Disclaimer: I've done my best to spell-check this, but somtimes my brain is stupid and refuses to see the most blatantly obvious things. :P

SapphireShelle91: I do plan to repost the original Never let me go in its entirety, either when I'm halfway through this new installation or when I'm done with the first part of it :) I only removed it to give this story some neutral ground to grow in now that it is in its infant stages. I'm glad you liked the old story!

D0vahkiin28: Lemme tell you what: If you keep readin', I'll keep writin'!


3:


Iris signs her name on the letter. She has been sitting atop her bed for over an hour, and now she straightens herself. The muscles in her neck and shoulder ache dully. She hesitates before folding the letter over. The envelope and the wax lie atop the dresser at the opposite wall, all she needs to do is put the letter inside the envelope, seal it, and send it off… Once again.

An entire year has passed since she enlisted with the 104th division of the Training Corps. During this time she has waited patiently, fully inserting herself into this burdensome lifestyle.

This letter, like all the previous ones, is carefully written in code. If this letter is intercepted, someone will read through her musing over in which manner Keith Shadis came to the position as head instructor of the Training Corps' southern division. It is a question she has spent quite some time mulling over in truth, which is why she chose it as the topic of this letter. He does not seem to be a man who enjoys living, but she knows not what might have brought him to such melancholy.

The message she wishes to relay to Command is short and to the point:

"IRS JQR"

"I await your orders. What is my mission?"

The chance of her receiving a reply this time, when all her previous attempts at establishing contact have resulted in nothing, seems rather low. A year has passed since she was sent here; one whole year of complete, impenetrable silence from Command. She does not know for sure, but she always assumed that she had been sent here to find someone of great importance. Today she feels no closer to finding out which of her comrades or the instructors it could possibly be than she did on the first day. If she had been given more information the task might already have been completed. This leads her to think that Command must want her to evaluate the people around her without bias.

She seals the letter with her family crest and takes it to the postmaster. On the way back she sees four boys lounging upon the long grassy slope that separates the soldiers' barracks and the administrational buildings. Jean, Marco, Mylius and Karl all seem to be looking at something. After a moment's hesitation, her curiosity takes over and she joins them, sliding down to sit next to Mylius. Jean has a sheathe of grass sticking out from between his lips, and he chews it slowly as he watches the larger group of cadets situated further down the slope. Watching his long jaw working in slow, circular motions, Iris suddenly understands why Eren calls him Horseface.

"Sent off another letter, Iris?" Marco asks, turning her way. She nods in answer to his question.

"Yes," she mumbles, careful not to meet his eyes.

Marco gives her a soft, velvety look she finds impossible to read and then, looking away from her, he smiles.

"My parents would love it if I wrote them as often as you do yours, I bet."

She too looks to the other group below, wondering what has caught the boys' interest.

"You wondering what we're looking at?" Karl asks as if able to read her mind.

"I suppose I am."

Mylius gives her a glancing look, but Jean huffs a little and points his finger at one of the people below.

"Hannah wanted help bringing in the fresh rations."

Iris scrunches her face up in confusion, in part because she cannot fathom how this is worthy of anyone's interest, and in part because the person Jean has pointed to is not Hannah. She waits, hoping that Jean will continue to explain of his own volition, but he does not.

"Well" she finally asks. "What of it?"

It is Mylius who answers her.

"Hannah asked Braun for help. You should have seen Franz's face as they went off together."

That certainly explains why Jean had pointed to Reiner instead of Hannah.

"I fail to see how this is interesting."

Jean turns and looks at her doubtfully. "Franz likes Hannah," he says as if explaining something obvious to a child.

"Oh," she says. She should have known, but up until now she has had no notion of this. Franz is soft spoken to the point of being shy, but now that Iris knows his secret she cannot help but notice how he glances at Hannah whenever she is speaking.

"Makes you wonder if Hannah likes Braun. I mean, why else ask him when Franz is standing there looking at her?" Mylius says conspiratorially. There's a glint in his eyes that is only ever there when there is intrigue about.

"Reiner makes himself east to agree with." Iris watches Braun folding his arms across his chest while he is speaking. Next to him Mina, Leoni and Agnes are looking on, eyes distant in their absorption.

Karl smiles. "I don't think that's exactly what our friend here was referring to."

Iris disagrees, thinking that it is exactly what Jean was referring to. Reiner has admirers, not friends. The more time she spends in his company the more she finds that he treats everyone the same way, like everyone is an old buddy he has sorely missed, and somehow disliking that about him.

"At least Mikasa isn't falling for that bullshit," Jean mutters as though he hadn't heard any of them. Mylius snickers.

"She ain't falling for you either, Horseface."

"Oi!" Jean turns and gives his shoulder a little shove, but then he grins. "You're just jealous of my good looks."

"Did your mum tell you that, Jeanie?" Karl says.

Jean's face turns bright pink, and he momentarily loses the ability to speak.

"Ah just look at him though," Mylius says, leaning back on his elbows while he watches Reiner in the distance. "If he wasn't such a good guy I'd hate his guts."

Iris looks on darkly.

Her training sessions with Braun had continued for months, and despite her showing little to no improvement he had never commented on her poor performance. She had been grateful for the opportunity to practice without having too many sets of eyes on her, finding it easier to bear the humiliation of failure when it had been shared with only one other person. After making a particularly shallow cut three months into their covert training sessions, she had thrown her blades away with a shriek of frustration. When she turned around she had found Reiner smiling smugly at her.

"Who would've thought you had such a temper, Lady Bachmann."

She fought back the urge to snarl at him.

"Do not call me that."

"Sorry," he'd said, not sounding the least bit sorry. "But why don't we just stop for a moment and admit what's going on here," he added.

Iris had stared at him, not knowing what to say. She had absolutely no idea what he was speaking of, and felt she was in no mood for his antics.

"Well… It's not like there's something wrong with you, you're clearly not even trying. I mean, If you want to spend time with me you could just come right out and say so," he snickered.

Her first impulse had been to defend herself, but then she had decided that she would not even dignify him with an answer. She had turned around and walked away.

Three weeks had since passed, and she was beginning to feel like an apology on her part might be in order. At the time she had been certain that he had been mocking her, but with each passing day she found herself less and less sure that it had been so... Perhaps he had rather crudely attempted to make some sort of connection with her. It's not that she does not understand his jokes, the concept of humor is not that difficult to grasp, it has more to do with the fact that she does not understand how people find things worth laughing about. Who could possibly see the state of things, and laugh about it?

Back to the topic of Braun - he could have offered to help her because he thought it amusing to watch her floundering like a fish on dry land, certainly, but that would be rather cruel of him. Was he a cruel person? The more she thought about it, the more she felt that the answer was "no".

Yes, an apology really was in order.

"Iris?" Marco says, waving his hand at her in his attempts to grab her attention. She blinks and looks at him.

"Pardon?"

"Was that your father in today's paper?"

Papa's portrait had covered the front page. The artist had sketched him with a smile on his face, clad in evening dress and standing next to a haggard, frightened looking woman. His hand had rested upon her shoulder. If the portrait bore any likeness to his person then he must be in good health.

"It was."

"Cool. I mean, I had wondered if you two were related, but what were the odds?" Marco says. He looks genuinely happy as he continues: "It's a good thing, what he does. You must be proud to be his daughter."

The article had centered on the Kristiania Recovery Center, an institution devoted solely to the treatment of traumatized victims of the titan invasion. Her father is the founder and proprietor of the institution, as well as one of its greatest benefactors.

Iris nods. "He would be glad to hear you say so," she replies politely. As if Papa would concern himself with the opinions of royalist plebs.

She regrets the thought almost immediately. Marco is a kind person. It is not his fault that everything he believes in is a lie.

Iris gets to her feet, suddenly wanting to get away from them.

"I should get going," she mumbles and sees Reiner lifting his head to look in their general direction. His eyes find her, and she meets his gaze. She might as well apologize now and be done with it.

"Seeya," Jean muttes.

Mylius gives her a quick look. "Mind loaning me some paper later, Bachmann?"

"It is only a loan if you intend to return it," she protests.

"I'll draw your portrait."

She resists the urge to grimace. "Kind of you, but I must refuse. I will gift you the paper, do with it as you please."

"Thanks," he grins.

She walks down the slope, hoping that she will not arouse much attention by asking to have a word with Braun in private. Of course, prying Braun away from his enthusiastic following will always result in some amount of excitement, but she would rather not be the subject of any sort of speculations… Or perhaps it would not be such a bad thing after all. Perhaps being associated with Braun might add a personable dimension to her character.

He turns to her as she approaches. She wonders if he even reflected over whether she could possibly be here for someone other than him.

"Hey Iris," he says with a tone suggesting she is a friend he has not had the pleasure of speaking to for quite some time... At least he did not call her Lady Bachmann again.

"Might I have a word with you?" she asks. The murmur of conversation dies down around them. She turns her head and notices Bertholdt amongst them. She should have known he would not be far away. He looks at her and smiles kindly, and she resists the ridiculous impulse to curtsy. It is difficult for her to adapt to the informality with which the people here interact, though she would dare say that she is getting better at it.

"Any amount of words you're comfortable with," Reiner replies.

She had thought it would be obvious what she wished to speak to him about, and that she would prefer not to broach the subject with so many listening on, but if Reiner has any notion of this he does not let it show. She waits, hoping that he will suggest they step aside. He does no such thing.

"In private," she adds quietly, feeling her face heat up. She has the feeling that he very well knew what she wanted, but simply wished to hear her ask for it.

"Alright," he says, unfolding his arms and motioning her to come with. They walk down the dirt road and take a right onto the path that leads onto the chicken coops.

"So, what word was it you wanted to share with me?" he says, a wry grin plastered across his face.

Iris feels her mood sour. Five minutes in his company and he is already making fun of the way she speaks.

"I was hoping to speak to you of the way we parted… you know when."

Reiner stops abruptly, forcing her to halt and turn around.

"The time you threw some things around and looked like you wanted to throttle me before you stormed off, you mean?" he says nonchalantly.

Why is he so insistent on twisting everything she says or does?

"That is not-" she hurriedly chokes out, and his smirk says that he has gotten exactly the reaction he had been hoping for. She takes a deep breath, trying to swallow her pride. Just choke it own, breathe, and get this unpleasantness over with.

"I am willing to admit that I might have overreacted, and that I should have resolved the issue right away, rather than taking my leave in that manner."

Reiner raises his eyebrows in an expression of mild surprise.

"You're asking for my forgiveness?"

"That would be putting it rather strongly," she protests. "I erred, but I do not believe I was solely responsible either."

"What's that supposed to mean? Are you saying that I did something to you?" he asks defensively, and she is surprised to hear the hint of anger in his voice. Could this be the sign of a genuine emotion? From Braun?

Words rise like bile in her mouth, and she tries to choke them down but they want out. His sanctimonious attitude might work with his fans, but how dares he stand here pretending that his every smile does not mock her in some way, that his eyes do not pick her apart, and that his words are not thorns jabbing at her sides?

"You laughed at me. I understand that my feeble efforts amuse you, but I do not take well to being mocked by-" She cuts herself short, but sees in his eyes that he has some idea of what she had been about to call him. His mouth forms a tense line across his jaw. The unspoken words hang between them like sticky cobwebs.

"I see," he says tightly. "So that's it… And here I've been trying to help you, even though I've gotten nothing in return for my efforts. I've tried to talk to you to get you to open up a little, and at first I thought you might be shy, but now I feel that you just don't want to speak to me. I thought a joke or two might lighten the mood and make you feel better, but I guess I was wrong about that too."

Braun balls his hands into tight fists, but his voice remains eerily calm.

"You think I don't understand you, but I get it. I get it, alright... You came here prepared, and you're good at almost everything we do here. Problem is that the only thing you're not good at is the one thing that matters most. You, with your high birth and all your training belong at the top of the list, and instead you find yourself scraping the bottom... It must be difficult for you, living with the humiliation of having to accept help from lowborn trash like me."

Those had been her words, but hearing them from his mouth made them seem all the more shocking. The quiet tone with which he had spoken, and the look of hurt on his face makes her feel a sudden burst of sympathy for him. With some effort, she takes the feeling and pushes it far down into herself, effectively quashing it.

"Do not put words into my mouth," she replies coldly. "I have not victimized you in any way, and that you would even suggest that I have done so offends me greatly. I wished for us to come to an understanding, but I see now that it was a mistake on my part."

She steps back, wanting nothing more than to be done with this exchange. This amount of drama is not something she wants or needs in her life. It is a distraction that threatens to divert her attention away from the reason to why she is here. She must put the mission first, at all times and in everything she does. She turns,ready to walk away, when she feels him grabbing her wrist. He grips her tightly and his grasp feels strong enough to shatter bones, should he wish to. Icy cold panic courses through her, and with a muffled cry she tries to rip her arm free. He pales noticeably and lets go, taking a step back. He opens his mouth to say something, and perhaps he does say something, she could not be sure. All she hears is the sound of her own heart, beating wildly inside her chest.

"Do not touch me," she hisses.

Her feet begin to move before she wills them to, and she hurries back the way they came. She thinks she hears Braun shout an apology as she storms off, but she is not sure. She must be experiencing some kind of emotional overload, too much conflict all at once. She has never engaged in conflict before, and now that she has had her first experience with it, she understands why it was not allowed in training or at home. Even though the argument is over and done with, some unpleasant emotion lingers inside her heart, weighing it down. She goes over what was said inside her head, turning it around as if hoping to discover a scenario in which their conversation could have ended on peaceful terms.

She decides that it is best that she, as far as it is possible to do so, will avoid further contact with Reiner Braun.

Iris searches for a place where she can be alone for a while. She needs to put her thoughts back into some semblance of order. She needs time to think on what might have gone amiss with her letters, and figure out what else might have happened to delay a response from Command. Surely they would not just leave her stranded out here? They must not. Without direction, she will not be able to endure this much longer.


Four weeks later, she receives a letter that changes everything.