Blue and White - Levi Fanfiction

Ch. 102 - Papa, I'm Coming Home

"Jean," I said, laughing as he pulled me along, "this is highly irregular, I should have you know!"

"Yes, well, there's no arguing against that," he conceded, looking back to send me a boyish grin before tugging me along by the wrist more insistently.

"My legs may be short," I began to argue, "but I could keep up with you just fine without being dragged like this!"

"Oh? Without gear, that might be a challenge," he teased.

"You-!"

Jean laughed heartily, and by now I knew exactly where we were going. When he wanted to get away from everyone else here, or else when he needed a spot to cool down, he would come here. It was a secretive spot, well-hidden and quite the trek from the in-development base we had started here at the coast.

When riding out with Emi one day on my trusted steed, we happened upon him sitting cross-legged out on that rocky cliff overlooking the ocean. It was a beautiful spot, a scenic overlook and a peaceful place of privacy and so I immediately felt the sting of guilt for having interrupted his calm time away. But he had only greeted me with a sheepish smile, admitting that when he couldn't be found, that's where he was.

He invited us to sit with him, and rather embarrassedly offered up some of the snacks he'd gathered up and brought out here. We all indulged - Emi more than anyone - and soon, we got to talking.

That had been a wonderful afternoon, spent with one of my dearest subordinates.

And from then on, whenever I noticed Jean's absence, I would give him time; private time was precious time, and we all deserved some. So, for him to have found his own spot was something to be rewarded and so I granted him that space and that time. Being a soldier was no easy ask, of course.

But when the absence would grow long, or his solitude telling of some greater loneliness. I would head out alone and seek him out. He'd let me sit with him, and he would either let me talk his ear off, or would talk mine off.

It was at that spot that he told me about his mother, about how he loved her but felt the disconnect all teenage boys did.

It was at that spot that he told me about those grand ambitions of his, to live a good life, one he could be proud of after his hard work was done.

It was at that spot that he told me about Marco, that dear friend of his who had fallen in battle mysteriously, who had supported him so genuinely, so earnestly...

It was at that spot that, a few weeks before my birthday, he presented me with something he'd been working on for a long, long time.

It was at that spot that he had watched me tear up at the sight of the single piece of parchment, the fruit of his labors for so long.

It was at that spot that for the first time in a long time, I looked into the eyes of my father.

—

I opened my eyes from what must have been a fitful, completely restless slumber because I felt dazed, I felt confused, and... I felt altogether not there, or at least not all there anyway. I didn't feel like myself but all the same I knew this could only have been me. Only I had this heartbeat and this set of hands, those scars and these thoughts.

Yes, I was Amaya.

But why did I feel so... distant, from myself?

That seemed to be the best way for me to describe it, because it was a completely indescribable feeling otherwise. I felt disjointed, but not; I felt disconnected, but not; and I felt distant, but not.