Chapter Text
Annie knew she was really going to be wasted on the sixth shot. Generally speaking, she didn’t really drink. It simply wasn’t her thing, outside casual drinking with Reiner and Bertholdt. There was something wildly unappealing about losing the function of both her brain and body, or forgetting an entire night in a blink.
That’s not to say she’s a prude about it all. Annie is down to smoke almost anything that isn’t A-class.Still, the semi-regular idiocy she sees from alcohol makes her averse. She’s seen and cleaned more piles of vomit than any person ever should in their lives.
Tonight, however, was different.
For the first time in three years, her and her boys had returned to their old city. It was, also rather ironically, the anniversary of their move from Trost to Marley, and it conjured all sorts of awful things within Annie’s chest.
Trost, as it was, hosted one of the best universities in the entire country. Settled mid-country, it was a damn pilgrimage to move to, particularly out of country as they had been, but it was worth it. Between Annie’s pursuit of advanced bio, Bertl’s business degree, and Reiner’s out-of-left-wing psychology degree, it made sense for all three of them to pack up from Marley and head back.
It also reminded her of rather uncomfortable memories. Which is why, Annie knows, she finds herself in Ymir’s shitty apartment, doing tequila shots off of Pieck’s very generous chest, losing herself in the spinning room and the warmth in stomach. Pieck herself is ambivalent, giggling at the accidental press of Annie’s mouth to her soft skin, arms draped loosely over her shoulders.
They had a thing, friends with benefits, back when they were both in Marley. It eventually tapered off into close friends after a few months or so, but now Annie is drunk, and Pieck’s body is soft and curvy and pliable in all the ways her own is hard and unyielding. She’s so open, and comfortable, and Annie wants to run away from the god-forsaken dread in her chest.
She’s at least half aware of the fact that she’s being stupid. Not even Reiner drank this much on the eve of their leaving from this goddamned city, but then Reiner’s always been rather upfront about his own emotions.
Annie is not. Hence the drinking, and hence the forgetting.
It is a particularly bad idea, when, flinging her head up from the shot and curling her tongue around the lime in Pieck’s warm mouth, she thinks she hears a terrifyingly familiar voice in between heavy bass and the mad cackle of Ymir. It makes a jolt away, to Pieck’s confusion. The woman frowns, tapping her fingers along the hard line of Annie’s shoulders.
Annie’s head swivels as she looks through the crowds of semi-unfamiliar faces, only spying Reiner, Bertholdt and Porco in the room. She knows that Zeke, the old bastard, and Marcel are somewhere around. Ymir is sitting on the couch trying to merge bodies with Historia.
The owner of that voice is absent. Annie wonders if she’s started stress-hallucinating.
“You okay babe?” Pieck hums. There’s a pleasant haziness to her eyes and Annie smells liquor and weed on her skin.
Blinking, she tries to make her mouth move. It refuses her instruction, the traitor, and she finds herself mumbling out something incomprehensible and stupid. If she were any more sober, she’d want to climb into a hole. As it is, Annie squints confusedly at Pieck’s half blurry face, absently wondering what shampoo the woman uses to make her hair look so soft.
Being a sweetheart, Pieck just giggles, shifting her grip to her arms. “I think you need some air. C’mon.”
She lets herself be ushered through the front door and onto the street outside. Bertholdt appears briefly, nodding and waving to Pieck before disappearing in the crowds.
The air is curiously damp as it greets her, both warm and cool as it is in the small hours of the morning. Her ass hits the pavement, dew-covered and sure to leave a wet patch, and Annie takes a deep breath through her nose. Pieck joins her after a beat, pulling out a pouch and papers and waving it at Annie.
Hanging her head and nodding, Annie replies, “Thanks.”
“I owe you from last time,” Pieck hums, opening the seal and rummaging about for filters. “Besides, I roll better than you.”
“I’m also seeing double right now,” Annie grumbles.
Pieck giggles a little, the sound louder away from Ymir and the madness inside. Apart from the crinkle of paper, the street is empty of noise. There’s a stranger crossing the road a few feet from them, shrouded in the darkness of the night.
It’s peaceful. Annie breathes through the tightness in her chest.
“Here,” Pieck says after a beat, handing her the expert-rolled cigarette, “Now, you wanna talk about it?”
Fumbling with a lighter, Annie responds with a grunt.
Pieck sighs airily, “I’m not gonna force you babe, but you never get drunk so something is clearly going on.”
Breathing out smoke, Annie casts a glance over at Pieck. She’s looking away, up toward the sky, her cigarette hanging loosely in her hands. There’s something almost ethereal about Pieck, as if she exists on some other plane. Annie blinks tiredly, turning to look down at her feet. Boots - old and worn and her favourite.
“You didn’t live here before.” Annie says, falling short on her own point. The shots in her system swim her brain, make her want to clench her teeth and scream through them. Who knew she was so miserable? Not her, funnily enough.
“Nope. Marley, through and through - until now I guess.” She turns to give Annie a crooked smile, “You were too, before you moved.”
“Yeah. We didn’t return to Marley on the best of terms, I guess?”
“Right,” Pieck nods, the sound jingling her necklaces, “You’re worried about that?”
“I’m not- it’s not like that.” Annie hisses through her teeth, falling quiet.
Sounding unconvinced, Pieck simply hums. Out of sight, Annie wonders what her expression is - coward enough to not look and see herself.
From within the house, someone screams, like a whooping cheer that carries through the open door. A glass smashes afterward, and Annie hears the distinct sound of Ymir swearing.
“When we left we just packed up and went." Annie eventually says. Her hands fiddle with the paper of her cigarette, gently pulling it apart to the tobacco within. “Bertl and Rei left a lot of friends in the dark when we did.”
Pieck makes a noise. Annie doesn’t look at her. “You left friends as well.”
“Not like those two.”
Because she knew she had been a cold bitch that hadn't let anyone close. It didn’t stop people from trying but there was always a limit, and everyone eventually hit it. Armin, Eren, all the others - they existed three steps away. Always a wall shadowing their every interaction. She figures now that it was self defence, keeping people away so as to not deal with her and everything that came with it.
Reiner and Bertholdt were truly the only people that knew her, and even then, it had sometimes been hit and miss.
Annie flicks her cigarette to the floor, crushing it beneath her boot. She imagines her head beneath the sole, and presses hard enough to make her toes ache.
Stupid. She should never drink.
After a long moment, Pieck speaks again, “You know it wasn’t your fault.”
Annie grimaces. It was, really. All of it on her, and even then when they all knew they would have to leave, the three of them never told a soul. They had had a week to prepare, to pack frantically and hope to God they could get out of there.
So yes, it was her fault. And now she sat, pathetically dreading the day she’d see their faces again, see the hatred and annoyance at her being back, and alive, and so stupidly guilty over her own shitty actions.
Pieck sighs after a moment, at Annie’s silence. Annie tries to breathe through the festering in her chest, like her therapist taught her. Miraculously through the familiar motions the ache in her lungs lessens. It’s not gone, not quite, but she’s stop spiralling at the very least.
“Feeling better?” Pieck says after a while. She throws the butt to the ground, using her heel to flatten it.
She’d honestly rather go home and wallow, but she wasn’t sixteen and angsty anymore - she was a big girl, and she wasn’t going to be afraid of interaction. Before they had left Marley, she promised herself a fresh start. That started now, at this shitty house party in Ymir's ground-floor flat.
At least, that’s what she tells herself.
“Sure.” Annie responds, standing up. Reaching out a hand she helps Pieck up, smiling a little when the woman notices her straying eyes and snorts.
“Good. Now c’mon, we gotta go protect our boys.”
“Pock’s already passed out, you know.”
“Really? Goddamnit.” Pieck huffs, and Annie smirks, following her back inside.
The next day, she miraculously wakes up in their shared apartment on the couch, with a blanket draped over her and a few pillows supporting her head. She figures they got home alright.
From the kitchen, she can hear someone banging about, the clang of steel and cupboard doors. It doesn’t exactly do wonders for her headache, slowly realising itself in her skull and beginning to drive knives into it.
Overall, not an awful way to wake up. Still, Annie feels unclean, and gross in that way hangovers make you. The intense craving for fried food makes itself home in her stomach.
After a moment of wondering about her existence, she hauls herself upright and peers over the top of the couch. The lean form of Bertholdt greets her, shirtless, hair a mess and stubble across his chin. His face is thick with sleep, eyes hazy and blinking as he hauls a frying pan onto the stove. Flicking her eyes to a digital clock she reads 9:05 am.
“Morning,” Annie calls. Voice hoarse and raspy, she coughs a little before sliding off the couch.
“You’re alive,” Bertholdt responds. There’s a small smile on his stupid face.
Slumping onto the main counter, Annie rolls her eyes. Painkillers and a glass of water are placed in front of her, Bertholdt eyeing her up for a moment before turning away.
“Barely. I think I owe Reiner a kick.”
Bertholdt barks a laugh. “Probably.”
A moment of comfortable silence passes, Annie drinking down the pills and resting her head against the counter. The messy sprawl of her hair covers most of the seeable surface, like a blonde jungle.
Amongst the rustling of packaging and the thump of the fridge, Bertholdt breaks the silence, “Pock and Pieck stayed the night, by the way. Left a little earlier - work and all.”
Annie hums, looking up through her messy fringe, “That's why I was on the couch?”
“Mhm, that and you offered.” Bertholdt says.
“So, uh, how did we get home?”
“Reiner called a favour. Old gym buddy, I think,” Bertholdt responds. His hands are busy with pancake batter, to Annie’s thankful huff. “Your phone’s on the counter. Someone’s been spamming you for, like, the entire night.”
“Seriously?” She grunts. Just what she needs. Probably some spam caller - or Marcel had somehow gotten lost on his way home without his little brother. Either option elicits the same level of annoyance.
“Yeah, it was kind of weird.” He gives a little chuckle. On the stove, butter begins to sizzle under the heat. He reaches out to tweak the knob. “Zeke got worked up about you having a stalker, but you kicked him pretty hard and he shut up after that.”
Annie snorts. Zeke really did act like their collective father, or a weird, protective uncle. Still she had to give him some credit, he had kept them all together for this long, weird as he was. Had a talent for pulling people out of shit. “Wish I remembered that.”
“Should probably let him know you aren’t being stalked. You know how he is.” From Bertholdt’s room, a muffled grumble sounds. Bertholdt smiles, adding pancake batter into the pan. “You went hard on the shots. Was, uh, everything alright?”
Annie rolls her eyes again, a little fond, remembering Pieck’s drunken assistance and their little chat before she’d had to stop Marcel from taking his shirt off.
“First Pieck, now you. I’m fine.” Searching for something believable to say, she settles on, “Just lost track of it, that's all.”
“Sure,” Bertholdt nods, and she just knows he doesn’t believe her. “Want bacon with your pancakes?”
“Thanks,” Flicking her phone on, she pales at the twenty seven text messages from an unknown number. “Fuck, maybe I do have a stalker.”
“What- seriously?”
“Twenty seven fucking texts.” Beginning to scroll through them, something heavy and choking sits in her throat. The person clearly knew her. Despite the texts being disjointed and clearly the product of a drunken rage, Annie has the awful, slithering feeling that she knows exactly who was texting her. It was oddly… familiar, “Last one was four hours ago.”
The worry in the man is apparent, his spine straightening. “What are they saying? Is it bad?”
“No, no, it’s-” Her voice wavers a little. Bertholdt looks up in the corner of her eye, looking at her with concern. Another text, ‘Why did you leave me’, another one, ‘I missed you so much’, another and another and another.
“Annie?”
“Jesus, it’s like they’re a toxic ex I don’t know about.”
Another text and fuck, Annie kind of wants to cry a little. This is exactly why she was drinking in the first place.
She, stupidly, feels entirely guilty about it. Part of her knows this was her fault, for suddenly leaving, for blocking everyone’s number and pretending to just not exist to avoid saying goodbye, to avoid explaining everything. Maybe that was the rabbit hole, knowing it was her fault and knowing she honestly deserved this. She can’t bring herself to think about it.
Scrolling further up to the very top, her blood suddenly freezes in her veins. The urge to vomit wraps around her throat and strangles. This day was rapidly becoming her worst in the past few years.
‘Who was that girl?’
'Are you dating her?’
Which meant- it had to be her, her voice, her anger. She was at the party.
“Uh- Bertl, do you uhm,” She takes a shaky breath, staring at her phone still, “Do you know if Mikasa was at that party, last night?”
“Mikasa?” He says, blinking at her.
“Yeah- do you, did you see Eren or Armin, cause then-”
"She’s been texting you this shit?” Bertholdt says, sounding suddenly angry. It’s foreign from his mouth, his temper so easily settled or ignored entirely. The man barely had a confrontational bone in him, except for certain situations. She doesn’t want his anger, not his anyway.
Annie scowls, glancing up at him.
Her hands fold into fists on the countertop at his screwed up expression. "No. I don’t know. She’s a messy drunk, Bertl, so maybe. It’s not that bad.”
“It’s literally harassment -!” He hisses, eyes almost comically wide. The pancakes are forgotten momentarily, as he stares at her like she was the crazy one.
"We left her first!” She yells.
They both freeze as the words ring out. They almost seem to echo in the tiny kitchen space. Annie wants to shove her head into a pillow and scream.
Bertholdt softens, shoulders drooping as he looks at the guilty expression all but painted across her face. “Annie…”
“We- I don’t know if it’s her. Just, the person knew who I was with at the party, so.” She shrugs pathetically, looking away from his open expression.
“Okay.” The sound of the spatula against the pan clinks. The smell of pancakes and bacon wafts in the air. “Well, I’d text Ymir and ask for who went. Be careful Annie.”
“It’s Mikasa, Bertl.”
“Right.” He dishes up, sliding the plate across to her. There’s a look in his eye that Annie hates. “It’s Mikasa."
She frowns, looking down at her plate of food. Her appetite is gone.
She spends the rest of her free day curled up in bed, flicking through her phone in an attempt to find Mikasa’s socials. It’s fairly easy, since she’s had the same account names since she was thirteen. A little obsessively, Annie combs through every single post on her page.
Instagram doesn’t wield much, a few new images of her and Eren, her and Armin, one of the beach and another of their friend group together. She doesn’t post often at all, to Annie’s sudden annoyance.
Still, she discovers Mikasa’s new haircut. Sees her more mature, still stupidly gorgeous face; still strong arms, still enticing eyes. It sends conflicted feelings through her that she resolutely ignores. The little flutter in her chest is hard to stamp out, and it bats about like a hellcat despite her best efforts.
Facebook yields even less than Instagram, and Annie gives up after a few minutes on that. Mikasa wasn’t active on twitter, either, though not to Annie’s surprise. The rest of her tagged pictures don’t tell her anything at all. Which leaves her a little stumped, and just as frustrated as when she started.
After a moment, in which she contemplates searching LinkedIn of all things, Annie eventually pulls up Ymir’s number, hovering over call. She jabs her finger on it after swallowing her irritation, and braces herself for Ymir.
“What?” The woman barks, and Annie winces at its volume.
Lying down on her bed, she stares up at the yellowing ceiling. There’s cracks arcing out from the right corner of her little space, like lightning. “You better not be fucking Historia right now.” She grunts.
“Hah, you wish. I don’t give out good shit for free, baby.”
Immediately cringing, Annie contemplates just hanging up. Sometimes Ymir was simply not worth the effort. Poor Historia was either a saint or a straight up freak. She would put honest money on the latter. “Do not call me that ever again.”
“Sure,” Ymir yawns obnoxiously, straight down the phone. Annie feels her temper rising. “So why’d you call me, or do you just miss my dulcet tones.”
“You sound like a cat being strangled.” Sighing through her teeth, Annie closes her eyes. “I need a list of who went last night.”
“What? Why, you with the cops now or something?” She drawls.
“I’ve got a stalker, and if you don’t send me that fucking list I’m blaming you for whatever happens.”
“A stalker?" Ymir yells, then immediately bursts into raucous laughter.
Annie hangs up before she can listen to Ymir any further, sending her a message and throwing her phone onto her bed a moment after. Her phone vibrates, and she ignores it, rolling out of bed.
She heads to the gym after work, kicking out her frustrations on a rubber dummy. It’s a little disorientating getting used to a new gym, and she finds herself a little annoyed that her old routine doesn’t quite fit into the equipment on the floor. Part of her misses the old Muay Thai classes she used to teach. She figures once she's a little more secure in the city, she'll scout out someone who needs an assistant and sign on. For now, she'll content herself with a regular gym routine, however disorientating.
Managing to work up enough sweat to be drenched in it, Annie feels the burn in her muscles as a strange form of repentance. It’ll ache like hell tomorrow, but she hardly cares. The rest of her hangover is kicked out of her system, and she’s done for the day by eight.
Walking out of the building, hair loose and wet after showering, she fumbles for her phone. If Reiner was good for one thing, other than talking out of his ass, Annie knew he was good for giving her lifts. The man was dependable like that.
Clicking the phone on, it’s only a moment before her heart leaps into her throat.
It’s the unknown number again, which was impossibly weird seeing as she had chalked it up to Mikasa’s drunken rampage - if it even was Mikasa to begin with. As is, the message is short and to the point, a simple ‘I’m sorry about last night,' followed by ‘Can I call you?’
Sent five hours ago. Annie’s hand tremors over the notifications. She should respond. She should. It was quite literally the least she could do after disappearing for years on end without notice. And, well, Mikasa deserved it more than anyone. Annie knew, God she knew, just how delicate the woman could be underneath her steel and strength. Mikasa deserved it. She did.
Annie flicks onto Reiner’s contact.
bird face:
pick me up from gym
[Sent: 8:03 pm]
meathead:
Magic word?
[Sent: 8:06 pm]
bird face:
hocus pocus the stalker wants to call me
[Sent: 8:06 pm]
bird face:
bertl did tell you right
[Sent: 8:06 pm]
meathead:
Shit
[Sent: 8:07 pm]
meathead:
Yeah, he did
[Sent: 8:07 pm]
meathead:
I’ll be round in five
[Sent: 8:07 pm]
meathead:
You should probably contact someone about this
[Sent: 8:08 pm]
bird face:
yeah probably
[Sent: 8:08 pm]
bird face:
its effort tho
[Sent: 8:08 pm]
bird face:
oh thanks btw
[Sent: 8:10 pm]
As promised, Reiners' beaten up truck pulls into the taxi rank five minutes later. He’s sat in the driver's seat, face pulled tired and concerned under his phone’s light. Annie slides into the passenger, throwing her gym bag into the worn back seat. The beat up leather sinks into her and she lets her muscles relax.
The truck pulls away, Annie watching the gym disappear into Trost’s city streets. Blurs of strangers flashing before her. Under the dirty streetlights, she could almost think this was a different city.
“So,” Reiner taps his broad fingers across the steering wheel, “this stalker wants to call?”
“Mhm.” Annie hums. It feels less prickly to talk to Reiner about this stuff. He was naturally protective, self proclaimed by the man himself, and she’s used to his mothering. Unlike Bertholdt, it feels natural to hear his voice line with steel, to see him flick his eyes to hers with concern.
He was her armour. Always had been, from taking blows for her to barking threats. It was his way of affection toward her. She appreciates it more than she can say. Talking about feelings literally made her sick.
“How fun.”
“I’m ecstatic.” Annie deadpans.
“Have you figured out who it is?” He says, eyes training back onto the road.
“Nah, not yet. I haven’t responded back, if that’s what you’re about to ask.”
“Good.” He takes a left, deftly weaving away from the more crowded areas of the city, back toward their little shared apartment. He chuckles. “Bert was in a state about all this. As soon as I woke up he was ranting and raving.”
Annie shifts in her seat. “You know what he’s like.”
“About our old friends, sure. Not some stranger.” He falls quiet for a second, before the realisation hits him. “Hold on, is the stalker-”
“Can you not?"
Reiner makes a noise of frustration, though his eyes don't stray from the road. “Seriously, Ann?”
"What?" She snipes, turning away from him.
“Don’t what me. I thought we talked about this.” He’s put on his ‘big brother’ voice. Annie wants to kick him in the ribs.
“You talked about this. No, you talked at me about this.”
“It’s unhealthy. On both sides.” He huffs.
“You know what was unhealthy? Leaving them without a word. Pretending we were dead. Blocking their numbers. Don’t give me shit about ‘unhealthy’.” Annie grits her teeth, grinding them.
Reiner sighs heavily. “It was the best we could do in a shitty situation. I thought we moved on.”
“Yeah well, that was before we moved back here. Shit changes.”
“Uh-huh,” He says, unconvinced.
Annie finds herself sick of hearing that in people’s voices, that resigned note as if she was the crazy one. They were the bastards in this situation, not the other way around. They fucked up everything while Mikasa’s family suffered for it. In all reality she should be the one texting her, begging for forgiveness and harassing her for a chance.
God, how fucked up was this all? Why was she the only one so damn worked up about it?
“I won’t call her. I’ll block the number.” She says eventually. Somehow, she already knows it’s a lie.
“Good. It won’t help anyone if you respond, and it certainly won’t help Mikasa.” Reiner huffs the end of the sentence. The indicator clicks as Annie spins around to stare at him.
“Why does- why does everyone blame her for this?”
“It’s Mikasa."
Oh, and she was getting really fucking tired of hearing that - as if Mikasa was the one being insane and not them.
“That’s what Bert said, and I still don’t get it.” Annie grunts.
“She’s just- you know. Obsessive. Overprotective. Get’s hyper-fixed on people. You’re just-”
“Don’t you fucking dare say victim Braun. I will stop this car and kick your teeth out.”
He sighs, a tinge of amusement lingering. “I wasn’t gonna say that. Just- me and Bert think you’re not in the right state to deal with that, if that’s what Mikasa is doing. We haven’t seen them for so long, we’re not sure how they’ll be. How she’ll be. We’re worried.”
The thought counts for something, and her chest untightens a shred. They meant well, they did. It was the nature of it, she supposes, for them to be smothering after it all. Still, she was a grown woman. She didn’t need a lanky giant and a man with male boobs telling her what to do.
“I get it, but I’m not five.”
Reiner gives her a crooked smile, boyish and charming. “No, but you’re as tall as a five year old.”
“I hate you.”
He laughs at her, boisterous and warm, and Annie turns back to the window, huffing through her smile.
Three days later, she gets another text.
She doesn’t block the number, despite her proclamation to. At one point she moves to do it but if it is Mikasa, and it is her trying to get in contact, Annie finds herself wanting, praying that maybe she tries again.
Because it’s Mikasa, and the woman was more in tune with her than anyone she’d ever met. It’s Mikasa, who could challenge her in the ring and win more often than not. It’s Mikasa, who used to straddle across her prone hips, hands grasped tight over her wrists, face flushed and triumphant - looking to Annie like a Valkyrie; beautiful, bloody and in those moments, hers.
Maybe- maybe feelings had never gone away. Had just lingered, turning poisonous in regret and self-hatred at what she left behind.
So she doesn’t block the number. Just sits and stares at it, rereading the texts, trying to draw out a greater meaning that really isn’t there. Mikasa probably saw her at the party, and got angry, and drunk, and spam texted her until Armin took her phone away. Then got embarrassed by it all the next day and wanted to explain herself. It seemed plausible, likely.
Annie finds herself thinking over it obsessively over the next few days, making the same motions at her new job - a barista funnily enough, as if she had a cheerful bone in her body - at home, lying in her bed at night, reading a book, talking to Bertholdt and Reiner, doing anything. In all honesty, Annie finds herself going a little insane. It doesn’t help that Ymir hasn’t texted her back, the bitch that she is, so there’s no guarantee it’s even Mikasa.
It’s around three am when the text is sent, Annie lying in bed with her earphones in, listening to a new album release and rueing insomnia’s very existence.
It’s simple, the text.
Unknown number:
Are you awake?
[Sent: 3:12am]
Annie stares at it, lingering on the top of her phone screen. Her heart is slamming against her ribs. It would be so easy, so so easy to open it. To respond. To have Mikasa again.
Taking a deep breath, she opens the message. She promised herself after all, a new start.
Annie Leonhardt:
yeah
[Sent: 3:14am]
Annie Leonhardt:
this is you Ackermann isnt it
[Sent: 3:15am]
Unknown number:
It is. How did you know?
[Sent: 3:15am]
All at once, Annie wants to fling her phone away. She wants to stomp it into dust and move back to Marley and not deal with any of this. Maybe move to the woods instead, become a spooky witch and live the rest of her days surrounded by deer and mud. At the same time, she desperately wants to call her, to hear her voice again. Wants to know exactly what’s going on in Mikasa’s head to come back to Annie like this, to want to talk to her again like this.
Her hands are sweating. Annie feels fairly pathetic at how much she’s panicking.
Annie Leonhardt:
just a guess
[Sent: 3:17am]
Annie Leonhardt:
you were at ymirs stupid party right
[Sent: 3:17am]
Mikasa Ackermann:
Yeah. I saw you and that girl disappear.
[Sent: 3:18am]
Annie Leonhardt:
pieck?
[Sent: 3:20am]
Mikasa Ackermann:
I don’t know her name Annie.
[Sent: 3:20am]
At that she snorts. The exact expression is almost palpable, the dry sarcasm that Mikasa could carry so well. And, well, she was always a jealous friend. Affection wells in her chest, like a virus spreading through her lungs.
Turning around in bed, she hugs her pillow to her chest, staring at her phone.
Annie Leonhardt:
fair
[Sent: 3:21am]
Mikasa Ackermann:
I should apologise for spamming you that night. I was angry and upset. I shouldn’t have harassed you like that. I think I missed you too much.
[Sent: 3:25am]
She forces herself to take a deep breath, glancing up at her ceiling. Imaginary lights play in her vision from staring at her phone too hard, and she counts them slowly until her breathing evens out.
Maybe Reiner was right, this was far too much for her stupid health right now. In technicality, she was still recovering. Regular therapy sessions, Bertholdt checking in bi-weekly to make sure she was alright. Like she was some idiot. Usually Annie hates it all. Getting help was so hard.
Now though, maybe they were right. It wasn’t normal for people to be hyperventilating over a simple text, probably.
Annie Leonhardt:
no i deserved it
[Sent: 3:28am]
Annie Leonhardt:
im surprised you even want to talk to me
[Sent: 3:29am]
Mikasa Ackermann:
Why wouldn’t I want to?
[Sent: 3:30am]
Mikasa Ackermann:
I don’t care how long it’s been, you’re still my friend Annie.
[Sent: 3:30am]
God, it was like being punched in the chest. That sensation of her breath leaving the lungs, the heavy impact of a mat on her back. Except, she was lying in bed now, hugging a pillow, staring at her phone hard enough that her eyes ached.
She had forgotten how direct Mikasa was. When her heart was set, the woman would stop at nothing. Annie had forgotten how that applied to her as well, beyond just their matches, their playful rivalry. Annie aches to know what else she had forgotten about Mikasa.
It takes a while to calm down, to gather her thoughts long enough to concentrate. Half of which she blames on the time of night it is, the long day before and the consistent, obsessive thoughts about this very conversation, however imaginary it had been.
When her phone pings again, Annie scrambles for it.
Mikasa Ackermann:
Annie?
[Sent: 3:35am]
Annie Leonhardt:
sorry just
[Sent: 3:36am]
Annie Leonhardt:
dont really think i deserve the ackermann loyalty
[Sent: 3:36am]
Mikasa Ackermann:
Why? Have you killed someone and not told us?
[Sent: 3:37am]
A surprised laugh leaves her. Annie claps her hand to her mouth - the walls were thin after all.
The wit was surprising. She had honestly expected a little more yelling, more confrontation. The humour was good, probably. At least, she hoped that Mikasa wasn’t as angry as she thought the woman would be.
Annie Leonhardt:
ha ha ha so funny
[Sent: 3:37am]
There’s nothing back for a long few minutes. Annie turns over in bed, settling back into her pillows and rereading the conversation. It was… good. She felt lighter than she had in days, despite the still present dread that something was to happen.
Maybe Bertholdt was wrong about this whole thing.
Mikasa Ackermann:
Can I ask why you left?
[Sent: 3:39am]
She takes another deep breath. This was expected. She knew it was coming the moment she opened her messages. It’s still incredibly hard to try and word it right, to explain properly, neutrally, about everything. She half wants to say no, to avoid the hollowness in her chest that comes with the whole ordeal.
Don’t be a pussy, she inwardly scolds. She’s a Leonhardt, even if that means jack shit anymore. It had been three years. They were just scars now, to be remembered but not to be hidden.
Annie Leonhardt:
its complicated to try and explain everything
[Sent: 3:40am]
Mikasa Ackermann:
How complicated?
[Sent: 3:40am]
Annie Leonhardt:
police involvement complicated
[Sent: 3:41am]
Mikasa Ackermann:
… Did you actually kill someone?
[Sent: 3:42am]
Annie palms her face in order to try and wipe the smile off her face. It’s only small, and a little delicate, but it’s there all the same - and she’s trying to be serious.
Annie Leonhardt:
if i did you literally would of been the first to know
[Sent: 3:42am]
Annie Leonhardt:
did you know about my dad?
[Sent: 3:44am]
Mikasa Ackermann:
I figured it out. Armin and I talked about it often. Wasn’t sure how to help you.
[Sent: 3:45am]
The confirmation relaxes her a little. Armin had always seemed more gentle around her after the first couple of months knowing him. At first it had pissed her off, used to people pretending to be a saint only to try and wrangle something out of her later. It was only after another month did she realise that Armin was just like that. Kind and willing, and so rare in his understanding.
The softness had been a blessing, at times. He was easy to be around, easy to talk to or to sit in silence with. On bad days, she joined him in the local library just to hear him read off worn books about the ocean, about sea animals and goddamn shells. She’s missed him, she realises, missed his easy company and good advice.
Briefly, she contemplates asking Mikasa for his number, deciding against it only to avoid derailing the conversation that she definitely should be having. Besides, knowing how close they are, Armin will probably reach out in the next week or so.
Annie Leonhardt:
figures
[Sent: 3:45am]
Annie Leonhardt:
well all that shit got worse
[Sent: 3:46am]
Annie Leonhardt:
reiner eventually went to the cops after a rlly bad night and we basically ran away
[Sent: 3:47am]
Mikasa Ackermann:
I’m so sorry Annie.
[Sent: 3:48am]
Annie Leonhardt:
isnt your fault
[Sent: 3:48am]
Annie Leonhardt:
i should of told you guys. i should of told everyone really but i was fucking scared and i didnt want shit to change so we just left yk ? better to be annie from memory than the fucked up one now
[Sent: 3:49am]
Annie Leonhardt:
you deserved to know
[Sent: 3:50am]
Tears well in her eyes, and fuck, wasn’t she supposed to be stronger than this? It had been a long time coming. She’d been anticipating this for weeks now, maybe even longer.
The thread of self loathing doesn’t hit as hard as she expects, and Annie lets the strangling pressure in her throat dominate her for a moment. A silent sob hiccups out of her mouth, and with shaking hands Annie picks up her phone again.
Annie Leonhardt:
fuck im so sorry mikasa
[Sent: 3:52am]
Mikasa Ackermann:
Can I call you?
[Sent: 3:54am]
Her heart leaps into her throat. Tears blur her vision, but the text is so clear, and precise, and so world-endingly tempting. Annie’s hands shake. She doesn’t know what she’s doing.
She feels like she’s fifteen again, like she’s stupid, and head over heels, and dumb enough to jump into the endless chasm that is Mikasa Ackermann.
Annie Leonhardt:
please
[Sent: 3:57am]
The call comes up not a second later, the contact info blaringly clear. Mikasa Ackermann. Annie’s an idiot.
“Hi?”
“Hi, Annie.” Comes her voice. And, God, Annie nearly trembles with it.
She sounds a little older, voice a little deeper. It’s raspy and low from the time of night, and it melts Annie like nothing else. She wants to listen to Mikasa forever, to drown in her voice.
“Mikasa.” She says, just to say it.
“Annie. I’m-” Rustling of sheets. She’s in bed too. The thought, weirdly, sends a little thrill down her spine.
“I’m so sorry about your dad. I can’t believe I was so angry. I shouldn’t have been. I’m sorry.”
“You should be angry. I ran away. You probably thought I was dead.” Annie tries not to sniffle and fails. The sound carries across the line, to where Mikasa’s breath judders slightly.
“At first I was. I realised afterwards I was being so childish. You always did everything for a reason, it just took me a while to realise you disappearing was every bit as calculated as anything else. We… we understood, in the end.” She says, so softly, so understanding that Annie’s entire chest aches with it.
“All of you?” She whispers back.
Part of her is desperate to know that they didn’t fuck up everything back then. It’s a stupid hope, one that rationally she shouldn't have even carried, but it had fostered in her chest over the years.
“Even Eren.” Mikasa responds. There’s a gentleness there, a smile hiding in her voice. “We’re your friends Annie, we would never hate you for escaping a bad situation.”
The tears in her eyes threaten to fall again. Annie presses her free arm hard into her face, hoping it will muffle her next words.
“Thank you.”
Both of them stay silent for a moment, letting the words settle.
It’s a little surreal to speak to Mikasa again, to hear her voice. Annie half wants to pinch herself, knowing that she’ll feel half a fool if she does. And it’s good. It’s really good. Annie doesn’t know why she avoided this for so long.
Maybe she’s an idiot and a coward.
“You know,” Mikasa begins again, “There was some vague description on the news about you. Closed case or something.” Mikasa sighs. “Armin knew all along. He was never, ever angry about it. Not like me and Eren.”
"Yeah. He was always so understanding with me. Even when I used to try and hurt people."
There was that one moment, in her blind, cold anger when she'd nearly hit him. It had been the first time she'd attempted to do so at anyone, outside of the dojo. The look in his eyes had never been angry. It had been pity. And it had been like ice down her spine.
Annie had promised herself on that day to never follow her father's footsteps. That look in his eye had been clearer and more piercing than anything she can remember.
Mikasa hums a little in agreement. "I should of figured it out myself. He'd ask us to be more rational - more empathetic. I think he always wanted to tell us but he didn't want to betray your trust."
Annie chuckles wetly. The smile in Mikasa’s voice is clear as day, despite their near whispering. “He was always too smart for us, huh.”
“Yeah.”
It’s not silence that descends on them again, not really. She can hear Mikasa’s slow breaths on the other line. That enough has Annie imagining her bed, her room. What she was wearing, her shorter hair mussed up on a pillow. If Mikasa was wondering the exact same thing about her.
“Who’s Pieck?” Mikasa says suddenly.
Annie can’t help it, she laughs. Tries to keep quiet, more a low chuckle escaping her at Mikasa’s words, but it carries for some minutes as she tries to calm down. If she hears the voice on the other end hitch, well that’s her business.
“Why do you ask?”
“Annie, you were eating limes out of her mouth. You basically climbed into her tits. At one point I saw you licking tequila off her neck.” It’s almost petulant, her voice, and Annie grins broadly with it.
“You watched me quite a bit huh?”
“Yes. Of course. You’re Annie, how could I not? You’re my -” Mikasa cuts herself off abruptly.
It leaves a curious ringing noise in her ears. Annie can feel her face go thunderously hot.
Clearing her throat, she shifts a little in bed. “We- uh- we used to fuck. Friends with benefits. She’s a good girl, but a better friend.”
“I- see.” Mikasa says. Her voice is oddly strangled.
The silence is back, but this time, there’s something else there. A little heavier. A little more charged. Annie fights to not squirm in bed. Mikasa was always a jealous friend, she reminds herself. That was this. It must be so strange to see old friends with their own new people. Mikasa always hated change.
It breaks as Annie clears her throat. “I should- sleep. I have work tomorrow.”
“R-right,” Mikasa sounds just slightly breathless, “Can I call you again?”
“Tomorrow night?”
“If that’s good?”
“Yeah. I- goodnight, Mikasa.” She murmurs.
“Goodnight Annie.”
She doesn’t tell Reiner and Bertholdt about Mikasa the next morning. They’re already concerned by her clear lack of sleep, and that enough has them hovering about like mother hens.
Bertholdt more than Reiner, who cooks her breakfast and watches her with concern as she leaves for work. It’s sort of sweet, but more annoying, and she sends him a text to calm down before she clocks in for work. The rest of the day is spent in a haze of coffee and Mikasa, the woman never leaving her mind even as she concentrates through the rush periods. It’s like she’s haunting her almost, flirting in and out of her day like a pleasant dream. It’s not, Annie finds, the worst way to work.
Hitch comments on it as Annie slips out back for a smoke. She’s on her phone, new acrylic nails tapping obnoxiously on the surface, hair perfect and eyes sharp as Annie fumbles with her pouch.
The woman is so utterly adverse to working, Annie is surprised she’s still employed. A part of her suspects she’s blowing their manager Marlow just to keep her job, but she’s not dumb enough to say it to her directly. Still, as she finally lights up her cigarette, taking a grateful drag, Hitch finally talks.
“Who did you fuck to make you look like that?” She says.
Annie coughs a little, then scowls, then blows the rest of the smoke in Hitch’s face just to piss her off.
Annie sighs through her nose at Hitch’s expectant glare. “What are you talking about?”
“You, with that,” She waves a hand at her, "look on your face all day. Either you had the best sex of your life last night, or you’re on something. If it’s the first, give me her number, if it’s the second, give me some.”
Annie blinks a little, processing. She could only be talking about her daydreams, of which Mikasa was starring in every single one. The thought is honestly a little humiliating, that Mikasa has pulled her so out of her wits that she’s walking around looking fucked out. Or Hitch’s perception of her being fucked out.
The realisation, too, that a simple conversation with Mikasa has made her this happy also has her reeling a little.
“I’m not- what the fuck are you talking about?”
Rolling her eyes, the woman leans back against the wall. “You’re all… dreamy. It’s weird. So what did you smoke - or fuck?"
Annie works her jaw, taking a drag and exhaling smoke to cover her floundering. Hitch was a cunt, to be sure, but she was perceptive and a damn good detective. And Annie would be damned to show weakness to a woman who worked for fun.
“Well, I spent a long night speaking to a very reasonably priced lady-”
Hitch sticks her tongue out at Annie, scowling at her through pretty lashes. “You’re a bitch.”
“And you’re a princess.” Annie sighs. “I didn’t fuck anyone.” Looking away she brings her cigarette to her lips, hoping that Hitch will simply drop it.
“So,” Hitch sings, drawing out the word to an obnoxious degree, “Spill, tell me what it is for real.”
Of course. Annie looks back, and decides to just talk. Hitch wasn’t really that bad - she was a nosy bitch, but she was a good friend too. “I just… talked to an old friend last night. It was good. I- she was good.” She says quietly.
“Phone sex. Nice.”
Annie throws the butt of her cigarette on the ground, toeing it. “I’m going to key your car.” She huffs.
Hitch cackles, and Annie turns back into the shop and slams the outside door shut.
That night, Annie sits on the side of her bed, staring at her phone as if Mikasa was about to crawl out of it and into her room.
After her regular session at the gym, and dinner with Reiner in the restaurant Bertholdt was working at, she’d come home to a stomach full of butterflies and an incessant need to begin pacing her room. If Reiner had noticed her strange antsy behaviour, he indicated nothing, simply wishing her a good night after Annie had barked at him not to forget his medication.
It was eleven pm now, and Annie thinks that if she has to wait any longer, she may actually implode. Thankfully, Mikasa seemingly hears her internal breakdown, and her phone begins to vibrate. The caller ID makes her more giddy than she’d like to admit.
After a few breaths, she answers, pressing the phone hard to her ear.
“Mikasa?”
“Annie- hi,” The bed rustling again. Of course Mikasa was the type to be in bed at eleven on the dot. Ever the perfectionist. Her internal routine was probably all fucked up from their chat last night.
“I’m not interrupting your sleep, am I?” Annie hums. After a beat, she flumps down on the bed, feeling the sheets against her bare back. The yellowing ceiling is dark and shone starch in the light of her phone.
“Not at all,” She chuckles shortly, “I wouldn’t be able to sleep if I knew I could talk to you anyway.”
The unexpected comment makes her face flush hot, and Annie is momentarily glad that Mikasa can’t see her face.
“I- right. So, uhm, how was your day?”
They talk like that for the next hour, and Annie finds herself smiling more than she’d like to admit. Her cheeks hurt by the time silence finally settles between them, and for a moment she reflects that this has been the most she’s openly talked to anyone in a while.
It’s like Mikasa flips a switch in her brain, and she can’t help but speak without guessing herself a thousand times. It’s… nice, honestly, to be able to tell Mikasa her thoughts and to hear Mikasa talk back just as enthusiastic, if not more so. They had always been on the same wavelength, even when they hated each others guts.
It’s comfortable between them. She finds herself feeling just a little guilty at how much she enjoys Mikasa’s company. It’s not as if she’s earned it, even if Mikasa has supposedly forgiven her.
The thought creeps up on her the entire time, the niggling feeling that she should end this, and soon, if only for Mikasa’s sake. She wasn’t really the same person anymore, not after three years, and the guilt would eat her alive if she kept up this strange façade of pretending to be normal.
Gathering herself, Annie turns on her side, looking at the bright screen of her laptop on her desk. It’s twelve-thirty. Bertholdt should be back from work soon.
“Why are you actually talking to me, Mikasa? Genuinely.” She asks. Her fingers absentmindedly pick at her nails.
“What? Where’s this coming from?”
“Surely there’s better people in your life.”
“Better people? Annie -” The outrage in her voice is incredible, seeing as they’ve been talking for a grand total of one day.
Annie huffs, brow furrowing. “Listen, alright? I’m a coward. I’m a big fucking coward, and I’m hard to get along with, and I was difficult to you even before I left. I beat Eren’s ass on a regular basis, even when you demanded I stop. I was a bitch to Jean most of the time, and I used to straight up ignore Connie and Sasha. I’m just saying, I don’t quite know what you want from me. I don't exactly have much to offer.”
The silence hurts a little, if she’s honest, but Annie stays quiet, listening to Mikasa breathe on the other line. It’s like that for a good while, and the whole time Annie wonders what Mikasa looks like right then, if she’s wearing those old plaid shorts, if her hands are covered in ink from all the writing she had to do today.
“Annie, I never stopped thinking about you. Never." Mikasa says, and there’s a shake in her voice that’s vulnerable and raw. Annie freezes. It feels like her heart has stopped. “At first it was anger, for certain. I was furious that you would leave us like that, that you broke Eren and Armin’s heart. After that I didn’t really have an excuse. But I’d… I’d wake up every day and wonder what you’re doing, what you’re wearing, if you were happy. I’d make up little scenarios about you. I’m… I never stopped thinking about you. Never. This is- this means more to me than you think. Why am I still talking to you? You’re Annie. You’re my Annie.”
The heat in her eyes is unexpected. Annie stares up at the ceiling and wonders if she’s fallen asleep and wandered into fantasy.
“You- really-?” She stutters, unable to form any words. She wants… She doesn’t know what she wants, but she knows she wants to see Mikasa. To look at her face and process those words from her own lips.
“You’re my Annie, aren’t you?” Mikasa says, her voice lower and just as raw.
She thinks her brain has turned off, when instead of refuting, like she should, instead of asking why the hell Mikasa is asking her this, wants her like this, how she can’t be owned by anyone, Annie just says,
“Yeah,” Shaky, not much more than a whisper, “I think I am.”