CHAPTER ONE

Dust puffed from the ground as Jean hopped down from the back of his horse, the thud of his boots against the stone clear in the near-empty courtyard. With a battle-roughened hand he gently patted the animal's rump, turning at the sound of footsteps and the shifting of the reigns.

"Let the new recruits take care of cleaning up the horses, Kirschtein. Worry about yourself, you're… filthy…" Squad Captain Levi looked down at his subordinate with an obvious look of disdain, even though he wasn't much better off.

Jean couldn't really blame him, though. Looking down at himself he could see that the entirety of his Recon Corps uniform was so caked with dirt that even the whitest pieces had turned a lovely shade of brown.

"Right. Thanks." His response was tired and his movements sluggish as he nodded and walked toward the entrance of the Recon Corps Headquarters. His steps were slow, feet seeming to drag as he walked the halls of the old stone building, nodding toward a group of his fellow recruits.

"Jean..? Are you okay?" He knew who the concerned voice belonged to immediately, one of the recruits from his own squadron. Those blue eyes were always so full of kindness, and behind them the mind of a calculating genius.

"Huh? Oh, Armin. Hey, yeah.. just a hard patrol today is all." Jean ran his hand through his two-toned hair, dirt puffing from the slightly shaggy lengths.

"Looks like it. Actually, could you wait here for a moment?" Before Jean could decline Armin rushed through the doorway behind him and disappeared.

Jean let out a small sigh, too exhausted to be irritated as he waited for the blond to return. Everyone had changed to some extent in the two years since they graduated, but of everyone Armin surely had changed the most, and at times it still took Jean by surprise.

Blue eyes smiled up at him when Armin returned, his hand out, a small canvas bag dangling from it. "Add this to your bath." Jean opened his mouth to protest but Armin continued before he could say anything. "Yes, bath. Sorry to say this, Jean, but you look like you're about to fall over. This will help your body recover. And just leave your gear in the bathing quarters, I'll send someone to fetch them later."

Jean tensed as Armin grabbed hold of his hand and forced the bag into it, but sighed in defeat. "Well, shit, I must look really bad if even you're being forceful." A small smile graced his lips before he excused himself to the bathing quarters.

As soon as he entered the room, he immediately felt overcome with exhaustion. Barely able to think, Jean turned on a couple large oil lamps near to the entrance, a dim glow spreading over the dark stone room. Shuffling to the edge of the tub, sunken into the stone floor, he pulled the rope that caused hot water to pour from an overhead pipe, steam wafting up into his face.

With shaking hands, Jean fumbled with the buckles of the straps on his gear, dropping the leather straps to the ground and sliding his once white pants and shirt to the ground, leaving them next to the boots he had already removed.

The room was growing humid, air heavy with the thickening steam, and in his exhaustion Jean found it stifling. He could tell from the sound of the water that the bath was almost full, and taking the few steps to shuffle to the nearby window he pushed it open, bright daylight flooding into the room and over his naked body, red marks marring his body where the gear's straps pressed.

The cool, crisp air of late autumn was refreshing, but even so it seemed to sting his lungs. But that was a physical pain, pain that Jean knew how to deal with. Knew would abate if he removed the source of the pain. Closing his eyes, he leaned his forehead down into the high stone window sill, hand unconsciously rising to the scars on his arms, scars from when he and the others burst through the windows of the supply tower.

"That was the last day that I saw your smiling face…" Jean's furrowed brows relaxed as the room filled with silence, the water shutting off on its own, a safety measure put in after some of the recruits flooded their bathing quarters.

Lowering himself slowly into the bath, Jean submerged his entire body into the steaming water, holding himself inside the stifling heat for as long as he could hold his breath, almost gasping as he finally came up for air. Pushing his hair back, water ran down his face in rivulets, leaving smalls streaks through the dirt that lingered on his skin.

Almost as an afterthought he grabbed Armin's canvas bag, pouring the contents thoughtlessly into the water. It had a murky effect, but was not unpleasant. The scents of lavender, vanilla, and a touch of cinnamon, floated up from the water's surface, and he watched as large chunks of salt dissolved at the bottom of the bath.

Sinking into the tub up to his lips, Jean huffed, breath rippling the surface. Salt is so difficult to come by.. What is Armin thinking using it on me instead of someone who needs the bath salts. Was he sulking?

Mindlessly reaching toward his dirty clothes, Jean dug into the pocket of his jacket, pulling out a small glass vile, holding it up to the light as he rest his head on the edge of the tub. Inside it was a single heat-stained shard of bone.

"It's been two years tomorrow.." Jean sighed, closing his hand around the vile and holding it to his forehead, brows furrowed as he fought the rising memories. "Two years.." His eyes burned as he closed them tight, clenching his jaw as he refused to cry now.

Calmed, he slowly opened his eyes, the sun's bright light deepening as it lowered in the sky. "So it's that time already?" Dipping one last time into the tub, rinsing the rest of the dirt from his body, Jean leveraged himself up onto the cold stone floor, shivering as the cool air hit his moist body. Remembering what Armin had told him about his gear, he simply grabbed one of the folded towels from the shelf, dabbing his face and ruffling his hair with it before wrapping it low around his hips.

Walking past the mirror, Jean picked up the small vile which rarely left his possession. He never bothered looking in the mirrors, knowing that he had barely changed in the past two years. He'd gotten a little taller, hair a tad longer, and gained some new scars. Of all the recruits, Jean had probably changed the least, having been mostly physically matured by the time he became a soldier.

Poking his head out through the doorway, Jean checked the hallway to make sure it was empty. He didn't really feel like running into Mikasa or Christa in his current state, not today. Today he was just exhausted, though he had to admit as he shuffled a few doors down that his body did seem to feel rejuvenated. He would have to remember to thank Armin later.

Shutting the door behind him, Jean slid the small metal lock into place. It wasn't something that would prevent anyone who really wanted in from entering, but it would keep people from bursting in and disturbing him without warning.

The room was pitch, but fairly empty. 'No use in collecting things when you're gonna die young, anyway.' Sometimes his cynicism even surprised Jean, but at least right now it meant he could move to the table and light the oil lamp without mishap. Dropping his towel to the floor, something he knew would earn him a verbal lashing if his captain saw, he pulled on a pair of clean, black boxer-briefs before settling onto the mattress.

Digging into the nightstand, he pulled out a sketchbook and the pointed sticks of graphite – both had been gifts from Armin not long after Marco had died. Leaning against the wall, he stifled a shiver as a chill ran down his spine, and opened to the next available page.

Letting out a sigh, the room filled with utter silence but for the scritch of the graphite to paper, the same face he always drew slowly appearing on the page before him. Free time was rare, but when he had it he always found himself closed in his room, those deep eyes, dark hair, and freckled cheeks marking the pages, lips that he could still feel on his own smiling up at him.

Jean's breath seemed to stop, caught behind the lump in his throat, as his fingers trailed over the portrait's surface, tips stained with the silver sheen of graphite. Running his fingers back through his wet hair, he held his head in his hands, staring but not really looking at the picture before him. "I'm starting to forget the sound of your voice, Marco. I want to hear you. I miss you…"

Curling up on the surface of his bed, he laid his head on the cool surface of his pillow, finding it hard to relax as exhaustion pulled him under. He felt as if he had only been asleep seconds before hearing a familiar voice echoing in his mind.

"Jean? Jean? Come on, Jean."

Groaning protest, Jean opened his eyes only to be blinded by a bright white light. The sun? His room didn't even have a window. Slowly, cautiously opening his eyes he found himself looking directly into deep, warm brown eyes that he thought he'd never see again. Eyes filled with kindness and smiles, and irrefutably full of life.

Jean's eyes widened in disbelief as he slowly lifted his head to look at a face that at times he wished he could forget. "M-marco..? You… you're alive?"

The freckled-faced teen laughed, the kind of laugh that warms you from the inside, placing a warm hand on top of Jean's head. "What? Of course I'm alive! Were you having weird dreams again?"

Jean could feel his eyes warming as tears burned behind them, almost bouncing with excitement he nearly jumped onto his companion, shifting between kissing those soft, pink lips that he missed so dearly, and laughing through tears, face never pulling back, hands holding desperately to the face below him.

"Jean, what's with you today?" Marco's words came out through laughter, and Jean found that he couldn't stop smiling, and kissing him all over his face. It's true that they had been together since midway through their training, and though they never fought to keep their relationship hidden, they weren't overly public with their affections either.

"Sorry. I'm sorry. It's just.. I thought you were dead. I thought I'd lost you forever…" Jean's voice dropped as he laid his head on Marco's chest, listening to sound of blood rushing through the ever-beating heart.

Marco smiled, bringing a hand up to run gentle fingers through the soft, two-toned hair. "It was just a dream, Jean. I'm still here, we're not finished. Afterall, we're joining the Recon Corps right? Can't let 'that douchebag, Eren beat us by going to the outer world first' right?"

Jean chuckled, chest vibrating against Marco's, sitting up to look into those dark brown eyes again. Leaning down, Jean place small, soft kisses on those lips he had never forgotten, felt his chest tighten as a hand held the back of his head, keeping him close and deepening the kiss. He felt a soft tongue against his lips, and gladly allowed it entrance, savoring the familiar taste.

Yes, taste. No matter what he remembered, no matter the sleepless nights, no matter how many times he had seen that corpse behind his closed lids, he couldn't deny his senses. They were overwhelmed by everything Marco. His earthy smell, the heat that lingered on Jean's skin everywhere he touched, the little sounds he made when they kissed, even the way his mouth tasted.

Marco was here, and he was real.

Tears burned behind closed eyes as Jean desperately held onto the sides of Marco's face, straddling his body and sitting on his hips, kissing him hard and deep, gladly losing himself in the intimacy. Gasping as he broke the kiss, Jean placed his forehead gently to Marco's lips, sliding his left hand down to feel the heart in his chest, making sure it was still beating.

"I need you more than anything, Marco. Don't ever leave me."

"But you left me first, Jean." Jean's body tensed as he heard a familiar tolling of the death bell, a chill rushing over his body.

Slowly lifting his body, he looked down at Marco's form, blood draining from his face as he saw the half-eaten body below his own. Instinctively back-pedaling off the body, his throat tightened and his stomach threatened to empty itself. Feeling his back press against something hard and warm, Jean closed his eyes, a calm spreading over him at the familiar voice.

"Jean? You okay?" A voice that always seemed kind, in a way all its own.

"A-armin?" Jean tilted his head back to look up to see the blond as he knew him. Running his hands through his hair, he looked back to where he and Marco had been only moments earlier, finding it… empty.

"He's gone, Jean. Marco is dead, and he's never coming back. He's dead because you left him…"

Jean felt the bile rising in his throat, brow furrowed and body tense as he slowly rose to his feet, turning toward the usually gentle genius. His mind was blanking and his body hot as the incomparable pain and guilt overwhelmed his being. "What's wrong with you, Armin? This isn't like you—"

Jean felt his throat close around his words, paralyzed from what he was seeing before him. Before him stood Armin— genius, thoughtful, calculating, always-come-up-with-a-plan-to-save-your-ass-Armin. Face half eaten, lips pulled away from his teeth, blood and entrails dripping from the half of his torso that was torn away. The same wounds he had seen on Marco every night for the past two years. Wounds he could never forget.

"Are you going to leave me, too, Jean? Just like you did Marco? Are you going to kill me next?"

The deafening crack of the sound barrier breaking, the sound that was always followed by a breach of the wall, thundered through the air, and Jean found himself gasping for air and staring wild-eyed at the familiar stone ceiling of his quarters, tears running down the sides of his face and onto his pillow.