Attack on Titan Fanfiction – A Decade in the Making: Chapter 5

The Scorecard

He saw the hurt in her eyes. What the fuck. He stops her in her tracks, grasping her shoulders so that she faced him. “Hold on. Allow me to jog your memory, Mikasa. When we were eighteen, you told me, in no uncertain terms, that I can only be your friend. That I shouldn’t hope because friendship was the only thing you could offer me in your lifetime and beyond.”

Mikasa remembered that time, when Eren suddenly started being very cold and distant, dismissive of anyone’s attempts to find out what was going on. It was before he left on his own and went AWOL in Marley. Everyone could see how Mikasa was sick with worry and in incredible emotional pain. Jean had confronted her one night. He was in love with her that time. He had always been in love with her and hated to see her suffer. “Why do you do this to yourself?” he had asked her, with all the agony and torment of unrequited love. “If only you’d give me the chance…” 

That was when Mikasa told him about what happened between her and Eren as children, about the bond that was created between them that not even death could break. She had given Eren her heart and had sworn to protect him with her life. Jean had listened intently. “I see,” he’d said, resignation in his voice. “I only have one thing to say. Whenever and wherever you need me, I’ll always be here for you.”

Mikasa remembered that conversation and now felt awful for him. She herself was confused with these new, unfamiliar feelings for Jean that threatened to drive her mad. In the past year she grew up, and everything changed. But she wasn’t prepared for him changing. 

He broke her reverie as he continued, “Therefore, given that we’re only friends, you’re really in no position to act all jealous and hurt about whoever it is I choose to shag and how many of them I shag,” he told her. “Or how often. Or how hard,” he added for good measure. 

She looked at her feet while admitting softly, “I don’t want you sleeping with all those people…”

Jean sighed in exasperation, raking a hand through his hair. “Mikasa, I’m twenty one going on twenty two. I’m a man, in case you haven’t noticed,” he pointed out helpfully. “A man has needs. Surely you understand as much.” 

“Surely you don’t need that many…,” Mikasa found herself retorting despite being aware she sounded like a prude.

“Well, what can I do? They couldn’t wait to get their hands in my pants. Unlike you they’re not immune to my charms!” was the faintly sarcastic reply.

“I don’t want you sleeping with all those people,” she repeated, stubbornly.

Aargh, she’s driving me nuts, as usual! Jean thought. “Well who do I shag then? You? Hah! As if you’ll let me! That’ll be the day! Just leave me alone and let me plug whomever I please. Meaning people who aren’t as infuriating as you.”

He grabbed her hand again and they continued walking. Her hand clung to his and all of a sudden the painful memories came flooding back.

There were so many things he wanted to tell her. Would she understand the sorry truth behind all the sleeping around he’d done? Would she understand that when Eren died it was like having a huge chunk of his heart ripped out of his chest, and it hurt all the more because he couldn’t tell anyone? That he felt only Marco would have understood, but he was long gone, and the other one who could understand, Sasha, was also gone and he never stopped blaming himself, because if only he’d been more vigilant on the aircraft she wouldn’t have been shot in the first place? That after Sasha died he blamed Eren knowing it would hurt him? But he did it just the same because he wanted to run away from the fact that he was commanding officer therefore what happened under his watch was his responsibility? That when he apologized to Nicolo for having gotten Sasha killed because he let his guard down he felt like a complete and utter failure as a leader? That he felt that way whenever someone died under his command? That during Sasha’s funeral Mikasa disappeared for a short while and he wondered where she was; his eyes searched for her until he spotted her curled up into a ball behind Sasha’s headstone, and by the way her shoulders shook he knew she was weeping as quietly as she could? That that scene was like a dagger through his heart and a part of him died that day? That when he went to train in Noblain and was stationed in the one of the largest and most vibrant port cities on the planet he found plenty of willing lovers who knew nothing of his past and thought him attractive and fuckable, and somehow their desire for him dulled the pain and made him forget–if only momentarily–what a coward he was for not telling the most important people in the world to him how much he cared for them, before it was too late?

Would Mikasa understand if he told her that he used sex to fill the gaping void inside his aching heart? 

You sound like a pathetic prick, he admonished himself. Don’t be an emo train wreck. Buck the fuck up. You know nothing about pain, Jean Kirschtein. This woman walking beside you? She was born with pain built in.

Mikasa felt the thick wall of silence between them, all the words left unspoken, and she wanted to say something. But she didn’t have the right words to say. She never did. It upset her; the night was lovely and she wished they could just stroll hand in hand and talk. Instead he was walking fast and she had to strive to keep pace. It was like he couldn’t wait to get rid of her. A carriage passed by and suddenly she remembered what Levi told her: Life is short. She knew he meant it literally. Paradis had so many enemies it was only a matter of time before their island was sunk into the depths of the ocean. 

“Wait, Jean,” she tugged at his hand. 

He stops in his tracks, brows knitted in frustration. “What now?” 

In reply she takes his other hand and holds them both to her chest. “I want you to know that I’ve come to my senses. I’m all grown up. I’m different now. I…I’d like to be your girl…your woman…” She blushed in embarrassment, gazing shyly up at him through her long black lashes. 

He snorted a laugh. “Yeah, sure you do. You must be drunk. C’mon, let’s get going or you won’t make curfew.” He pulls at her hand and they start walking again.

Now it was her turn to be frustrated. “No, Jean, I mean it.” 

“Right, whatever.” He just kept on walking. 

The frustration rose and her voice rose along with it. “You’re clever. You ought to have figured it out by now.”

“Figured out what by now? That you finally want me after all these years? Bollocks!”

For how could he possibly believe her? Wasn’t she just leading him on? Someone once told him about the power of visualization: you think of what you desire the most, and make it manifest. His biggest desire was for Mikasa to love him back. Visualization? Pure bollocks. He might be hopelessly in love but he was also realistic: he was neutral territory as far as she was concerned. All the years he’d known her she had no reaction to him whatsoever. To her he was good ole Jean: comrade, yes, reliable and trustworthy, yes, skilled soldier, yes. Sexy? No. Desirable? No. Lover? No. Husband? No. She was only capable of loving him in his fantasies. It had been like that for so long he didn’t see why anything should change. 

“I wrote you back!” she said testily.

“Well sure you did! Oh, let me remind you of your last letter. And I quote: 

‘We got several new shipments of semi-automatic, medium-caliber rifles the other day, all using the direct blowback system of operation, which I find cumbersome and unfit for combat use. The  shipment today was a locked breech, gas-operated semi, apparently in use on the continent, but as I suspected it needs to be shortened and improved. It’s my hope that we get the budget for the bolt-action infantry rifle, the same one they use in Noblain. Do you see those around a lot? I personally wish for a self-loader, possibly chambered for sub-caliber ammunition. By the way, I just came back from a three-day sniper training with the Commandos–I plan to form an Army unit of sharpshooters reknowned for their expert marksmanship and stalking skills, so that we don’t have to rely on Captain Levi’s few operators when push comes to shove. I wore the ghillie suit for the first time but had some kind of allergic reaction to it. No wonder the captain refuses to wear it. As for the sniper rifle I told you about last week, Hange’s team fitted the scope above the barrel for optimal accuracy. I heard that in Cistidu their sniper units are experienced deadly sharpshooters in the trenches, their telescopic sights with high-quality lenses illuminated at night boasting superior accuracy. I hope we never have to face them in war.’

“Unquote. Your romantic verses warmed the cockles of my heart!” he said sarcastically.

“You’re a gearhead! I thought you’d want to know that kind of stuff!” Mikasa protested, voice rising. “Besides, you’re no poet yourself. Oh, let me remind you of your last letter. And I quote: 

‘Due to financial shortages we will have to refit the pre-dreadnoughts we got from Noblain, which will result in a mixed armament, with 12-inch guns but from two different models with dissimilar barrel-lengths. We will have difficulty controlling their fire at long ranges, but such is always the case with these semi-dreadnoughts. With our one dreadnought battleship, which will be our flagship, I have to make a decision about the design of the central citadel: extend a thinner armoured belt and deck to cover the ends of the ship, or extend a tapered armour up outside the hull to cover a larger part of the ship and protect it from high-explosive shellfire. The problem with this is that it makes the main belt very short, protecting a thin strip above the waterline. It would also submerge the armoured belt when the ship is heavily laden. If I had a more generous budget I’d prefer a design with no side protection at all but with a thickened armour belt and deck. This would provide effective protection against ultra-long range engagements. By the way, regarding anti-submarine warfare I wrote about last week, I finally saw my first cruiser mine in action: the standard Luke II mine fitted with a hydrostatic pistol preset for 45 ft firing and effective at 100 ft, launched from a stern platform. Acceptable results but poses a potential hazard to the dropping ship. I hope we never have to face Cistiduan submarines in war.’

“Unquote. I asked what was on your mind and that was what you wrote to me!” She found herself yelling against her will.

“Because that was exactly what was on my mind at the time,” he countered, yelling back. “If you had the gumption to replace ‘mind’ with ‘heart’ maybe I would’ve had a clue!”

“Writing you back every week for a year is a clue in and of itself!”

“It’s not the frequency but the bloody content of the letters! I’d have appreciated it if you’d written something like ‘I miss you and can’t wait to see you so I’ll be at the port when you arrive’,” he shot back, explaining why he was upset. “Why was that so hard for you to admit?”

Thank you so much for reading! Please take a moment to share a thought or two in the comment section below. Your comments give me life and are a real source of encouragement. xoxo, hana

Next – Chapter 6: At Last

Back – Chapter 4: The Tavern Where It Began

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