Broken Birds

One cruel thing about the war was how it made thieves out of people. Those who took what the other cherished the most, willingly or otherwise, guiltless or not.

She had seen them, the people whose world had been stripped bare of lives and hopes; their illusions shattered, left empty and scarred, and wanting like the ruins around them; those who had wept over the reality, and those who proved more resilient and kept their heads up, even if only because they had replaced that broken illusion with a new one. 

Shoukaku could see them out there on the streets and within the corners of the Imperial Capital as she walked past the workers clearing the remaining dead and rubble, the few following her every step with their stern, accusing gazes before she disappeared in haste, the stone-faced soldiers of their former enemies patrolling the streets to keep an uneasy order.

She could see them in herself with painful clarity. A broken bird, left with nothing yet still had to trudge through the days. And she continued to drag herself through the lightly snowed path and the lingering cold left in winter's wake. She felt terrible for not telling Mikasa she was going out, but the well-meaning dai-senpai probably wouldn't let her go were she to do that. She understood the reason. But she had to leave. That place—only marginally better than a prison, in that they weren't technically prisoners—was getting suffocating to be in, and the longer she stayed, the more clouded her mind became; had she remained, she feared she would eventually stop thinking—or embrace the madness if fate is generous. 

Shoukaku stopped walking when she realized where she was, a feeling of familiarity settling in, giving her wanderings pause. She knew the place—the Asakusa Park, now left barren from the firestorm, polluted by charred, bone-like remains of trees creaking in the winds and wreckage littering the pavement.

There were people there, but they weren't there for sightseeing―almost certainly, they were merely people who lost their homes and possessions in the war, huddled together to stave off the cold. She'd later recall there was a relief center set up by the occupation forces in the area, and thus the presence of refuge-seekers there was not entirely surprising.

'Cursed beings...' she overheard some whisper as she walked past them. There was some degree of truth to those hurtful words, she conceded. Still, some others were less hostile and only gave her a wary look―a few even looked downright remorseful. But she turned a blind eye to them all as she hurried past, looking for a place to gather her scattered thoughts. If only they knew that she was not an unfeeling beast, nor some kind of terrifying demon, she wondered, would they still speak ill of her? But she would rather not find out.

She soon found that place she was looking for, a spot under a lone, surviving ume tree, finding a little solace in its bloom. It was not entirely secluded but desolate enough. Only one person there had been there before her, much to her initial chagrin, but given that he was seemingly only a vagrant, heavily inebriated but harmless as he was content to sleep through the chill while surrounded by empty bottles, she decided they could share. After all, her experiences taught her to be not so self-serving.

Seeing someone turning to the bottle to forget their sorrows was a pitiful sight, but who is she to judge? She'd instead leave him alone like he likely would have wanted, and he would likely reciprocate and leave her alone to ponder. To freely long for what had been. To rue and grieve.

'Houshou-sensei, I'm sorry. So Sorry. I've failed you…and Zuikaku.'

She struggled to raise her hand, wrapped in gauze, to clear off the tear.

'And Zuikaku, I'm so sorry…I failed to protect you. And what you asked of me…to…'

Shoukaku paused. The more she struggled to hold back the tears, the more they threatened to spill out. Remembering what Zuikaku told her for the last time didn't help to ease the ache.

Please take care of each other.

'I can't. I can't. That person…he's dead. I can't stop it.'

'...And to you…I'm sorry. I couldn't protect her…and you. Would you hate me if you were alive?'

Somehow, thinking of that possibility hurt more than it should, and Shoukaku buried her face into her arms, which soon became moist and damp. Letting out her feelings like that did provide some kind of relief, which she knew would be transitory but welcomed regardless.

It lasted shorter than she would've liked, as soon she found herself being surrounded.

"Well, well, look who dared to show her face around here; a filthy KANSEN, the traitorous one, no less!"

Shoukaku looked up, meeting the sneering faces of young men. Former army members, she noted, still clinging to their past but with less respect for it, if the sloppily worn uniforms were of any indication. They were not speaking to her to exchange pleasantries, that much she was sure of, so she stood up. She wouldn't give them the pleasure of seeing her in that vulnerable state any longer.

"Ah, keeping the fine tradition of the Army's uncouthness, I see. What is it that you gentlemen want from me?"

"You got a lot of nerve, traitor, even after the failure of your kind to save the Empire. Why, we ought to punish you for that. What do you guys say?"

"We can beat this harlot up; nobody here would care. They hate her kind as much as we do."

Shoukaku found out how much the conflict had taken a toll on her body when it couldn't react quickly enough to keep them from restraining her arms. She tried to wrestle herself free, to no avail, only getting them to jeer at her fruitless attempts. That went on and on until a fist landed on her face.

The strike did not hurt much, but it was humiliating. Yet, in quiet fury, Shoukaku remained stoic—even when their mocking laughter filled her with much disgust.

She had to endure another blow just moments later, as the laughter became gradually louder until it ended abruptly when the sleeping man, stirred awake by the noise, approached the group with an uneven gait while all eyes were on him, watching cautiously.

"Wha-a drunk? You wanna join or something?"

Instead of replying, he smashed the empty bottle he had been carrying onto the ringleader's head, busting it open. He collapsed onto the ground with a blood-spattered face, twitching slightly before going still.

Witnessing the scene, the other two, though stunned for a moment, quickly removed themselves from Shoukaku. They backed away immediately when the man brandished the remains of the bottle and its jagged edges in their direction as a wordless warning—the threat was enough to send them scampering away, leaving their comrade behind.

Once they were gone, the man spat at the body sprawled on the ground and tossed the bottle away while Shoukaku observed his features. 

Despite his disheveled hair, sunken—but not entirely lifeless—eyes, and unkempt stubble, she came to realize the man looked unnervingly familiar. As she struggled with this, the man lit a cigarette that had been smoked before.

"…Never thought I would see you again like this. Life is getting strange day by day," he finally spoke. "It's been a while, Shoukaku."

"It cannot be…Ohtori… ?"

"Surprised that I'm alive, huh? Your face just now says as much," the man, once a proud pilot of the Imperial Navy, Ohtori Kensaku, replied with outstanding clarity for someone who apparently had been drinking heavily.

"…No...Ho-how…?"

"...To this day, I wondered about that, myself...but really, does it matter to you…? Sometimes you just get lucky when you don't even want it. But that's not important...Are you hurt anywhere?"

Idly Shoukaku touched the spot on her cheek where she was struck before but did not say anything; Ohtori inhaled and let out a puff of smoke before heaving a sigh.

"Heh. Okay, you probably aren't hurt. In any case, I did it for her sake. Though…" Ohtori did not finish and turned to stare at the sky instead. "Ah, never mind…you should leave. I think...This is…not really a place for you to be right now."

When he saw Shoukaku did not budge, he wasn't surprised. He stubbed the cigarette out on the outsole of his military boot and carelessly disposed of it into a patch of burned-out grass.

"... Should've remembered you would never listen to me," he said, chuckling dryly. "You haven't changed."

"Is...Is that all you have to say after all this time? Telling me to go away?"

"...I will force you to if I have to."

"Go ahead and try."

Ohtori ended up doing nothing; in Shoukaku's defiance, as he realized, he saw the same fire Zuikaku once had in her eyes. It was something he had always adored, something he always sought to see once again.

"Fine, I won't," he sighed. Shoukaku noticed his eyes wandering to her bandaged hand, shaking his head after that. "...So you are hurt, after all."

This time she did nod. That was true in more than a way, and she didn't feel like denying it. Not after it struck her—seeing him hacking and wheezing and pressing a palm against his forehead like that—that they were no different. For a time, she had a mind to just come over to him, a certain urge compelling her. But she held back.

"...Ohtori…have you been drinking like this every day…?"

"Heh. Pathetic, huh? Even I wouldn't mind you laughing at me now. At least…Zuikaku isn't around to see me like this," Ohtori gave a raspy laugh, which was cut off by another bout of cough. "Come on, laugh to your heart's content at this sorry excuse of a man."

Shoukaku looked away, hands balled into fists at the humorless remark, feeling the ache in her chest resurfacing.

"...You…are right. Zuikaku is not here to see you like this, and that's good. But," she turned back to Ohtori, seeing him growing uneasy and downcast—she would like to think it was due to the face she gave him, "but I'm here, and I saw everything. Think I could…do that? I…I thought…Do you think I don't care for you like she did?"

She had many more things she wanted to say, but getting that out proved draining enough. So she waited.

There was no immediate answer for her, only Ohtori bringing a palm to his mouth, head hung down, his body quivering despite wearing a jacket. Then there were drops of water drizzling into the ground.

"...Sorry…I shouldn't have…Damn it…why did I say that?" 

Shoukaku watched as his knees buckled and gave way, forcing him to sit down right there in the middle of the walkway as he continued to weep in silence. She walked up to, then knelt behind him soon after. She felt the urge again, but again, she resisted, deciding to place a hand on his shoulder instead.

"I want you to know her last words. 'Please, take care of each other.' I…I want to fulfill my promise to her," she whispered. "Give me the chance."

Ohtori ran a hand across his eyes and lips one last time and looked over his shoulder before placing a hand on top of Shoukaku's.

"...I'll try."

Shoukaku smiled back—the first time she smiled so sincerely in such a long time, she knew it. She allowed him to help her up as he rose to his feet and felt like a feather.

"Well, I guess we should just leave this place. You and I shouldn't be here, you know that."

"I know."

"I'll walk you to wherever you're staying right now, Shoukaku," Ohtori declared but was met with silence and an oddly fidgeting Shoukaku.

"Something wrong?"

"...I would rather not go back there for now…but I guess…fine," she sighed, wondering how many questions it would raise.

"I see. I rented a cheap room around here somewhere. You…are welcome to stay there, Ohtori offered. "I'll…I'll find somewhere else to spend the night, of course," he hastily added when he noticed the color on her cheeks.

"I don't…don't mind, really," she murmured. "No, I don't mind," she said again, with more tenacity.

"...Well…I…me neither, actually, It's just…I'm happy to see someone who is not a stranger after…everything," he shrugged. "Right, then. Shall we?"

"Yes, let us go."

"Oh, before that, are you not cold?" Ohtori remarked before they had even begun to walk. Shoukaku looked at herself and realized that she had indeed neglected to wear a coat in her haste to leave. And now it had gotten colder.

Before she could answer, he had already offered his worn jacket.

"Here, wear this."

Shoukaku accepted the garment, already feeling warmer even before wearing it, and it was pleasant.

"Thank you. But I can't possibly let you walk in this weather without another layer of clothing, can I?"

"Uh, I drank enough to keep me warm, trust me."

"Well then…" Shoukaku put the jacket on. It had the potent stench of tobacco, but she didn't mind. She then noticed Ohtori was already walking away, unhurried enough to allow her to catch up.

Mikasa would chew her out tomorrow, that she was sure of. Maybe she won't if she learns what happened. Either way, she didn't care.