Having someone — two someones — constantly at his side is… disorienting. Even his aide hadn’t been quite so glued to his side, the two of them knowing the other’s routine and content to work with — and around — the other to get their jobs done.

(He… misses Beltz, for all that Degurechaff has proven herself more than competent.)

(Someday he might even have a chance to mourn…)

(No.)

(Focus.)

Alexis shoots him a concerned look, and Erich gives a minute shake of his head.

(He’s fine.)

(He’s fine, he’s fine, he’s fine.)

(Just one more body, one more name, to add to the ever-growing list of those he’s lost in this foolish, endless conflict.)

(And now his soulmates are here, are next to him, are in danger—)

Urahara presses into his side just the tiniest bit, head tilted away and gaze fixed on the map and papers spread across the table in front of them. He’s focused, a tiny furrow between his brows and his pale eyes flat as he takes it all in, and Erich can almost believe that the touch is accidental.

Almost.

Urahara is hesitance-uncertainty-awkwardness against him, body tense and feet planted, belying the mask of ease that he’s trying to project. It’s… strange to realize that a Reaper is nervous about him, but… Erich can’t figure out what else it could be.

(Or maybe not so strange?)

(Urahara has been both everything and nothing like he expected a Reaper to be.)

Erich drags his mind back to the present and shuffles the papers in front of him while he tries to catch up with the report Weiss is giving. Not that there’s much unexpected out of the man’s mouth; they’re isolated, unable to call for backup, and being driven further back into the Empire with every week that passes.

There are markers on the map, little wooden tokens tracing the noose slowly closing around their necks.

Little hand-carved wooden tokens denoting their slow, lingering death.

(He… almost wishes he hadn’t dragged his soulmates here to his side.)

(He knew their position, knew their danger, but seeing it like this is…)

(He’s so tired…)

Alexis’ fingers drum against the table, a seemingly absent pattern that he recognizes as their childhood code for ‘talk’. It’s easy enough to remember how to tap ‘later’ back at her, and even easier to flatten his hands on the table edge in a silent appeal to let him think.

He doesn’t know what she wants to talk about, but he doubts it will be good news.

‘Good news’ is a rare commodity these days, and even when it arrives… well. There’s always a caveat.

Weiss’ report comes a close and Erich frowns down at the table in front of them, trying desperately to come up with some plan, some miracle, that will let them survive another week, another day.

(He’s given up all pretense of winning.)

(Now he just wants to survive.)

Erich stares down at the map. Tries to summon even a fragment of General Zettour’s skill. Tries to dig into his memory for something that will help, will save them, and…

He can’t.

He can’t.

His mind is blank and his hands are trembling against the table and he can’t save them.

Degurechaff glances at him across the table, and there’s a blankness in her gaze that’s perversely steadying. If even she, genius and strategist and reincarnate that she is, can see no clean way out for them—

He takes a breath. Clenches his hands. Leans forward with an arched eyebrow and a challenging stare and—

Gets to work.

(He can’t afford to be paralyzed by despair.)

(They’ll come up with something.)

(They have to.)

***

In the end, despite all their back and forth and all their attempts to strategize, more of the same is what he and Degurechaff settle on. More small raids, more careful retreating, more giving ground when such a thing would once have set both their teeth on edge.

(Frankly, it still does.)

(They just can’t afford to pander to pride over reality.)

They have too many wounded, too many exhausted and demoralized soldiers, to try for anything else. Their men can fight — will fight — because those who remain are mostly his or Degurechaff’s and thus loyal to the bone, but it’s wearing on them. On all of them.

(The trick to guerrilla warfare, Degurechaff insists, is fervent belief and stubborn will, neither of which they have in abundance.)

(So the best they can do is keep moving, keep one step ahead, and hope that they survive.)

“General, if I may make a suggestion?” Alexis speaks into a lull, drawing everyone’s attention to her. She quirks a smile at Erich’s arched eyebrow, but her tone is level and serious when she says, “Rerugen lands are three days hard march from here. We have supplies and healers of our own, though they’re mostly herb-women and family doctors, and we have plenty of room for everyone to have a solid roof over their head.”

Erich purses his lips and glances aside; Alexis is right on all accounts and has the legal right to make the offer, since she’s the Rerugen head while he’s away at war, but it’s still… awkward.

(They don’t often allow outsiders onto their lands.)

(To accept two entire battalions of men, even as small as they are…)

“Rerugen-san…?” Urahara murmurs, fingers brushing against Erich’s elbow as concern-curiosity-loyalty slips through their connection.

(Correction, two entire battalions and one Reaper.)

“She offers our family home as refuge,” Erich informs the man, already puzzling over how best to handle bringing a Reaper home without everyone and their sibling crying for his dismissal. If the world was fair, he’d have had time on his side; time to grow used to Urahara, time to learn if Urahara was being truthful, time to introduce the man slowly to the rest of his family, but—

There isn’t time.

There isn’t time and that means bringing a potentially hostile Reaper deep into Quincy lands and—

“Ah. I’ll leave when we get close—”

“You will not,” Erich interrupts, narrowing his eyes at the man. “You will stay near me instead of going away. I will… need your weapon for…” he pauses, fumbling for the words, and sends Degurechaff a pleading look when he can’t find what he needs in his memory.

Degurechaff sighs and speaks for him, not even waiting for him to explain what he’d been trying to say. “You’ll stay with General Rerugen at all times, especially in public. Don’t stray far from him, don’t go anywhere without him, and don’t do that weird appearing and disappearing thing of yours. You’ll need to hand any weapons over to General Rerugen while we’re on Rerugen lands, including your sword, which… where is your sword?”

Urahara laughs awkwardly and leans back from the table, rubbing at the back of his head as he says, “Maa, I hid it so I wasn’t… well…” He grimaces and glances down at Erich, something like apology in his gaze as he says, “After that first confrontation, I… figured it was best if I didn’t come armed.”

“Thank you,” Erich murmurs, fighting back a shiver at the very idea of Urahara showing up with that distinctive sword at his hip. “Thank you, Colonel,” he says with a nod in Degurechaff’s direction, then purses his lips and stares down at the map in front of them. “Your opinions on the offer?”

Silence answers him, and when he looks up, Degurechaff is staring at the map and chewing on her lower lip. He can almost see the wheels turning in her mind, can sense the weighted consideration in her spiritual presence, and when she looks up there’s a measure of resignation about her that tells him her answer even before she speaks.

“I think it’s a viable option, sir,” she says evenly before her gaze cuts over to Alexis. “Are you certain of this, ma’am? We appreciate it, but giving us shelter is going to paint a target on all of your backs.”

“A target that’s already there,” Alexis answers without hesitation. “Many of our men are soldiers or officers, and all of us know how to fight, even our women and children. I’ll send our most vulnerable to our hidden shelters, and the rest of us will use the land to our advantage. You were talking earlier about guerrilla warfare being an unviable option for you, but it isn’t for us.”

Erich doesn’t react to the looks that Alexis’ words earn him from both Weiss and Schwarz, already knowing why they’re concerned. He knows what their training looks like to outsiders, knows how strange it is that they’re one and all capable of a minimum of self-defense, but…

(Their history is not a kind one, and they have grown harder to compensate.)

Degurechaff huffs and says, “If things become dangerous—”

“We know when to retreat, Colonel Degurechaff,” Alexis cuts her off. “And we have plenty of places to hide. More than enough even for you men, though I dare say they might find some of them… strange.”

Erich swallows his amusement and glances away before he can begin to laugh; ‘strange’ is an understatement, considering many of the spaces are carefully reinforced Quincy zones, anchored to hidden caves or underground bunkers. Good for training in or hiding from unpowered humans, but distinctly unnatural in appearance.

(He’ll have to try and avoid sending any of his men into those spaces.)

(There are a few caves hidden by subtle wards instead, those will suit his soldiers much better.)

“If you’re certain,” Degurechaff says with a hint of skepticism, then leans over the table and scans the map. “Where exactly…?”

Erich reaches out and outlines the approximate location of his lands. “Here.”

She takes it all in, eyes narrowing as her mind gets to work, and then gives him a firm nod. “It’s as good a plan as any, sir, especially if your people have places we can hide out that aren’t likely to be found.”

“Not by any army our enemies can muster,” Erich answers her without hesitation, knowing it for the truth it is. Empowered humans are rare outside of lineages like his own, and he really doubts the enemy soldiers count any amongst their number.

Weiss and Schwarz exchange skeptical looks, clearly thinking about all the ways they know to hunt down and locate entrenched soldiers, but say nothing out loud.

(At this point, they’re all grasping at straws, no matter how absurd they seem.)

(Even a ghost of a chance to survive is better than nothing.)

“Is there anything else that needs to be addressed?” Erich asks when the silence begins to stretch, looking between his officers. When all three of them shake their head, he straightens up and tucks his hands behind his back. “Then you’re all dismissed. Get the camp ready, we’ll leave tomorrow at 0500 hours. Schwarz, I leave the gathering of squads for hit and run raids in your hands, coordinate with Weiss on personnel.”

“Yes sir,” Schwarz says, snapping a sloppy salute out as he does.

The two Majors file out of the tent at last, and Erich sighs, closing his eyes and rubbing at the corner of one in an attempt to chase away the stress he can feel building.

(Everything’s a mess.)

(They’re losing ground, losing hope, driven from their position by nearly fifty kilometers and cut off from the rest of the army.)

(And now they’re retreating further, aiming to hide away like cowards, like beaten curs, and there’s nothing he can do about.)

(Because they’ve been beaten like Degurechaff warned him they would be, squashed beneath the might of the entire world, and…)

(He fears what is to come.)

“Just a little longer, sir,” Degurechaff murmurs, startling him from his thoughts. Her pale blue eyes are worn-resigned-sharp but her bearing is still firm, still strong, and it… helps. Not much, but it helps. “We’ll make it through.”

He forces a smile for her, knowing it looks as haggard as he suddenly feels, and says, “I will hold you to that, Colonel.”

She nods once, glances at Urahara in question, then reluctantly stalks from the tent when Erich shakes his head.

(He’ll be fine.)

(He doesn’t need her hovering when there are things she needs to take care of.)

(Frankly, there are things he needs to take care of as well.)

(Damnit.)

Urahara’s warm hand settles on the small of his back as the man nudges him away from the table and towards the stack of crates to the side, which are about the only place to sit down in the tent.

“I’m fine,” Erich grumbles, dredging up enough exasperation to shoot Urahara a look.

“Of course you are,” Urahara says, voice bone dry. He moves his hand from Erich’s back to brush it against his right arm, bringing their shared mark into sharper focus in his mind.

Erich grimaces at the reminder and reluctantly sits down; it’s not often someone can call his bluffs so easily, and he’s a little unsettled by the idea. Alexis at least pretends she can’t, most of the time, even though they both know that’s a lie. She just… handles it differently.

(He’s not entirely certain how he feels about a Reaper fussing over him…)

“I didn’t realize how bad it was even here,” Alexis murmurs as she takes a seat next to him, her feet swinging a bit and her gaze distant.

“It’s… not been good, no.” Erich sighs and rubs at his temple, carefully breathing through the brief spike of panic as Urahara looms over him for one sharp, endless moment and… sits down on his other side.

(The worried-regretful-sheepish look Urahara sends him is almost worse.)

(Damnit, he doesn’t want to care!)

“It’s… not much better elsewhere,” Alexis says idly, flatly, gaze still distant and presence muted at his side. “We Quincy are surviving because we’ve long grown and supplied our own needs, but elsewhere… even civilians are feeling the pinch, my love, and many of them are beginning to rebel.” She heaves a sigh and casts a glance at him out of the corner of her eye. “Many of our enlisted family have… returned to the Quincy lands in the past month. Those that yet live.”

(Deserters, she means.)

(Erich can’t blame them.)

(Isn’t that what they’re about to do, too?)

“I have a bad feeling about what’s yet to come,” Erich can’t help but murmur, even as he fumbles for his pocket watch, patting at his pockets with a growing frown. He needs to check the time, needs to know how many hours he has left in the day—

Urahara catches his hand and turns it palm up, gently setting Erich’s pocket watch in his open palm and folding his fingers over it. “I didn’t have a chance to return this earlier,” he says sheepishly, a little smile curling the corners of his lips as his hands withdraw.

Erich blinks down at his pocket watch, mind finally catching up with reality. “Thank you,” he murmurs as he flicks the lid open and checks the time.

(Mid-afternoon.)

(Good, he has some time to check his troops before dinner.)

“It’s very pretty,” Urahara offers almost awkwardly, swaying closer to him and leaning in to peer at the watch-face before Erich flips it closed again. “Though it seems very old.”

“It was my grandfather’s,” Erich says as he clips it in place and tucks the watch away in its usual pocket. “He had it much of his life.”

Surprise-wonder-loyalty slips through their connection, and Erich has to wonder what he did this time to surprise the man; it’s certainly not unusual for soulmates to pass heirlooms between each other, especially something practical like a watch. But… maybe it is unusual from a Reaper’s point of view?

(Do Reapers even have family?)

(How does their society even work?)

Alexis’ fingers intertwine with his own and she lifts his hand to press a kiss to the back of it. “What now?” she asks once she has his attention.

“Walking,” Erich tells her dryly, amused by the flat look she gives him in return. “I need to check on the men again, let everyone see both of you at my side. Maybe see if we can teach Urahara some Imperial in the process.”

“That’s sure to be entertaining,” Alexis says, leaning into his side to brush a kiss along his jawline.

Wistfulness creeps into his mind, and he shares a brief look with Alexis, both of them knowing the cause; they can’t extend their closeness to Urahara, not yet, not with so many unknowns and so much fear-anger-hatred between them, but… they can be kinder to him. Limit their blatant affections so as to not inadvertently tease the man.

(They’re not trying to be cruel, but… that doesn’t mean they aren’t being cruel.)

“Come on,” Erich says to Urahara as he stands up and straightens his uniform. “I have men to look at. I can teach a bit of my language too, as we go.”

Urahara perks up at his words, smile bright-cheerful-masking but… Erich suspects there’s some truth to it this time, that his paltry offer has made Urahara genuinely happy, and… it warms something in him to see it. To know that, at least for now, he’s helped.

He wants to help, wants to have, wants both his soulmates at his side the way all the best legends end and… and maybe that’s not for him, maybe he’ll never manage to reconcile Reaper and soulmate, mortal enemy and life partner, but… he wants it.

(Wants safety-concern-care, wants loyalty, wants love…)

(Now if only he could trust…)

Erich sighs and runs a hand through his hair, fingers tangling a bit in the start of curls, and forcefully shoves those thoughts aside.

“Rerugen-san?” Urahara asks, voice concerned and one hand awkwardly half-extended as if he was about to offer aid and second-guessed himself.

“The war,” Erich offers, a lie but also a truth, and steps around Urahara, ignoring the quicksilver darts emotions that he can sense from the man. If Urahara wants to call him on his words, let him. They have other things they need to be doing and limited time to do them in.

“Maa, alright then,” Urahara says as he follows Erich from the tent. “I promise I’m a fast learner!”

Erich smiles faintly at the man’s clear enthusiasm, mind drifting to the promise of genius-fidelity-perseverance traced across his skin in the shape of a blooming plum tree. He doesn’t yet know how much is current truth and how much is future promise, but… it’s a hopeful sign.

(At this point, he’ll cling to any scrap of hope no matter how fragile.)

(It’s about all he can do, after all.)

(Just a little longer…)

(They can make it.)