but finds somewhat amusing.
The thunder spears used for training are bulky and cumbersome when one isn’t airborne, so Mikasa only grabs them right before her pass. She notices the training ground’s usual chatter dull to a low hum for her turn. Mikasa has noticed that others pay special attention to her when she participates in activities like this but it doesn’t bother her nor please her.
She takes a deep breath and closes her eyes. This quiet, this steady calm before action is some of the only peace she has anymore. The day to day chatter, her doubts, her fears, everything gone in the face of the task at hand.
Mikasa opens her eyes and flings her body forward.
One spear isn’t good enough, she knows that. Two may be better but she can’t be sure, and three is just as difficult as four so why not make it four.
It will be four when the time comes, so in practice it will be four. She lets her body move, pure instinct guiding her through the air as she readies her attack.
She lands all four training spears deep into the dummy’s nape, but as she moves to evade in the wake of what would in reality be an explosion, her hair flies loose, covering her eyes and disorienting her. She lands sloppily on the ground, tucking and rolling to disperse the force of the impact.
Her hair is in her face and dirty from the mud. She clenches her fists angrily and has to hold back a cry of frustration.
Without thinking twice about it, she stomps over to Captain Levi. She’s quick to grab a blade from his cartridge, interrupting his conversation with Commander Hanji. He glares at her and before he’s able to reprimand her, she slices her hair off, the dark strands flying in the air. She glances at the large chunk in her left hand before she lets it fall to the ground.
The entire training ground is quiet at her display, expressions slack-jawed and perhaps a little fearful.
Captain Levi glances her up and down, his expression blank yet discerning.
“What are you looking at? Get on with your turn!” Captain Levi shouts to the group. They all shuffle back to the task, murmuring and still peaking over at her.
Now that her anger has passed she feels embarrassed.
You’re losing it.
She hands back the blade to Captain Levi, shame blooming in her chest as she fights the urge to stomp away to her quarters and hide.
He gently takes the blade back from her and holsters it in the cartridge.
Commander Hanji’s concern is evident, Mikasa can practically hear the Commander’s busy thoughts assessing her mental state.
“We can continue this discussion later,” he murmurs to Hanji. Levi nods his head towards the castle and glances at her, “Mikasa, take a walk for a minute.”
His tone is calm but Mikasa knows it’s not a suggestion, so she follows him. She feels frustrated with herself, putting on such a display in front of the newer soldiers when she’s supposed to be an example to them, a beacon of hope and skill to strive for, not a frustrated mess who lops off her hair in a fit of anger.
She runs her hand over the back of her head, the uneven slice of the blade apparent.
And my hair looks dumb now too.
She follows Captain Levi up to his office and is fully expecting a reprimand for her actions, and she can’t help but feel she deserves it.
His office is simple and extremely tidy with a simple threadbare rug on the ground, a bookshelf next to the door that leads to where he sleeps and a humble desk made of walnut in front of the window.
Instead of sitting down at his desk, he pulls a chair to the middle of the room and says “Sit.”
Confused, she sits herself down on the chair and hears him open the desk drawer.
“You fucked up the back of it and you look ridiculous,” he puts a gentle yet firm hand on her shoulder and proceeds to even out the rough ends of her hair with a pair of shears, the choppy ends falling to the floor.
“There,” he says shortly when he’s done, “if you want to trim it yourself, you’ll have to set up some mirrors so you can see it.”
“I didn’t know you were a barber as well as a soldier,” she says dryly.
He glares at her, but it doesn’t reach his eyes. She can tell he’s somewhat amused at her jab and for whatever reason that alone is enough to lift a weight off of her chest.
He sighs and leans on his desk.
“Look, I know it’s hard right now, especially for you in ways that others can’t understand,” he looks at her meaningfully, his own understanding unspoken, “and I can’t promise it’s going to get better.”
He looks over to the window, his face bathed in the somehow cold morning sunlight and she sees it for a brief moment, that world-weary expression he is usually masterful at hiding slipping through his aloof facade, “But you’re not alone. We have to keep going, it’s all we can do.”
They look at one another, a brief moment of calm and understanding passing between the two of them. She stands and thumps out a salute. She runs her hand over the back of her newly trimmed hair, the change somehow lifting her spirit ever so slightly. She moves to leave, but she stops with her hand on the door knob..
“Thank you,” she says, her voice low and and thick with emotion she can’t quite keep at bay.
“You’re welcome,” he replies cooly, “now lets get back, we can’t leave Jean all alone with the new ones or he’ll be the next one cutting his hair off…not that he doesn’t need it if I’m honest.”
Mikasa laughs, the brief respite from the immense pressure she feels freeing. She knows the weight will come again, and quickly. She already feels it creeping back with each step she takes back to the training field.
She glances at Captain Levi’s back, the wings of freedom emblazoned stubbornly between his shoulders on his cloak.
But if he can manage it, so can she.