Icarus & I

Epilogue

The breakdown was so long ago.

It and the long, insane chain of events that followed it have been on my mind lately. Since I wrote my letter to Bri, I've been lost in my own memories, thinking fairly often about how things have changed. How much things have changed.
I stare at my reflection as I brush my teeth, a pang of hunger hitting my stomach as soon as I taste toothpaste. My hair is much longer, I realize with a start. I grew it back out again once I started school, and it falls halfway down my back, now. The dark circles beneath my eyes are just beginning to fade away, which I find ironic, seeing as how my winter break is almost over at this point, and though I am still fair as ever, I come to find that my skin is just a tad more peach-colored than pale. I've been seeing more sun than I'm used to, I suppose.
Heading downstairs, I recall the fight my father and I had had when I got home from the trip, and I feel myself flinch, slightly. It's been a while, so I can't remember our exact words, but I do remember that I cried, and that his face was red the entire time. I wanted him to test me for GAD, and he refused to. He considered my request disrespectful, as though I were questioning his parenting and his profession simultaneously, and he sent me to my room- which he'd never done before.
When my mother heard about it, she took my side, but not in the way I'd hoped she would. I wanted her to prove me wrong, to feel sympathetic for me and give me a hug and kiss my forehead, or something along those lines. But when I did got to talk to her about it, she simply said, "You're too smart to be bawling like a toddler."

So now I'm on medication, and I've been doing better. Dad, after a few weeks of being in a bitter mood, finally came to me to talk, saying he finally realized why I was so upset with him. He realized what he'd been doing- his whole going through the motions routine- and he apologized, resolving to be a better father to me.
Thus far, he hasn't made much improvement, but he is trying; I know he is. And that's much more than I can say for my mother.
Since entering college, she's been on my back to keep my GPA up and earn the respect of every professor that teaches me. One one hand, it's somewhat motivating, to know I have her watching over my shoulder, a second eye to point out my mistakes. On the other, I get no rest. I'm constantly sick, I dread her calls every weekend terribly, and even when I do manage to get a perfect score on an exam or a project, it isn't enough for her. She pushes me harder than I've ever dreamed of working. I'm afraid that, soon, I may snap at her. If anyone's made me unhappy and anxious since starting school, it's been my mother.
But now isn't the time to think about that. Our Christmas party is today, and our guest list is full. Colleagues of my parents are attending, as well as their colleagues, and their colleagues' families. It's impressive, really, and very nerve-wracking. We have a lot to do before the party starts, and I know it.
I scarf down breakfast at an unusually quick rate, checking my phone as I do so. My stomach swarms with butterflies when I see the message. It's from Eren.
Him: Just got home, lol, jet lag is hell. Meeting up with Mikasa before we come over to help. Do u have a place for Carla to sleep? Or me for that matter

I can't help but smile, excitement thrilling in my chest. I'm so excited to see him; it's been quite a while since he left for basic training.

Me: We have a few blankets stocked up, for you and the baby. I can't wait to see you guys, even if I just saw Mikasa and Carla two days ago, lol.
Him: Don't talk about that shit yet, Ar, ur gonna make me cry, and im already gonna be a mess from seeing my kid and Mikasa again, like jesus I can't take all this mess in one day, fuck you
Me: Exactly how tired are you, Eren?

He doesn't respond in the next five minutes. Assuming he finally went to sleep, I stand up and glance out the window to gauge my time.
The sun has just begun to rise.
I have a lot to do.

Mom wakes just a half hour after I do, and then hurries off to the store to get supplies. I clean for a few more hours before Dad wakes and insists that I take a break. I thank him with a grateful smile, as I'm nearing exhaustion now, and check my phone again.
Another round of texts, this one from Mikasa.

Her: We're leaving in a half hour.
Her: jjjjkkahshdjshajskd
Her: sbdieieodjkksksksksksks
Her: bark colp
Her: doo
Her: That was Carla. She wanted to say hi.
Her: Talk to you later.

She sent that twenty-five minutes ago. I tell Dad they might come over any minute, now, and as I do, the doorbell rings. Dad and I laugh.
"You can go get it, Double-A," he says, grinning. "I'll stay out of you guys' way."
Unable to repress a smile in return, I open the door, and I am promptly knocked breathless.
The rough fabric of Eren's uniform scratches at my skin as he squeezes me so tightly I can't breathe. Nevertheless, despite my discomfort, I find myself hugging him back, with just as much vigor. He laughs, swaying us back and forth, clapping me on the back.
"Oh, jesus," he sighs. "It's been too long, Ar."
"I missed you," I say.
"I missed you more, you asswipe."
He pulls back from me and grins that old, familiar Eren grin, his teeth glinting and his eyes softening.
"Ah-ko!"
We both turn to the doorway again at the sound. Mikasa smiles tiredly at me, bouncing Carla in her arms.
"Hey," she says, leaning in for a hug. When she does, Carla's tiny hands wrap themselves around my neck, and she buries her unbearably adorable face in my shoulder.
"Hey, Mikasa," I say back. "Hey, Carla."
"Ayabba doo, Ah-ko!" Carla shouts in my ear. As I wince, Eren takes her from me, tossing her up in the air. She squeals with delight. Mikasa looks at me expectantly.
"What?" I ask.
"She said she loves you," Mikasa tells me. "You didn't hear it?"
I think back, and then come to the realization that A yabba doo means I love you.
"Oh," I say. I turn back to her. Eren holds her so that she lies on top of his arms, facing me.
"I love you, too, Carla," I say in the sweetest voice I can manage.
"Ayabba doo, Ah-ko!" she repeats. "Ayabba doo, I yabba doo, I yabba doo!"
"When did she learn this?" I ask.
Eren pulls her back to him, nuzzling her face. He says between kisses, "From me and Miks today. She's a smart little stinker, like her mom."
"And as loud as her papa," Mikasa adds, smirking. Eren sticks his tongue out at her, and she laughs. Carla joins her, glancing around to see what, exactly, is so funny.
And then Mikasa places her in my arms. Carla promptly grabs a fistful of my hair and shoves it in her mouth, her free hand holding tightly onto my jaw. An uncertain, yet amused, chuckle bubbles out of me. She rests her cheek, soft and chubby, on my collarbone.
"We'll get to work," Mikasa assure me. "You watch her while we do. Where are the supplies, again?"
"Kitchen table," I tell her, feeling guilty. Both she and Eren look so tired, and there's so much work to do.
Still, I suppose they'd appreciate a break from the baby, Mikasa more than Eren. A few minutes pass, and already, I myself begin to grow exhausted.
Don't misunderstand me; Carla is wonderful, and I enjoy my time with her. She has a tiny version of Eren's German nose, Mikasa's pink, shapely lips, her namesake's clear brown irises, and her father's upturned, feline eyes. Her silky hair is pulled into a tiny, simple ponytail, like I used to have, decorated with a little red bow. When she smiles- which is often- she bares her sole two pearly whites, pushing her enormous cheeks to reveal a lone dimple on her right side.
She is chubby, terribly chubby, and likes to be thrown into the air, or hung upside down. Neither Mikasa nor Eren have trouble doing this, but poor Ah-ko Armin has twigs for arms, and Carla is not light. Eventually, I settle for turning her upside-down in my lap, but then I worry about the blood rushing to her head, so I turn her back over. She lunges backward, giggling, but I immediately catch her, holding her face-forward in my lap again. I point at her parents as they work.
"Who's that, Carla?" I ask, pointing to Eren.
"Da-da!" She squeals.
"Good! And who is that?"
"Da-da!"
"No," I correct her, "That's your mother."
"Da-da?"
"Mother."
"Da-da."
"Mother."
She bounces her legs angrily in mine.
"Da-da," she says resolutely.
Supposing she considers the term Da-da to mean parent, especially considering the fact that she likely doesn't understand the concept of sex and gender, I give up on teaching her any more words. Mikasa seems to be doing just fine on her own, anyway.
"Yes," I say. "That's Da-da."
"Da-da!" she squeals, giggling.

Eren takes notice. "I was summoned?"

"No," I assure him, "we're just talking about you."

"Like about how awesome and strong and heroic I am?"

"Heroic," Mikasa scoffs, brushing past him. I notice that she is, pointedly, lifting about three times as many boxes as Eren. In one go. He seems to notice this, too, and, consequently, he pouts. I figure, coming back from rigorous physical training, it's got to be a bit of a letdown.

I turn back to Carla, who seems transfixed by something on my left cheek. I swipe at it, but I find nothing on my finger.

"What is it?" I ask her, knowing full well that she doesn't have the capacity to respond.

She does try, though. She babbles at me relentlessly, all drool and bright eyes. I nod seriously in return, taking her occasional pauses with "mm-hmm's" and "oh, really?"s.

At some point, these vague responses are interrupted with a quiet, but abrupt clapping of her little hands onto my thinning cheeks. For an infant, her grip is iron strong. She forces me to look at her as she stares at that same spot, seemingly mesmerized.

Her curiosity is so shockingly, heart-achingly, familiar.

I cover her hands with my own and smile; I can't help myself.

At this, she begins to laugh with delight, her expression brilliant as she stares at my smile, my cheeks bunched beneath her tiny palms.

"Keep this," I tell her with something heavy in my chest. She looks me in the eyes, startled. Kissing her unknowing forehead, I repeat myself. "Keep this, Carla."

Likely not knowing what else to say, she exclaims.

"Ay yabba do!"

As she babbles on, I watch her father and mother. I think of trains flying through the air, little boys made of fire, little girls in pale dresses, geese and playgrounds that turn into science labs and crushes that turn into sports and parties and first kisses that turn into tragedies. That turn into adventures. That turn into myths. That turn into Armageddons. That turn into adults.

I can't logically wonder when this all happened, but nonetheless, I wonder.

Eren and Mikasa, eventually, finish up. People begin to ring the doorbell, one after the other filing into my home, shaking my father's hand, my mother's, then mine.

How do you do, I greet. I'm doing well, thank you.

School's going great.

Top of my class.

My parents are very proud.

Yes, thank you. Take care.

Suddenly, I notice that there are so many people, too many people. They grin at me from eyes obscured behind thick glasses and thicker pretenses. Their handshakes are quick and obligatory. My answers are too right. Too perfect. Too clear. Too. Brilliant.

What's the point?

I shrink into myself. Neither Eren nor Mikasa are anywhere in sight. I feel eyes on me. I grow so, so still.

What's the point?

I am a husk of lies and pure, golden perfection, and there is nothing inside, and they can see that anyway, and they're already judging, so why? Why am I trying? Why am I trying, why am I trying, why am I-

Pressure on my hand.

I look up, expecting to see Eren, or Mikasa, or Dad, but my eyes meet no one's. It is my own hand, I realize, that's squeezed its counterpart. I observe them, my hands, in wonder.

My nails, bitten down to the beds. My cuticles, stripped anxiously so that the raw flesh they protected is now exposed and stinging. My left hand slides over my quivering, cold right, presses its thumb into my palm. My breathing slows.

What's the point?

I look up, at the people, places, and things around me. Faces I don't particularly care for. They smile thinly when our eyes meet. I nod back.

It's everywhere. You've just got to let it do what it wants.

So I half-ass a smile at the acquaintances across the room, and then make my way upstairs, where I know I'll find my family. And they are seated across my bed, and when I enter, I join them. We talk, catch up, laugh, different, but the same. The same as we've always been.

Carla falls asleep among our chatter.

Day X

It's been a long time. I know. But something tremendous has happened.

I was studying for my midterms, organizing and reviewing notes from my Bio class when my phone went off. Normally, I'd just ignore it (seeing as anyone that knows me knows how essential my study time is), but I dared a glance at the caller I.D. The name was under 'Hoover'.

As in, Bertholdt Hoover. Whom I haven't spoken to for a few months, when he texted me a brief holiday message from himself and Reiner.

So, naturally, I decided that study time could wait. I picked up the phone, answered with the obligatory, "Hello?"

"Hey."

My heart stopped.

"Armin?"

"...this is he," I breathed.

"Hi. Hey."

"Hey."

"Do you….know who this is?"

"Well, I'm fairly certain it isn't Bertholdt," I half-joked, my stomach spasming with nervous laughter. The feminine voice on the other end joined me, quivering just as much as mine.

"No," she assured me. "No, it's not Bertholdt."

Dead silence. I heard her inhale, pointedly, a few times, but it came to nothing, in the end.

Finally, I gathered the courage to prompt, "So, who is this?"

"This is Annie. Annie Leonhardt."

And though I'd known from the first syllable she'd uttered, I'd known with every cell in my body that it was her, I still found myself absolutely, entirely stunned. It felt as though my heart had come to a humming stop, merely revving in its cage, the rest of my insides stuttering along with it. Even my skin, enveloped in the air of a place so distant from her, buzzed.

"Hi," I managed to say.

"Hey."

"What's….going on?"

She inhaled. Exhaled. Inhaled again. And began to sob, crackling into the mouthpiece.

"It's so good to hear your voice, holy shit."

"Ditto," I said, my words thickening.

"Well- look. There's…...a lot to say, here."

"A lot," I agreed.
"A lot," she sighed.

"It's nearly been two years."

"I know."

"You broke my heart."

"You were going to break mine."

"...touche."

"Armin," she sighed. I remembered how much I loved that, how I had missed it. How right my name felt, on her tongue, between her lips.

She said, "I don't know where to start….there's so much to say, I don't know where-"

"You know, Annie, the world is doomed to be thrown out of balance someday. But you know something?"

"...what?"

"Today is not that day."

She chuckled shakily.

"Okay," she said. "You're right. Okay."

I thought of the point, and of love, and of Grandpa and the future, when I told her:

"We have the rest of our lives. Let's start back at square one."

She agreed, and we did.

More later. I promise.

これで終わります。

AN: And there it is! Five years, wrapped up in 2k words. Thank you all so, so much for sticking with me, and with this story; it's taught me so much, and your feedback has been utterly priceless. With this fic, I've learned what it is to be dedicated to a story, to develop a voice and a theme. I've had to figure out my own answer to Armin's dilemma, imagine the formless and fragile concept that is a meaning. Perhaps most importantly, I've had to answer many questions about myself and the people I love. I'm sure my text isn't so revolutionary as to inspire that particular train of thought in all of you, but I really hope what I've written here rings true with you, past these characters that I've borrowed.

I am, unfortunately, not as enchanted with snk as I was when I wrote this, so I can't say anything for certain about what I will/won't continue, fic writing-wise (although I've been considering finishing Pluviophilia). Nevertheless, I do plan on continuing to write fiction in general. I have several short stories/ novellas in the works, and I post stories regularly on my Vocal page, where I get paid per view under the username Ana Evangeline. If you enjoy my writing, please, check them out! (or just click on a story and don't read it. That helps me earn money, too).

I also occasionally post some one-shots and fan art on my tumblr, with the username bluinary. I'm always accepting commissions or requests, as well as new friends, so shoot me a message if you feel so inclined!

Additionally, I've been working my rear off to attend college so I can become a teacher, and while my day job is great, it just barely pays the tuition bills, which will rise quite high next year when I attend university. So with my free time I've been accepting kofi coffees ( username bluinary ) in exchange for any kind of one-shot or doodle, as well as any freelance writing gigs I can find- so if you know of anything, please, let me know!

In any case, again, I'm so grateful for anyone reading this. This story would've been nothing without y'all's support, feedback, and investment. And if this story hadn't been written or finished, I don't know where I'd be, in many aspects of my life. So thank you, so much. Much love to you all!