By the time Erwin finishes his paperwork, even the crickets outside his office have gone to sleep. There, I'm ahead of schedule on these reports, he thinks with a small sigh of relief. His eyes look at the small clock on his desk: three-fifteen am. Well past curfew. Not that the curfew applies to him, but if he can he tries to adhere to it. Lately his sleep has been poor, every little noise and distressing dream waking him up. It's nothing he's not used to; these periods of poor sleep and nightmares came and went frequently. He would fall asleep with the promise of peace and wake up in a cold sweat. When this started during his early days in the Survey Corps, he learned it was best just to try and sleep when you were too exhausted to dream.
Erwin stands up from his desk and leaves his office. Maybe some water would help settle his nerves. That or a walk outside. But it cools down so much at night that the air is probably chilly and crisp, too sharp for him to take a decent walk. And besides, it's three in the morning; it's too late to leave base anyway.
The hallways of the Survey Corps, even in the wee hours of the morning, have some kind of sound coursing through them. The rustling of covers as soldiers tried to get comfy, snoring from those deeply asleep. It's never silent on base, even after expeditions. Erwin wasn't sure if that comforted or disturbed him. I wonder what they're dreaming of, he wonders, glancing at each door as he passes them. Are they dreaming about home? About what their lives could have been like? About the horrors they've faced on the field? Preferably not that last one. But they probably were. After all, they were Survey Corps soldiers.
A young recruit sat at a small preparation table in the kitchen, cradling a cup of water in her hands. It looked like she'd misplaced her robe as she had her green Survey Corps cape over her long white nightgown. She nearly jumped off of her stool as he stepped inside the room and for a moment regret tugged on his heart.
"Commander Erwin!" she exclaims, quickly setting her water down and saluting him. "I can explain, sir, I -"
"Couldn't sleep?" he finishes for her. "At ease, there's no need for saluting this late at night . . . Catherine?" Normally he's good with names. Maybe it was fatigue keeping his knowledge from him.
"Yeah, I'm Catherine," she confirms, sitting back down. "I am sorry I'm up so late. I was woken up and thought some water would help calm my nerves."
"Nightmares?" he asks, fixing himself a glass of water. She doesn't respond. He wonders for a moment if he's overstepped a boundary, but before he can apologize she speaks up.
"Yes, sir." Her voice is small, dark brown eyes staring into her water as she talks.
"It's a normal occurrence for Survey Corps soldiers, especially new recruits," he informs her. Would it be inappropriate for me to sit with her, he wonders. But this late at night, there's no such thing as decorum. And with a subject so tender as nightmares, he shouldn't leave her without giving her more advice. He takes the chance and sits across from her. "For most soldiers they get less frequent as time goes on. They never truly go away, but they don't happen as much the more experienced you become." She nods solemnly. Clearly it wasn't the answer she wanted, but what was he supposed to do? Lie to her?
"I hope so. I haven't slept much these past few nights," she admits. "Well, if I'm being completely honest, I haven't gotten good sleep since Trost." She faced that horror too soon, the thought goes across his mind. But then again, she'll face it again soon. What's a month in these kinds of matters? It's just stalling the inevitable. And maybe she'll have a better way of coping with the horrors she'll see on the expedition because she's dealing with it now and early. Or, she'll be less than capable during the expedition and die. The image of her lying lifeless on grass, bloody and dismembered, flashed his mind. Would he have to write her parents telling them their daughter died in the line of duty? Would he see her body in a cart and think about this moment and how vulnerable she was?
"I'm sorry you had to participate in reclaiming Trost. That was unfortunate and should have never happened," he tells her sincerely. She shrugs. Her eyes haven't once met his. Is she nervous? Intimidated? Uncomfortable? She didn't seem uncomfortable; after all, she was spilling the dark secret of having nightmares to her commander, who had only met her once or twice before. Maybe she's just nervous and embarrassed.
"I guess it just means I'm better prepared for expeditions since I've had practice taking down titans," she says. He didn't know what to say. She was right, but he didn't know if he should confirm it or say something else.
"Back to the nightmares, sometimes tea is soothing. We don't have a large supply but if you're careful, you could always borrow some from Captain Levi's stash. He keeps some of it down here," he says. Maybe a joke will calm her nerves, or at least distract them. She giggles, shaking her head slightly.
"I don't have a death wish, sir," she replies with a genuine smile on her face. Catherine laughs again, this time clapping her hand over her mouth. "The next time I see him I'll probably think of that joke and laugh and get in trouble."
"I'm sorry for any future inconveniences that will cause," he replies and finally he succeeds. She laughs even harder and gives him a bright smile. It's hard to think she's a soldier; right now, she just looks like any other teenage girl, a childish delight still in her face as eyes as she laughs.
This reminds him of nights when he was a child and his mother or father would stay up with him as the toxic thoughts died down. Sometimes his mother would try and make him laugh to cheer him up. It rarely worked but hey, it worked right now. Is this what having a daughter would be like, he wonders, watching as she took another sip of her water. She could be his. High cheek bones, similar eye shape, blonde hair, although her hair is a mass of unruly curls and not straight locks like his. Catherine's a waif of a thing, though (at least compared to him; if he wanted to be whimsical he'd say she looked like a fairy that lifts weights in her spare time). It was wishful thinking, but if he lived long enough to retire and he was able to start a family, he'd like his daughter to look like her. But that was all it was: wishful thinking. He'd never be able to start a family and he'd have to settle for moments like this, keeping a cadet company to even get a glimpse of what parenthood would be like.
Erwin considered asking her about her family, her training, how she was adapting to the Corps, et cetera. It was always good to hear what was going on in the new recruits' lives, especially since there was always a gap between what was reported on paper and what was going on in reality. But then again, that might be too intrusive, too creepy. The last thing he needed was a cadet thinking he was trying to make a pass at her, or something. And he certainly didn't want to keep her up. She needed sleep. He decided it would be best to stay quiet and took another sip from his cup.
"I should try and go sleep before it gets any later," Catherine murmurs, slowly standing up from her stool. She washes her glass and places it back in the cabinet. He says nothing and neither does she. Erwin doesn't know what else to talk about. Give her more advice about sleeping? Was there even more advice he could give in the first place?
"Good night, Catherine," he finally says as she walks towards the door.
"Good night, sir." Her fingers grab her cape, pulling it in closer to her body as she leaves. I hope she sleeps well, he thinks, taking one last sip of his water. She needs to decent sleep if she's going to stay healthy. He washes his cup and puts it away before putting out the candle in the middle of the table. Perhaps I can get some decent sleep as well tonight.
And thankfully, no nightmares plagued his dreams when he finally managed to fall asleep.