Hello, Chocolatelove is back~ with a drabble. It was requested by a friend (you know who you are) so I hope you enjoy it! This drabble may be confusing and is definitely OOC. In this fic, Rivaille is the one whose parents are murdered and Mikasa has been adopted by Commander Erwin. I'm kind of using the scene from Vampire Knight with Zero and Yuki when they first met.

As usual, this is something completely random and written rather hastily (obviously). Please review and leave a comment (NO FLAMING).

WARNING: Severely crappy. Rivaille is 12 years old. Mikasa is 8. Extremely OOC. Especially Mikasa. But I do think that she'd be more expressive as an eight-year-old. I will continue this fic as a multi-chap if requested. Probably not, because I can't write to save my life.

Oh, and thank you to those who read and reviewed my other story, "Our Strange Relationship". I'm currently re-writing the first chapter and plan to post it sometime next week. Stay tuned!

Disclaimer: I do not own Shingeki no Kyojin and I don't own Vampire Knight either.

Beauty

"Are they dead?"

"Yes, boss. Both the parents are dead, we've made sure of that."

"Good. Serves that bastard for not repaying his debts. Pity his wife, the pretty thing didn't deserve such an early and gruesome death. Ah, well. What's done is done. Where's the kid?"

"He's not at home."

"Lucky brat. If he were, I would've killed him too."

"Should we wait for him to come?"

"No. One of the Scouting Legion members spotted us. I think he's suspicious. We need to get out of here, fast."

"Yes, boss."

The shady criminals wiped their daggers before hiding them under their ragged cloaks. Unbeknownst to them, there was a boy hiding in the kitchen cabinet. His eyes were wide and dilated with fear. In his shaking hands he clasped a kitchen knife, a weapon his mother had given him before pushing him into hiding.

He didn't know what possessed him to do it. His mother had hissed at him to stay inside of the cabinet no matter what happened. But he had to do it. He had to see if the man's words were true or not. He had to see his parents' bodies to believe it. With trembling arms, he pushed open the cabinet door and crawled out.

The sight before him was horrifying. His father's body was slumped over in his chair. Crimson bloomed on his crisp white shirt like a rose, expanding until the white was gone. His hands were curled loosely around a glass of rum. His mother was on the ground, lying in a pool of blood. Her face, which had been considered beautiful by so many, was contorted and her mouth was open in a silent scream.

"What the hell? Boss, the kid's here!"

There were two men standing in front of the entrance door, one round and one lanky.

"Bad timing, kid." The round one grinned at him before turning to the lanky one. "Kill him."

A surge of adrenaline pounded through the boy's body, his energy fueled by fury. He would get revenge. He would avenge his poor mother by killing the men who took her life.

The world is cruel.

….

"Sir, your assumptions were correct. Those people you saw in the alleyway were indeed criminals. Part of a notorious underworld gang, actually."

Erwin Smith sighed a breath of relief. His intuition had come in handy once again. "Did you arrest them?"

The Garrison officer's congratulatory smile faded. "Not exactly. They had murdered two people, a mother and father, before getting killed themselves."

"Oh?" Erwin raised an eyebrow. "By whom?"

The officer seemed uncomfortable. "By…a child. The child of the dead parents."

Erwin stayed silent as he processed the information. The child had accomplished no ordinary feat, managing to bring down full grown men who had been part of the crime scene for many years. He wondered how the child had done it.

"And where is the child now?" Erwin asked.

"He's down the hall. He seems to be traumatized, he's refusing to speak or move." The officer scratched his head nervously. "Actually, nobody really wants to talk to him either. We're planning to send him to an orphanage, but I'm not sure if he'll be accepted. What kind of monster is he?"

"May I see him?" Erwin asked suddenly. The officer seemed taken aback by the strange request.

"I'm not trying to be rude, sir, but why?"

"He reminds me of someone I know." Erwin said, offering a vague explanation. "I empathize with the boy and want to make sure that he's alright."

"Oh. Of course. This way."

The officer led him out of his office and down the hallway to the last door. With his knuckle, he rapped three times. "I'm coming in. You've got a guest."

The officer pushed open the door. The room was dimly lit by the hazy sunset glow streaming from the window. The boy sat in the middle of the room on a wooden chair, showing no reaction or acknowledgement to the two men.

"Oi, boy." The Garrison officer said roughly. "The Commander of the Scouting Legion has personally come to see you. Say something."

"I'd like to speak to him in private, if you wouldn't mind." Erwin intervened smoothly. The Garrison officer nodded before stepping out into the hallway. When the door was closed behind him Erwin took the chance to properly look at the boy. His dark hair shielded his face, which was facing his lap. Erwin couldn't tell the color of his clothes; he was stained in blood. Judging by the boy's small frame, Erwin guessed that he was somewhere between ten to thirteen years old. He was still astounded by the fact that this small boy had managed to kill two grown men. Where did he get the power?

"I heard about your parents." Erwin said softly. "I'm sorry for your loss."

The boy stayed silent.

"I'm also impressed, in a way," Erwin added. "I'm surprised someone so young could manage to overpower two adults. That's not an ordinary feat."

No reply.

"You've got power," Erwin acknowledged. "I've got a proposal for you."

At the word proposal, the boy's figure stiffened. Erwin had gotten his attention.

"I'm the Commander of the Scouting Legion." Erwin said. "If you join me, you'll learn how to use that power effectively. You'll grow stronger. I see potential in you. You could be an asset to the military."

The boy shrugged a shoulder as if to say, "so?"

"Your other option is to live at an orphanage." Erwin stated bluntly.

The boy lifted his head suddenly, revealing his face. His face was very, very pale, with splashes of red blood dotting his cheeks. There was no healthy baby fat that all kids had; he was all sharp corners. But his eyes, his eyes were the most peculiar Erwin had seen. His indigo irises were filled with negativity; heartbreaking grief, bitterness, anger and worst of all, torment. This boy had seen things that no child should ever have been forced to witness.

"Listen," Erwin's voice was low. "You can't bring your parents back from the dead. But what you can do is train your abilities and prevent other children from losing their parents. You can save lives."

The boy scrutinized him with critical intelligence before speaking. His voice was quiet and raspy from not being used for a while. "I'll join. Not because of your save-the-world shit. I just don't want to go to an orphanage."

"Deal." Erwin smiled at the boy. "Your name?"

"Rivaille."

…

"Erwin's late. I wonder what's keeping him."

Hanji Zoe stared out the window, trying to peer through the dark shroud called night to spot the tall, blond Commander. It was nearing ten at night and he still hadn't returned to the Scouting Legion headquarters.

"Hanji-san?"

The scientist whirled around, startled by the voice. A small girl donning a white nightgown stood at the doorway, clutching a book that was clearly too heavy for her.

"Mikasa!" Hanji exclaimed. "What are you doing, it's past your bedtime!"

"I couldn't sleep." The girl said as she walking into the room. "When will Commander Erwin be coming?"

"Soon, hopefully." Hanji muttered under her breath, her fingers aching to work on the results of the titan dissection. "I had experiments to do and reports to write. What's taking him so long?"

"Hanji-san, you can go." Mikasa sat in front of the fireplace, opening the book. "Commander Erwin will be back soon."

Hanji was in utter turmoil. She wanted to work, but leaving Mikasa alone seemed reckless. But the girl hardly ever got into trouble, so…

"Alright. I'll be next door, so come if there's any problems!" Hanji shouted as she raced out of Erwin's living quarters, eager to do some research. Mikasa continued to flip through the pages of the book she had found in the Scouting Legion library, the one Hanji had borrowed for her. It was a fascinating book containing the history of Wall Maria, Rose and Sina.

"Mikasa?"

She heard the front door open and close. With a small smile, she went to greet the Commander, eager to tell him about Hanji's research and how Mike told her that she smelled of flowers.

"Ah, Mikasa." Erwin smiled at her warmly. "Rivaille, meet my eight-year-old daughter Mikasa. Mikasa, this is Rivaille."

She stared curiously at the boy who stood behind her father. He was a few inches taller in height, that was all she could tell. He seemed to nearly blend into the shadows, making him hard to see. There was something off about his appearance that Mikasa couldn't put a finger on.

"Mikasa, would you mind helping Rivaille clean up? I must speak with Hanji."

Mikasa shook her head, still stunned by the arrival of the stranger. Erwin smiled at her reassuringly before exiting, leaving her and Rivaille alone.

"You should come in." Mikasa said, her voice small. Stiffly, Rivaille slipped out of his shoes. She led him to Erwin's bedroom, where the fireplace was crackling. With the light of the fire on him, Mikasa finally noticed what was wrong; he was covered in blood. She gasped, but he didn't seem to notice. He stood in front of the fireplace, his eyes fixated on the red embers.

"I'll get the bath ready." Mikasa headed to the bathroom that she shared with her father. Grabbing the matchstick in the bathroom cupboard, she carefully lit a candle as a source of light. Perched on the rim of the bathtub, she turned the faucet. Warm water flowed and was turned off once the bath was three quarters of the way full.

When she returned to the bedroom to retrieve Rivaille, she noticed that he hadn't moved one bit. He was like a statue carved from marble; hard, unrelenting and motionless.

"Your bath is ready." Mikasa said, breaking the silence. His eyes glanced at her briefly but made no action. Hesitantly, she touched the cuff of his sleeve and gently tugged. His eyes cast down on the floor, he followed her to the bathroom.

"I'll put the candle here." Mikasa placed the burning wax on the sink.

She closed the door behind her. She didn't know why Erwin had brought him. She didn't know who he was. The sight of so much blood unnerved her. Was it his? Was he hurt? Mikasa returned to the fireplace where her book was. She wanted Erwin to come and explain what was going on.

After several minutes, Mikasa decided to check up on the boy. She pressed one ear against the door, straining to hear any sound. Nothing. No splash of water, no sound of scrubbing. For a fleeting moment, Mikasa wondered if he was dead.

Mikasa knocked on the door. "Can I come in?"

There was no response. Anxious, Mikasa covered her eyes and pushed the door open. She expected some kind of what-the-hell-Mikasa that she got from Mike when she had accidentally walked into the men's shower last year. When there was no shouting to be heard, Mikasa dropped her hand and blinked. The flame from the candle covered the bathroom in a hazy, golden glow, making everything seem like a dream. Rivaille was sitting in the tub and his clothes were folded neatly on the sink. The only problematic sight was the water, which had turned red, and the fact that Rivaille was immobile again. For a moment she thought he was actually dead. But his eyes were open.

"Do you need help?" Mikasa rummaged through the cupboard for a clean washcloth. "Here. Use this to scrub the rest of the blood off."

He made no move to take it from her. She suppressed a sigh.

"I'll do it for you." Mikasa dipped the washcloth into the water. "I promise I won't look."
She started to scrub the washcloth gently on his arm. When he put up no resistance, she continued. The sickly sweet, metallic scent of blood lingered in the air. By the time she was done scrubbing his torso, the washcloth had turned red as well.

"I'm going to wash your face." Mikasa told him quietly. She wiped off the red spots on his cheeks, one hand rested on his shoulder for balance. She was surprised by how cold he felt, even sitting in warm water.

"I can't see the family resemblance."

Mikasa froze. Rivaille finally spoke, his lips barely moving. His voice was a flat monotone.

"What do you mean?"

"You and your father." Rivaille said. "I don't see the resemblance."

"He's not my real father," Mikasa replied, wondering whether she should be elated or scared that she had managed to get him to speak. "He adopted me."

"Then where are your real parents?" Rivaille looked at her straight in the eye for the first time.

"Dead." Mikasa answered promptly.

She dipped the washcloth in the water once more before wringing it dry. "I've scraped the dried blood off. I'll have to drain the water again and you can wash yourself with soap. I'll bring a spare change of clothes for you and a towel so—"

"Why are you doing this?" Rivaille interrupted.

"Why am I doing what?" Mikasa glanced at him over her shoulder as she hung out the washcloth on the rim of the bathtub to dry.

"Why are you helping me?" Rivaille demanded in a louder voice, turning to face her. "I'm not paying you. I don't even know you. So why are you helping me?"

Mikasa's eyes widened at his harsh tone.

"I asked you a question, brat." Rivaille said through gritted teeth.

Mikasa looked at him for a moment before shrugging. "I don't know why. I just want to."

It was Rivaille's turn to be surprised. He hadn't expected her to answer at all. He had expected her to burst into tears or something.

"There's still some blood on your hand." Mikasa murmured. "I'm glad you aren't hurt anywhere, though."

She placed his cold hand in her warm ones before gently rubbing his palm.

It was then, at that moment, that Rivaille realized that there could be beauty in this cruel world.