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Description

Agnes exhaled a deep and exhausted sigh, releasing all the tensed suspensions between every fibers of her muscles, as she sat quietly in the mess hall accompanied by nothing but empty chairs and tables; a gloomy depression was looming over her head as shallow shadows from her fringes covered her once bright eyes. A silent tear sneaked its way out of one eye, threatening to dampen her cheek. The pain in her chest was throbbing against her ribcage incessantly, as if forcing her to give in and let it out once and for all; but like she always did previously, she just reached up for it and wiped the visual slate clean. One tear was enough… or so she thought.

She trailed down her body, examining the photo in her hands as it rested on her knee; it was one taken with her late teacher's assistant, Marco Bodt. She never told anyone about it, but he was always her favourite student. He reminded her so much of her old self; always so shy around people, but their meek and feeble expression hid a very decisive and firm character inside. Marco's always been intuitive of her feelings and emotions; they sychronize more easily with each other than with anyone and communicate on an entirely different type of connection which then induced a special kind of bond (and telepathy). He even told her that he knew he was special to her in that way and that he enjoyed it, enjoyed loving her - just like a son would of a mother. It's why he sacrificed himself for her that fateful day when Wall Rose was infiltrated.

She remembered every pivotal detail of that incident - she went over and over it even after she had submitted her report; from the way he sweated over his brows when they flew with the cables on one building to another till the point when the squadron she had just taken over arrived to a rendezvous with reinforcements. And then, titans emerged out of nowhere. She, Marco and several others had to fend off the titans in order for the squadron to escape with their stash of gas supply for distribution. Bertolt came up along with the reinforcement, as did Annie after him; they joined forces and managed to slaughter a group of ten titans each.

But at the last turn, Agnes was cornered without any spare swords by a titan with a distinctively patch of hair over the sides of its cheeks. It was a deviant titan, one that had a bit of intelligence over the rest, and had aimed directly for her (perhaps assuming she was the leader); Annie was busy distracting a few of them away from the already troubled scene while Bertolt was on his way to her aid. But he was too far ahead and too slow. She was ready to die then; her visions blurred through all her tears and sweats - it was embarassing if she was to be found that way, especially by her superiors and that certain short Corporal. She could see how the sun was still shining behind the abnormal fifteen meter class titan, but it didn't seem to be shining for her. For some reason, she could hear her mother calling out for her, getting closer and closer each second. Just as she closed her eyes, feeling the titans refutable and intense breath as it peered over her body, she accepted her fate. But it was Marco who jumped in her place as the titan reached out to grab her.

"I-I'll always remember you, A-Agnes," his lips quivered in fear and his body trembling with the swords in his hands; his body crunched into the vice grip clutches of the said titan. "Please, d-don't cry over me - you'll make me feel sad to think that I've brought tears to those unruly eyes. P-please, think of me and the good times we've had. I am part of you as you are of me… I-I'll always be there for you. Please, just remember me. D-don't ever forget me, Agnes."

"Why, Marco? Why did you jump in?" She remembered that aching question escaping from her lips. "I'm ready to die, damn it! Why'd you have to step in?"

"B-because… you're more needed than I am. W-what can I do anyway? I'm just another soldier - t-they'll just replace me and find a better one… o-or not. But you… people will need you now more than ever. With all of these tragedies, they'll need you to help them feel better again and only you could do that. I-I've got lots to learn and I-I'll only make more mistakes than someone like you. That's why you must live on… Y-you must live on and guide them... as you've guided me all this time!"

While he was at the edge of death, Agnes was nothing but pathetic; she trembled at his words and just looked down to her feet, simply letting her tears drip one by one on the filthy ground before her. Shadows covered all over her body; a silhouette of a large hand and head, slowly sinking its teeth into the poor teenage martyr's body. She could feel his pain by just the sound of his desperate but brave screams of pain; blood sprayed over her body - most of it his, some from the titan as the boy dug his swords into its face. She couldn't stop crying. She couldn't stop thinking it should've been her. She should've been the one getting eaten alive by a large, mindless creature of pure instinct and strength.

"Marco!" She screamed out as she looked up; she covered her ears as her tears still overflowed her sight and the titan simply stared blankly. The limb body in its hands had completely stopped moving. "Marco!!!!!!"

The boy was half-way to his death; he twitched throughout his body as he tried to just manage a warm smile. She could feel that smile as the titan dropped the body from its hold. She jumped with her 3D manoeuvre gear and caught the boy into her arms, carrying him to safety of one of the roofs. Bertolt had appeared at this point, killing the said titan without mercy by inflicting numerous pain over its working limbs and muscles before aiming for the back of its neck; he then joined her side as they watched Marco die. His body was cold to the touch, lifeless through the widened visors of her soul as she gazed into his deep brown ones, in time to see that warm smile and hear his delicate whisper; it made the muscles between her lungs contract with a wretched pain and her heart felt like bursting through her bone and skin.

"Oh, I-I'm j-just so happy Agnes," he said proudly as he inhaled for the last time, "I-I'm a hero to someone who means s-so much to m-me. I-I got to die for s-someone I really l-love. T-thank you for e-everything..."

"No, Marco! No, don't die! Please, please don't leave me here! I beg you, please!"

There was no answer - just a hissing gasp that signalled his last draw of breath. The missing half of the boy's upper body had given out hope and stopped bleeding its crimson shell.

"No... not you too. Please don't leave me like this... M-Marco, c-come back... Come back to me. I can't lose everyone... M-Marco..."

And she never told anyone about it or wrote about it in her reports but there was a fell voice in the suffocating, hectic air that whispered just below the tip of her earlobe; "I'm part of you, Agnes," said the voice - it was definitely Marco's. "Look for me in your heart and you'll see me again."

Suddenly, the urge to cry overwhelmed her; she raised her legs over the long bench and curled her knees to her chest. Her breathes slowly became unsteady, heaving lungs losing control over its once sure waves of inhalation. She trembled the same way she did when she heard Marco's solemn voice yet sure words. It was true; she was part of him as he was part of her and she'll always remember every day of his life that he had been with her. Yet she still couldn't stop blaming herself for his death, wishing she had a single spare sword to slash into the titan's neck and bring him home. They were so close to safety, yet so far from the insurance of its security. If only she was a bit stronger. If only she was more efficient and effective. Maybe this was why Commander Smith never allowed her to go on expeditions… She was always too emotionally involved with everything and Marco's death was the first one she had experienced in person; no doubt her high emotional quotient gave her great reflexes and intuition, but it didn't save Marco back then.

"M-Marco," she felt her warm tear slipping down her cheeks as she sobbed, "I-I'm so sorry… I couldn't stop crying over you. Please Marco, don't be sad because I'm crying. I just needed to cry… Please forgive me for crying."

And she did. She cried her out that night; if it was possible, she'd cry till she bled tears or go blind, whichever comes first. Tears long overdue fell freely and ever willingly down her cheeks as she finally mourned for Marco's death. They never felt freedom more pure or sincere than that; after months, weeks, days, hours, minutes and seconds spent holding back, they finally heaved out in a deluge long in need of overhaul. She didn't care if she had to hold back her aching sobs and screams, but those tears needed to be let out and flow freely down her now red face.

Meanwhile, Corporal Levi had just finished his hour long shower and was about to tuck himself in when the urge to have one last drink came over him. In his special house slippers, he came out of his quarters and into the hallway outside with a coat over his plain white pajamas with a single candle in his hand. He headed for the pantry nearby first, but then he remembered earlier that Agnes had prepared her signature coffee in the mess hall just after Private Jung had cheered up. He wanted some of her magical coffee and chocolate mix up before he goes to bed; they used to only bring him pleasant dreams.

As he walked up to the mess hall from round the back, he noticed there was someone else inside. The familiarity of the scene with the one of his birthday parties years ago overwhelmed him so much that he knew exactly who it was, despite the way the person dug their head into their knee - it was Agnes. It had to be Agnes. He was so badly struck by the incident that he was reprimanded from his gentlemanly self, and just stood there quietly; she was definitely crying - he could tell by the sound of her sobbings, snifflings and by the way the candle light she had was wavering through the rocky air.

It startled him. Just earlier today, she had told him about being capable of licking her own wounds; yet here she was, vulnerable, naive and defenseless. It was the best time for him to tease her, but the same way the shock rebuked his normal self, the same way his usually cold self was rebuked.

"Marco..." he could hear her sharp whisper; it hissed in the air, cutting into his eardrums as he watched.

He knew that name, of course. It was one of the trainees of the 104th Training Squad that graduated the day Wall Rose was attacked. It was the name of the boy that saved her life, the one that became her hero for his selfless sacrifice of putting herself over his being. It was the name of the boy that he envied, for he knew how many times she had gone to think of the boy and missed him dearly. Levi had read her report many times before too and it sickened him that his name was never there, telling everyone that he had saved her and some trainee named Marco; he should've been there to spare her from this suffering or the boy's. Now the boy's name resonated with noble martyr and he couldn't do anything - nothing that could change what had already happened.

His once cold gaze suddenly softened; he pulled up a deep breath and sighed quietly, "Maybe this is her idea of licking her own wounds. Tch. Damn woman. Now I have to cheer you the f*** up!"

Just as he was about to push the door open with his hand barely touching the wooden plank, a loud creak resounded ahead and whispers of two familiar voices startled him; he looked on ahead and it seemed a third party had joined the silent convening night. It was that giant of a Private, teacher's assistant (now superior's, of course) and apparently a rumored paramour - Bertolt Hoover.

The boy was surprisingly stealthy when he walked in, making not a single sound as he approached her and joined her side. Corporal Levi pulled himself back and decided it wasn't right to jump in. But he was definitely going to watch what will happen next. He was, after all, Agnes and Bertolt's superior in every way.

"Agnes?" Bertolt walked into the mess hall, closing the door behind him as gently as dove; he watched as she lifted her head - enough to see those eyes he had learnt to love - and quickly jumped to her side, settling the candle on the table. "Agnes! What's wrong? What's the matter?"

"Bertl, w-what are you doing here?" was all she could muster. But he could tell she had been crying and had been struggling to breath through her blocked nose. She's breathing through her mouth as she spoke.

"I-I was just getting myself a cup of warm milk. I couldn't sleep earlier on. I feel uneasy after what happened today... looks like I was right to feel uneasy!"

God, that wasn't one of their telepathy things, was it? She felt her already red cheeks turning beet red as she looked away.

The tall and gangly boy then noticed the photo in her hand, stained with fresh tears and snouts; by the candlelight, he could see which one it was - he was the one who took it anyway. "Y-you're not crying over M-Marco, are you?"

She didn't answer. She simply reached out and placed the photo on the table in clear light so that he could see; yes, it was Marco in the picture.

"How long have you been holding back?"

She refused to answer at first.

Bertolt realized he needed to go for a very bold approach; he grabbed onto her hands and gently caressed them, all the while getting as closer to her as he can. The heat from his body was distracting her as the cold night's wind blew through the unbarred holes under the closed windows. Then, as he breathed into her palms and warmed them up, he smiled at her in his best way possible - it was killing her to hold back.

"Please," he whispered into her fingers, "You can tell me anything."

She nodded quietly before shifting in her seat; she unfolded her knees and sat there on the bench as she normally would, feet dangling in the air. The boy was still holding her hands in his large and broad ones, and that made her avoid eye-contact. As she sighed, Bertolt felt an aching confession coming.

"Since the day he died... I haven't shed a tear since."

He remained silent; his massaging hands then moved on to her elbow, pleading her to continue.

"I'm such a liar. I only cried on the day he died, the day he asked me not to cry over him but I cried anyway! Then I never cried at all. I don't know if I should keep his words or mine to myself - I'm confused, Bertolt! I don't know what I should do at all! I promised Marco not to cry, but I can't keep that promise. I have to cry or else I'll keeping thinking that I should've died - "

"Don't say that," the boy implored.

"But it's true. I should've died that day. I really should."

"That's not true. I need you here. We all do. If you would've died, I wouldn't forgive myself."

"But it's true! God, it's no wonder Jean hates me! I hate myself too..."

"Don't say that! What would Marco think if you'd say that!?" Bertolt had his grip on her shoulders as he spun her to face him; his olive eyes were kind and strong, begging her to lean on him and snapped the hell out of her depression - it wasn't like her at all and he hated it. "You know it as well as I do that Marco loves you with all his heart. Jean just couldn't see past that!"

She narrowed her mahogany eyes as she looked away again; "I wish at times like this I could be just like Levi."

Bertolt flinched to hear the name.

"Even if he's cold and aloof like that, maybe it's for the better; maybe it's best because then we won't disappoint the people that've died in our hands... That's why I envy him a lot. That's why I... attempt to be just like him. But I don't think I could cheat myself to being Levi - I'm not him at all! I guess, all I want to do is to cry over Marco and be true to myself..."

"Then you could cry on my shoulder..." his words stunned her.

She was embarassed that the younger male had then pulled her into his arms and pressed her close to him with his chin over her head; she could practically hear his heart thumping against his chest, calling out to her in a frenzy music. She was depressed a second ago, but the welcoming feeling of his broad shoulders caging her safely was hypnotizing, drifting her in a daze and drowse of an untold fantasy. It was exactly what she needed; a comforting shoulder to cry on throughout the night, putting her down to sleep and making her forget all the pain and sorrow inside. Yes, she needed to be like everybody else - needy, wanting, yearning - for that shoulder.

Agnes slowly sought for the boy's shoulders, making her way down his back and then clenched her hands together; with the distance between them closed to nothing, she fit in his arms perfectly despite their height differences. But sitting there on the bench helped equalized everything. Bertolt was startled that she was finally accepting him and he was beyond the comprehension of elation that the butterflies in his stomach was doing cartwheels, somersaulting and then a backflip and then everything all over again. His hands worked their way down from her neck and rubbed the small in her back soothingly. Oh, they could stay like that forever.

"Bertl," she suddenly called on, "Will you sleep with me tonight?"

His hands stopped caressing her back.

"I mean, not in that way, silly!" she pulled back and looked away meekly, "Just accompany me to bed!"

"W-what?"

That sounded worst than she planned (actually, she hadn't planned to say that at all).

"But wha - what if someone catches us? I-I can't sleep with you and Reiner in the room - "

"We won't be doing in it in your bunk!" she blushed heavily at the sound of her sentence; Bertl felt so privileged to be able to see that - although he was just as red as a tomato as well. "We'll be sleeping in my bunk instead."

"But Armin's always early! He goes on to check on you all the time!"

"Well, we'll sneak you out before he does. Please, Bertl, just for tonight! I-I want to feel s-safe before I could be alone again... or be normal again. I don't want to end up with another sleepless night. Will you... please stay with me?"

This time, Bertolt narrowed his eyes; his hand cupping her cheeks and he smiled softly at her. "Alright," he said; fogging his breath over her face as he leaned in and placed his forehead over herds, "Just for tonight..."

They stood up together with a smile - eyes never leaving the other's form - as they grabbed their candles and taking away the photo she left on the table; they thought everything was going to be fine again and that Agnes would finally have some peaceful night's sleep. Bertolt still couldn't believe this was happening; he was about to watch Agnes fall asleep in his arms - if it was a dream after all, he didn't want to ever wake up from it.

But as they closed the door behind them, smiling and giggling sheepishly, a disapproving cry of anguish and anger whispered unforgivably.

**Extended Ending**

Corporal Levi walked into the mess hall with his usual stoic and uninterested face; he headed straight for the stove, grabbed an empty cup (which was rinsed in hot water first) and pour it with Agnes' coffee from the pot. Then, just when he was about to have another cup, he realized that the pot was already empty. He bit his lips at that and at the painful reminder growing in the back of his head; how Bertolt soothed Agnes with his hands - first massaging her fingers, then her elbows, then her shoulders, then her back, and then the darn boy dared pull her into an embrace. An embrace. To think that it might've been him; no, it should've been him and could've been.

But now it was just a missed opportunity. God, he hated that. He missed it once before and he missed it again; what was he thinking? Why did he hesitated to approach her? It could've been Bertolt that was watching them - it should've been. He lost track of his mind; dazed silver eyes watched as his fingers wrapped itself around the pot and threw it at the wall by the sink. He eased at the sound of cracking porcelain as it disintegrated into hundreds of sharp pieces.

"Damn that sly, shitty brat!" He pressed his temple and then shook his head repeatedly when he caught scent of his own blood. "Even the damn teapot has no love left for me. Tch. Stupid luck..."

Then, as he stared at the broken pot, he remembered something. He remembered the first time he met Agnes in Commander Smith's office; when she poured him that coffee, he thought it was going to be as the shitty ones he'd ever tasted. Why was it so different then? Was it the way she served him with those big brown eyes and wide smile? Or was it the ingredients that she so lovingly hand-made and roasted by herself? He knew then it was her love of people that made that coffee so good and when she was broken like this by death and tragedy, he wasn't there to catch her.

As much as he wouldn't want to think or realize it, he knew that Bertl would be able to actually watch Agnes fall sleep - who knows what else they could be doing. Just imagining it made his blood boil.

"I better get Private Arlert up earlier than he expected," he growled, "Serves that giant some right!"

After about half an hour of cleaning up the mess he made, he left the mess hall the way he had just found it and walked back to his bunk; he had the urge to pass by Agnes' room, but there was no sound. He didn't think it was good news nor bad. He just wanted morning to come and disaster to strike so that she would jump in her bed and run off to him. Just run.

_________________

Just so everybody knows, I LIKE LONG ENTRIES and I CRIED when I made this (especially at the whole Marco part). I didn't really remember Marco in the manga, but I think he was a dear and sweet thang. *cries*

So yeah, pretty nasty love triangle we have here.

(PS: I always call him "HOOVER" as opposed to "FUBAR" because the latter is actually an acronym / military slang for: "F***ed Up Beyond All Recognition")

THIS is Part Two of: fav.me/d6w2wxi

Will work on this once my iMac and tablet is ready. This is a mere photo.

DO NOT copy/reuse/colour/ink/base without permission.

AGNES DEIN (C) ME

BERTOLT HOOVER, CORPORAL LEVI, MARCO BODT, SHINGEKI NO KYOJIN / ATTACK ON TITAN (C) Hajime Isayama

Description

Agnes exhaled a deep and exhausted sigh, releasing all the tensed suspensions between every fibers of her muscles, as she sat quietly in the mess hall accompanied by nothing but empty chairs and tables; a gloomy depression was looming over her head as shallow shadows from her fringes covered her once bright eyes. A silent tear sneaked its way out of one eye, threatening to dampen her cheek. The pain in her chest was throbbing against her ribcage incessantly, as if forcing her to give in and let it out once and for all; but like she always did previously, she just reached up for it and wiped the visual slate clean. One tear was enough… or so she thought.

She trailed down her body, examining the photo in her hands as it rested on her knee; it was one taken with her late teacher's assistant, Marco Bodt. She never told anyone about it, but he was always her favourite student. He reminded her so much of her old self; always so shy around people, but their meek and feeble expression hid a very decisive and firm character inside. Marco's always been intuitive of her feelings and emotions; they sychronize more easily with each other than with anyone and communicate on an entirely different type of connection which then induced a special kind of bond (and telepathy). He even told her that he knew he was special to her in that way and that he enjoyed it, enjoyed loving her - just like a son would of a mother. It's why he sacrificed himself for her that fateful day when Wall Rose was infiltrated.

She remembered every pivotal detail of that incident - she went over and over it even after she had submitted her report; from the way he sweated over his brows when they flew with the cables on one building to another till the point when the squadron she had just taken over arrived to a rendezvous with reinforcements. And then, titans emerged out of nowhere. She, Marco and several others had to fend off the titans in order for the squadron to escape with their stash of gas supply for distribution. Bertolt came up along with the reinforcement, as did Annie after him; they joined forces and managed to slaughter a group of ten titans each.

But at the last turn, Agnes was cornered without any spare swords by a titan with a distinctively patch of hair over the sides of its cheeks. It was a deviant titan, one that had a bit of intelligence over the rest, and had aimed directly for her (perhaps assuming she was the leader); Annie was busy distracting a few of them away from the already troubled scene while Bertolt was on his way to her aid. But he was too far ahead and too slow. She was ready to die then; her visions blurred through all her tears and sweats - it was embarassing if she was to be found that way, especially by her superiors and that certain short Corporal. She could see how the sun was still shining behind the abnormal fifteen meter class titan, but it didn't seem to be shining for her. For some reason, she could hear her mother calling out for her, getting closer and closer each second. Just as she closed her eyes, feeling the titans refutable and intense breath as it peered over her body, she accepted her fate. But it was Marco who jumped in her place as the titan reached out to grab her.

"I-I'll always remember you, A-Agnes," his lips quivered in fear and his body trembling with the swords in his hands; his body crunched into the vice grip clutches of the said titan. "Please, d-don't cry over me - you'll make me feel sad to think that I've brought tears to those unruly eyes. P-please, think of me and the good times we've had. I am part of you as you are of me… I-I'll always be there for you. Please, just remember me. D-don't ever forget me, Agnes."

"Why, Marco? Why did you jump in?" She remembered that aching question escaping from her lips. "I'm ready to die, damn it! Why'd you have to step in?"

"B-because… you're more needed than I am. W-what can I do anyway? I'm just another soldier - t-they'll just replace me and find a better one… o-or not. But you… people will need you now more than ever. With all of these tragedies, they'll need you to help them feel better again and only you could do that. I-I've got lots to learn and I-I'll only make more mistakes than someone like you. That's why you must live on… Y-you must live on and guide them... as you've guided me all this time!"

While he was at the edge of death, Agnes was nothing but pathetic; she trembled at his words and just looked down to her feet, simply letting her tears drip one by one on the filthy ground before her. Shadows covered all over her body; a silhouette of a large hand and head, slowly sinking its teeth into the poor teenage martyr's body. She could feel his pain by just the sound of his desperate but brave screams of pain; blood sprayed over her body - most of it his, some from the titan as the boy dug his swords into its face. She couldn't stop crying. She couldn't stop thinking it should've been her. She should've been the one getting eaten alive by a large, mindless creature of pure instinct and strength.

"Marco!" She screamed out as she looked up; she covered her ears as her tears still overflowed her sight and the titan simply stared blankly. The limb body in its hands had completely stopped moving. "Marco!!!!!!"

The boy was half-way to his death; he twitched throughout his body as he tried to just manage a warm smile. She could feel that smile as the titan dropped the body from its hold. She jumped with her 3D manoeuvre gear and caught the boy into her arms, carrying him to safety of one of the roofs. Bertolt had appeared at this point, killing the said titan without mercy by inflicting numerous pain over its working limbs and muscles before aiming for the back of its neck; he then joined her side as they watched Marco die. His body was cold to the touch, lifeless through the widened visors of her soul as she gazed into his deep brown ones, in time to see that warm smile and hear his delicate whisper; it made the muscles between her lungs contract with a wretched pain and her heart felt like bursting through her bone and skin.

"Oh, I-I'm j-just so happy Agnes," he said proudly as he inhaled for the last time, "I-I'm a hero to someone who means s-so much to m-me. I-I got to die for s-someone I really l-love. T-thank you for e-everything..."

"No, Marco! No, don't die! Please, please don't leave me here! I beg you, please!"

There was no answer - just a hissing gasp that signalled his last draw of breath. The missing half of the boy's upper body had given out hope and stopped bleeding its crimson shell.

"No... not you too. Please don't leave me like this... M-Marco, c-come back... Come back to me. I can't lose everyone... M-Marco..."

And she never told anyone about it or wrote about it in her reports but there was a fell voice in the suffocating, hectic air that whispered just below the tip of her earlobe; "I'm part of you, Agnes," said the voice - it was definitely Marco's. "Look for me in your heart and you'll see me again."

Suddenly, the urge to cry overwhelmed her; she raised her legs over the long bench and curled her knees to her chest. Her breathes slowly became unsteady, heaving lungs losing control over its once sure waves of inhalation. She trembled the same way she did when she heard Marco's solemn voice yet sure words. It was true; she was part of him as he was part of her and she'll always remember every day of his life that he had been with her. Yet she still couldn't stop blaming herself for his death, wishing she had a single spare sword to slash into the titan's neck and bring him home. They were so close to safety, yet so far from the insurance of its security. If only she was a bit stronger. If only she was more efficient and effective. Maybe this was why Commander Smith never allowed her to go on expeditions… She was always too emotionally involved with everything and Marco's death was the first one she had experienced in person; no doubt her high emotional quotient gave her great reflexes and intuition, but it didn't save Marco back then.

"M-Marco," she felt her warm tear slipping down her cheeks as she sobbed, "I-I'm so sorry… I couldn't stop crying over you. Please Marco, don't be sad because I'm crying. I just needed to cry… Please forgive me for crying."

And she did. She cried her out that night; if it was possible, she'd cry till she bled tears or go blind, whichever comes first. Tears long overdue fell freely and ever willingly down her cheeks as she finally mourned for Marco's death. They never felt freedom more pure or sincere than that; after months, weeks, days, hours, minutes and seconds spent holding back, they finally heaved out in a deluge long in need of overhaul. She didn't care if she had to hold back her aching sobs and screams, but those tears needed to be let out and flow freely down her now red face.

Meanwhile, Corporal Levi had just finished his hour long shower and was about to tuck himself in when the urge to have one last drink came over him. In his special house slippers, he came out of his quarters and into the hallway outside with a coat over his plain white pajamas with a single candle in his hand. He headed for the pantry nearby first, but then he remembered earlier that Agnes had prepared her signature coffee in the mess hall just after Private Jung had cheered up. He wanted some of her magical coffee and chocolate mix up before he goes to bed; they used to only bring him pleasant dreams.

As he walked up to the mess hall from round the back, he noticed there was someone else inside. The familiarity of the scene with the one of his birthday parties years ago overwhelmed him so much that he knew exactly who it was, despite the way the person dug their head into their knee - it was Agnes. It had to be Agnes. He was so badly struck by the incident that he was reprimanded from his gentlemanly self, and just stood there quietly; she was definitely crying - he could tell by the sound of her sobbings, snifflings and by the way the candle light she had was wavering through the rocky air.

It startled him. Just earlier today, she had told him about being capable of licking her own wounds; yet here she was, vulnerable, naive and defenseless. It was the best time for him to tease her, but the same way the shock rebuked his normal self, the same way his usually cold self was rebuked.

"Marco..." he could hear her sharp whisper; it hissed in the air, cutting into his eardrums as he watched.

He knew that name, of course. It was one of the trainees of the 104th Training Squad that graduated the day Wall Rose was attacked. It was the name of the boy that saved her life, the one that became her hero for his selfless sacrifice of putting herself over his being. It was the name of the boy that he envied, for he knew how many times she had gone to think of the boy and missed him dearly. Levi had read her report many times before too and it sickened him that his name was never there, telling everyone that he had saved her and some trainee named Marco; he should've been there to spare her from this suffering or the boy's. Now the boy's name resonated with noble martyr and he couldn't do anything - nothing that could change what had already happened.

His once cold gaze suddenly softened; he pulled up a deep breath and sighed quietly, "Maybe this is her idea of licking her own wounds. Tch. Damn woman. Now I have to cheer you the f*** up!"

Just as he was about to push the door open with his hand barely touching the wooden plank, a loud creak resounded ahead and whispers of two familiar voices startled him; he looked on ahead and it seemed a third party had joined the silent convening night. It was that giant of a Private, teacher's assistant (now superior's, of course) and apparently a rumored paramour - Bertolt Hoover.

The boy was surprisingly stealthy when he walked in, making not a single sound as he approached her and joined her side. Corporal Levi pulled himself back and decided it wasn't right to jump in. But he was definitely going to watch what will happen next. He was, after all, Agnes and Bertolt's superior in every way.

"Agnes?" Bertolt walked into the mess hall, closing the door behind him as gently as dove; he watched as she lifted her head - enough to see those eyes he had learnt to love - and quickly jumped to her side, settling the candle on the table. "Agnes! What's wrong? What's the matter?"

"Bertl, w-what are you doing here?" was all she could muster. But he could tell she had been crying and had been struggling to breath through her blocked nose. She's breathing through her mouth as she spoke.

"I-I was just getting myself a cup of warm milk. I couldn't sleep earlier on. I feel uneasy after what happened today... looks like I was right to feel uneasy!"

God, that wasn't one of their telepathy things, was it? She felt her already red cheeks turning beet red as she looked away.

The tall and gangly boy then noticed the photo in her hand, stained with fresh tears and snouts; by the candlelight, he could see which one it was - he was the one who took it anyway. "Y-you're not crying over M-Marco, are you?"

She didn't answer. She simply reached out and placed the photo on the table in clear light so that he could see; yes, it was Marco in the picture.

"How long have you been holding back?"

She refused to answer at first.

Bertolt realized he needed to go for a very bold approach; he grabbed onto her hands and gently caressed them, all the while getting as closer to her as he can. The heat from his body was distracting her as the cold night's wind blew through the unbarred holes under the closed windows. Then, as he breathed into her palms and warmed them up, he smiled at her in his best way possible - it was killing her to hold back.

"Please," he whispered into her fingers, "You can tell me anything."

She nodded quietly before shifting in her seat; she unfolded her knees and sat there on the bench as she normally would, feet dangling in the air. The boy was still holding her hands in his large and broad ones, and that made her avoid eye-contact. As she sighed, Bertolt felt an aching confession coming.

"Since the day he died... I haven't shed a tear since."

He remained silent; his massaging hands then moved on to her elbow, pleading her to continue.

"I'm such a liar. I only cried on the day he died, the day he asked me not to cry over him but I cried anyway! Then I never cried at all. I don't know if I should keep his words or mine to myself - I'm confused, Bertolt! I don't know what I should do at all! I promised Marco not to cry, but I can't keep that promise. I have to cry or else I'll keeping thinking that I should've died - "

"Don't say that," the boy implored.

"But it's true. I should've died that day. I really should."

"That's not true. I need you here. We all do. If you would've died, I wouldn't forgive myself."

"But it's true! God, it's no wonder Jean hates me! I hate myself too..."

"Don't say that! What would Marco think if you'd say that!?" Bertolt had his grip on her shoulders as he spun her to face him; his olive eyes were kind and strong, begging her to lean on him and snapped the hell out of her depression - it wasn't like her at all and he hated it. "You know it as well as I do that Marco loves you with all his heart. Jean just couldn't see past that!"

She narrowed her mahogany eyes as she looked away again; "I wish at times like this I could be just like Levi."

Bertolt flinched to hear the name.

"Even if he's cold and aloof like that, maybe it's for the better; maybe it's best because then we won't disappoint the people that've died in our hands... That's why I envy him a lot. That's why I... attempt to be just like him. But I don't think I could cheat myself to being Levi - I'm not him at all! I guess, all I want to do is to cry over Marco and be true to myself..."

"Then you could cry on my shoulder..." his words stunned her.

She was embarassed that the younger male had then pulled her into his arms and pressed her close to him with his chin over her head; she could practically hear his heart thumping against his chest, calling out to her in a frenzy music. She was depressed a second ago, but the welcoming feeling of his broad shoulders caging her safely was hypnotizing, drifting her in a daze and drowse of an untold fantasy. It was exactly what she needed; a comforting shoulder to cry on throughout the night, putting her down to sleep and making her forget all the pain and sorrow inside. Yes, she needed to be like everybody else - needy, wanting, yearning - for that shoulder.

Agnes slowly sought for the boy's shoulders, making her way down his back and then clenched her hands together; with the distance between them closed to nothing, she fit in his arms perfectly despite their height differences. But sitting there on the bench helped equalized everything. Bertolt was startled that she was finally accepting him and he was beyond the comprehension of elation that the butterflies in his stomach was doing cartwheels, somersaulting and then a backflip and then everything all over again. His hands worked their way down from her neck and rubbed the small in her back soothingly. Oh, they could stay like that forever.

"Bertl," she suddenly called on, "Will you sleep with me tonight?"

His hands stopped caressing her back.

"I mean, not in that way, silly!" she pulled back and looked away meekly, "Just accompany me to bed!"

"W-what?"

That sounded worst than she planned (actually, she hadn't planned to say that at all).

"But wha - what if someone catches us? I-I can't sleep with you and Reiner in the room - "

"We won't be doing in it in your bunk!" she blushed heavily at the sound of her sentence; Bertl felt so privileged to be able to see that - although he was just as red as a tomato as well. "We'll be sleeping in my bunk instead."

"But Armin's always early! He goes on to check on you all the time!"

"Well, we'll sneak you out before he does. Please, Bertl, just for tonight! I-I want to feel s-safe before I could be alone again... or be normal again. I don't want to end up with another sleepless night. Will you... please stay with me?"

This time, Bertolt narrowed his eyes; his hand cupping her cheeks and he smiled softly at her. "Alright," he said; fogging his breath over her face as he leaned in and placed his forehead over herds, "Just for tonight..."

They stood up together with a smile - eyes never leaving the other's form - as they grabbed their candles and taking away the photo she left on the table; they thought everything was going to be fine again and that Agnes would finally have some peaceful night's sleep. Bertolt still couldn't believe this was happening; he was about to watch Agnes fall asleep in his arms - if it was a dream after all, he didn't want to ever wake up from it.

But as they closed the door behind them, smiling and giggling sheepishly, a disapproving cry of anguish and anger whispered unforgivably.

**Extended Ending**

Corporal Levi walked into the mess hall with his usual stoic and uninterested face; he headed straight for the stove, grabbed an empty cup (which was rinsed in hot water first) and pour it with Agnes' coffee from the pot. Then, just when he was about to have another cup, he realized that the pot was already empty. He bit his lips at that and at the painful reminder growing in the back of his head; how Bertolt soothed Agnes with his hands - first massaging her fingers, then her elbows, then her shoulders, then her back, and then the darn boy dared pull her into an embrace. An embrace. To think that it might've been him; no, it should've been him and could've been.

But now it was just a missed opportunity. God, he hated that. He missed it once before and he missed it again; what was he thinking? Why did he hesitated to approach her? It could've been Bertolt that was watching them - it should've been. He lost track of his mind; dazed silver eyes watched as his fingers wrapped itself around the pot and threw it at the wall by the sink. He eased at the sound of cracking porcelain as it disintegrated into hundreds of sharp pieces.

"Damn that sly, shitty brat!" He pressed his temple and then shook his head repeatedly when he caught scent of his own blood. "Even the damn teapot has no love left for me. Tch. Stupid luck..."

Then, as he stared at the broken pot, he remembered something. He remembered the first time he met Agnes in Commander Smith's office; when she poured him that coffee, he thought it was going to be as the shitty ones he'd ever tasted. Why was it so different then? Was it the way she served him with those big brown eyes and wide smile? Or was it the ingredients that she so lovingly hand-made and roasted by herself? He knew then it was her love of people that made that coffee so good and when she was broken like this by death and tragedy, he wasn't there to catch her.

As much as he wouldn't want to think or realize it, he knew that Bertl would be able to actually watch Agnes fall sleep - who knows what else they could be doing. Just imagining it made his blood boil.

"I better get Private Arlert up earlier than he expected," he growled, "Serves that giant some right!"

After about half an hour of cleaning up the mess he made, he left the mess hall the way he had just found it and walked back to his bunk; he had the urge to pass by Agnes' room, but there was no sound. He didn't think it was good news nor bad. He just wanted morning to come and disaster to strike so that she would jump in her bed and run off to him. Just run.

_________________

Just so everybody knows, I LIKE LONG ENTRIES and I CRIED when I made this (especially at the whole Marco part). I didn't really remember Marco in the manga, but I think he was a dear and sweet thang. *cries*

So yeah, pretty nasty love triangle we have here.

(PS: I always call him "HOOVER" as opposed to "FUBAR" because the latter is actually an acronym / military slang for: "F***ed Up Beyond All Recognition")

THIS is Part Two of: fav.me/d6w2wxi

Will work on this once my iMac and tablet is ready. This is a mere photo.

DO NOT copy/reuse/colour/ink/base without permission.

AGNES DEIN (C) ME

BERTOLT HOOVER, CORPORAL LEVI, MARCO BODT, SHINGEKI NO KYOJIN / ATTACK ON TITAN (C) Hajime Isayama