An: It has been exactly five years since I've joined this site...and I've decided to celebrate my anniversary with a fic. Hope you enjoy!

...

Mikasa Ackerman was neither a horrible, nor an outstanding cook. Her meals were never inedible, but she did not have the particular talents of other women, who were capable of turning cheap meat and vegetables into a gourmet dish. He would describe her cooking as average and predictable. Which was not, contrary to popular belief, a bad thing.

If anything, Levi had a deep appreciation for her consistency.

She was not a flurry of skirts and apron in the kitchen, ever calm and collected as she went about cutting potatoes and carrots and onions and parsnips in a sedate manner. There was no doubt in his mind that she was skilled with a knife, considering the speed she utilized when chopping produce, and there was nothing clumsy or unnecessary in her movements around the stove and countertop. Her actions were smooth and precise, not wasting a bit of her energy.

Levi honestly admired this about her, and embarrassingly enough, spent a fair amount of time in the kitchen, if he knew she was scheduled to cook. He would sit at the small table set to the side, facing the entire room as she went about her duties in silence, sipping on a cup of black tea.

It was an entirely different experience from whenever Eren, Jean, or Sasha cooked. While Jean and Sasha were skilled enough in the culinary arts, they were both flamboyant cooks, throwing about bowls and knives and ingredients in a frenzy of inspiration. Eren, sadly, was a complete mess in the kitchen, and it aggravated Levi to no end to watch him cook. Add to that, all three of those idiot were much too self-conscious when he was present to pay attention to their hands.

She would ignore him entirely though, which he preferred. Overall, it was a peaceful, private slice of a lifestyle he was utterly unfamiliar with. Levi occasionally wondered if this, whatever it was, was the appeal of civilian life; if this was what it felt like to return home to a wife cooking dinner.

At first, he had pretended she was someone else, his mind's eye morphing her silky, black hair to strawberry-blond. This proved to be much too painful, more so than even the desk drawer of coat emblems. Thinking of Petra while watching her cook only served to remind him of the could have, would have, should haves that summarized his entire existence. Petra was gone, and he needed to move on.

It took months, nearly a year, for him to recognize the young, mostly infuriating woman for who she was. It took longer for him to willingly admit to himself that he was watching her for reasons besides her skill. When Levi realized he was attracted to her, he almost stopped coming all together.

It was the last thing he needed, to fall for a subordinate-he did nothing but spend his days with corpses. It was astounding, really, that she and her classmates had survived for so long, but they were all, him included, surviving on borrowed time. The thought of growing attached to someone again, only to lose them, was too much for him to bear.

Really, though, it was too late-Levi knew he was more fond of Mikasa than he should have been, and this unfortunate attachment would not change the cruel reality in which they lived. If she did not make it back from an expedition, Levi feared it might just break him. He wished he could live like some men did; he wished he could pretend the dangers lurking just beyond the wall were gone, and that he had even a sliver of hope in achieving happiness, with a woman or otherwise. Levi preferred to not torture himself, however.

He never said a word, not willing to risk more than he already was, but he would always hover to the side, sipping tea and quietly watching her as she lingered over the stovetop. The steam from a boiling pot would turn her cheeks a lovely shade of pink, her hair pulled back to reveal the soft angle of her jaw, and the pale slope of her neck. He would sip at his black tea, wordlessly praying that these moments would last, because there was very little that made him happy, and she was one of the few things that did.

He was certain she had no idea of his attraction to her-that was for the best-and he had no intention of changing the dynamic of their relationship. The last thing he expected was for her to make the first move.

...

There was a knock on his office door, short and soft, yet demanding somehow, and Levi knew who it was. He uttered a quiet acknowledgement, allowing his visitor to enter. She opened the door, pushing it forward with her shoulder as she carefully brought in a tray of tea things. He blinked at her, stunned. The teapot was covered with a worn, but still useful, cozy, and on the tray sat two china cups, along with the milk and sugar.

She silently set the tray down, taking the seat opposite of his, clearly intending to invite herself to afternoon tea. He was aware she had no kitchen duties that evening, but he was still surprised she would pass an opportunity to spend quality time with her adoptive brother and blond friend.

He watched as she poured tea for them both, quietly spooning a small scoop of sugar into his, stirring it before handing it to him. Levi had no idea when she had learned how he took his tea. His fingers grazed her cool, slender ones as he took the cup from her, and his chest suddenly felt tight.

The tea was perfect, of course. He cleared his throat uncomfortably as the warmth settled in his stomach.

"Was there something you needed, Ackerman?"

She took her time in replying, sipping at her own cup. She took hers with only a bit of milk.

At last, however, she responded. "I like you, Sir."

Levi stared at her, taken aback by her unusually blunt confession. "Oh."

She must have believed this was encouragement for her to continue.

"I think you're stubborn, frustrating, short, and a bit anal about cleaning," she must have noticed his frown because she paused for a moment, slowly exhaling, "but you're also the strongest man I've ever known. And don't think I haven't noticed you always hanging about, when I'm cooking."

Levi fidgeted in his chair for a moment. "Ackerman-"

"Maybe, Sir," she interrupted him, "you might like me too."

He did not know what to say. Maybe he did like her. Maybe, he damn well loved her. But it changed nothing.

Sighing, he tugged on the cuffs of his sleeve. He could not do this-not again. Levi refused to make himself vulnerable to her, not when there was such a high chance of them all dying. Mikasa was a weakness enough as it was; he did not want to make losing her anymore painful.

There was not much he could do to protect himself against her, not without hurting her. He was selfish, though. His wellbeing came first. So, he lied.

"No."

She did not cry or deflate at his rejection, but Levi watched with guilt as all emotion withdrew from her eyes, until he was left facing a deadened, blank slate. Utterly impassive, she gently set her cup into its saucer. He briefly pondered over the thought that seeing her so completely detached might be even more gut-wrenching than losing her entirely.

However, what was done, was done, and Levi refused to budge. She was young and beautiful. If, by some miracle, she managed to see the end of the war, Mikasa would easily find an equally young, and charming man to woo her. She would heal and move on, and perhaps come to see that he truly was no match for her.

Abruptly, she stood. "Sorry for the disturbance, Sir."

With that, she left with steady steps, leaving the tea things and the heartbreaking silence of his office to him.

...

She lived. In fact, his entire squad managed to scrape through to the end, and as he had promised so many lost soldiers before, Levi slayed the last titan himself. He stood tall upon its steaming, fallen corpse, staring up at the promising, open sky. When he glanced over at Mikasa, she was clutching Armin and Eren close, sobbing in her joy. Unsurprisingly, both young men joined her in crying, the newfound freedom too shocking to comprehend.

His squad of rambunctious, loud brats drank themselves silly that night. He made himself scarce before morning, doubting he was at all missed in the festivities. He made no plans to see his precious squad again.

A little over a year later, Erwin married, and it finally began to sink in that the world was a different place. Erwin was still commander, but the Scouting Legion had an entirely new role, expanding human territories for colonies outside their established settlements.

Levi had left the military as soon as possible, disappearing without making any unnecessary goodbyes. He set himself up in a small teashop in an out of the way town, where his patrons were few and had little chance of recognizing him. Life was easy and peaceful, and the callouses on his hands faded away.

He heard no news of Mikasa, but Levi would rather not hear who she had married, or how many children she had. He made only a few attempts to move on, seeing a couple civilian women over a year or two, but when he made no headway, and gave up the idea entirely.

It was fine, he would tell himself. Even if he was alone, Levi did not consider himself particularly lonely. Sometimes though, late at night in the winter, he would picture sitting by her, a roaring fire warming his small living room. She would be as quiet and reserved as ever, but he could still imagine her small smiles and simple grace.

He told himself there was no point in thinking of her anymore. He would never see Mikasa Ackerman again.

...

It was late autumn, and it had been nearly three years since the human race had been freed from its self-imprisonment. It was a rather breezy day, and Levi really had not wanted to leave the warmth of his bed that morning. The cold weather would make his shop busy, however, and he rarely indulged in the luxury of lounging the day away.

In the early afternoon, an unexpected, but scarily familiar face entered his shop. She had no tan from long months of travel under the summer sun; Levi wondered if she had explored the outside world with Eren and Armin at all.

She was not as muscular as he remembered her, her face a little rounder, her features softer. Her eyes were just as dark and piercing as he remembered them to be though, and the moment they fixated on him, he felt as if she had run him through. Levi still loved her, and he knew it.

Mikasa smiled slightly then, and he realized that perhaps, she had not gotten married and had those kids at all. She might have been waiting, just as he had, unable to move on and look at anyone else. He stood fast, unable to stir as she tread closer.

He wanted to run his fingers through her silky hair; it was much longer than when he had last seen her, spilling over her shoulders and down her back. He wanted to smooth the palms of his hands to her cold-reddened cheeks, to warm them again. He wanted to kiss her, and taste her sweet breath as she exhaled, content against him.

"Hello, Sir," she started faintly, "I-"

Levi interrupted her. "Don't call me that. I'm not in the military anymore."

Her face, bright and lovely, fell slightly. He wished he was better at this-at talking to her-but it seemed that very little about him had changed since he had last seen her. He was just as abrasive and socially obtuse.

"I have a name," he said, clearing his throat. "You could start there."

Levi watched as her cheeks turned a vibrant shade of red, and he wondered if he had done wrong and embarrassed her. She was smiling once more though, wide enough for him to see her pearly, white teeth.

She tried again. "Hello, Levi."

He could not contain himself.

Impulsively, he blurted, "I lied."

Her eyes, a warm gray, widened with confusion. He could tell she instantly knew what he meant. She said nothing however, allowing him to continue. The words tumbled out of his mouth before he could stop them.

"I said that I didn't have feelings for you, all those years ago, because I was a coward who wasn't prepared to lose anyone else."

He gave a shaky sigh, leaning in closer. She smelled of lilac and wind, and he was drawn into her, until his lips were hovering over her ear. Levi was not quite sure what he was doing, but he had already started, so he might as well finish it. He could not stand another day without her, and he knew that now.

"What I should have told you, Ackerman, is that I love you."

Her arms were around him then, and he could feel her smile when she turned her face to press her lips to his.

End