i.
Historia Reiss has practiced control, learnt to smile, to feign empathy and kindness all her life until the pretense has mastered her heart, and impassion is the guard of her threadbare soul.
Until now.
Now brings with it a dying sunset and the loss of Ymir. Now leaves her awake and freshly aware of how she's been baking in the sun, positioned uncomfortably against the stiff face of the wooden table. Now finds her clasping to the last remnants of a strange, vivid dream that is drifting away like sand through her drowsing fingers as she tries in vain to recall it.
And despite this, Eren Jaeger is the one that declares her to be normal, simple and straightforward as if it's the most obvious thing in the world.
Normal. It almost sounds juvenile. It would, coming from any other person, but from him it is different. She cannot explain why. Honesty has never come easily to her. Why then, should this be any different?
And yet. There is something strange in his truthfulness, something beautiful. Familiar. Eren is not the first to identify her. And she thinks of another face, of hard laughter and slender limbs and terrible secrets confessed in the quiet of a lonely winter's night, long ago. A pang echoes in her hollow chest. She pushes it down. Suffocates it. A difficult feat, while he looks at her so earnestly. But it is accomplished, soon enough.
She is safe from the crushing grip of painful memories, or so she believes. With belief comes confidence, and birthed from this, resolve, shaping her will like freshly-tempered steel. And she decides she can share that honesty in return. Decides to pretend a little longer. Pretend that she holds an inkling of concern for his little friends. And then she notices that he's never stopped watching her. Not once, in their entire conversation, has he turned away.
Curiosity takes place of grief. Caught up in her own fancies, she takes a chance - and then his hand. She does not mean to, not at all - this is what she tells herself. Yes, it's only an innocent mistake. She's just...concerned, that's all.
Too late. The damage is dealt. Eren goes tense, looks up and there is more than simple surprise in his features. And for the first time it is she who is at a loss for what to say, because in his eyes she finds a reflection of her own, haunted recognition. Historia wonders whom he is thinking of. The Leonhardt girl springs to her mind's eye without hesitation, the lone wolf that turned traitor and left them all with more questions than answers. Eren once shared a particularly complicated and tumultuous history with the girl, or so she's heard. For all of Krista's well-conditioned façade, Historia is attuned to things that other folk probably don't realise. And if the stories are to believed, then a good two year's worth of rumors have just confirmed themselves.
They have similar eyes, she supposes, similar hair. And there is a definite coldness present within the two of them that Krista Lenz would never have entertained. But Annie Leonhardt is a head taller than her in memories, remaining vulnerable and defensive within her solitude where Historia has always been offensive.
Though Eren isn't Ymir, either, never has and never will be.
Historia isn't sure what to feel. Pity comes first and foremost, then disgust, then a kind of bitter understanding. She frowns, lowers her gaze down to the wood grain beneath her, purposely avoiding their hands.
"I'm sorry," she hears herself say, flatly. He is silent. Eventually the silence consumes her and she looks up again, and the emotion remains indomitable in his eyes. She wants to wrench her hand away - because God, why does he have to look at her like that, it's pathetic - excuse herself before she makes this worse. Her own loss, fresh in mind and heart, should not be his cross to bear.
She is the first to take her hand off the table and shove it back in her lap, furtive and uneasy. He is the first to break the silence.
"You don't have to apologise." He says it quietly, almost intimately, and something is unveiled in his inflection. She goes still. Almost like a flinch, but not quite. She has not been the first to hear these words. And even as he looks at her, his gaze is suddenly transfixed ages away from this room, resting in some faraway place.
For the first time, Historia doesn't respond. She isn't sure if she wants to, just yet.
ii.
They don't talk alone after that until a few nights after their overwhelming victory at Orvud.
The halls of the watchhouse are lit by torches, but sparsely occupied, and Eren never gets used to the feeling that there are people watching his every movement.
But as he crosses through the threshold into the field, he's suddenly aware of two things. The first is that the sun has nearly set, the sky is darkening, and he'd do best to make this quick lest dusk becomes evening and someone catches him snooping around. The second is that he is not alone. There's another person by the stables.
When he approaches, there is a moment of confusion, then recognition.
"Oh," he says. "Hullo, Historia."
She doesn't acknowledge him verbally. Just nods, and resumes watching one of the horses mill about in its pen.
"So, what are you doing out here?"
She shrugs. "I couldn't sleep. You?"
"The same."
Silence falls. He isn't sure what they're supposed to talk about: amidst the smell of hay and feces he can think only of a few topics, none of which are particularly inspiring.
"What are your royal duties now, exactly?" he asks.
"Excuse me?"
"You're to be Queen, aren't you? What are you going to do once they elect you?"
"Nothing too political, I expect." She's a touch bitter, more so than he would have expected. "The Commander and I don't often see eye-to-eye."
"Oh." Eren's almost amused by her rancor. "Is that all?"
"Have you ever tried to hold a debate with him?" Historia snaps. "It's nearly impossible. No, thank you, I'd much rather be allowed to make decisions as I please."
"Did you have something in mind, then?" he asks.
She seems to hesitate.
"I did, actually. Captain Levi was keen on it, as well. I'd rather not speak of it now, in case we aren't allowed to go through with it, but..." she trails off. "You'll know when it happens."
And though Eren feels that she's being rather secretive, he decides to play along.
iii.
"I heard from the others," Eren says, a sack of flour in his arms as he approaches, nodding towards the old barnyard occupied with more than a dozen adolescents. "About this. You're starting up an orphanage?"
Historia nods. "To be honest, I wasn't sure if it would sit well, but the process went off without a hitch."
Eren just beams. "Well, that's the Captain for you. Eh, His-I mean, Your Majesty?"
She smiles coolly. "There's no need for such formalities, Eren. We know each other well enough."
"Oh. Are you sure?"
"I could command it, if that would ease your mind," she teases.
He snorts. "Very funny."
She smiles vaguely. There's another thought troubling her.
"I just...wish we knew everything the First King did. About the world, you know." She shakes it off. "But the children seem to be happy. I suppose that's all I can do, for now."
Eren just shrugs, watching the two closest children now chasing each other around the field. "You've done rather well by them, I think."
She feels heat creep up her cheeks.
"Oh, don't," is all she can think to say, half-hearted and for once, genuinely afflicted.
"That was a pretty intense speech you gave back in the cave," he says, grinning. "All that talk of leaving humanity behind, rejecting the First-"
"I was just-caught up in the moment," she says crisply. "And it worked, didn't it?"
Eren just smirks. She remembers the look - thinks of freckles - and ignores another swoop in her gut.
And much to her relief, Mikasa chooses this moment to walk over and remind Eren, coldly, that he's tired and shouldn't overwork himself, and yanks the sack of flour from his shoulder without further explanation.
iv.
Over the course of the next week or so, there is a subtle change of dynamics between them.
Historia notices this with private, unjustified glee.
The others don't say anything. And that's just fine, really.
v.
They are alone in the courtyard. Entirely. Not a soul is there to watch them but the birds and the sky and perhaps God Himself.
When Historia looks up at him, silent and cool and inquisitive and terribly familiar, some part of him, ignored for far too long, and hidden away in the better years of adolescence, snaps.
He doesn't know how she ends up so close; maybe she is the one to approach, but for once, he is the one to initiate contact. His hands are around her shoulders and justification is pointless.
The kiss is thoughtless, rougher than he intends it to be, and over in a heartbeat. When he draws away, her lips are a little pinker than normal and comprehension floods the insides of his mind like mist after a summer's rain.
And Eren can't bring himself to speak. To look at her, because when he does it's Annie who looks back at him until he remembers where he is, remembers that she's still in her crystal and for all he knows might as well be dead and what does it matter after she chose another, and then he turns away.
He can feel Historia's gaze on him. He doesn't see the strange light in her eyes, doesn't notice how her very posture relaxes as if he's done the very thing she's been waiting for. But he doesn't need to see anything to know, in that instant, that he has met some unspoken prediction.
And he has never despised another human being as passionately and completely as he despises himself.
A/N: Historia gives me very creepy vibes and I can't explain why. Blame her upbringing/lack of stability? Consider this my proper acknowledgment of Eren's mixed emotions during/after When the Hunter Met the Lionheart and When You Don't Know What You Want.