She wasn't sure how long she had been on the floor. She wasn't sure of anything, actually. All she knew was that blood was trickling down her fingertips. Was it her own? It must have been, because she couldn't remember seeing anyone else in the house. Her knees ached. Glancing towards the window, she noted that it was bright outside. The sun must have come up, she realized.

This meant that she hadn't moved after she collapsed onto the ground, which, judging by the morning light oozing into the kitchen, had been over eight hours ago. Looking at her fingers again, she faintly recalled digging her nails into the floorboards as she screamed. Perhaps that had been the reason behind the crimson stream racing down her hands, currently disemboguing itself into the puddle of blood underneath her.

Using a leg of the kitchen table for leverage, she pulled herself to her feet. Her mind was empty when she stepped into the shower and rinsed the remnants of the past eight hours away, alongside the dirt and grime from the previous night's work.

When she was done, she made her way back into the kitchen, setting aside some water to boil in a small saucepan. She then poured what was left from a sack of oats into the pan as well, letting it cook just a few seconds more. Finally satisfied, she sprinkled a few dried berries on top. Lewis used to love cooking, but she had never been very good at it, so a bowl of oatmeal would have to suffice.

When she entered her brother's bedroom, she was not shocked to find that he was absent. Why wasn't she surprised? Had he gone to stay with a friend, and she just forgot? No, she reminded herself, most of his friends were dead.

"I guess I'll eat it, then," she announced to the empty room, her voice hoarse.

Sighing contentedly, she took her seat at the kitchen table. The oatmeal didn't taste that good, she knew it, but it was warm and it made her throat feel better. Why did her throat hurt? She wasn't sure.

Oh, she had been screaming! Giggling quietly at her forgetfulness, she shoved another spoonful of breakfast into her mouth. Of course screaming would strain her throat; it all seemed so clear to her now.

But why had she been screaming?

The question startled her so much that she dropped her spoon, oatmeal spilling onto the table. Cursing, she reached for a napkin, eyes widening when her fingers brushed against something sharp: the corner of a chessboard.

Ignoring this oddity, she grabbed the napkin, only to find that it was doing a piss poor job at cleaning up the mess she had made. Holding it up to her face, she was alarmed to see writing on it, the ink now smeared by streaks of oatmeal, the only words that were legible being Captain Levi.

Slamming her fist down onto the table, she remembered what had happened. Her throat still raw from earlier, she screamed, the nerve endings in her neck seemingly snapping in two, the muscles aflame. Choking from the pain of it all, she stopped breathing for a moment. Tears collected in her eyes as she watched blood ooze from her fingertips once more.

Lewis was gone.

She should have killed that bastard who had cornered her a couple of nights ago. The second he dropped her, she should have torn him to pieces, should have climbed that godforsaken wall and thrown him off of it. If she ever saw him again, she would. She'd kill him.

But first, she'd have to kill Captain Levi.

༻✦༺

She wasn't particularly fond of this part of the city. It was always crawling with the Garrison, the Military Police occasionally making an appearance as well. It was because this particular bar didn't charge anyone who served in the military. She'd had to do a little digging to find it, asking a few knowledgeable individuals about where one might find an officer of the Survery Corps.

"I know where you'll find the Garrison and the Military Police, but the Scouts are a bunch of freaks. They don't go anywhere," was the answer she received.

She came here anyway, though, and did not see anyone who resembled the drawing of the captain she clutched in the palm of her hand. Just when she was about to give up on this location, she heard a promising shout.

"Are you saying I smell bad, Levi?"

And there, sitting at a table belonging to the tea shop across the street, sat none other than Captain Levi himself, the seat across from him occupied by a figure with messy chestnut hair that was pulled back into a loose ponytail. She noted that whoever was dining with Levi was not in fact dining at all, and the Wings of Freedom crest was etched onto the back of their jacket. The captain himself was dressed in casual clothes, however, a black suit jacket that didn't quite fit him hanging shapelessly over his shoulders.

Shit, she thought, he's little.

"Take a shower, Hange," he replied, voice so low it was barely audible from this far away.

The other person just laughed in response, though Blake didn't think he sounded like he was joking, and stood, dusting off their pants and stretching their arms above their head.

"No can do," they said simply, "Gotta meet back up with Erwin in... fifteen minutes."

The mention of Erwin seemed to pique the smaller man's interest, and he finally bothered to look up at his dining companion.

"Erwin? Isn't he—"

"Yep! There's some distance between us, that's for sure. I'm going to be late."

"It's not like he's going to be surprised. Have you ever been on time to anything in your life?"

His tone was malicious, but, once again, the other person only giggled at his harsh words.

"You're right! If he's put up with it for this long, I'm sure he'll be just as flexible today."

"That's not what I said."

"Well, I'll let you get back to your tea—"

"Yeah, you should do that."

"Are you sure you won't be lonely?"

The captain didn't even dignify that question with a response, only sighing impatiently. Smiling at him, the Scout departed, tension leaving Levi's shoulders as soon as he was alone.

After witnessing that interaction, she had a lot of questions about his character. Was his voice always that monotonous? Did he hate the people he served with? Did he just hate people in general? Were his barbs usually so easily dismissed? Why was he at a tea shop?

Why wasn't he in uniform?

Taking small sips of his tea, his gray eyes danced around the street, eventually landing on her. His brow furrowed, and she could see that he was visibly disturbed by the fact that she had been staring at him. The only way to make this seem innocent, she decided, was to approach him outright.

The closer she drew, the more concerned he became, clutching his his teacup a bit more tightly with each step she took. What the hell, did he think she was going to steal his tea?

"Hi," she greeted him, a counterfeit smile on her face, "I noticed your friend left you here all by yourself. Can I sit with you?"

Before he could respond, she took the seat across from him. He didn't meet her eyes, his gaze instead focused on her hands, which were resting on top of the small table they were now sharing. He bit his lip nervously as he watched her.

"Oh, silly me. It seems I've forgotten my manners," she said, "I'm Blake."

"Okay," he replied, eyes narrowing, "Don't touch my table with your filthy hands, please."

"My hands are clean, I assure you. What's your name?"

"I don't see why that matters. Did you need something?"

"Only some company."

"Go sit with someone else."

"No," she told him, "I'd like to sit with you you, if that's okay."

"Is there a reason why, or am I just that unlucky?"

"I like you."

"You don't know me."

"I like the way you look," she offered, gauging his reaction.

He started coughing, immediately covering his mouth with his elbow and hiding his face from her a little in the process.

"What kind of tea are you choking on?" she asked, hoping she didn't sound too amused by the situation.

To her surprise, he stood up, meeting her eyes at last. He looked royally pissed, she realized, and maybe he really did just want to be left alone. Instead of yelling at or beating the shit out of her, he simply picked up his beverage and walked away.

What? He was just going to leave?

In all of the stories Lewis had told about Captain Levi, he had never described him as a rude. She was having a difficult time understanding what was so respectable about such a miserable man, but she supposed that if she was going to murder him, she would find out eventually.

This was going to take longer than she thought.