It 's raining. Erwin is half-soaked from his walk from the stables. There 's a light shining from his office, four rooms up and two along; a shadow at the window. It hides when it sees him staring.

The walls of headquarters are packed stone. The oak steps, two flights up, and the hallway to his office smell like gas. It always smells like gas in the officers ' quarters; it 's reassuring now, after all this time. It 's something he associates so tightly with coming home.

The door to his office is ajar. He thinks the man knows he 's watching. He can 't imagine Levi has ever been snuck up on anyone, let alone someone he tried ' and if Erwin 's instincts are right, is still trying ' to kill. Still, he 's a fascination of conflicts: one of the smallest men Erwin has ever seen, yet probably the strongest. A man with a foul temper, a sour disposition, who risks his life for his friends. And a man who comes from filth yet keeps everything ' from the hair on his head to the tips of his blades ' meticulously clean.

'Are you having fun? ' Erwin asks him, leaning himself against the frame of the door.

Levi does not even grace him with a look over his shoulder. Instead, he keeps scrubbing at the floorboards in front of Erwin 's desk, sleeves rolled up to his elbows and rag tucked into his back pocket.

'No, ' Erwin agrees with silence, 'I don 't think you 've ever had fun a day in your life, have you? '

Levi stops his scrubbing and straightens his back. He dips the brush into the bucket of soapy water, slaps the excess off into his palm. 'Don 't take this the wrong way, Captain, ' he says in that low, long drawl he has, 'but you don 't strike me as the type, either. '

Erwin raises his brows, folds his arms. 'Oh really? ' He asks. 'What gave it away? '

Levi sniffs a little, rubs at his nose with his thumb, and goes back to scrubbing vigorously. 'I know your soldiers are drinking in the kitchens. Why don 't you join them? '

'Why don 't you? ' Erwin enquires, innocently.

'Because, ' Levi answers, with that same unbothered voice, 'my ass-wipe Captain ordered me to spend all night cleaning his office. '

'Well, ' Erwin advises, 'you did try to kill him. Some might say this is fairly lenient punishment, as far as they go. Besides, ' he continues, crossing the threshold, drawing his finger along what was once a dusty fireplace, 'you 're very good at it."

He turns to smile down at him, but Levi is glaring at his boots. 'You are tracking mud, ' he says behind gritted teeth, 'across my floor. '

'My floor, ' Erwin automatically corrects, but looking down he sees Levi is right. 'Oh dear, ' he sighs. Outside, it 's still raining heavily, slants of water smacking off of the window. 'Well, you can fix that after. '

Levi throws the brush into the bucket. 'That 's not fair, ' he snarls, 'that 's not what we

agreed. '

'I don 't seem to remember us agreeing anything, ' Erwin says lightly, crossing the floor to stand by the bookshelves. Levi hasn 't dusted here yet. 'I ordered you, didn 't I? '

Erwin frowns. While the shelf is dusty, it looks like one book has been pulled out and replaced ' the line of dust is less thick there, exactly the width of its spine. He turns his head and squints at the title:

A History of the Noble Houses of Wall Rose, Vol. 2.

As boring a book as any of the bland, historical tomes his father left him, all of them filled with lies at worst and uncertainty at best. But still. It is a book. And he can 't think why anyone, let alone Levi, would be interested in its contents.

He carefully slides it off of the shelf. Ah. He thinks he 's found the problem. Sighing, he holds it open, and flips it upside down; a short knife clatters to the floor by his feet, fallen from a hollowed-out divot carved into it 's pages.

Erwin stares at him, unimpressed.

'I have no idea how that got there, ' Levi lies, not even pretending to care.

'Really? It looks like someone, in the last three hours, carved out a space for a knife and then put it back on the shelf. '

'Yeah. Sure seems that way. '

Erwin reaches down and picks up the knife: it 's nothing you would find here, in the Survey Corps quarters. It 's practically rudimentary, like it was sharpened out of an old skewer. If it hit you directly to the throat, you 'd probably die, at least. 'And it looks like the kind of weapon lazy thugs use, especially in the underground. Why would that be? '

'I 'm many things, Captain, ' Levi says, smugly, 'but please, don 't call me lazy. '

'So it would seem, ' Erwin recounts, 'in the last three hours ' the time exactly you have been in my office ' someone has snuck in, with a lousy weapon, carved by an underground criminal ' the exact kind you were, in fact, up until a few months ago ' and left it in a book, hidden, as if waiting for a perfect opportunity. Does this sound accurate to you? '

Levi shrugs a shoulder. 'If you say it like that, sure. '

Erwin sighs again, carefully closes the book, and sets it on the edge of his desk. 'And to think, ' he says, flipping the knife in his hand and holding it out, hilt first to Levi, 'those poor noble families of Wall Rose. '

Levi takes the knife. 'What are you talking about? ' He asks, frowning up at him.

'The book you desecrated.

A History of the Noble Houses of Wall Rose.

The second volume, if you can believe ' I doubt we even needed a first. I suppose you chose wisely. '

'Right, ' Levi agrees, and then looks away, quickly. He stuffs the knife in his back pocket next to the spare rag.

Erwin trails his fingers under the edges of his desk. Levi really is incredibly detailed orientated; not a hint of dust, not even beneath the leather placemat where he writes his letters. He grips the back of his chair. 'Is there any particular reason you 're so good at cleaning? '

'I don 't like filth, ' Levi answers, sitting up on his knees. As if to prove his point, he grimaces at his hand, rubs it down on his make-shift apron. 'I don 't understand how you people live like this. '

'Oh? ' Erwin was always under the impression his quarters were fairly clean, as far as these things go.

'Spiders in the corner, ash under the fireplace. What is it? Are you just so used to having someone do it for you that you don 't even notice? How can you even focus knowing that there 's mud under your boots, dirt under your nails. '

'Then you can clean my boots, ' Erwin tells him. 'After you 've finished the bookshelf, and the floor. '

'I 'm not your slave, Erwin, ' Levi snarls. 'You 've got a funny fucking way of trying to ' trying to inspire confidence. '

'I 'm not trying to inspire confidence, ' he tells him, opening one of the drawers of his desk and casting an eye over its contents. 'You never went through training. There 's a lot you don 't know. '

'What? ' Levi sneers, 'Like how to sit, stay, come like a dog? '

Erwin shuts the drawer with a gentle click. 'Yes, actually. '

He 's trying to keep him preoccupied, is the truth. Never in his life has he seen a soldier take down a titan the way Levi took down the ones that ate his friends. Erwin thinks about them: the girl had been young. She had seemed sweet. The boy had been handsome ' from what little Erwin had seen of him, he seemed reasonable and talented. Part of him wonders whether they were extraordinary; Levi is extraordinary, and he can 't imagine him devoting himself to people who aren 't. Or maybe they were just his friends. Either way the end result is the same: Levi had come back with an emptiness behind his eyes that had lingered for far too long. Better he cleans than turn his attention elsewhere.

He carefully thumbs through the stack of papers of his desk, checks to see if any are missing. Levi is not stupid. He wouldn 't steal papers straight from Erwin 's desk on the night he leaves him alone in his office ' that 's far too obvious. Although the knife-in-book was a little on the nose, too.

'I don 't suppose you chanced a look at any of these, ' Erwin asks him, holding up his papers. 'It would be a crime, you know. '

'I didn 't. ' Levi stands and hauls the bucket to the door. Erwin watches him. He senses that he 's telling the truth and tries to think why; how does he hold himself differently compared to when he 's telling a lie?

'Not that there 's anything particularly interesting, of course. Set the fire, would you? I don 't think it 's going to stop raining. '

'Don 't you have a bed you could be lying in right now? ' Levi mutters, tossing coal into the grate. 'Or even better, a ditch? '

'Oh I 'm sorry, ' Erwin asks genially, 'am I getting in your way? ' He props his feet up on his desk and sees Levi 's eyes near bulge out of his head. 'What, no boots allowed on the table? '

'Do you know how much that desk alone is worth? ' Levi asks him.

'Probably more than you 've ever owned, ' Erwin guesses. He squints at the neat lettering printed on top of the envelope in his hand. 'Ah, ' he says, pleased, 'my mother has written. '

'I 'm so happy for you. ' Levi rolls his eyes, feeding wood into the flames.

He briefly scans the letter. 'She says there 's been a good harvest, and that ' oh, how lovely. Cousin Jenny is expecting. '

He watches Levi over the top of the page, the side profile of his face as he pokes at the fire with a stick. He doesn 't appear to be listening, caught up with staring at the flames. It almost makes him look healthy, all that orange glow.

'Does your mother write to you, Levi? ' He asks him conversationally.

'My mother 's dead, ' he answers, morosely. He 's still staring at the fire. It spits.

'I see, ' Erwin says. 'Of course. My condolences. '

Levi snorts, humourlessly. 'You 're twenty years too late for condolences. '

Erwin takes his feet of off his desk, straightens his clothes. 'Here, ' he says, 'file the ones marked from the Interior. Burn the rest. '

He leaves them on the edge of his desk and opens a drawer, pulls out his pen and ink and neat square of cream-laden paper. He likes to use the nice paper for his mother. It makes her so happy when a letter comes with the royal crest. He smiles at the thought of it, her sitting alone at the kitchen table, bread in the oven and sleeves rolled up to her elbows '

Levi is standing in front of his desk. Erwin looks at him. 'The letters, ' he prompts.

He picks them up, hesitates. 'How do I know which ones to burn? ' He asks.

Erwin frowns. 'Well, the ones that are signed from Interior officers or ask for a response should be filed. The rest are nonsense. ' He sighs, waves his hand, 'Yes, you 're allowed to read them, I won 't bite your head off, it 's an order. '

Levi stares down at the papers in his hands. 'Yeah, ' he says. 'Okay. How do I ' ' he clears his throat, 'how do I ' '

He trails off. Erwin looks up at him again, exasperated. The tips of his ears are red. He 's staring at the papers like they hold the secret to life itself.

Erwin blinks. 'Levi, ' he says, slowly.

Levi looks at him. Or ' just slightly through him, in fact. He seems very tired, suddenly. 'I can 't tell the difference, ' he says, shortly.

'The difference between the letters, ' Erwin clarifies.

'Yes. ' Levi 's voice is stiff. 'What do you want me to say? '

'I 'm sorry, you mean to say ' you can 't read? '

Levi 's hand darts for the knife in his back pocket; Erwin just watches him, doesn 't even flinch. 'And what about it? ' He hisses. 'Got something to say about it? '

'I think you should shut the door, ' Erwin commands. 'Sit. '

'I think you should stop giving me pointless fucking orders, ' Levi replies. He does not change his stance. Erwin sighs, stands, and walks past him, shuts the door himself. Locks it from the inside so they cannot be disturbed.

He pulls out the chair opposite his desk. '

Sit, '

he says again, forcefully. This time, Levi does.

Erwin pulls out sheets of paper and lays on them on the table. He draws a line across the top of the page and prints letters neatly in uppercase. 'Do you know the alphabet? ' He asks him while he writes.

Levi 's silence tells him the answer.

'Fine, ' Erwin accommodates, 'presumably this means you don 't know how to write, either. Neither is acceptable. At some point, you will need to read my letters, and issue your own. You 'll need to do paperwork. Can you do arithmetic? '

'I 'm not an idiot. '

'I didn 't say you were. I asked if you could do arithmetic. '

'I can work numbers, ' Levi mutters. He folds his arms, sinks back in his chair. 'This is pointless, you know. '

'I really cannot stress enough how little that is the case, Levi. ' He turns the page holding the finished alphabet round. 'We 'll start with you name. '

'People have already tried. My ' my mother tried. The guy I lived with tried. Furlan tried. I 'm no good at it. '

'That 's not true, ' Erwin ignores him. 'Anyone can learn to write, especially someone already clearly capable. ' He taps the page. 'Watch. '

'You don 't understand. It won 't

work.

They don 't stay in my head long enough for it to work. ' Levi doesn 't even sound angry, just resigned, if not a little frustrated. 'I do everything backwards, I always have. '

'I thought you weren 't lazy. '

If looks could kill. 'What part of what I just said didn 't make sense, idiot? You got mud in your ears? '

Erwin ignores him. He prints his name,

L E V I,

in big block capitals, neatly. He passes him the pen. 'Just practice, ' he says. 'Levi. I order you to take the pen. '

Levi snatches it from his hand. He holds it the way a cook would hold a spoon while stirring a stew, palm wrapped around the stem. 'Don 't press too ' '

The ink splatters across the page and the nib snaps. Erwin doesn 't think Levi meant to drag it so hard across the page ' he 's staring at his own handiwork with a look that amounts to horror. 'Did I ' did I break it? ' He asks.

Erwin plucks it from his hand, opens his draw, and pulls out a new one. This time, he takes Levi 's palm, flattens it on the table. 'Hold it gently, ' he instructs, 'it doesn 't matter how you grip it yet, just try any way that 's comfortable. Make sure the tip faces outwards when you write. Drag softly, not hard. If there isn 't enough ink, you can always do it again. '

'How much did that pen cost? ' Levi asks, fixated by his mistake. 'Is it expensive? '

'No, ' Erwin lies. 'Try again. '

And he learns the motions fast enough. Even if he doesn 't understand the letters, he picks up the writing well. He flips the 'L ' of his name, and his scrawl is wobbly, but this time, the pen did not break.

'There, ' Erwin says, silently pleased, 'that 's your name, Levi. '

'Are you going to get a new pen? ' Levi replies. 'I 'm sorry about the pen. I didn 't mean to break it. '

'Levi, ' Erwin tells him patiently, 'forget the pen. I 'm ordering you to forget it, okay? '

He stares back down at the page, brow slightly furrowed. 'I don 't know why that 's my name, ' he says, quietly.

'Well, let 's work on that, shall we? '

He teaches him the sounds the letters make, and Levi understands that well enough. 'It 's

luh,

Levi. Imagine the 'L ' is bending forward. 'L ' for 'line ', for 'leaf '. '

'Luh, ' Levi mutters, face screwed with concentration. He practices drawing the 'L ' over and over on the page until the pen starts to scratch, and then Erwin shows him how to dip the nib into ink. 'Luh-ee-vee-eye, ' he says, face screwed at the word. 'That doesn 't sound right, Captain. '

'No, ' Erwin admits, 'this is where it gets complicated. '

He shows him how the sounds run together, and explains that this happens with most words. He takes away the practice sheet, places a clean piece of paper in front of him. 'Again, ' he taps the paper twice with his finger, 'no looking this time. '

Levi is meticulously careful about dipping the pen into the ink and dragging off the excess. He puts the nib to the page.

'

Luh, '

Erwin prompts, at a whisper. 'Like a long line. Like a leaf. Picture the letter bending. '

Levi drags the pen down, and out. The 'L ' is still backwards and wobbly, but it 's an 'L '. The 'E ' is even harder for him to control, the lines veering off in different directions. 'V ' is simple enough. 'I ' is the easiest.

'Levi, ' he reads. 'That says Levi. '

'It does, ' Erwin agrees, carefully hiding his smile. 'So now you can sign your name. ' He watches him draw his thick uncoordinated lines across the page. 'You 're not the first soldier to come to us unable to read, you know, ' he tells him bluntly. 'It 's no great shame. In the more rural areas, there are no schools. Recruits come to us from poverty. Orphans who had no one to teach them. '

'Do you ever get idiots? ' Levi mumbles, 'Who can 't remember the shape of the letters? Or gets them round the wrong way? '

Erwin frowns. 'Show me, ' he says, 'write your name again. '

Levi does. This time, Erwin corrects him on the shape of the 'L ' ' it should point east, ' he tells him. 'Hold out your left hand ' outstretched, that 's it. You see? ' He traces the skin of index finger to his thumb, a ninety-degree angle. 'A perfect L, for left. You 'll always know ' '

Levi is almost smiling. Erwin is caught short; he 's never seen him move his lips above anything but a neutral smirk in all the months he 's known him, and even those are rare. He 's staring at his hand with amazement. 'That 's an 'L ', ' he says, 'it 's on my hand, I 'll never forget it. '

'No, ' Erwin agrees, 'I suppose you won 't. In fact ' '

A realisation hits him. He recalls Mike 's complaints over dinner about Levi 's lax form ' he holds his blade the wrong way, he said. It 's backwards. The thug thinks he knows better than us.

Erwin stands and moves around the table so he stands at Levi 's back. He leans forward, one hand braced on the desk, the other tapping Levi 's left hand. 'Palm up, ' he says, gently.

Levi obeys. He has surprisingly long fingers, Erwin notices. Perhaps, if he had grown up somewhere else, he would have been tall. His nails are trimmed back to the quick, blunted, and when Erwin traces them he finds the skin is dry and littered with scars, callouses. Some harsh red burns around the ends of his nails. 'This time, ' he says, mouth close to Levi 's ear, 'try this hand. '

He presses the pen into his palm. Levi smells faintly of ' candle wax, he thinks. He smells like his father 's study. He finds himself watching the back of his head instead of his writing; the dark black hairs on the nape of his neck.

'It 's better, ' Levi tells him, 'it 's easier. '

Erwin blinks, focuses back on the page. Yes, it looks better ' the lines are firmer, straighter, almost perfectly neat, in fact. Erwin claps him on the shoulder, clears his throat. 'Yes, well ' you 're not backwards, Levi. You 're just left-handed. Apologies, we usually screen for this sort of thing in training. You would have been taken for special lessons to adapt to the equipment. '

'Why does it matter what hand we lead with? ' Levi asks. 'Is it going to be a problem? '

Erwin half-smiles. 'I think you 're a unique case, Levi. I wouldn 't worry about it. '

Levi is scratching the nib into the paper, drawing swirls and spirals. 'Are you going to tell them? ' He asks, head down.

'Tell them what? '

'That I can 't read. Write. ' He carefully looks at Erwin from under his eyes, sharp ' near vicious, in fact.

'I don 't see any reason to so long as you promise to come for lessons. Three times a week. Here, my office. '

'They 'll think we 're fucking, ' Levi tells him bluntly. He puts down the pen. 'Or is that not something that happens in the Survey Corps? '

Erwin doesn 't let anything show. 'They may well think that, ' he agrees, 'but I won 't be teaching you for free, either. You 're going to devote some extra time to help me. '

Levi watches him. Erwin watches Levi; takes stock of him. The thin eyes, upturned nose, sharp jaw. He thinks ' he thinks about what it would look like if Levi stared at him with anything other than simmering resentment, at best. Hate, at worst. And then, suddenly, without noticing why, or how, he pictures what it would look like to slip his thumb between Levi 's lips; smear his drool down his throat.

Erwin clears his throat. 'Yes, ' he says, 'yes, extra time. You can keep my quarters in good shape, for starters. And I need you to put in some time in the yard. '

Is Levi watching him like he knows? What is that, behind his eyes? Perhaps nothing ' Erwin is suffering from an overactive imagination. When was the last time he took some time for his own pleasure? There 's a whorehouse not far from here; even if it meant just a few hours bliss '

'The yard, Captain? ' Levi presses.

'Training. I need you to show the others how you move like you do. Perhaps some hand-to-hand combat. It 's no use you having the skill you have if we don 't put it to use. ' He starts to search under the scribbled sheets for the nice, cream-laden paper. It 's getting late, and he wants his reply to his mother to be out with the courier by morning.

'Hand-to-hand? Will we be punching titans to death, now? ' He asks innocently, aggravating.

'Reflexes need to be trained, ' Erwin answers, turning back to his papers.

'Seems a raw deal for a skill I don 't want to learn. '

Erwin shoots him a withering look. 'Don 't be pathetic, Levi, ' he tells him. 'You don 't mean that. It may have served you to pretend you were stupid in the underground but I don 't abide by idiots, so if that 's how you truly feel, you should stick to what you know. ' He dips his pen in the ink, taps it lightly against the glass rim of the holder. 'Now, ' he continues patiently, 'before you leave, you 're going to finish the floors. And I believe we talked about my boots, too. '

He pauses with his nib hovering above the page. 'Were you waiting for something? ' He asks him, pointedly.

What is it, Erwin wonders? It must be hate. Levi has every reason to hate him, this is true ' some may say he raised him up, others would argue he 's leading him to an early grave. He 's sorry he had to take Levi from a place he understood ' where he was strong by sheer strength alone. He thinks it 's probably hard for him to sit here, opposite a man he 's supposed to serve, a man he blames for the death of his friends.

'Nothing, ' Levi mutters. He stands. Erwin wonders, does he picture killing him? Does he daydream about slitting his throat with a shiv, or watching him ripped apart by titans? Would Levi feel free, if that were the case? Relieved of Erwin 's burden, perhaps. His bond.

Yes, Erwin thinks, even as he puts down the words to his own mother. Levi probably does dream about putting his hands on his skin and tearing. In fact, he would think less of him if he didn 't. Erwin ' he has his own dreams, of course. He pictures Levi 's hand on his body, too.

He props his head up on his arm, dozily, and watches him bend onto the floor, hands and knees, scrubbing at the boot-prints Erwin left. All that talent. All that skill. He feels his fist close. What would it be like, he thinks, to cut through titans like paper? He 'd go to the end of the world, if he could. All the way across the sea, if such a sea exists.

He comes to with a jerk, the sound of metal hitting wood; his pen has rolled of off the table and beneath the desk. Sighing, he gets down to his knees to root around and find it ' these kinds of things really are expensive, they 're not just a quill, and he probably can 't afford to lose another one '

The carpet beneath his knees is rucked up. Frowning, Erwin wrinkles his nose with distaste; the entire underside of his desk is covered with cobwebs. How long has it been since anyone cleaned down here? 'Levi, ' he starts to say, 'you 've been sloppy. You 've forgotten ' '

It 's only by chance he looks up. Above his head, beneath the large slab of the table, is a knife. It 's pasted in place with candle wax ' ingenious, you 'd never notice it was gone ' and hidden in the only place in his office Erwin has not touched. Which Levi knows of course ' he would have seen the cobwebs and the dust, and would have planted the first knife right in the place he knew Erwin would find it, get him to let his guard down. He hears himself sigh, heavily. He prises it free, shuffles back out into the office.

The look Levi gives him is withering. 'You got lucky, ' he says.

It 's a good knife. Far better than the makeshift fake he 'd stored earlier. Leather handle, sharp, clean blade ' oh yes. This would be Levi 's knife. He can imagine he worked hard for this one. Maybe, even, it was stolen; you don 't get blades like this underground, not unless you 've got very wealthy backers.

'This is a pretty knife, ' Erwin says, running his thumb across the flat edge. 'A very pretty knife. Very dangerous, Levi, well done. ' He opens his drawer and place it inside. 'I 'm sure you won 't mind if I keep it. '