Chapter 2: Suspicion

Mercedes' visits continued for several more weeks. She would arrive at the training ground when they did every Thursday, and participate as if she was one of their own. Jean was frustrated by the fact that no new information had emerged as to why this was even happening, but mostly because almost everyone loved her. He couldn't understand why. She had this nauseating mix of abrasion and charisma that seemed to have cast a spell over the others – one minute she was helpful or humble, the next she was insulting and superior. And they ate it up. Even Annie treated her with indifference rather than callousness.

In fact, these little visits of hers seemed to be so successful that she began to stay for two days straight – Thursdays and Fridays – and even had her own bunk with them for that purpose. She deferred to Reiner, agreed with Eren, laughed with Connie and Sasha, could hold an actual conversation with Armin, supported Bertholt, brought Marco out of his shell a little… It was infuriating.

Right now, for example. It was Friday; Mercedes would stay the Friday night before making her way back to the Western division the following morning. They'd just finished dinner and remained in the canteen like usual. Mercedes was sitting on a table with a small group around her, telling a story of some kind to her rapt listeners. Jean sat with Marco as per usual, and after trying in vain to hold his attention to their own conversation, had put his head glumly on his arms on the table while Marco craned his neck to listen to her. Every so often around the room Jean would hear,

"Hey 'Cee, what about…"

"'Cee, do you…"

"Maybe 'Cee knows…"

"'Cee…"

"…'Cee"

Jean narrowed his eyes and tried to shut out the sound of their quickly-adopted nickname for her. It bounced around in his skull like a marble.

Jean prided himself on not being fooled. He kept thinking of that distant, bored expression he'd seen on her face mid-spar that first time she visited, and the way it sometime seemed that she was holding back. Everyone seemed to be cozying up to her but they didn't actually know a lot about her. She gave them just enough to keep them interested, but the reality was that she was aloof and didn't volunteer much personal information. Jean was surprised no one else seemed to want to see it.

Not to mention that he was convinced Mercedes often concealed her ability. They had no way of knowing where she stood with the rest of the Western Division in terms of skill, but she definitely kept up with them. Yet he'd seen many times where she wasn't tired but claimed she was, or deliberately miss-stepped so someone else could score a hit, or even outright lied to Shadis about an end result. There was no reason to do it and it made him uncomfortable. Only when their training was done and the rankings came out would they know for sure. So far he'd managed to be the only one who hadn't paired up with her in training, but maybe it was time to change that.

He looked up as the group around her burst into laughter. He scoffed. "This is so stupid."

Marco turned. "What?"

"Nothing," Jean mumbled.

"No, really, what is it?" Marco turned his entire body to give Jean his full attention again. "You've been really sullen the past couple of weeks. It's not like you. You won't even make fun of Eren like you usually do."

Jean rested his gaze on Mercedes. Even the way she plucked at the collar of her black T-shirt pissed him off. "I don't get it. Why am I the only one who doesn't find this suspicious?" he opened a palm in her direction.

"What, Mercedes?"

"Yeah. Don't you find it strange that we still don't know why she comes to train with us? No one else does that. She shows up, everyone quickly decides she's awesome even though she insults everyone every chance she gets and lets them win if she's not humiliating them, thinks she knows everything but tricks everyone into thinking she's humble…"

"You're not making any sense, Jean," Marco chuckled a little.

Jean sat up. "Augh, she's tricking all of you."

"Maybe she's a little rough around the edges, but that doesn't mean she's a bad person or tricking us, come on," Marco tried to reason. "Maybe you're feeling jealous?"

"Absolutely not."

"What's going on over here?"

Mercedes stood at the end of their table, smiling curiously and a hand on her hip. Jean wondered how much she'd heard, then assured himself that he had no reason to feel intimidated. He glanced at Marco, who was blushing.

Jean sneered at him and began, "Are you actually –"

"H-Hi 'Cee," Marco cut him off. "Nothing much really. How, how are you?" he stammered.

Oh god, Marco, no. Please don't be her number-one fan, Jean thought.

"I'm good Marco, thanks," she said annoyingly politely. Jean almost succumbed to childish mimicking before he stopped himself. "It occurred to me that we don't really talk much, the three of us."

"Maybe that's because we don't want to talk to you," Jean said.

Mercedes' warm brown eyes became fiery and seemed to pin him in place. "Speak for yourself, maybe, Jean? It's not polite to put words in other people's mouths."

"Well it's not polite to trick people either."

"'Trick people'? How exactly am I tricking people?" she folded her arms.

"Jean, come on, this isn't fair…" Marco began.

Jean gave a huff of laughter, "Where do I even begin."

Mercedes put both hands on the table edge and leaned forward; the position raised the large knots of her shoulders like those of a cat waiting to pounce and defined the muscle in her arms moreso than normal. She put her face that consisted mostly of cheekbone in front of his, "Pick a spot and go," she said lowly. Her braid slipped over her shoulder and swayed a little before stopping. It felt like the entire room was staring at them.

"Why don't you tell us why you're here?" he managed, trying to project his voice around her. For so small a person she sure did manage to take up a decent amount of room.

"I told you, I don't know," she said. "I'm just following orders like everyone else."

"Then what about –"

A resounding crash drew their attention to where Connie had fallen off his stool. The others began to laugh.

Mercedes stood upright and walked away, calling back, "Maybe you'll be fit to judge me when you finally get around to fighting me, Kirstein. I promise I'll play nice."

Once she was out of earshot Jean glared at Marco. "It would have been nice if you could've stopped staring down her shirt long enough to back me up, Marco," he clipped.

"I'm sorry, it was just right there."

Jean sat back and sighed. Now he really would have to spar with her.

From the Author: these first few chapters are short, I know, because the meat of the story will come post-Trost and the Disbanding Ceremony. Think of these as background. :) Let me know what you think!