Here we are, almost a year later. I marked this as on hiatus for a while because I didn't think I would continue it. After some sweet comments, I decided to swallow my doubts and go with it. I hope it worked! I have ideas of what I want to do and how to end this, but I just need to figure out how to get there.

Thunder rumbles in the distance. The clouds above swirl dark and ominous, threatening rain. The humidity in the air makes her hair stick to the back of her neck, sweat forming under the scarf still looped around her neck.

Mikasa knows Armin is watching her as she picks at her eggs, moving them around and around her plate without taking a bite.

"Mikasa - " he starts, and she sets down her fork and stops him.

"I'm not hungry," she says, picking up the spoon next to her oatmeal instead and starting to stir it. She could leave - should leave - but that day's meetings won't start until this afternoon, postponed by the higher ups sequestering themselves away in the far corner of headquarters and locking the door. There's nowhere to escape to now. She reaches to tug at her scarf, slipping one finger under the fabric and pulling it from her damp skin.

Armin continues to watch her through all of this, his face a careful mask. Mikasa's stomach growls then, loud enough for both of them to hear it. His face melts into a frown, eyebrows furrowing, mouth opening, but Sasha sets her tray down next to Mikasa. She wears a large smile and pink-stained cheeks, humming as she sits down. She then looks between them, reads the atmosphere, and deflates, just a little bit. Mikasa notices and digs at her oatmeal, guilt bubbling in her throat.

"What's going on?" Sasha picks up her spoon. She holds it in the air above her food, waiting, watching, looking between the two of them. Armin takes a deep breath. Mikasa grits her teeth. It's too much all at once, and she wants it to stop, wants life to pause, wants Eren to come back. A snap of lightning hits the sea, so, so close to where they sit. No one moves for a moment, the tension as thick as the humidity.

Mikasa's shoulders go up to her ear as Armin opens his mouth. Thunder cracks overhead, loud, booming, full of promise. His words are lost underneath it.

She realizes then that she's mad, so mad. It licks at her guts and pushes away the guilt at her throat. But why is she mad? Is she really mad at Armin? He's done nothing wrong, nothing potentially unforgivable. He's only cared for her. A bead of sweat trickles from the nape of her neck down her back. She averts her eyes, looking down at the oatmeal. It shows no signs of her anger, settled back into the bowl, appearing undisturbed.

Sasha puts a hand on her shoulder and squeezes. "You should eat. You didn't last night, did you?" She's right. He's right. She nods and takes a bite of the oatmeal then. It's tepid and bland (she forgot to put anything in it) but makes her realize, understand, know that she's been doing the wrong thing and that she's so, so hungry.

She finishes her food in record time, accepting the extra bowl that Sasha pushes her way after. "I can go get more," she chirps, a warm smile on her face.

When Mikasa gives Armin and apologetic look and open her mouth, he just shakes his head and smiles, because he knows her so well.

The afternoon meeting is chaotic and hellish. Hellish because the cooling air sputters and dies shortly after they begin. Hellish because there's no breeze from the open windows, and the fans that are quickly set up only stir the hot air around with no respite.

Hellish because of the arguments, the accusatory looks, and her inability to say anything. She wants to - oh, how she wants to - yell and tell them they're all wrong, that they don't know him the way she does. She glances over at Armin, who appears similarly self-stifled. He shakes his head at her, like he did this morning, but his expression is guarded and darker than it had been.

But she can't help the thoughts that creep into her mind, the ones that dig at her under her skin, that say maybe she doesn't know him either.

Seagulls cry out in the distance. They look like dots just over the horizon. She can see the newer recruits playing in the water, splashing each other, completely uncaring of what's happening in this dark, hot, suffocating room. They'll be briefed again later. Maybe. If they can come to some sort of consensus about what to say, what to do. There might be rumors - there must be rumors - about his disappearance, since it's made waves through the higher ranks and the entire Survey Corps. They're trying to keep it under wraps for now: how bad would it look for them that Humanity's Hope has defected (which is what they currently believe he has done)?

As time passes, Mikasa feels more and more eyes on her. They're waiting for her to say something, she knows. They're daring her to say something. They're ready to respond. Armin puts his hand over hers. She finds that she's clenching her pants so hard her knuckles are white. She loosens her grip, lets go of the fabric, stretches her now aching fingers. Armin curls his around her hand and squeezes. She flips it over so she can grab it and squeeze back.

They end the meeting with no consensus. Mikasa is up and out of the door right after Zackly clips out the last word.

Mikasa hides from the world after the meeting. She hears people walking past her door, some whispering, some talking at a normal level, all discussing Eren. Her name pops up every so often, as does Armin's. She covers her ears. No one tries to bother her, at least.

She tries to read, tries to distract herself. Nothing works. She longs for a cold shower, fanning herself with the books.

Sasha brings her food when she misses dinner. She sits next to her, humming that song again, as Mikasa eats. There are no questions, no small talk, only the soft sounds of Mikasa eating under the humming and Sasha twiddling her thumbs.

"Are you OK?" Sasha asks this once she's finished. Mikasa wipes her mouth on the back of her hand. She doesn't want Sasha to worry (more than she already is), but she can't lie.

"No." Sasha gives her a long look before nodding, understanding. She pats Mikasa's hand. The touch is clammy and this side of unpleasant. She finds some comfort in it anyway.

"I'll take those dishes back to the kitchen," she says. She smiles, bright and soft, leaving with a bounce in her step.

Mikasa crawls into bed shortly after because she has nothing else to do. She doesn't bother to change out of her clothes. She has no energy left, even as the fabric chafes at her, glued there by sweat.

Mikasa wakes to low rumbles of thunder. Darkness fills the room, and it's quiet (other than Sasha's soft snores, which are little more than background noise at this point).

She doesn't turn on a light when she goes to the showers, tracing practiced steps through the halls. She flinches at the cold water but acclimating quickly.

Her mind goes blank as the water sluices over her body, rinsing the sweat and negativity down the drain. She allows her hair to slip over her face, the stream of water running through it. Then, for the first time since Eren left, she cries.

The feeling hits her like a slap in the face, everything rushing in at once. She had been numb since she learned that he was missing, with anger and uncertainty being the only things she allowed to edge in. The despair chokes her. She can see nothing from behind the veil of her hair.

She stays like that, edging the hot water on as the cold almost becomes too much: until it does, and she has to leave.

She dries off with one of the rough towels that are kept in the bathrooms - hers forgotten in her closet, left behind in her haze - and puts on her nightgown.

Tired, exhausted as she is, she doesn't think she can sleep again. She walks past the room she shares with Sasha and sees nor hears anyone up as she continues down the hall.

The kitchen in the building is empty, dark, still. There is, however, a light on in the dining area. It's small and flickering: a single candle. Mikasa pours herself a glass of water and intends to leave, but then she notices who's sitting there: Levi. With a cup of tea.

"Are you really drinking hot tea?" she blurts out without thinking. He glances over his shoulder at her from where he had been watching the lightning over the sea. The window is open and the salt scent spills in with the humid wind. His eyes then dart to the tea sitting next to him.

"Tepid tea," he says. She then looks down at the cup and finds it half-full and not steaming. The candle appears to have been burning for a while. Mikasa finds herself walking to the table, pulling out a chair, and sitting down. There are many things she could say in this moment - the tea had to have been hot at some point, why is he sitting here, how long has he been sitting here - but none of them make it past her lips. Even though the crying in the shower lifted something from deep inside of her, she's still exhausted.

Levi watches her as she sits, likely waiting for more from her. He takes a sip of his self-described tepid tea, and she does the same with her water. A bead a sweat runs down the side of her face. The humidity is a blanket: stifling and heavy; the silence between them is not. So she lets it stretch without feeling like she needs to say anything. He returns to looking out the window.

He finally breaks the silence with, "You didn't say anything again today." The peace she felt disappears, her hackles raising and emotion rushing through her guts.

"Neither did you," she snaps, because anger is easy, easier than explaining everything. The storm inside of her stops when he looks at her again. There's nothing in his face that indicates his intent was to rile her. She thinks back to what he said before and realizes there was no accusation in his voice. She takes a deep breath and relaxes. "I...didn't know what to say."

He nods, tipping his head to the side. His fingers run over the rim of his cup. "It looked like they were ready to jump on you and Armin."

"I noticed," she says, pressing the glass against the skin of her cheek and shivering. "They wouldn't have been satisfied with anything I'd have to say."

"Zackly does want to speak to the two of you soon. Hange also wants to." He stops to take a long drink of his tea, almost emptying the cup. "I'm sure you've realized that by now." She nods and waits for the questions from him. They don't come.

The words come anyway, even as she tries to tamp them down. "I don't know," she says, setting the glass down harder than she expected. "I don't know anything. I don't know why. I don't know how. I don't know. I want to, but I don't." Mikasa must have cried all of her tears in the shower because, though she feels like crying, she doesn't.

"I just wish," she says, pausing to let out a tremulous breath, "that I could have stopped him." He says nothing for a long time, looking back out the window.

"Sometimes," he says as the rain finally starts to fall, a cool breeze blowing through the screen and bringing the fat droplets with it, "there's nothing you can do to stop someone from doing what they feel they need to do."

He doesn't continue, but she hears what he doesn't say as the rain pounds against the roof.