A/N: After watching "Close Combat," I was reminded of a line from an episode of Star Trek: Deep Space Nine that I have now shamelessly appropriated for this. Enjoy!

The Bet – a Jeankasa oneshot

"It's the big showdown."

"Who'll win?"

"Annie, you think?"

"Huh? Are you stupid?! I bet my whole dinner on Mikasa."

"I'll take that bet!" Sasha spat in her palm, and Jean immediately did the same, grasping her hand and shaking violently, turning her whole arm into rubber. He didn't even have to think about it. Potato Girl was going to be in her own personal hell tonight, without a morsel of food to satiate the interminable pangs radiating from deep inside that endless void she called a stomach.

Mikasa would never let him down.

"Shit!"

Jean cursed himself.

Come dinnertime, he was fully intending on welching on the bet. He collected his meal quietly but not overly inconspicuously. If anyone questioned him, he'd just blow them off with his typical bravado and bluster. Most of them were too weak to do anything. He wasn't known as the knightly, chivalrous type anyway. No, to them he was the vagabond, the scoundrel—bilking Sasha certainly wouldn't contradict his image as the churlish cad in the ranks. Besides, it's not like they could take his food from him.

Except they did. And then they ran him out of the mess hall like a goddamn village mob. It was really scary.

Connie, the little twerp, he'd started it all. And Eren, with his sanctimonious soap-box grandstanding, was right there to fan the flames. Soon he was surrounded. He felt a firm hand on his tray, and turned to see a menacing Reiner pulling it from his grasp. After that, he ran.

His heart was still pounding. He heard them laughing uproariously as he stood outside on the dark porch. All of them. Together. Laughing at him. It was more shame and embarrassment than he could stand.

Adding insult to injury, he was starving. Combat training was goddamn grueling. Everyone was known to feast heartily after a hard day of hand-to-hand (no doubt this had played a part in the swift appearance of the pitchforks).

He touched his empty stomach.

Oh, Mikasa.

As if hearing his thoughts, her cool, flat voice, made warmer by the acoustics of the maplewood overhang, rang out. "Sorry you lost your dinner."

His heart was racing all over again. A large bead of sweat ran down his forehead. His life truly was one long, uninterrupted humiliation.

He rotated his chin to peer over his shoulder, probably looking like some kind of freakish wretch. She was sitting in her usual style—head dipped, eyes downcast, body and face devoid of any readable expression. He gasped, noticing a baguette resting on a cloth napkin on the seat beside her.

"I saved it for you."

He probably bonked his head during training. Definitely. That had to be it. Gifts like this didn't just drop out of the sky into your eagerly waiting lap.

He noticed her peering at him out of the corner of her eye, brow slightly furrowed.

He must have seemed like such a weirdo creep. He realized he had been locked in place for probably at least a minute without moving or speaking. He sputtered to life.

"Uh, thank you."

She tilted her head a little, gesturing, willing him to pick it up. She probably wanted him to take it and go. He approached cautiously, stooping to pick up the hardened bread when the unthinkable happened: she shuffled over a few inches, giving him enough room to sit beside her. He nearly fumbled the loaf right to the damn floor (where it likely would have found his slackened jaw).

His eyes darted left then right. He found himself suddenly suspicious this was some sort of ruse—a trick being played on him by the other cadets, designed to further demoralize and emasculate him. There could be no other explanation for this auspicious turn of events. He straightened slowly, not letting down his guard, and continued to survey the landscape as he lowered himself to sit on the bench next to her.

But there was only silence. No one was coming. He began to relax until he remembered he was sitting next to Mikasa, close enough to smell her hair, to feel warmth radiating from her body. He blushed deeply, his nerves returning with a vengeance, and he attempted to smother them by chowing down on his food. It had certainly worked for him as a child.

He stole a sideways glance as he chewed. Her brow was still furrowed ever-so-slightly. She looked…a little helpless somehow. Knowing what he knew about her, the concept seemed utterly implausible. He was probably just reading it wrong. He rarely ever got the chance to be this close to her.

Then again, she had just received a pretty epic smackdown at the hands of Annie Leonhart. It was not unreasonable to presume that perhaps she was still reeling. And embarrassed. Like he was. His heart sank a little, realizing that was likely the reason she was consenting to have him around. They were two wounded little birds, sitting together on a lonely perch. He thought to leave then, but he couldn't. Real or not, he didn't want to sacrifice this precious gift for the sake of his pride.

"How's your head?"

"Fine," she whispered.

"And your dignity?"

The corner of her mouth pulled faintly. "Recovering."

He smiled, too. Boyish and coy, holding back a deeper grin.

He leaned back against the wood, taking in the bright dark around them. The silvery moonlight was both crisp and diffuse, and her translucent skin seemed to glow. They breathed in unison for awhile, the silence remarkably comfortable.

"Jean."

He wanted to melt, hearing her say his name, hushed in the dark.

"Mikasa."

She hesitated. He leaned forward, hoping to get a glimpse of her expression.

Her voice was tiny, childlike. "Why did you make that bet with Sasha?"

Shit. Was she onto him? Did she know?

Think, think, think, you idiot.

He laughed, too forcefully, and began to cough. Mikasa observed the entire spectacle in unnerving silence. He cleared his throat, wetted is lips. She waited.

"Well, you're so good at everything else. I figured it was an easy win."

She leaned back. "I see."

He felt himself raise an eyebrow. Was it only wishful thinking, or did she seem…disappointed? He felt a small surge of confidence.

"Why do you ask?"

She pushed her eyes down and away, avoidance clearly being her first instinct.

He turned away, leaning back once again, telling himself to be content and grateful for this time, no matter what came of it.

"It's just that no one else did."

He could not tell if her reply was meant to convey simple adolescent disappointment in the face of her peers, or if there was one short, annoying little punk in particular that she was thinking of.

"No one?"

She made a noise and shook her head.

Or maybe it wasn't disappointment at all. Maybe it was…something else.

She continued. "Everyone knows Annie is the best fighter in the class."

"You're stronger—"

"And her combat technique is far superior." She finally looked directly at him, her gaze strong and steady. "I wouldn't have bet on me."

He twisted his mouth, but couldn't find it in himself to utter another word. His eyes dropped to his hands, balled impotently into trembling fists on his knees, and she finally stood, leaving him to his private anguish.

"It's just that—"

She stopped, but didn't turn, and he was glad. He couldn't get this out if he had to look her in the eye.

"I think I'd prefer to lose a bet I made on you than win one on somebody else."

His world turned sideways as soon as he'd finished speaking. He thought of the time he'd been told his father had died. He was young, but he remembered feeling as though the whole world had shed its skin and, in the blink of an eye, become something totally different. As he stared down the deep red of Mikasa's sweater, he felt again that the past he remembered was from someone else's life, that all he was was defined by this moment alone.

She stood unmoving for a long, long time. So long that he was convinced that she was hoping he would leave instead. His chest constricted and he sighed, long and mournful, and moved to leave.

"Thank you." Her voice trembled so beautifully, so painfully, he thought he might crumple and fall to his knees. She finally turned to face him, the moonlight catching her wide, wet eyes, and smiled crookedly.

He sighed again, but this time with relief and elation. He wanted to move closer. She was so horribly far away. But noises inside the mess suggested they were soon to be interrupted. She disappeared into her scarf, which she seemed to do at times she felt unsure, and her face became awash in orange light as the door swung open, revealing Eren and Armin.

"Mikasa. We were looking for you. Are you okay?"

"I'm fine. Just tired."

"Where have you been?"

Jean had been hidden deep enough in the shadows that he had not been noticed. He slipped away, moving toward the barracks, hoping to avoid the taunting he was sure to receive as a result of his cowardly retreat. Their voices began to fade, but he could have sworn he heard Mikasa reply.

"With a friend."

"Hey Annie."

Everyone was instantly in a tizzy. They all knew what was coming and began to circle around even faster than before.

Mikasa stopped ten paces away from the laconic blonde.

"Yeah?"

She waited a moment, searching the crowd until her eyes found Jean's. He took a half-step out from the circle, breathless.

"I want a rematch."

Note: The specific line I co-opted is 'I would rather lose a bet on you than win on someone else,' spoken by Worf to Dax, from the episode "Change of Heart."