Dangerous Territory

Nursing the Sick

Eren coughed again, feeling gurgling moisture in his lungs. "Ich hasse es, krank zu sein." I hate being sick. He looked down to Levi, whose eyes were still narrow and leering at him. "I'm sorry."

He kept his voice down even as it seethed in loathing. "Tu as léché mon pied, espèce de pervers." You licked my foot, you fucking pervert.

"Your foot was smashed into my mouth."

"You could have tapped me on the leg. Merde! What is wrong with you?"

Eren bit his lip and looked away. "It was a joke."

"I've said it before: you have a sick sense of humor. Who teases another man like that except for—" His words broke off, and he stared at Eren in the pale glow of the coming morning. Levi let out a sigh and shook his head. "That's impossible," he whispered. Then Eren coughed again. Levi's rage and curiosity drifted away. He stood up, wiped his wet foot on the edge of the rug, and walked back over to the bed. "Do you need anything?" His hand went to Eren's forehead. "Mon dieu, you're burning up. I'll get you medicine."

"If you could, Jean gave you permission to use the kitchen. Make that tea the nurse left. It worked last night. Then you can make us both breakfast."

"Both?" Levi looked uncertain. "I can eat your food?"

"Sure. Although, don't dip into the spices too much. Thomas is really strict about that."

"But ... But I can have food? Real food?"

Eren's eyes softened. "Of course you can. Make us both something good. We should have ... Eier und Würstchen ... I don't know English food words that well. Egg? Sausage?"

"Sausage?" Levi whispered, looking like this was a dream come true.

"You can help yourself."

"No," he said sternly. "I can't eat the same food you do."

"No, really—"

"Eren!" He cut him off sharply, but Levi sighed. "You're a good man, but the world is not a good place. I will take only enough to fill my stomach. Some bread, that's all."

Eren pouted in displeasure at the idea. "I will lose my appetite if you don't eat well."

"Then lose it!" he snapped, and Levi left the bedroom. "Putain! Tu es vraiment trop naïf." Fuck! You're really too naïve.

He crept down the stairs, keeping a wary eye out so no other spooked Nazi soldiers pulled their guns on him. He tiptoed to the kitchen and lit a lamp to search around.

A real kitchen! It had been years since he worked in one.

He pulled out a basket of eggs and some small sausages. He checked out what pans they had—well stocked with cast iron pans, nice!—and he got to work. He cracked open the eggs and put a kettle of water on to make tea.

A memory floated back to him, cooking eggs and veal sausages, looking out the kitchen window, and seeing Petra in her garden wearing a wide-brimmed hat, snipping off parsley. He could not see her face, but the memory made him feel warm inside, yet deeply sad. He would never cook her breakfast again.

Now, he looked out the window and saw a building that had been hit by a bomb, bricks shattered apart, exposing part of what had once been a nice parlor. His country had been shattered, like that building, invaded by Germany, like the Nazis that had taken over this house. Levi kept his eyes down as he cooked so he did not have to look at reality.

Without even thinking about it, he had begun to make breakfast for two.

"Putain," he cursed under his breath. So much for his noble idea of not making life harder for himself by eating the food allotted to soldiers.