Chapter Text
EPILOGUE
"Oh my god, what are you still doing here?"
Levi glanced up from his two computer screens, though the model and spreadsheets were still burned into his retinas. Ngozi from Accounting was standing in the open doorway of his office, a pencil tucked behind each ear as per usual.
"You're still here," he pointed out. He glanced furtively at the clock display on the bottom of his main monitor. Damn, it really was late though.
"Yeah, but nobody's waiting for me at home except Frank," Ngozi said, naming their Venus Fly Trap. They had regaled Levi with tales of Frank for weeks at the coffee station before he figured out it was a fucking plant.
Levi rubbed his dry eyes. "I'm taking Friday off, so I've got to have this done by Thursday," he explained, making a vague, derisive gesture towards his computer.
"You? Take a day off?" Ngozi leaned against the doorway, smirking in a manner Levi definitely did not like. "What is it? Apocalypse?"
"...Anniversary," he said.
"Ooooh," Ngozi cooed. "You got hot plans with Professor Sexy?"
Levi began exiting all the running programs on his computer so he could escape. It was late and Ngozi was apparently in the mood to tease. "Don't call him that," he said, though it was probably a useless effort. He wasn't even sure Ngozi remembered Oscar's real name at this point, even though they’d met him on several different occasions.
Ngozi just tipped their head back and laughed, automatically catching the pencil that slipped free from their right ear. "Hey," they said, spinning the pencil deftly in their fingers. "I've been wondering something."
"What?" Levi asked, cramming his things into his bag.
"He's, like, ten years older than you, right? How'd you even meet?"
Levi shot Ngozi a glance over his monitor as he shut the computer down. He didn't usually indulge questions about his personal life because it was personal, but he did like Ngozi. Even if they were a little grating sometimes. So he said, "At a Denny's."
"Seriously? That's so boring."
Levi decided not to mention he'd only been a high schooler at the time, nor that he'd stormed out of his parent's house with no intention of ever returning just hours before. "What were you expecting?"
Ngozi tapped the pencil against their mouth. "Mm, I don't know. That you'd answered his sugar daddy ad or something."
"Do people really do that?"
Ngozi's grin was all white teeth and wry humor. "I knew a gal. Remind me to tell you that story sometime, it's pretty good."
Levi shouldered his messenger bag and checked that he hadn't left anything behind on his desk. "I'm heading out," he said.
Ngozi let him through the door. "Lunch tomorrow?" they asked.
"Yeah. Good night."
------
Since it was a Tuesday night, Levi was eating his re-heated dinner while Oscar told him about his day when the usual video call came. Oscar stopped talking mid-sentence, head immediately inclining towards the strange beeping sound the program made. He looked back to Levi ruefully.
"Go ahead," Levi said, waving his fork. He had a bunch of reports he should look over anyway. "You can tell me the rest later."
Oscar kissed his temple, ("Sap," Levi thought fondly) and went to answer the call. Levi listened absently as Oscar greeted Jiahua, opening his own laptop to find the right files. He was probably going to have to pull a late night to wrap up everything before the end of Thursday.
Soon his dinner lay forgotten as he squinted at the rows of data. Something just wasn't quite right. He couldn't find anything off in the numbers, nor in his subordinate’s reports, but in his gut, he knew. In the background, Oscar and his friend chattered in a mix of English and Chinese. After decades of study, Oscar’s Chinese was pretty good. That’s what Jiahua claimed at least, though Levi suspected she was being a little generous with that assessment. After all, his Spanish was still far from fluent and it was much easier to learn.
Every now and then, a few word or phrases of something that definitely wasn't English or Chinese slipped into their conversation. And Levi knew, no matter what Oscar tried to imply, that it wasn't Turkish either. He'd suspected from the start that it wasn’t Turkish and his suspicions had been confirmed ages ago when Louise lamented to Levi that she’d never been able to convince Oscar to study his father’s language.
Levi hadn't pushed back then and he still didn't because as much as Oscar wore his heart on his sleeve, he was far from an open book. There had always been something furtive about Oscar, something that he held back from Levi even after all these years.
But Levi did not begrudge Oscar his secrets. After all, there were plenty private pieces of himself that he’d never shown to him. Like the reason why he did not like to be held down, or the story behind the burn scar on his forearm, or the full truth of why he’d agreed to go to Oscar’s apartment the first night they’d met.
So he did not mind that Oscar concealed his fluency in an unknown language with white lies, or that he’d never spoken of where his PTSD came from or what haunted him in flashbacks and nightmares. They were essential puzzle pieces that made up who Oscar was, but Levi loved the whole of Oscar, not a collection of jagged parts. He wanted Oscar to take him in the same way.
Since Oscar had woken up early because of a nightmare last night, he’d probably turn in once he finished his weekly call with Jiahua. Levi gave up on the data for the moment and got ready for bed, so he wouldn’t disturb Oscar when he finally went to sleep himself. It was summer, so after he brushed his teeth he just stripped down to his underwear before returning to his laptop. He scratched at the surgery scars on his chest absentmindedly as he scrolled slowly through the data for perhaps the hundredth time. He still wasn’t sure what it was about the numbers that bothered him, he just knew something was wrong. Shaking his head, he forced himself to minimize the window and instead started reviewing the reports he needed to go over.
He was so absorbed in typing up his comments that he didn’t notice that Oscar had finished with Jiahua until Oscar was leaning over his shoulder. “Still at it?” Oscar asked, carding his fingers through Levi’s hair.
Levi just hummed in response, equally distracted by the file on his screen and Oscar’s gentle touch just above the ticklish spot behind his ear. He knew it peeved Oscar endlessly that he only had a few stray strands of gray hair while Oscar’s hair was more salt than pepper. That didn’t stop Oscar from finger-combing Levi’s hair from temple to nape whenever he got the chance
“Coming to bed any time soon?”
Levi considered the number of reports he still had to deal with to be happy with his progress. “Not for a few hours,” he admitted.
Oscar sighed. “You’re going to work yourself into an early grave.”
His tone was light, but Levi tensed anyway. It was an old argument, dating back to when his father had a heart attack in his auto shop twenty-five years ago. He had only been fifty-nine and Oscar seemed convinced that Levi was doomed to a similar fate.
Personally, Levi didn’t think Oscar had much room to talk since he had also had a penchant for late nights whenever research was going especially well (or poorly). But Levi didn’t want to drag all that out right now. He rubbed the bridge of his nose and said, “I’ll get plenty of rest this weekend.”
Thankfully, Oscar didn’t seem to want to argue either. He stroked Levi’s hair one final time, then stepped around Levi to face him properly. “At least wear your glasses,” he said, pressing Levi’s glasses case into his hand.
Levi accepted it grudgingly and put them on. Oscar beamed at him and even though Levi had seen that smile thousands of times by now, it still made his heart drum against his rib cage, fluttering like a bird taking flight.
“I don’t understand why you don’t like wearing them,” Oscar commented, framing Levi’s face with his hands. “They make you look very distinguished.”
Levi shrugged, not in the mood to explain that the only blood relatives he had who needed glasses at his age were all women. It was a silly thing to be insecure about, but he couldn’t help it. None of the other men in his family had ever worn glasses until they were well into their seventies. Or maybe they had needed glasses and their excessive machismo prevented them from admitting it. Either way, his own failing eyesight at fifty-one felt like just one more way his body had betrayed him. “I just don’t.”
Levi could see from Oscar’s expression that he knew it was more than that, but Oscar-- who was always respectful of boundaries-- didn’t prod further. He loved Oscar for that, so he reached up to cover Oscar’s hands with his own and promised, “Two more hours, then I’ll call it quits.”
Oscar’s thumbs stroked Levi’s cheekbones and he angled Levi’s head carefully to press a kiss to the corner of his mouth. “Two hours,” he repeated mock sternly, and then he left Levi to it.
So Levi got back to work, hunched over his computer in a way he’d regret come morning but unwilling to break his comfortable slouch. He knew he could pass off at least some of the tasks to one of his subordinates, but with the indeterminable wrongness of the data set, he found he didn’t quite trust anyone else with the project.
But the longer he pored over the data and was unable to pinpoint any issue, the more he began to think it was all in his head. He’d been feeling off for days, catching odd glimpses in the corner of his vision that vanished as soon as he turned his head. His focus had been swinging between constant distraction and absolute absorption in whatever task he was working on with little in-between. Perhaps he just needed to sleep more. Well, the sooner he got this project out the door, the sooner he’d be able to relax.
He managed to make decent progress on the reports before he hit his two-hour deadline, though the data set continued to bother him. Levi saved his work and put away his laptop, hoping that sleep would give him a fresh outlook in the morning on the numbers. He stood up with a yawn, removing his glasses and rubbing his eyes with both hands.
When he pulled his hands away, they were covered with blood.
Levi stared at his red-stained hands dully for a moment. But after he blinked twice and the blood was still there, the shock set in like a jolt of electricity.
Frantic, he touched his eyes but they were perfectly dry, fine, no blood. He pulled his hands away from his face-- still bloody, still red-- and now his forearms were splattered with it too. Levi scrubbed ferociously at his skin, but the blood only continued to spread, coating him so thickly that he couldn’t believe it wasn’t dripping to the floor. He scrubbed until his skin felt raw and hot, but blood, blood, blood. All over his arms now, on his chest, wet on his face too.
It wouldn’t come off. The blood wouldn’t come off.
Levi stumbled into the shower, clumsy in the darkness and from his vision turning red. The blood was in his eyes now and once he managed to turn the shower on full-blast, he faced the spray head-on. The water was cold, but he stayed there, eyes clenched shut.
He felt dizzy, too dizzy to stand. He knew he should get out of the shower and lie down, but he didn’t want to open his eyes. He didn’t want to see his blood covering him. His blood? No, it wasn’t his, couldn’t be. The blood was-- the blood…
Levi shrank down to his knees, curling around his stomach. He felt like he might throw up. The blood wasn’t his. A name was forming in his mind, but his head was too crowded with piercing fear and smoldering anger and choking sorrow to allow the syllables of the name to take shape.
He didn’t know how long he stayed there, but suddenly the water cut off. Levi heard someone talking to him, someone brushing his sopping wet hair out of his face and wrapping him in a towel, and he thought Oscar. But he didn’t open his eyes, not until Oscar murmured, “You’re safe, Levi, you’re safe. Please look at me.”
Levi cracked his eyes open. His vision was red no more and when he cautiously spread out his fingers, he saw that his hands were clean. The blood was gone. His head still throbbed something fierce and his stomach was still twisted into knots, but the blood had vanished without a trace.
He felt Oscar rubbing his back through the towel. Levi wasn’t sure if it was meant to be a comforting gesture or if he was trying to dry him off. “Are you all right? Do you want to come lie down?” he asked, voice low and still thick with sleep.
Levi looked up at him to answer and froze. He knew, intellectually, that he was looking at Oscar and his face was the same as always. Same wide nose, same strong eyebrows, same rich brown irises. But there was something else there, something that pulled the syllables of that distant name together into Levi’s head.
Eren Yeager.
The memory burst bright and red like a firework, stealing the breath right from his lungs.
He isn’t surprised when Eren comes to him that night, but he almost doesn’t let him into his room. He doesn’t want to have this conversation. Not tonight, not tomorrow, not ever.
He lets Eren in anyway.
Eren stands at parade rest in the center of Levi’s scant bedroom. Levi doesn’t look at him, instead busying himself by sorting some clutter on his desk. His hands are trembling and he remembers, suddenly, how confident he’d felt when he first stared Eren down in that disgusting cell beneath the military courts. His confidence back then hadn’t been misplaced. Back then, it would’ve been-- not easy for him, no. Never easy.
But it definitely wouldn’t have been this damn hard.
“Captain Levi,” Eren begins and Levi cuts him off right away.
“I know why you’re here.” He still doesn’t look at him, though the few reports and pens that’d been scattered across his desk have already been put back into their proper place. Levi examines an ink stain on his desk, one he’d never been able to get out, and tries to stop his hands from trembling.
The room is so quiet that he hears the deep breath Eren takes behind him. “Captain Levi,” he says again, firmer this time. “I’m sorry, but--”
I’m sorry. The words ignite the anger that’s been flickering in his chest for days into a red hot, furious blaze. Levi spins to face Eren and snaps, “If you want me to do this, then stop fucking apologizing!”
Levi’s eyes are burning. Not with anger, but with something else entirely. His hands are still trembling, fingers now curled into fists. Eren stares back at him unflinchingly and Levi hates how young Eren is still, how brave he’s become. How can you ask this of me? he wants to demand. How can you apologize and still ask this of me?
He wants to demand that Eren answer him, but Levi already knows what he will say. He understands why Eren is asking and, in a strange way, is even humbled by it. He shouldn’t feel humbled; after all, this has been their deal since the very beginning. But he is.
It doesn’t make it any easier though.
Eren’s expression is still apologetic, but he doesn’t repeat himself. Instead, he stands up straighter, squares his shoulders, and says-- very softly, very quietly-- a single word. “Please.”
And all Levi can do is agree.
Levi hadn’t cried then, but he did now, tears that are just as furious as they are sad. Oscar was alarmed at the outburst, hands leaving Levi’s back to cup his face, but Levi ducked away, shaking his head. “Asshole,” he muttered, scrubbing at his eyes. “You fucking asshole.”
“What? What is it?” Oscar asked, kneeling in front of Levi and somehow managing to make himself look small.
Levi had never been one for crying, so it didn’t take him long to compose himself enough to properly look at Oscar-- at Eren-- and tell him, “How can you ask me to kill you? You think I don’t-- that--”
“Levi. Levi.” Oscar reached for him again and this time Levi let him, clinging to Oscar in return and unable to stop himself from digging his nails into the skin of Oscar’s back. Maybe it was supposed to be a punishment, but maybe it was just desperation. “I just don’t want it to be a stranger. If I have to die, I want it to be on my terms. And you’re the only one who I--”
“I know,” Levi interrupted. He pushed Oscar back to glare at him. “I fucking know. But I still don’t want to kill you, asshole.”
Oscar stroked Levi’s drying hair back with one broad hand. “It’s done now, Levi,” he said. “It’s done.”
He said it in English and the sound of the language confused Levi, but he realized that Oscar was right. They’d already taken Eren to the capital to kneel before a room of witnesses. He’d already stood behind Eren and squeezed his shoulder and cut clean through his neck, spilling Eren’s blood onto the stone floor and killing him in an instant.
It’d been necessary. Eren had asked it of him. But his stomach still writhed with nausea and Levi clenched his eyes against the headache jabbing the inside of his skull. “I don’t--” With some effort, he switched to English. “I don’t understand what’s happening,” he admitted.
“Do you know where you are?” Oscar asked.
This was all backwards. He was usually the one asking Oscar that after he had a flashback or panic attack, though it’d been several years now since he’d last done so. “Home. In the shower.”
Oscar smiled at him, very tentatively like he wasn’t sure if it was allowed. “Do you know who I am?”
“Oscar,” he answered immediately, then added, “...And Eren?”
Oscar nodded, smile widening, and-- despite his stomach’s discomfort and the way his legs and knees ached from kneeling on the shower floor-- Levi’s heart somersaulted like it always did. “Yes,” Oscar said. “Yes.” And then, as though he could no longer contain himself, he began to blurt out sentences at rapid fire. “I have a letter for you from your sister, Isabel. She died a long time ago now, but she wanted me to give it to you. And Mikasa, she’ll want to talk to you properly now that she can. Petra too, she might even fly down here, it’s not so far. And--”
“Slow down,” Levi protested, head pounding. He rose on quivering legs, Oscar rising with him and supporting him by the forearms. “I think… I need to lie down. It’s too much.”
“Of course,” Oscar said, helping him to the bed. "You should rest, Levi. Remembering... it's hard."
That was an understatement. Levi felt like he'd been hit by a bat.
Levi collapsed onto the bed, pulling Oscar down with him and curling against Oscar’s side. Once his head stopped hurting so much, he had a hundred questions he wanted to ask Oscar and another hundred things he needed to tell Eren. He had to ask how long Oscar had known everything and tell Eren about his funeral. He had to ask how in the hell Oscar had run into Isabel and tell Eren about all the discoveries Armin had made and how much Mikasa had grown as a leader. He had to ask Oscar what exactly was going on anyway and tell Eren that they did manage to find the ocean eventually and it was more breath-taking than anyone had dared to dream.
But not right now. Levi found Oscar’s hand in the dark, squeezing his fingers when he felt Oscar kissing his hair. They would have time to talk about all those things later, and much more.
After all, they had the rest of their lives.