❝𝑰 𝒄𝒂𝒏𝒏𝒐𝒕 𝒎𝒂𝒌𝒆 𝒚𝒐𝒖 𝒖𝒏𝒅𝒆𝒓𝒔𝒕𝒂𝒏𝒅. 𝑰 𝒄𝒂𝒏𝒏𝒐𝒕 𝒎𝒂𝒌𝒆 𝒂𝒏𝒚𝒐𝒏𝒆 𝒖𝒏𝒅𝒆𝒓𝒔𝒕𝒂𝒏𝒅 𝒘𝒉𝒂𝒕 𝒊𝒔 𝒉𝒂𝒑𝒑𝒆𝒏𝒊𝒏𝒈 𝒊𝒏𝒔𝒊𝒅𝒆 𝒎𝒆. 𝑰 𝒄𝒂𝒏𝒏𝒐𝒕 𝒆𝒗𝒆𝒏 𝒆𝒙𝒑𝒍𝒂𝒊𝒏 𝒊𝒕 𝒕𝒐 𝒎𝒚𝒔𝒆𝒍𝒇.❞
— 𝐅𝐑𝐀𝐍𝐙 𝐊𝐀𝐅𝐊𝐀
꧁꧂
SHORTLY AFTER THEY'D VACATED THE CABIN, the Military Police had stormed inside, the Levi Squad barely dodging apprehension. They'd safely observed the scene from a faraway cliff, the MPs' torches weaving in and out of sight as they scoured the cabin for them. As their search unfolded, they'd devised a plan and separated— Hange and Moblit would rendezvous with Erwin in Mitras, and the remainder of Hange's squad would accompany Levi's to the Trost District.
Valen adjusted the fedora hugging her skull, ensuring it properly shaded her skin. While her colleagues easily blended in the crowd, Valen—for conspicuous reasons—could not. To conceal her identity, Jean had graciously loaned her a spare fedora of his which she reluctantly, but graciously accepted.
Together, they stopped at an intersection presently occupied by a merchant's wagon. Levi wound up at her side— he hadn't done much to conceal his identity. "I'm saying this again, I don't think wearing a hat is helping," Levi whispered in her ear.
"It was either this or smear flour on my face," Valen grumbled, pointing to a strip of blemishes blooming along her cheekbone. "My pores are already clogged enough."
"Tch, we're being hunted down by the monarchy. Your appearance should be the least of your worries." Valen ignored his snide remark— didn't she possess the right to care for her appearance? "Regardless, I'll trust your judgment."
"As you should." The merchant's wagon having pulled through, the intersection emptied, and they crossed the road— Valen discerned how drastically the crowd swelled. "What's going on?"
"Don't know. Perhaps a festival." Civilians murmured excitedly among themselves. After pushing through what Valen estimated was hundreds of people, they neared a second intersection. Waiting for the road to clear, Sasha and Conny snickered inconspicuously, giving Valen and Levi a reason to turn around. "What's so funny?" Levi pressed, his expression mirroring Valen's.
"Look," Conny snorted, handling Valen a crumpled paper— one of the many wanted flyers posted around the city.
Specifically, it was her wanted flyer.
Conny and Sasha's chortling continued incessantly in the background as a scowl warped her lips— the illustrator had exaggerated her skin color, darkening her taupe skin to a midnight raven. They'd exaggerated her eyebrows as well, thickening their shape to a comical degree.
How insulting. To Sasha and Conny's dismay, Valen crumpled the flyer and shoved it in the pocket of her cloak— it'd do a decent job of fueling the fire tonight. "Intersection's clear. Keep moving," Valen ordered curtly. Crossing the road, Conny griped indistinctly— something along the lines of her being a grump. The crowd swallowed them again, caging them on all sides. Valen primmed her lips— what they were doing was dangerous. Openly mingling among the civilian body, cloaked and hauling their belongings using big, bulky backpacks... in her mind, she visualized all the ways their plan could go wrong.
Valen's hand absentmindedly brushed against Levi's, and her skin tingled— she recalled yesterday when he'd come bounding down the stairs. What she'd been thinking, staying in the cellar and casually conversing with him, still confused her, muddling her brain and fogging her thinking process. Her decision had been purely instinctual, an unprecedented response charged by her inability to control herself— yet she'd taken pleasure in the task, holding his hand in hers and idly striking conversation. And when they'd nearly kissed— Valen had never been so confused, so entirely conflicted. And he was just as perplexed, too. She could see in his eyes, sense the nervousness rolling off his body in waves. Many things were going unsaid between them, things that would never be explained.
Sooner or later, things would explode.
"May I have your attention please?!" They stopped and turned to the speaker— an MP stood atop a stage, flags bearing the crest of the royal family hanging all around him. "King Fritz has heard of the hardships in Trost. He is donating the royal family's reserves." A collective gasp rose from the crowd. "Form a line! There's plenty to go around."
"All that food and he's just giving it away?" Sasha questioned, bewildered— how she hadn't scurred in line surprised Valen.
"It's not as if he needs it all," Levi said plainly. "Easier to control people when they're not starving." They continued walking as a group until Levi halted, and looked back. "Behind us, look out!"
"What—" Conny said. In the blink of an eye, a covered wagon ripped down the road. Its cover rippled in the wind as people dove for the sidewalks, evading the moving vehicle.
"Armin—" Valen glared daggers in Sasha's direction. "Uh, I mean Christa and Eren! Those bastards are running off with them!"
And the wagon disappeared behind a corner, setting their plan in motion.
꧁꧂
Levi produced a pair of wigs from a bag, one brown, one brown and short-haired, the other blond and of longer length. Jean loured, and Armin glanced to the Captain uncertainly. "Again?" Jean moaned.
"It's our only plan," Levi said, hurtling their corresponding wigs. Armin fumbled with his wig while Jean seethed at his. Levi dipped his hand in the bag, this time producing a skirt identical to Historia's. He rolled it into a lump before tossing it to Armin. "If everything goes according to plan, we should be able to properly identify the enemy."
"So, uh..." Levi turned to an uncertain Conny, who anxiously scratched his head. "What exactly are we doing?"
"We're executing a body-double mission," Levi answered. "While Eren and Historia are being transported to Commander Pyxis', Armin and Jean will be acting as their doubles. We'll take down the kidnappers and work from there."
"And who came up with this?" Jean growled, crossing his arms. Levi gestured to Valen. "Wasn't there a way that couldn't have involved, I don't know, cross-dressing?"
"If there's anyone knowledgeable on traffickers, it'd be me," Valen replied coolly. "As long as we abide by protocol, this plan should proceed accordingly."
"Still—"
"Enough conversation," Levi interrupted. "Let's get going."
꧁꧂
Precariously perched on a rooftop, Valen and Mikasa soberly observed the scene unraveling inside the warehouse— Armin and Jean were bound to wooden chairs, positioned on opposing ends of a space formed by looming walls of supply crates.
In this gap, a pair of men lumbered around, prodding their hostages and casually conversing with one another, as if capturing a pair of teenagers and holding them hostage was a daily occurrence— then again, this was their craft. Valen's insides twisted as one of the men clamped his grubby hands on Armin's chest, pawing him like an animal. The sight—against her will—evoked an agonizing memory, no, a series of agonizing memories from her adolescence. Though she'd repressed them past the point of any recoverable state, she could dimly recall walking on a road, barely having abandoned her crutches, and being snatched from the sidewalk and—
Thank goodness she'd gained fourteen pounds in the weeks before that.
Valen discreetly averted her focus elsewhere, pretending she was surveying their surroundings instead— she refused to give Mikasa the impression she was easily disgusted by these things. Inside, the man continued groping Armin, lips grazing his ear— they only had so much time before Armin's cover would be blown. "What do we do?" Mikasa asked, mildly indignant.
"Find your way inside and subdue them accordingly," Valen answered, snapping her hood over her head— she'd seen more than her dose of perversion. "I'm temporarily handing you authority over the remainder of the squad. We'll rendezvous later in the city's northern neighborhood."
"Roger." As Mikasa clambered her way down and inside the warehouse, Valen cautiously climbed her way from the eave to the roof's ridge, where Levi was seated. He was adjusting his cuffs when she swung her legs over and joined him atop the ridge.
"How's everything going?" Levi questioned, straightening his sleeves.
"Well, but could be better. Armin's being assaulted," Valen confessed. Recounting the events aloud was like being stabbed all over again— there was something so twisted about sexual violence and the way it damaged people. She distinguished a pained wince cross his expression. "How's your ankle?"
"And why would you care?"
"Because I'd like to know our chances if we're ambushed," Valen responded. Levi prodded at his ankle— in her opinion, it looked healthy. A tad swollen, but healthy. "So. Your ankle."
Levi beheld her stalely before clearing his throat and huffing. "My ankle will be fine," he reassured. "And you? How are your injuries holding up?"
"Fine." During a restroom break, she'd taken a quick peek at her abdomen— her wound was scarring alright. No funny smells or anything that warranted concern. That wasn't to say she experienced no pain— some soreness persisted. "Just fine."
"If we're both feeling fine, then we should move inward and begin following the wagon." Levi clambered to his feet. "Shall we?"
"Since when are you so courteous..." Valen said under her breath. She supposed her remark had completely flown over his head because he crawled down toward the eave without glancing back. Scaling the side of the angled roof, she thanked the grooved soles of her boots for keeping her upright and secure on the rooftop's rickety surface. They skulked from the rooftops for a couple of blocks until they found exactly what they were looking for.
A-ha. On a road, a covered wagon lagged along, manned by a single horse. There was nothing particularly outstanding about this wagon— it was obeying the speed limit, like any other carriage in Trost.
All according to plan.
After observing the wagon cross an intersection, Levi peered over his shoulder and gave Valen a firm nod. Valen interpreted it as confirmation— this was the wagon Eren and Historia were being transported in. This in mind, granted them all the confidence to pursue the wagon.
Roof tiles jingled as she landed on a rooftop across the road. Having pinned down Eren and Historia's location, all they needed was to ascertain their safety. Once they'd arrived at Pyxis', everything would be grand— they'd proceed with their plan, and they'd expose the royal government for what they were: a debauched band of men and women who hid their atrocities behind heaping mounds of gold and expensive jewelry.
And hopefully, she'd discover the truth behind her family's disappearance.
The wagon turned a corner, northwest bound. Levi, Nifa, and another member of Hange's squad stationed themselves atop a house across the road. Valen waited patiently, her gaze sweeping back and forth over the city. The sky had darkened a little since Armin and Jean's abduction, and some long, dense clouds had rolled in, painted orange and pink by the setting sun. Civilian activity had slowed, and shopkeepers closed their business for the night.
Perhaps she was being analytical in the way she always was, but there was something so unequivocally disorganized in how Eren and Historia's abduction was executed. The monarchy, so meticulous in asserting its dominion over its people, would not have approved such a haphazard plan at all. For Wall's sake, even the Military Police—the embodiment of incompetence—would have disapproved. Something bigger brewed in the background— something stronger, more menacing—
BANG!
Valen jumped, rattling the tiles under her. She peeked over the ridge, and she nearly vomited the little breakfast she'd eaten.
No. Slumped against a chimney, Nifa's head—what remained of it, anyway—had been blown to bits, bloodied chunks of sickeningly pink brain matter splattering out against the cement, forming a gruesome crown of sorts. Levi—who'd been sitting only meters away—frantically scanned the vicinity, panic written across his face— who'd done such a thing?
BANG!
An ODM wire reeled loudly in the distance, and Valen swung over the ridge of the rooftop. A lanky man wielding a pair of smoking guns ankled his way up the roof. His hat shaded most of his features, making him look even more intimidating. As he climbed up the roof, Valen appraised his equipment— it largely resembled her standard gear, but it didn't look practical at all for use against Titans. All that armor would never be needed unless...
"KENNY!!!"
꧁꧂
And just like that, all chaos had broken loose.
"NGH!" As Levi and his aggressor— Kenny, she supposed—battled things out on the rooftop, more than a dozen men and women cornered them on all angles, materializing from the buildings around them. They all sported the same gear as Kenny and had their guns trained on them.
Their gear is designed for killing humans— not Titans. Right when Valen unsheathed her blades, they barraged them with dozens, even hundreds of rounds. Her blades deflected the streams of incoming bullets hurtling her way as she dashed across the rooftop. It was dangerous, moving so openly in the crossfire— but it was better than sitting there and taking it. She had weapons, she had strength.
And she fully intended on using them.
Valen analyzed the scene. Thankfully their assailants had centered most of their efforts on Levi. Valen prepared to leap from the when a boot crushed down on the curve of her back, pummelling Valen to the rooftop. She skidded down the roof's sloping surface until she regained control of her body and hooked onto the ridge. Swinging over, Valen defied the sharp, electric aches coursing down her and created enough distance between her and her attack so she could see them face to face.
And when she did, her stomach dropped, and her lungs hollowed.
BANG! Valen pressed herself to a chimney just in time to avoid the bullet. She stuck her head out so she could determine that she wasn't imagining things, but she wasn't: glaring back at her was a person she'd believed—more like hoped—she'd never see again.
Cloak.
BANG! Valen ducked again. Seeing Cloak in the flesh right then and there held so many implications, the main one being that she cooperating with the royal government. Everything came together. What was obscure darkened even further, and what was big had grown tenfold.
The royal government had sent Cloak to kill her.
Valen's emotions—a dangerously volatile mixture of anger, confusion, and cheerlessness—threatened to override her composure entirely. Had the royal government also sent people like Cloak after her loved ones? She would have never put it past the royal government to do so such a thing, but being confronted by the reality of it—that they'd put a target on her head like she was game—made her clench her fists so tightly her nails made crescents in her palms.
She had every right to exist. Every. Right.
Valen bolted forward and swung her blades at her. Cloak darted back and fired, and the bullet tore through the fabric of Valen's shirt and grazed her shoulder. Anyone else would have scampered away and stumbled to safety had they been grazed by a bullet.
But Valen was not 'anyone else'.
Ignoring the searing sensation engulfing her shoulder, Valen veered rightward and smashed her heel in the crook of Cloak's knee. Cloak planted her hands on the rooftop before her whole body could make contact and sprung from her hands, raising her gun again once she'd grounded herself. Valen spun and jumped to the side to avoid being shot.
Then the vertigo came.
My concussion. Trost whirled around her, muddying into a convoluted mixture of oranges, browns, and grays. Valen's grip on her blades faltered, and her knees gave from under her. Cloak, taking advantage, kicked Valen in her side, sending her tumbling down the side of the roof; Valen's gear clunked and clinked, digging itself into her body as she made her ungraceful descent.
When a three-story drop seemed imminent, Valen's instincts kicked into full gear, impelling her to launch a hook in a random direction. Her wire reeled her to another building, and by the time she'd arrived there, her balance had recovered for the most part. Cloak followed tenaciously behind her, zooming from building to building until she stared her down from the opposite end.
Valen took direct inspiration from Levi and used every ounce of her strength to fling her blades. Cloak swiftly shot them down, her bullets shattering the steel blades in mid-air; Valen was forced to equip a second pair of fresh blades. She schemed her next move from the comfort of her edge, knowing it'd take Cloak at least a few seconds to reach her end.
She will pay. As she readied herself to enact her revenge, a gunshot echoed from the street below, making both of their heads turn: the same man who'd attacked Levi lay on the ground right outside a bar, hat concealing his face. Judging by the lack of bloodstains on his clothing, a head injury had been the likely culprit.
"Captain!" Cloak cried, preoccupied with her superior. Like she'd had taken advantage of her vertigo episode, Valen took advantage of Cloak's distracted state and tackled her down, setting her sights on seizing her weapons. The roof tiles clattered boisterously under their combined weight. Her anger taking hold, Valen completely lost on reality.
THUD!
Because she was strong.
THUD!
Too strong to be concerned with weakness.
THUD!
She'd be the one to prevail.
THUD!
Always.
"Valen!" She vaguely distinguished the voice as Levi's; his voice sounded far off, swallowed by the clanging of weapons and the panted curse words. Valen was finally securing her grip on one of Cloak's handguns.
"Valen, get your ass over here!" Levi shouted in the distance.
No. Valen refused to leave until she'd shown Cloak was she truly made of—that she wasn't to be preyed on like an animal. Cloak had to understand that she'd pay for what she'd done, pay for the crushing humiliation she'd dealt her on that night in the woods.
Forgiveness was not an option.
Valen gritted her teeth: she'd partially coaxed one of Cloak's guns from her right hand. Cloak, sensing defeat on the horizon, struck back even fiercer, punching Valen square in the jaw.
"We are nowhere near finished!" Cloak sneered, menacingly brandishing her guns and swooping onto the street below. In her injury-fueled daze, Valen punched the roof, her fury drowning the twinging in her hand. Just like the night she was stabbed, Cloak had slipped from her grasp, safe from retribution; had Valen been any less of a woman, she would have broken down in tears from the indignation alone.
Once again, she'd failed to assert her strength.
To suppress her blossoming ire, Valen set her thoughts back on the task at hand. She scanned her surroundings, searching the endless rows of rooftops for Levi.
He'd already gone.
Valen cursed under her breath: how much time had she wasted fighting Cloak? She quickly collected herself and deserted the rooftop. If Levi was gone, then that likely meant that the rest of the squad had rendezvoused already. Just as she began brainstorming where her squadmates could have gone, gunshots resounded from the north.
Valen followed them.
Jumping from rooftop to rooftop, the gunshots grew louder and more frequent until they sounded like they were whizzing past her. The rest of the Levi Squad faced off with the same people who'd ambushed them minutes ago. Ahead, the wagon had kicked into full gear, racing down the streets of Trost at speeds double the established limit. On the wagon, Jean fended off a woman from his friends lying on the wagon floor.
But he acting too slow. The woman raised her gun, pointed, and—
BANG! The pistol in Armin's hand smoked: the woman who'd hijacked the wagon lay inert on its floor, her blood staining its dull, wooden finish. Jean stared on in shock. Three more figures cropped up behind the wagon, their weapons aimed intently on the distracted duo.
"Armin! Jean!" Together, Levi and Valen swept Armin and Jean respectively from the wagon right before their pursuers touched down on it. Barreling through Trost's gates, they bombarded them with bullets until the wagon exited the district; a couple more followed, swinging in behind them.
Historia and Eren had been taken.
Landing, Valen dropped Jean on a sidewalk and stumbled onto the curb, giving her burning arms a much-needed break. "Thank you," Jean panted.
Valen patted herself off. "No worries—"
"NO!" Valen whipped around—Levi struggled to restrain Mikasa, who'd gone hysterical. She thrashed around in his arms like a wild animal, kicking and screaming in hopes Levi would release her.
"Let him go! We're running on fumes!" Levi barked; Mikasa gradually tired and stopped resisting, slumping to the ground in defeat—perhaps she'd realized throwing a tantrum wouldn't better their situation. When Levi looked over in her direction, Valen dared to meet his gaze.
He was furious.
With trembling legs, Valen did her best to rise to her feet as he stormed over—her adrenaline spiked when he unexpectedly latched onto her collar and slammed her against a brick wall. Stars scattered across her vision.
"The truce!" Levi seethed. "You broke the Goddamn truce!"
"Captain, calm down!" Jean pleaded; the remainder of the squad gaped at the scene playing out between their superiors. "There's no need—"
"This is strictly between me and her," Levi snarled, his eyes unmoving from hers. Jean leerily backed away, daunted by his superior's sudden change in demeanor. "All of you, wait by the river."
"Captain—"
"That was an order," Levi spat. Jean, Conny, and Sasha scurried away, exchanging worried glances as they joined Mikasa and Armin beside the river; Levi's focus was back on her. "I trusted you with everything I had because I believed you could do better, better than what you were doing before—but in the end, you prioritized your ego and endangered us all! We could have ended up dead!" He hoisted her higher. "But how could you?!"
"You don't understand!" Valen yelled. Burning, white-hot rage burned inside of her— at any moment, she would burst into flames. "You know what that woman did, you were there the night it happened. She deserved it!"
"Deserved what? A second chance at turning loose?!" Levi countered. "Listen to yourself! Even when the livelihoods of your subordinates were in danger, you're still going on about how you're affected!"
Valen's nostrils flared— why couldn't she be concerned for herself in a world that was constantly working against her? Who was he to attack her like this when the world bent to his well because of his title? "You wouldn't possibly understand," she sneered.
"And what wouldn't I understand? The fact that you're obsessed with your own strength? That you cannot bear even the thought of weakness?"
He's going too far. His words were like firewood, feeding an already destructive fire; her skin tingled from her anger alone. "And who are you to say that?!" Valen jeered. "You say that as if you know me!"
"Because I do. Better than anyone." Valen's face scrunched in confusion. "Because when I first laid eyes on you, I knew something was going on—something I couldn't quite figure out. No normal person would join the Scout Regiment for their personal gain. But after months, I think I'm finally starting to understand what's been going on." He pulled her closer. "You detest weakness so much that you've become obsessed with your own strength, so obsessed that you'd be willing to do anything to make yourself look stronger—even if it means risking your life or the ones of your comrades."
Valen huffed. She detested how certain Levi was of himself—detested how he openly shoved her character back in her face. It was not because he was insulting her, nor because he was spewing falsehoods.
But because he was right.
"Look at me," Levi said— Valen reluctantly complied. "Why? Why do you fear weakness so much?"
"I..." Valen couldn't phrase why. She knew why, but she couldn't phrase why. Because if she confessed why, she'd be making herself vulnerable, and she wasn't ready for that. Never was, and never would be. "I can't tell you why."
Fleetingly, the anger in his eyes softened. He wasn't just angry anymore— he was sad, demoralized. "You can't, or you won't?" he asked.
Valen parted her lips, hesitated, then parted her lips again. "I can't," she whispered.
Levi beheld her for a second, absorbing her two words, then nodded. "I see." He released her. Valen dropped to the ground, lacking her usual grace. Tension weighed the air between them.
"I don't know what to think of you anymore. I genuinely don't." Though his words were quiet, they were filled with pain and lined with disappointment. "Go. Go and do what's in your best interest."
Valen only watched as he walked away— away from her.