Chapter Text
The first time the idea was touched upon, it was brought up as a joke, and a rather unfunny one at that.
They were on a train back to Liberio, coming back from a war waged on foreign land to the west of Marley. The finale of it was a crushing victory, the last battle won with the use of three titans alone; the Jaw, the Cart, and the Colossal.
The railroad car they shared with the Marleyan generals remained as quiet and tense as ever, and truth to be told, Bertholdt would’ve preferred to be in the wagon with the rest of the Eldian unit and candidates, even if it meant skipping the cushioned seats they had gotten.
It didn’t feel any sort of comfortable when general Calvi was sitting in front of him, examining every fidget of Bertholdt’s fingers or the drooping corners of his mouth. He assumed he should count his blessings, as Zeke was forced to sit right beside the man, but the two of them, as well as Annie, who sat right beside him, most certainly had gotten the short end of the stick.
Pieck, Marcel and Reiner got to sit by Magath, a tremendously better option, just for the sole fact that he had far more interest in the paper he had been reading through than the Eldians he could scrutinize. Bertholdt usually made a point to look at the window and phase out to the scenery in such moments, but right now it was dark outside; barely anything visible aside from darkness through the windows, and with the fair amount of noise coming from the Eldian unit’s wagon, he couldn’t commit himself to it.
It only took one, loud enough shout from the wagon for every scream he heard from the nape of the Colossal to return to his ears. He couldn’t flinch, not in front of Calvi, but he lost his straight posture, his shoulders coming forward as his head came a bit forward.
The faded brown gaze from General Calvi turned sharp, and Bertholdt took in a similarly sharp breath, his heart’s pound rising from today’s battles to the most miniscule of today’s expectations, everything that fell on shoulders and added to the weight of the world.
Cold fingers reached his hands. Bertholdt was brought back into their mundane scene of travel, with icy blue eyes catching his gaze. Seemingly deadpan upon first inspection, under the layers of apathy there was understanding, mercifulness and even a way out.
“Tired?” she asked him, her voice soft spoken, but hardened as always.
Bertholdt smiled at her softly. There was a sense of familiarity in the way she minced her words and sentences to the their most compressed forms, but he also knew she would have done anything to avoid small talk if she had the choice. She chose to help so he could save face.
“Yes, just a little bit.” he answered her, a breath of relief escaping him as he did.
“You should sleep. There’s still time before we arrive at Liberio.”
Her hand reached the pit of his elbow, pushing it back to the cushioned seat. It was probably a warning, telling him that it was time to at the very least feign sleep, and he soundly agreed. The generals didn’t take kindly to the crumbling mental states of warriors, no matter how useful they’ve been. He couldn’t risk losing his winner’s facade, otherwise, he would be easily fed to the next warrior.
Udo was only nine, now; he couldn’t do that to him.
He nodded at Annie, his smile growing smaller as he let every muscle in his face relax. Closing his eyes, pretending he isn’t there; it would be so much easier. Just fluttering his eyes shut, it would be enough, for now.
There was still a tense atmosphere within the silence that followed, even with Annie doing what she could to clear the air, and even with Bertholdt complying with the plan they had formed between their gazes. Within a few minutes that allowed Bertholdt to feign sleep, someone had to cut the tension — after all Zeke never left things to their own devices.
“Very gentle of you, Leonhart.”
Bertholdt’s eyes were shut, but he could imagine the glare she had given Zeke. If they were alone, without Calvi, he could imagine Zeke would be dangling the same bait with familiarity, chirping about ‘dear Annie’ being a more fitting name than ever.
Calvi snorted at the exchange, as far as Bertholdt could tell, before inserting himself into a conversation that was nothing more than a show for him. Of course, the Marleyan generals always knew best how they wanted things to go.
“Perhaps it was about time you’d find a gentle side. At nineteen, it isn’t a nice sell to only know how to glare,” he said, patronizing as ever. Bertholdt felt a shift on their cushion, and slid a hand down to meet with hers, only the tips of his fingers touching hers. He knew she must’ve been fuming. “It’s a good thing you know how to fight.”
Bertholdt’s fingers slipped on top of Annie's apologetically. He heard Annie exhale as she let his fingers curl around hers. He wished his fingers could tell her how kind her action was, or how grateful he had been, but there was only so much he could convey like this. All he could do is make the soft pads of his fingers seem consoling.
“Ah, don’t underestimate our Female Titan, general. I assure you, the tough sells aren’t her. Braun, or actually, Hoover himself on the other hand..” Zeke faked a chuckle before continuing. “Well, I doubt he’s a hard sell for everyone. Right, Leonhart?”
“Huh?” was the only thing that came out of Annie’s mouth in response, but the sound was pronounced heavy and stretched. It was getting hard to keep his face relaxed; Bertholdt knew how Zeke manipulated dialogue in front of their superiors, but he could imagine how Annie’s face contorted so vividly, and he was afraid that he’s reacting to that active imagination too much.
Calvi released a vaguely interested noise, and it made Bertholdt’s stomach drop.
“Hoover would only benefit from a wife to beat him into shape. If he ever grows his backbone to the size of his spine, we’d all be in luck.” Calvi said. Annie took her fingers away from him, and Bertholdt couldn’t help but peek, even if it was for a millisecond. She held onto her pants’ fabric, looking downwards. Calvi had a streak of being intentionally degrading just for the sake of it, all the warriors were used to it — but something about those words did not do her well, he knew.
Zeke hummed, his tone shifting to a more embarrassed one, laughing. “No doubt, but perhaps a wife is rushing it.”
“I’d rather Hoover grow balls in the next year instead of when his tenure is done, Yeager. Speaking of which, yours is ending earlier; perhaps you should rush it even sooner.”
The conversation slowly lost its focus on Annie and him, with Zeke bringing forth a slew of excuses playing himself down to seem inadequate; his usual practiced lines he knew by heart. Annie grew silent, and Bertholdt hoped that she had found her escape to shut her eyes and turn away from this scene too.
Zeke’s nonsense was just enough of a cover for that to occur, but when Bertholdt opened his eyes again, Annie was wide awake, still as a crystal, with darkened circles around her eyes.
She was the first to leave their seating arrangement, rising from her seat as soon as Liberio’s station was in view. There’s a point where he thought that maybe he should go after her, but with everyone within their railroad car watching her go, he didn’t want to draw more attention to them.
She needed her rest, too.
—
Annie reached her house in long strides for her stature.
The warm welcome of the warriors to their homes wasn’t something that applied to her, and between the masses of people who were waiting in the gate she searched for no one. Her comrades' families had tried to greet her before, but those greetings never lasted for more than a few seconds before they sunk back into coddling their own child.
She didn’t mind it, and also preferred it to be as such. Reiner’s mother was insufferable and Zeke’s grandparents were suck ups just as he was. The Galliard’s family found too much joy in the military to the point even Marcel grimaced. Pieck’s father was lucky he was recovering well enough to greet his own daughter, and Bertholdt’s father was still too bedridden to come.
And her own father?
Considering the empty house, he might’ve been waiting for her.
He should’ve learned long ago he shouldn’t.
The house was going through renovations, now that her father had the funds to make them. Those were funds made of the cheques and funding Marley had thrown towards the Warrior unit and their family. It was only after her latest birthday she had taken charge on her designated portion of those, a year or two after most of the other warriors did. She had no doubt most of that money went either to the new roof or perhaps even the fence that had been built around the property.
At the time she didn’t complain, as her father’s leg was acting up. The need to fix the roof tiles for the cold to not seep in or the need for a fence, out of concern that if thieves decided to come by the house when she was gone. Her father wouldn’t necessarily be able to fight them off in his condition, nor could he fix the damn shitty roof tiles himself. These were a direct result of her outburst that nearly crippled him a decade ago.
He didn’t say that fact aloud, and neither will she; her father might’ve grown soft over the years, but he knew he was the one who built up the hardened shell that she is today. He had already gotten what he wanted out of her, and by now, her silence was the only kindness she could bring herself to give him.
Annie tore herself from her thoughts, and went upstairs to finally take off the uniform and shower. She made it quick, and went to find something to put on. In her room, she only had the bare minimum. A closet, a bed, some drawers, and a mirror. Most of the clothes in her closet were from her teens; her growth spurts stopped coming at fourteen, and her old hoodies served her well enough.
She had four years to live. She didn’t need much more.
Changed, she found herself once again on the first floor, the radio they owned speaking of her unit’s recent victory, about the Colossal’s total destruction. Her mind went to Bertholdt for a moment. With the way he had been the previous night, she hoped he had been smart enough to keep his radio shut.
Annie had around thirty minutes more of silence until the front door creaked open to end the reign of the radio’s muffled announcement sounds. She was on the couch, lounging about; it’s been a while since she had gotten to simply lay around and basking within comfortable silence of her mind, and it wasn’t surprising that the calm mind she achieved was stolen from her just as fast.
Raising herself on the couch, she realized how tired she was. She didn’t sleep on the train back, and her eyelids were begging to close down on stinging eyes.
“Annie,” her father’s voice called her. She looked back at him. It’s been two months since she last saw him. Not that it mattered, he still looked the same. Always had. Still wearing the same raggedy hat he had since her childhood, even though it was feasible he could buy new hats for the entire neighborhood now. Others would say he’s humble; Annie thought he just felt guilty. “When did you get home?”
Annie already looked away by the time he asked. “A while ago.”
“Welcome home,” he tried. Annie closed her eyes. There was a semblance of care there, but her father never took the steps to admit it, so she refused to take the steps to accept it. “I bought some things from the bakery. You should eat something.”
She heard the crunch of a held paper bag, and looked back again to see it. She didn’t notice it prior, but it did intrigue her now. She hadn’t eaten since noon yesterday, and even with the war won they still only got measly field rations. Sluggishly, she stood up, while her father set the bag on their dining table. Annie was glad for that; it was a lot more comfortable peeking into it when he wasn’t holding it.
The rustle of the cheap paper was loud, and so did the sharp, small rip she had caused the side of it by accident. Maybe she was more hungry than she was willing to admit; the idea of baked sweets sat well in her mind.
Looking within, she found an assortment of salted bagels, some breadsticks, and what seemed to be some kind of a cheesy bread. She stared at it for a couple of moments. Annie was under the impression he bought from the bakery for her arrival, but maybe not.
Or maybe he did, and he just didn’t know what to buy. Annie let out a soft exhale. It wasn’t what she imagined, but it wasn’t the shit she had been eating for two months. She ripped some of the cheesy bread and brought it to her mouth.
“Is it good?” he suddenly asked. Annie moved her head to stare at him as she swallowed. He sucked at small talk, and today wasn’t an exception.
“It’s fine.” she answered back. They were not blood related, but his brand of nurture made her stuck with the same ineptitudes. She thought he’d grow silent, but Annie felt as if something was at the tip of his tongue, waiting to come out.
“Annie,” he said again, voice lower. “On the battlefield… were you injured? Was that fine?”
She raised a brow. Maybe he heard about her lack of role in the battles towards the end. She was sure the publications and news stations were keeping a close eye on the Titan shifters as always. Soon enough she found herself letting out a snort. She was shot by strong artillery on the last week, something that effectively took her out for three days before the generals decided she wasn’t needed as a titan for the rest. With the Reiner on standby to protect their new tank units, Annie’s assumption was that they were worried another hit like that would actually manage to kill.
Annie would tell him, if she cared about digging into the bottomless hole that his regrets already made deeper. While it made her mad, how he seemed to think he had the right to worry, she learned that the more she separated him from her life as a warrior, the more she felt in control. He was the one who stuck her there, but she could choose which parts of it he should know.
“Confidential,” she said simply, and he let out a short sigh as he stared at her. Anger made her muscles stiffen as he remained with a somewhat upset brown gaze. Huffing, she put down the rest of the bread she was holding and spoke again. “I’m standing here, aren’t I? I’m fine. ”
Her father sighed once more, and her hunger disappeared. She’d leave the food for later; she didn’t have the power to enjoy it.
She was about to leave for her room, but her father talked once more. “Before you go,” he said, walking towards a drawer by the door. Opening it, he pulled out several letters. “These are for you.”
“What are those?” Annie asked, squinting. She didn’t have a good feeling about those letters.
He came forward, his hand reaching out to give the letters to her. Clearly, they were open, and most of them actually seemed to be addressed to her father instead of her. She took them, but blinked at him in confusion.
“Marriage proposals. You should look into them, Annie. For yourself.”
Annie saw red.
No, no matter how much he softened, he didn’t understand. Marriage proposals, of course; from people who wanted to use her just like he did. Let her give them the status they wanted without putting up with any of the pain she’s been through getting it. Those were from people who knew she was living on budgeted time, that they just had to suffer her to get what they wanted.
I just got back home.
“Annie?”
Her hand clenched around the papers before throwing them on the ground, only to continue to stomp each and every letter.
“It’s never for me,” she gritted her teeth as her father backed away. “Nothing you do, nothing those shits— ” she banged her feet against the floorboards harder, “ —want, will ever be for me!”
Like that, her father fell, slipping on one of the envelopes. Annie looked at him; she had the urge to kick him, finish that goddamn leg for good, to release all the anger that swallowed her whole and spat her back up like trash each and every day.
But she stared at his eyes again, remembered how she cried herself to sleep when she realized that her pain didn’t fade after she kicked him into disability; only set her chained with guilt for weeks after. Made her afraid as the instructors at the warrior program started watching her like hawks.
Annie turned around, and left to her room, leaving him on the floor.
This — this is for myself.
—
Bertholdt might’ve returned just a day before, but despite his introverted nature, he always found himself out and about in the Internment Zone after longer missions.
It wasn’t really out of choice. Most of the time when he was out for long, he returned to find the house in varying degrees of neglect; not enough food in the fridge, lightbulbs that have stopped working but were never changed, or letters and inquiries that haven’t been dealt with.
He was truthfully thankful to Reiner’s mother; he was sure that his father would’ve either starved or drowned in a sea of dust bunnies if she didn’t make sure to come by and help from time to time. It was embarrassing to rely on her, but she seemed more than jolly to ‘help the pride of the Internment Zone’. She often spoke like that about their entire unit; showering them with compliments for war achievements and the like.
Bertholdt couldn’t deny that it made him rather uncomfortable, but if she weren’t there, he probably would have spent each and every day of their rare days off doing housework and maintenance.
His father wasn’t doing all that well; he caught a bad flu this season, and had landed himself in the hospital a few days before their return. He was immune-compromised as it is, so his body took it hard. He was recovering now, Karina assuring him the Marleyan staff at the hospital had made sure to give him proper care while he was gone, but his father was still weak.
Truth to be told, he wasn’t sure how much time his father had left. As time passed, it seemed more evident that his father would most likely not survive to the end of Bertholdt’s tenure, but he didn’t want to think about it, even if his father often told him he should.
Instead, he did everything he could to pick up the pieces, went to town, got everything they needed. Fixed the house, made sure it’s warm for winter, so when his father will return home, at least they could both live in comfort.
On his way back home, after running around between the hospital and Internment Zone’s streets, Bertholdt stopped by the bakery to buy some bread. Had he been less accustomed to disgusting sights, the green loaves that had waited in the pantry at home yesterday might’ve managed to make him puke, but he managed to throw it in the trash with the tips of his fingers and a couple of grossed out shivers.
The bell on the bakery’s door jingled. As always, he had to croon his neck to fit through the entrance, but this was something he accepted as a fact of life by now. Nobody knew if it was the effect of the colossal on his body or simply genes that decided to doom him to a life of back pain, but regardless of how, the result was clear — he was by far the most recognizable person within the internment Zone, his quiet disposition be damned.
“Mr. Hoover!” he looked ahead to see Zofia waving at him. She stood up by the pastry stands, her other arm grabbing at a grocery bag. He returned the gesture, as well as the smile she also offered back. He was a bit surprised to see her, as they did just return yesterday, but Zofia always kept herself busy somehow, and if not, the other young warrior candidates made sure she was instead.
“Hi, Zofia,” he approached her. He had tried to keep a certain distance between him and the younger generation before, both figuratively and literally. The former was due to the nature of titan inheritance; it was difficult to think one day these children will be the ones to eat them, and it was even harder to think about how it would affect them afterwards. This reservation of his was mostly put to rest with force on the candidate side. Zofia and Udo specifically often clung to him, but he assumed it was mostly due to them needing somebody to back them up when Gabi made Reiner play favorites.
The literal part of it was a little less grim— he just honestly needed space so the children could look at his face properly without twisting their neck. Until today he felt bad thinking about Udo getting neck cramps just by snapping his head up to look him in the eye.
By this point however, the attempt at distance had fallen moot. It was proven even right now, as Zofia got closer on purpose, until he gave up and gave her a head pat. Satisfied, she looked back at the pastry rack. “Did you come to buy croissants??” Zofia suddenly asked. Bertholdt blinked.
Well, he was standing in front of the croissants because of her, he guessed. Zofia was always a bit of an oddball, so a generally random question like this didn’t faze him much. “Not really. Just came by to buy some bread today.”
She hummed, but the tune of it turned flat very quickly. There was a moment of silence before something seemed to have lit up in her. “Really?.. I heard the warriors were preparing something for tomorrow..” a pout came onto her face. Bertholdt was very confused.
“Preparing something.. what do you mean? Who told you that?” he asked. Zofia looked up, her pout more pronounced, but a little more tense.
“Uh.. well, I’m not sure about everything. I know from… uh, Gabi. She said she heard Pieck talking about bringing food to the headquarters this morning,” Zofia answered, her lips flattening against each other nervously. “I thought you might be here for that.”
Now, Bertholdt finally understood the full picture. It was nowhere near what Zofia said, however, but it fit nicely— Zofia had been standing staring at the croissants since he entered, a paper bag already full with loaves of bread in one hand. She wavered when he asked her for an explanation to the point she twiddled her thumbs, and even stuttered, much to his surprise.
Aside from being very adept at recognizing nervous antics, the final tip off was the fact he went to the Finger’s house this morning, and was well aware that Pieck was there — just like he knew Gabi was sleeping over at Reiner’s, and there was no way Karina let her leave without lunch.
Conclusion; Zofia wanted croissants, but didn’t have enough money on hand.
Bertholdt suppressed a laugh. He should be a bit upset that she tried to trick him, but the feeling of a mouth watering upon seeing nice food for once was not strange to him at all. Pastries were luxuries in the internment Zone, far too pricey for families to allow themselves often. One day, when she’s no longer just a candidate, she could buy as many as she wanted; but now, she’s just a kid coming back from war and thrown right back into doing errands.
He guessed there was no harm in spoiling the candidates a little, while they still can be spoiled.
“Mhm, I see… maybe we should buy more than just croissants, then? More variety for everyone, and all..” he feigned deep thought, as Zofia’s eyes sparkled. “Want to help me pick everything?”
Zofia was tongue tied in surprise, but she rushed to answer. “Yes!”
They spent several minutes picking everything out together, from croissants to puff pastries to hard cookies, getting a little of everything. By the time it was all picked out, and they were ready to go to the counter, Zofia’s shoulders began to slouch, and Bertholdt felt a tug at his shirt. Looking down, he saw her sporting an uncharacteristically guilty expression.
“Mr. Hoover, I… uh…” she looked at everything they took, biting her lip. Bertholdt had a feeling she might come around and come clean. Childish as they could be, the baby candidates were exceptionally good kids. Zofia, who came from the poorest family amongst the group, definitely cared more about money than most. No matter how rich Bertholdt was, it was probably eating at her. “I lie—”
“—I know,” Bertholdt cut her off, smiling. “I don’t mind bringing things for tomorrow.”
Zofia smiled brightly at him. “Thank you, Mr. Hoover.”
He gave her one more head pat.
They put everything up on the counter, the owner grinning from ear to ear. At first, Bertholdt assumed it was just the massive sale he knew he made, but the grin was mostly directed at him. Soon enough, Bertholdt was made aware the man had a daughter of marriageable age, a discount offered along with the mention of that fact. With him positively embarrassed, Zofia accepted it on his behalf, her frugality making sure he’s going to get one more proposal he’d have to find ways to reject.
Bertholdt wanted to believe he grew more accustomed to these things, but they still got him in his head; he could say thank you’s, and he could say he’d consider, but each proposal made him grow cold. It was only right of them to give other Eldians a chance at a nicer life with better status, but…
Why did he have to? Why do I always have to…
Stuck within his thoughts, he just walked aimlessly by Zofia— and ended up bumping right into the top of the doorframe.
Zofia snapped her head back at him, and there was almost a pitiful look in her eyes when she realized what happened. Quickly, she ran up to him, taking out a croissant from the paper bag he held and holding it out to him.
“...I think you need this.”
Bertholdt was thinking he might need a hole to crawl into, but took it anyway, while grabbing another one from the bag.
“Then take one too,” he told her, his neck craning as he walked out properly. “And promise me you won’t tell Gabi and the rest.”
Zofia nodded, beaming.
She was going to tell them anyway, but hopefully, he bought himself a quiet walk back home.
—
Annie woke up begrudgingly as the sun beamed through her window.
Week off or not, the warriors and the candidates had to go to the headquarters to give their full reports of the war. The higher ups were getting anxious about anti-titan warfare, and she had no doubt that after the reports were given they would be forced into a meeting to discuss a way to combat it.
The Marleyan luck currently lied on the fact they still had the Colossal in their hands, destructive enough to keep most countries at bay, but nobody was blind to the fact that enemy countries were looking for ways to counter that advantage. The Colossal was the poster child of war, its blurry black and white pictures from the battlefield plastered on newspapers across the continent, but those images of fear were also invoking protest and spite that asked for a change in the status quo.
If the brass wasn’t so arrogant, they would’ve thought about this problem long ago. But here they were, scrambling to find either solutions or scapegoats to toss it on, both options making her feel exhausted.
She dressed herself in her uniform quickly and descended down the stairs outside of her room. It was dead quiet. After the exchange with her father two days back, their house felt like a haunted home. He wasn’t awake by now, likely, but when he was, she could only hear rustles of his moves around the house, keeping his distance. She wondered if this was his way to show he was apologetic, but truthfully, she didn’t give a damn regardless.
It still fucking hurts.
Annie already tossed the letters in the trash. She noticed that the baked goods he had gotten her were still kept untouched in the kitchen, but she had no desire to eat any of it. For a moment, she had thought about tossing it away too, but despite the spite beckoning her to do so, she was not wasteful.
She figured maybe the candidates could enjoy it instead. Maybe the rest of the warrior unit, too, but she was sure the adult warriors would find a way to annoy her about it.
I can just leave it in the headquarters’ kitchen, probably.
Annie heard footsteps from the upper floor, and the decision was made instinctively; she took the big paper bag in one hand, and left the house in a rush.
—
Bertholdt was the first one to arrive at the headquarters.
He could say it was in order to make sure Magath approved of him bringing in food, but it wasn’t really that. Sure, Bertholdt still thought twice before presenting a request before him, but Bertholdt knew him since he was a kid, and had an idea what was allowed and what wasn’t. Pieck and Zeke brought things before, this wasn’t new— it was just an excuse.
The actual reason was that he simply wasn’t able to sleep the night before. He had dark circles to show for it, and he might’ve been less presentable than he should be, but he couldn’t find it in himself to stay in his house for longer. He woke up from nightmares early into the night, and knew there was no chance he was falling back asleep. But staying still and waiting made his mind grow restless, and the cold silence of his home made him pace around to calm his nerves.
So he came here the moment the hour seemed acceptable, when he would just be considered an early riser and nothing more.
Reiner and Porco might be able to tell something is unusual; his roommates at war knew his sleeping habits best, but he also knew theirs. If anyone asked, he would just tell them he arrived a few minutes prior.
He sat in the small kitchen the headquarters offered; it was there for storage and making coffee, nothing more. He didn’t expect anyone to come over here right now— it was cramped and usually pretty barren of anything aside from tiny packets of coffee that tasted more like mud than anything else— but to his surprise, he saw Annie walking in not too long after he arrived.
They shared a confused staredown. He blinked at her once, and she blinked at him back. Annie was an early riser from what he could tell, the long weeks on the battlefield making daily routines rather obvious, but Annie never came to the HQ early. Definitely never late, but always and only just on time.
It took him a moment to get over his surprise, but eventually, he found it in himself to speak; and so did Annie.
“Good morning—”
“—You look like shit.”
Bertholdt would be lying if he didn’t say he sulked at that. But then again, it was the truth, and Annie never cared enough to insult someone without a reason or provocation.
“Thanks?” he tried laughing it off. Annie frowned at him.
“Is there a reason?”
Bertholdt gave her a small smile, digging in his head for a reason that won’t cause worry. He had none. “Just tired, really..”
“If you don’t want to tell me, you can just say so,” Annie answered, putting away a paper bag to the side. Bertholdt found himself wondering, but his line of thought was quickly interrupted. Her voice grew colder and quieter as she mumbled to herself. “‘Tired’, my ass.”
Bertholdt looked down. Maybe it was a stupid idea to try to fool her with words she already knew indicated anything but him being fine, but it was a natural reaction by now. He didn’t want anyone to be concerned about him; actually, he couldn’t really allow it most of the time, anyway. Pretending to be fine was easier, because most would just go along with it, but most people were not Annie.
“Sorry,” he finally decided to say. Annie looked back at him, making him a deer in the headlights, stumbling with finding the right words. “It’s.. it’s just, nightmares. I really didn’t sleep much.”
“The same ones as before?” she asked, her tone returning to its calmer, more objective tune. Bertholdt shook his head. Most of the unit had some degree of trauma from battle they could admit to; ones that they even had a therapist for. It felt horrible to think of it, but nightmares about the battlefield; he was already almost used to them. A vile tell on his character, if you asked him — he stirred and shook through them, but they were not enough to wake him; he saw them to their end, taking them as a midnight judgment and karma.
“About my dad,” he clarified. He went to see him again before the day ended on a whim, and found him attached to a mechanical ventilation machine. Now he was stabilized, but his condition was growing worse and worse. “I saw him yesterday. I don’t think he has more than a few months left.”
“...I’m sorry.” she said, her whole demeanor shifting with her body tensing. Bertholdt sighed.
“It’s okay. I’ll manage through it.” his voice betrayed him just a little, and Annie was certainly not fooled, considering the piercing gaze on her face. She seemed conflicted, but Annie didn’t push for more. Instead, she changed the topic.
“...You should wash your face before everyone comes. Others might not take the look too well.” she suggested out of the blue.
“You mean Calvi? I saw Magath already. Wasn’t that bad.” He asked, forcing a small chuckle.
“I meant Porco, actually,” she answered without a hitch. “He might just force you into the showers.”
With that, Bertholdt laughed genuinely, standing up to go to the sink. “You are probably right.”
He quickly washed his face with a few splashes of water, massaging through his face to actually, truly wake up. Running a wet hand through his hair, he noticed the paper bag Annie brought with her again. “Annie, what’s this?” he asked her, pointing at it.
“Oh. Some baked goods that nobody at my house would eat,” she said, a bit uncomfortably. “I thought I’d just leave it here so it won’t go to waste.”
Bertholdt didn’t expect that from Annie, but right now, he was more amused than surprised. “I think this is Zofia’s lucky day,” he said. Annie raised a brow at him, until he went back to the table and showed the bag holding what he bought. “Just yesterday she got me to buy sweets for everyone.. now she has even more.”
“Not really. It’s mostly savory stuff.” she corrected him. Now that she said it, it made sense.
“Oh.. so that’s why you wouldn’t eat it,” he mumbled. Annie’s eyes widened for a moment, before her gaze was questioning again. Bertholdt grew a little nervous. Did he say the wrong thing? “because you like sweet pastries, right?”
Annie was silent for a moment, but slowly grew less tense. “Yeah,” she finally answered, and raised her head up again. “Bertholdt, can you say they’re all from you?”
“Huh?” he blinked at her again.
“I really don’t want Pieck or Zeke to get on my case.”
Bertholdt frowned slightly. He didn’t want to take away a good thing that she did, but the way she asked… it threw him for a loop. He almost felt like he should’ve prodded further, but somehow, that moment she seemed more tired than him. “..Are you sure?”
Annie nodded. Bertholdt's lips lined together before he sighed.
“Alright, then.”
“Thank you,” she said quietly, a slight smile appearing on her face. A tinge of warmth crept up his neck. He had the urge to swear under his breath, as it was embarrassing; but he only had himself to blame.
He never really managed to get rid of his childhood crush, after all.
—
Annie tuned out the Marleyan commanders almost right after she had given her report.
The rest of the warriors and candidates came pouring in the HQ close to the assigned hour. They only had a couple of minutes to tease and thank Bertholdt for the food before they were called in for duty. As expected, after the reports were all given out, they were dragged into a meeting.
It was a full hour of passive-aggressive allusions to how the military was not faring well in its current state. If Annie didn’t shut herself off, it might’ve been too hard to not glare at the higher ups directly. They ended up winning the last battle with three titans alone, with reliance on Pieck and Marcel’s ideas, with sacrifices from all of them, and yet, it wasn’t enough.
The war took too long, the titans no longer seemed like an indisputable force, and Marley was losing face.
Annie was used to the complaints dished out to them by the higher ups. She had the fortitude to take it and imagine herself spitting in their faces instead. Even older candidates like Porco and Colt were already used to it. But then there were the kids, who were also forced into this meeting, and were trying to not let their anxiety appear on their faces.
Udo was standing behind her seat, and she could see him swallowing over her shoulder at every second word Calvi said.
She used to feel just like him when she was younger, bursts of anger and frustration held so tightly to keep within erupting to burn her and everyone beside her. Annie knew the flaring desire to make everyone suffer back, just the same way they were suffering.
And she often wondered, that if she was given the chance to feel peace, she would've found herself in a place she wants to give back too.
There weren’t many times she felt like she should give back, but when it came to people who did deserve it, she didn’t mind as much. Bringing a hand back, she found Udo’s palm. He almost flinched, but she gave it a quick squeeze for reassurance. It took him a moment, but he returned a short one back.
Annie withdrew her hand to her lap. He still seemed upset, but he stood taller now.
The meeting drew to an end, concluding with a resolution to strategize better and try tactics that may aid countering anti-titan machinery. It was a vague solution, and only time would tell them if it’ll get elaborated on, or if they’ll just have to learn to pick up the pieces. With one more uncertainty added to their mind, Zeke and Marcel urged everyone to at least find solace in the nice food they had on hand in the war chief room.
Annie saw Bertholdt slouching when Reiner and Gabi munched on the salted bagels, thanking him. Nobody would blame him for grimacing in disgust when Gabi’s crumbs fell from her mouth onto his shoes, but Annie knew he just felt it was unfair they were thanking him.
It was very like him, to read too much into things and to care too much. His intuition was sharper than most, and perhaps that was why he often found himself cut by it. It was all self-inflicted, but Annie wasn’t heartless enough to think ill of it. That bag of pastries was baggage, the weight of guilt trips she needed off of her shoulders. It was just sad that action made him hurt even when he got to be kind.
Annie heard a crunch from beside her and was woken from her thoughts. It might’ve been for the better, because she realized she phased out and was staring. When she looked down, she found Zofia chewing on a croissant, cheeks full.
She kind of looks like a hamster.
Zofia was also looking at Bertholdt, but her blank stare was kind of concentrated, as if she was trying to figure something out.
Annie knew Zofia was smart, but her defining trait was being unpredictable. Who knows what’s on that kid’s mind.
It wasn’t long until her and Zofia’s calm ambience was disrupted. Gabi came jumping in on the latter, looking pretty upset. Both Udo and Falco following her tail. “Zofi! Why did you tell Bertholdt that I told you people are bringing over food?!”
Zofia stumbled back on impact, her face souring only a little as Gabi screamed into her ear and shook her. Zofia managed to grab the other girl by both of her shoulders to stop her and hold her firm. Annie was almost impressed with how Zofia got Gabi to relax and look at her.
“For the greater good.”
Gabi groaned in frustration and started shaking her again, more roughly this time. Both Falco and Udo came in to try to get Gabi off — what only really made for more ruckus, as Gabi kept elbowing them back when they got too close. Bertholdt, Marcel and Reiner were already on their way when Annie had enough of the noise around her and intervened.
And by intervening, she meant catching Gabi’s gaze and staring her down.
Gabi stopped as if on command. Annie knew it would work; she had years of experience doing that to her cousin. Subsequently, the rest of the kids also calmed down, and Zofia scurried to stand behind Annie, holding onto her shirt’s uniform. Before Annie realized it, half of the people in the room were around her and the younger candidates, just grinning.
Marcel was the first one to speak, looking down at Zofia and grinning. “You seem happy, Zofi.”
Annie looked behind her to see Zofia actually smiling, getting to the very last bites of her croissant.
“Of course she is,” Reiner chuckled. “First she got Bertl, and now she got Annie. Smart little kid,” he said, smiling down at her too. He then turned to Gabi who was sulking. He patted her head. “Don’t worry, you still got me.”
“Your favoritism is showing, Reiner,” Marcel teased. Reiner waved it off.
“I like all the candidates,” Reiner hurried to say, hands folding together in embarrassment. He recovered quickly after looking back, raising his voice. “Except Pock, that is.”
“Stop calling me that, you shit!” Porco yelled from the other side of the room, Pieck and Colt chuckling beside him.
“He’s cute when he wants to be,” Marcel mumbled sheepishly, before turning to look down at Gabi. “Anyway, if you stayed to listen, you’d know Zofia did admit to lying before Bertholdt bought anything. You don’t have to worry much about your reputation, pipsqueak.”
“I’m not a pipsqueak!”
Marcel pinched her cheek and she yelped. “Well, people who aren’t pipsqueaks apologize. You don’t want to be like my brat of a brother, right?”
Annie decided there was no better time to step away from this when she saw upset Porco and the giggling rest now coming over to their corner too. She left Zofia’s side and cleared the way for Gabi. Marcel and Reiner and Bertholdt smiled at her for this; Annie just rolled her eyes.
“Sorry, Zofi..” Gabi said, making Zofia wave it off.
“It’s okay,” Zofia answered without a hitch. Awkward silence fell on the two of them, no doubt thanks to the lingering eyes of their entire unit; but while Gabi just shifted her weight from leg to leg, Zofia decided it was prime time to move on. “And Mr. Hoover got a discount anyway. The bakery man wants him to marry his daughter.”
“Zofia!” Bertholdt exclaimed, and Annie watched his shoulders sink as the rest of the unit started sharing smirks.
“Oh? And what did Bertholdt say, Zofia?” Zeke asked, looping an arm around Bertholdt’s shoulder as he laughed.
“Uh…” the girl stumbled with the words. “Not much. But he hit his head against the doorframe after.”
Even Annie snickered at that. Reiner slapped down on Bertholdt’s neck, grinning. “You were that awestruck? Is the said daughter pretty?”
“N-no, I didn’t even see—”
“That’s no way to impress your future father-in-law, Bertholdt! What if he tells your future wife?” Zeke asked right by his ear, Bertholdt somehow slouching even further.
“I’m not marrying her—”
“And you still took the discount? Didn’t know you grew up to be a slimy asshole, Bert.” Porco teased with his brand of faux mockery, slapping Bertholdt’s back for good measure. The way Bertholdt’s back bended was like a twig under too much pressure, but to be fair, he did have three morons hanging off of him.
“You are all awful to me,” he sighed out in a whisper. This was his last show of resistance before shutting off. Annie could tell he was too exhausted to actually handle them all dogpiling him. It often surprised her how well he managed to front and mask away his feelings; she could never keep away from letting anger or frustration from steaming off of her one way or the other, but he managed to keep them from simmering just fine.
Maybe that’s why the past few days, where his mask was slipping off, she did find herself concerned.
“Need an out, Bert?” Marcel asked, chuckling. Bertholdt raised his tired green gaze to him, and nodded. “Okay, that’s it,” Marcel announced, grabbing both Reiner’s and Porco’s shirts and pulling them away. Zeke moved on his own, grinning to himself as he left two last pats onto Bertholdt’s back.
As Porco’s and Reiner’s complaints to Marcel took center stage, Annie’s eyes fell to the ground.
An out, huh.
—
The second time it was touched upon, it was a request.
On the way back to his house, Bertholdt took a detour. He didn’t have any desire to go home right now, and while visiting his father was a good option, something in him felt almost afraid at the idea of facing him again. The hollow look of his cheeks and the sunken tired eyes scared him.
Bertholdt had known fatal sickness since he was a child. He might’ve not experienced it on his own skin, but he had his mother and the patient’s of the doctor’s she frequented as enough of an example. He had managed to push those memories away long ago; he was only five or so back then, but yesterday made them all resurface.
It was the face of death’s door that his father held on him, and these days, he often felt like he was the one opening that damned door.
Just like the face of the Colossal was the face of destruction and death, gazing down at civilians and young soldiers that knew what was coming, so did he look down at the fragility of the world around him, of the world he worked so hard his father won’t leave, and found impending grief.
It was likely karma. He certainly deserved it.
But he was still afraid of being alone.
So he came down to the Internment’s zone graveyard, crouching by his mother’s grave instead. To be reminded of a person whose memory he already came to terms with. It wasn’t nearly as distracting or warm as being around the other warriors, but it was something. At least he could be reminded of the wafting scent of baking from the kitchen or the gentle hand that came to hold his own.
His lash line quickly grew watery, and he looked down to not let tears fall. Somehow, it made him feel worse.
The sun was setting, and the shadows shifted on the ground. His crouch made his shadow spread weirdly; a shape foreign and unknown that even he didn’t know what to make of himself, but it quickly lost his interest when another shadow was approaching, stretching beside his form.
It was a humane shadow, and Bertholdt quickly blinked away any tear that actually pooled on his lashes. He wanted to pick the pieces back before he looked back, so he could once again rebuild himself into the man he had to be, but the shadow grew shorter, into a clump of anything and nothing, just like him.
Bertholdt finally let himself look back.
“Annie?” he blinked more, doubting his own eyes. Didn’t she leave for home? He saw her going down her road. “What are you doing here?”
“Who knows,” she said, a stony expression on her face. Bertholdt stared at her as she looked down at his mother’s grave. She took a sharp inhale before willing herself to speak again. “I felt like I should go after you. I’m sorry if I interrupted a private moment.”
“No, no, I don’t mind,” he said, and it was a highly distorted way to admit he was grateful that someone did come around, as pathetic as it sounded. But even if he needed this, he couldn’t allow himself to just leech on her presence. “Won’t your father worry, though?”
Annie’s face grew darker at that. She sat back down on the pavement, hands hugging her knees. “He can stay worrying. I don’t want to go home.”
Bertholdt watched as her face fell in between her knees, even her eyes barely visible. His question from the morning came back to mind, and this time, he dared asking. “Are you okay?”
Annie snorted.
“Moron. I should be the one asking you.”
Bertholdt didn’t know if he wanted to cry or to laugh. He did feel like a moron; why was he getting so emotional over this? Maybe because his guard was already down. He was already spilling all over, and this is the second time today she came along to see it happening. What was the point of keeping it in?
“...No, I’m not,” he said, copying her position and laying his cheek on his knees. “And I don’t want to go home either.”
“Because of the nightmares?” she asked him, her hair spilling down on her leg as she turned her face to look at him. Her bun was all messed up; they were all messed up, but she was still just as pretty as she always was. He wasn’t a sight for sore eyes, but seeing her shine all the same gave him courage.
“Because I’ll be alone.”
Annie seemed to have taken a few moments to internalize it. Bertholdt didn’t need to tell her that he joined the Warrior program only because of his father, she knew that. His purpose was slipping away, and in just a few short years, his own grave will stand here, but even then, his body won’t be with his parents.
And these thirteen years, they will all mean nothing.
“Bertholdt,” Annie lifted her face fully, blue eyes melancholic, but voice monotone all the same. “Did you consider accepting any of the proposals you got?”
That took him off guard. He almost felt offended at that, actually. Maybe that was an option, but the idea of marrying someone he didn’t know, that just wanted to use him, felt as if it was another forced duty by their society. The only reason he would even consider it was so that his father could know he had someone before he died, but at that point, it was a web of lies. He could barely pretend to be put together to himself, a stranger for a spouse would only make him feel more alienated in his own home.
“No. They don’t know me, and they didn’t propose to know me. It’d only feel worse.”
Annie nodded at him. “I feel the same,” she started, and her hold on her legs tightened. Bertholdt felt both a pang of relief at that. It was comforting to know someone thought like him when this topic was usually discussed as an obvious part of a warrior’s life. “I don’t want to live with people who see me as a tool. Not anymore. Not with the time I have left.”
“Ye—” Bertholdt started to nod, but a sharp inhale from Annie stopped him in his tracks.
“Bertholdt,” she said, and it sounded so grave he was at full attention. “Do you want an out?”
Bertholdt blinked at her. Was his face growing hot? He wasn’t sure he understood. Something in his muscles grew weak and tingly, and maybe it was him shutting down after more than twenty hours with no sleep, but he never felt more awake. “W–what?”
“I don’t want to go home,” Annie repeated. The next part came as a whisper. “I don’t want that place to be my home anymore.”
His heart was drumming so loudly in his chest. He was doused in a mix of euphoria, fear; maybe even delusion, depending on what she will say. “Do you mean…?”
Annie ran a hand through her hair. “Marrying each other, yes,” she confirmed. “I don’t expect anything. I don’t need you to do anything for me. But I don’t want to spend the last four years of my life feeling alone either, and I don’t feel alone here.”
Bertholdt understood it wasn’t a proposal that came out of romance. The idea in her head was probably more akin to roommates than anything else. Knowing Annie, romance would’ve been the last aspect she would’ve considered anyway. It didn’t matter to him. She was still reaching out to him when he needed someone.
That’s everything he could’ve asked for, really.
One of her hands was now pressed against the pavement, propping herself up. He stared at it.
“Don’t feel like you have to say yes,” Annie spoke up again. “I’m not here to corner you. I just… want us to feel at ease, before we go.”
Before we go.
His hand came to hold hers, and a tear fell down his cheek.
“So do I.”