Chapter 2: Sensitivity
The Utopia Garrison HQ was in far better shape than most buildings Mercedes had seen outside the capitol. Everything from its well-kept stables and simple greenery edging the three-storey building to the immaculately-painted lines on its training yard, through to the spotless halls she walked through. Unlike Karanese and certainly unlike Trost, the Utopia HQ was never under much duress due to the lack of Titan activity up here in the north; they could afford to keep things not only ship-shape, but practically luxurious in comparison. There were even heraldic tapestries on the walls and she heard laughter in the common areas. Mercedes glanced over it all with a mild resentment.
Anka, Pixis' aide, led her through the refreshingly cool halls; Mercedes hardly needed guiding, having been here a few times before and Pixis' chosen meeting room never changing, but let it lie. Anka's attitude toward Mercedes also hadn't seemed to have changed over the past year or so – she remained indifferent to her, apparently unquestioning of the squad leader's unusual singling-out. But Mercedes knew the reality.
"I was asked to offer you supper, should you be hungry," Anka said as they began to ascend the stairs to the second floor.
Mercedes smiled at the wording and how it supported her previous thought. The other woman perpetually hid behind citing orders instead of revealing her own hand, oblivious to the fact that in of itself this was telling.
"Commander Pixis just received his meal and commented that you might be hankering after beef lately," Anka continued.
Behind her, Mercedes watched the bounce of her chestnut 'bob against the collar of her uniform jacket. "I'm fine, thanks." Truth be told, her normally hearty appetite had been on a steady decline in recent months.
Anka didn't comment, indeed didn't speak for the rest of the walk. When they reached Pixis' designated office, she opened the door equally silently and let Mercedes slip inside, closing it behind her.
Pixis was seated in front of the only window at a small table with two chairs; the gentler rays of the evening sun ran their fingers over the glass- and silverware, illuminated the steam from his dinner of roast beef and vegetables. He dabbed his moustache with the napkin tucked into his collar like a cravat and gestured her over with his fork, not bothering to rise. "Please, sit!" he offered jovially.
For a brief moment, Mercedes eyed the empty place set opposite him. The barren plate, the hollow glass. Something cold seized her shoulders from behind and breathed ice onto her neck as she remembered the empty setting that had been laid in the Special Collection library opposite the throne room all those months ago, remembered her grandmother's fearful tale of what had happened to her uncles.
Pixis paused his chewing; surprisingly, his smile dropped. He noticed what she was looking at. "How insensitive of me; I'm sorry." He reached across and piled the silverware on the plate and put the pile of them on the floor at his feet with a clatter.
"No need to be, Sir," Mercedes said as she finally crossed the carpeted floor to sit opposite him. "I didn't realize you knew…about that." Though she was more surprised that he actually cared that it elicited a reaction in her; but then, their relationship had changed somewhat since her return – how or why wasn't clear yet, but she did know that she seemed to have demonstrated something to him and now he felt comfortable giving her, and sometimes her squad, odd tasks atypical for their experience level. Pixis seemed to regard her personally in a new light and Mercedes wasn't yet sure whether that was good or bad, considering how Erwin had used her.
Instead of commenting further he changed subject. "How's that charming grandmother of yours?" he asked, pouring some water for her out of the pitcher that'd been left. She was surprised it wasn't wine.
"She's well, though she's taking some time to adjust to her new living arrangements."
Pixis chuckled as he raised his glass, "Perhaps she'd find it more comfortable living with me. Maybe I should suggest it next time I see her."
Mercedes clamped down on her gag reflex. "By all means, Sir." She sipped at her water.
"All ready for your promotion in a couple of days?" Pixis resumed slicing into the cutlets of roast beef.
Mercedes' eyes dropped, focusing on the way the reddish juices wove among the glistening peas. She wanted to reply that it wasn't as though she had a choice, exactly, but instead said, "I believe so. Thank you for the honor, on behalf of my squad as well as myself."
"How old are you, now?"
"I'll be twenty-two next January."
"Twenty-one, eh," he surmised around a mouthful of bread, and sat back in his chair to look thoughtfully up at the ceiling. "I don't think even Brzenska or Dietrich were that young when they were promoted."
Mercedes sighed gently, tiredly. She often wondered what the purpose of their upcoming promotion to 'Elite' was, considering his above point and the fact that their skills weren't mind-blowing. They could hardly be considered to have veteran status – but then, she supposed, perhaps they were, now, since the Garrison's numbers had been depleted so significantly after the Breach by Fire. They probably didn't have much choice other than to promote whomever they could that vaguely fit the criteria, rather like a child inheriting their father's coat and hoping they'd one day grow into it.
She hadn't realized they'd be silent for so long until there was a clank of silverware and, looking up, she saw Pixis' empty plate with the fork and the knife laid together across it. He wiped his mouth and moustache with his napkin and neatly folded it in quarters. His last chew was followed by the draining of his glass.
"Eager to get to the point, as always," he muttered to himself but not unkindly. "You know that sometimes a little diversion is good for the soul, don't you?" he peered at her.
"I've heard," Mercedes enunciated into the equally crisp silence of the office.
There was a pause, and then the Commander did not so much smile as twitched the corners of his mouth. He continued, "As to why you're here…" She thought he would stand and start pacing, but he didn't. Instead he propped his elbows on the arms of his chair to better steeple his fingers. His voice was low. "A rumor has reached my ear of a plot to kidnap Annie Leonhardt, crystal and all, for purposes unknown. I would like you to investigate it immediately, see if it there's any truth to it and if so, how much weight."
She hadn't heard that name in so long. The Titan-shifter had remained confined deep underground to the point of practically being buried and forgotten during the upheaval of the Revolution. And now, someone wanted to go through the trouble of kidnapping her? "Weight indeed," she said.
"I know, it sounds ridiculous. But I'm sure you can appreciate that if it's true, it's a sensitive matter that could cause great havoc at a time when we need it least," Pixis said.
"Surely this is something for the Military Police to attend to?" Mercedes countered.
Pixis resettled in his chair; his arms dropped. He did not reply immediately.
"You suspect it's one of their own," she said for him.
"It's a possibility."
"Why me? People are starting to recognize me, now, in light of everything that happened."
Pixis stared at her a moment longer, his face impassive though she knew he had to be debating what to tell her, or how. "Two reasons," he said at length. "Three, actually. One, is that should you perform well on this investigation I am entertaining the thought of…altering your squad's duties somewhat. The second, is that you may find that our lead is of some personal interest to you."
Mercedes' chin rose a fraction and her eyes narrowed in interest. She decided she didn't need to know about the first reason and that Pixis was unlikely to tell her anyhow, but the second definitely mattered.
"The MP in question is one Baldev Usbet; I believe him to be your late mother's brother."
She stifled her surprise with a slow, deep breath. "Isn't my impartiality a concern, then?"
"You shot your own father in the name of justice; you've demonstrated that it's not."
'In the name of justice', she thought and hid a bitter smirk. Mercedes held Pixis' gaze. "You never said your third reason."
Pixis smiled, then. "Much simpler. I'm giving this task to you – and this may come as a surprise to you, so brace yourself – because I trust you."
As Mercedes rode across the western meadows between Walls Sina and Rose that once constituted the Stain, headed for Klorva, she reflected on the unusual timing of her unexpected family reunions. Not only had she unwittingly sidled into her lost paternal aunt's restaurant, but now she was assigned to investigating her maternal uncle. It was almost laughable.
But for the time being, she tried not to think about it. Every day for the past few months Mercedes made a conscious effort to provide windows of mindlessness for herself, where she purely experienced her surroundings rather than ascribed memories to them. They were pockets of relief in her world that was trying to repair itself, much like how the wildflowers and tall grasses were slowly trying to reclaim the scorched earth of the Burning Titan's footprints beneath her.
Mercedes let Sabine accelerate, of her own joy, into a gallop. She let go of the reins and instead held on with her thighs, spreading her arms wide and feeling the warm summer wind streak over her – what she imagined silk to be like. Sabine knew where to go and snorted happily. Ahead the sun was pitching itself downward for the day and hazing the air with gold, while slightly to her left were piled steel-blue clouds flashing silently with heat lightning; her and Sabine traveled that almost tangible line between the two. She grinned, letting the air fill her mouth.
Mercedes took up the kettle and poured. After placing it back on the stove, she grabbed the two cups and brought them out of the kitchen into the living room on her way to the back door.
"Oh, you should've said!" exclaimed Mrs Kirstein as she looked up from her mending project. "I would have made you both a cup."
Mercedes paused by the armchair in which she sat, between the lit fireplace and the window and its view of the rain. "It's no trouble, really. I didn't want to interrupt you."
"Well, please make sure neither of you stay out there too long – wouldn't want you to catch a summer cold. I tried to get your grandmother to come inside earlier before it started, but she seems intent on keeping me at arm's length." She lowered her head and finished a stitch in what Mercedes now recognized as a pair of Julia's trousers.
"Please don't take it personally," Mercedes smiled. "She'll come round. We're just not used to living with anyone other than each other. But we're glad to have you – it's the least we could do until Trost is rebuilt."
Mrs Kirstein smiled more confidently. "Well, thank you."
"Please don't mention it. And thank you for cooking. It smells wonderful."
Mercedes left through the back door and walked as carefully yet as quickly as she could through the jungle of discarded contraptions, and though the palms of her hands were umbrellas over the handleless mugs a few raindrops managed to slip through her fingers and plop into the tea. She gratefully ducked into Julia's open-sided workshop and wove through the numerous piles, benches, and precariously-tilting shelving units until she found her. Julia sat at a workbench in the middle of all the detritus as though she'd deliberately buried herself in it for protection, with the light from a hanging oil lamp cascading over her while she tinkered with something small in her palm – something that Mercedes knew she could have easily worked on inside.
"Here," Mercedes said, and set a mug on the bench next to the tea caddy -sized chest of tiny tools that she didn't even remotely recognize. "Dinner'll be ready soon."
Julia made a grumbling noise in her throat, and didn't look up.
Mercedes shifted a box off a second stool and perched on it. She could now see that Julia was repairing a pocketwatch. "You really should be nicer to Mrs Kirstein, y'know. It's been good for you to have her here."
"She's soft, like dough," Julia said and repositioned her monocle.
"Well you're about as pleasant as a handful of barbed wire."
"So you agree with me. At least I'm useful."
Mercedes leaned forward and frowned. "How is that sweet woman not useful? She feeds you. She mends your clothes. I haven't seen the house this clean since we moved in. And the ride back from the ranch took a toll on you – it's made me feel better to know there's someone else here when I'm not."
Her grandmother was silent. She held the watch up to the light briefly and blew on it. Around them, nearly obscured by the dark walls of materials and machinery, was the sound of rain. Mercedes sighed and took her tea in both hands, and averted her gaze to the cinnamon-colored dirt at her feet. It had been pounded into a sort of floor over the years – she remembered as a child scratching mazes into it for the ants with an old hammer handle while Julia simultaneously worked on people's broken farming equipment and lectured her in history. One of those particularly deep mazes, shallower now but still just about visible, peered out from under a stack of varnish cans and likewise, she felt that those days that had once seemed faded and gone were remerging.
"I met my Aunt Jana today," Mercedes said quietly, sipping her tea.
Julia looked askance at her granddaughter, and seemed to detect the unspoken accusation. She turned back to her tinkering. "I told you before that I wasn't as close to Alejandro and Rafael's wives as I was to your mother. They seemed wary of us. In light of everything that's happened it was fortunate for them to show such foresight."
"She's in Karanese," Mercedes continued. "Owns a restaurant with a soup kitchen in the back."
Julia hummed an assent.
"You knew? I thought you never visited them?"
"Well no, but you forget that I have grandchildren other than you – of course I'm going to keep track of where they are," Julia shrugged. "Even if they never write, or visit."
Mercedes lowered her eyes. "She wouldn't let me see my cousins, come to think of it." She didn't know why that had saddened, even angered her. She'd never met these people before in her life and had survived very well without being a part of theirs; why should it matter now?
Julia dropped her monocle back down into her shirt and folded away the tiny screwdriver of her multitool. She sat back and looked at Mercedes sympathetically. "Don't take it personally."
"How can't I take it personally?"
"You have to understand – your uncle's death and the circumstances surrounding it were hard on her, and she's done everything she could to, she feels, keep her children safe from their father's name. Our name. I don't blame her." Julia raised her eyebrows and held up the set of goggles she'd been repairing to inspect. "If you and I are the jaguars, Jana is the lioness. She always has been, really, but even moreso after Alejandro was framed. She has become suspicious of everyone. Trust me, it's easier to let them be, and stay away."
A Note from the Author: The 'Breach by Fire' references the Burning Titan's destruction of both gates at Trost and the outer gate of Ehrmich.