Eren's Hands

Fill #1

"Are you sure you've never hunted?"

"What?"

"Your hands." Sasha nodded to them, wiping her mouth with the sleeve of her arm. Maybe he didn't hear her. "They look a lot like my father's."

Eren laid his hands flat on the table, moving them into the shadow of the candle light. "No, I haven't," he said. He was looking at the candle, the flicker of the flame, so close to being gutted and going out.

Sasha prodded the candle closer, so the ring of light expanded to his hands. Eren bristled.

"What are you doing?"

Sasha's eyes were focused on the backs of his hands as intently as she often eyed a target, a dinner plate, or the horizon in the distance, the dark smear and all the promises it contained. She was focused, intrigued -- Eren couldn't help but be impressed, if not just a little annoyed that it was him she was focusing on.

"I used to get callouses when I was younger... when I lived back home," Sasha said. She held up a hand for Eren to examine quickly. There was nothing remarkable about it, no marks to distinguish it as quickly as one could Eren's own. "I thought my hands would blister over forever and never stop. But each time they healed I realized I had nothing to show for the hard work I did that day, so when they blistered over again I learned to be happy about it."

"That's... really great, Sasha." Eren curled his hands into fists slowly, collapsing the fingers into the palms, their tips stroking the soft scars. How they'd managed to smooth out over time and not fade but remain these pale streaks across his skin never failed to confuse Eren. Maybe if my father were still here -- he'd have known how to heal them. He would've done something.

He thought of a hand clawing at the dirt, the muscle spasming down the arm, nails breaking as fingers dug hard, trying to find purchase.

Maybe not.

"How did you get them?"

"You talk too much." An instant response, instinctual.

Sasha pursed her lips. "Only when I have something to say."

Eren glanced up, wondering where Mikasa had gone to. Wondering why Armin was taking so long. He'd even take Ymir and Connie arguing at this point over the interrogation with Sasha. His eyes shifted over to hers; he paused. She was sitting rapt and a bit too close, waiting for an answer.

Eren shifted down the bench just an inch or so. Fine. He would answer and he would go to bed and put this conversation behind him. "It was when my mom died. I tried to help lift the beam but there were... nails, and it got messy. Mikasa lucked out and I didn't. That's it."

Sasha took a piece of bread and dipped it into the bowl that had been, up until a few seconds ago, Eren's own. He bristled. "That's not something we're sharing, Sasha!"

Sasha chewed on the bread, dripping with broth. "What are you talking about? We're sharing stories. Now we're sharing food."

Eren nudged the bowl her way. "Just take it. I'm going to bed."

Her hand caught his wrist before he pulled away. For a moment Eren wanted to shove her back -- not hard, not in a forceful way. Just enough to get away and break her hold. But her eyes had that keen stare again, and her face was lowering, coming closer to his hand, her thumb stroking one of the lines of the scars.

"Sasha, could you maybe... not...?" Words failed and trailed away.

"Scars are like veins, they both carry things that are important to us. Veins have blood and scars have memories. They tell stories." Struck with a sudden idea Sasha lifted her free hand, the one not holding Eren a mildly annoyed hostage, and pressed it against his. Her fingers were a little shorter, her palm rougher, the skin hardened like a shell. Eren was surprised. He was sure he hadn't seen anything there.

"That something your father told you?" he asked, his mouth twitching when Sasha folded her fingers between his and swung their joined hands back and forth. He'd seen children do this, a little dance sometimes linking both hands and making a wall for their games. Did Sasha know about those things? Did she have anyone to play with growing up?

The hell do I care about that for? Get out of here. Go to bed.

"No," Sasha said, letting him go and smiling at him. "Just something I wanted you to know. Goodnight, Eren." She waved her scar free, calloused hand.

Eren turned and walked off, looking at the palms of his hands. He smiled.