It’s Hange’s duty as a Commander to lay to rest the remains of her fallen soldiers. A duty that weighs heavy on her heart but she complies nonetheless because it is a grace that her soldiers deserve so that they can pass freely into the afterlife, without worry or concern about the people left behind to take care of the world after them. It is a grace that they were denied so cruelly in life, a grace they so justly deserve now that they are six feet under the ground. The grace of a rest, truly unburdened by duty. And it is Hange’s duty to offer the dead that assurance.
But she is only human, after all.
When she finds the picture tucked between the pages of an old, worn-out book of his, she can’t help as the tears start to fall. She takes off her glasses, for she knows she will stain them with tears if she keeps them on.
She remembers the day he drew the picture like it was only yesterday. He was sitting at his desk, posture bent in concentration over the sketch he was drawing. Hange watched him alternate between different colored pencils, and as the sketch slowly came to life before her eyes, Hange watched in amazement as he laid before her a most life-like sketch of the gardens they had visited with Erwin, Levi, Mike and Nanaba the day prior. He drew Hange last, the woman in the picture staring directly towards her, the viewer.
“Aren’t you going to draw yourself?” she asked after he was done.
Moblit laughed, not unkindly.
“Well, no, that would mess with the whole perspective of the scene.”
It took no more than a little pointless arguing for Hange to manage to convince Moblit – who had never been one to deny Hange much of anything – to draw himself in the scene too, at the back, sitting next to Nanaba with his hand outstretched towards the wine bottles Mike was holding.
“There, that looks much better,” Hange said, pleased, as she wrapped an arm around Moblit’s shoulder. “Yesterday was such a good day…” she mused.
“Hm…” Moblit agreed, softly caressing the exposed skin of Hange’s forearm with his right hand. “I’m quite happy with how this turned out to be honest.”
Hange beamed. “I think it might be my favorite of yours now.”
“Absolutely,” Hange smiled, pressing a kiss to the top of Moblit’s head.
It’s Hange’s duty as a Commander to lay to rest the remains of her fallen soldiers, but with Moblit, she cannot bring herself to do it. The memory of all those blissful, blessed moments from half a decade ago reminds Hange that she will never be able to spend time like that with him again – quiet moments in the garden, walking arm in arm; busy evenings in the labs with Hange pestering Moblit about the experiments while he listened pensively, smiling now and then for reasons Hange will never discover – it’s too much. It overwhelms her. She owes Moblit so, so much more than what she can give. She could live a thousand lifetimes and never deserve his kindness, love and devotion. He may have been her subordinate but it is through his wisdom that she learnt to discipline herself and become a leader for her directionless people. If humanity within the walls has not yet crashed and burned under her command, it owes that to one man and one man only. Moblit deserves to be at peace, but even more than that, he deserves the legacy of the struggle he helped push forward and the future he spent his life serving under her command for.
But one look at the drawing is enough to bring such tears to Hange’s eyes that even mere duty becomes difficult, what to speak of legacies and futures.
She stands up from her chair abruptly, the thoughts becoming too painful for her to bear. She wipes the tears at the sleeve of her jacket, hoping for some burst of courage that will make her task easier for her but –
On the edge of the table, her glasses lie on top of the drawing, waiting ever patiently for her return.
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