When he was twenty-eight, she punched him.

He had a girlfriend. A girlfriend. She was livid. Which was stupid. Which made her even angrier.

Annie silently ran laps around the deserted track, giving off an aura that warned everyone within a square kilometer not to even think about heading in the general direction of her momentary sanctuary. Her mouth turned down ever so slightly in a scowl as the indignation boiled inside. It wasn't that she was jealous. I mean of course she was jealous; she liked him and he had a girlfriend, jealousy was expected. But what made her burn wasn't the jealousy, it was the hurt.

He had every right in the world to have a girlfriend. He didn't like her that way. He didn't know that she liked him, that she had liked him ever since they were cadets. She knew the reason fifteen-year-old Armin hadn't ratted her out about Marco's gear was because he'd naïvely wanted to believe in the good in people and not because of any hidden feelings or something on his part. Not to mention that she had put herself on ice for ten freaking years. But despite knowing all this, when she'd happened to see him kiss that shop girl in front of the bookstore where she worked, before the sullen disappointment and flash of jealousy had been a stab of hurt. And that instantaneous, poignant jab of hurt meant that unbeknownst to her, somewhere, there was a part of her that had been stupidly romantic and needy enough to hope that he'd wait for her. Wait for her for absolutely no reason at all. Her eyes burned a bit as she forced them to stay fixed on the track. Having to admit that, even only to herself, was unspeakably humiliating.

Her years undercover and the lessons from her father taught her the importance of knowing yourself. To recognize every weakness and strength within your body and use them to best effect was the heart of control. The principal extended to emotions as well. Over her time undercover, she'd drawn her naturally reclusive and reticent nature around her like a wall. Her father had made her tough as nails and she'd used it as a shield of subtle (or not-so-subtle) intimidation. When an occasion called for kindness, she used her wits to find oblique ways to show it and avoid attention. When she'd fallen in love, she'd kept it quiet, expressing her admiration in easily forgotten off-hand comments and silent support and understanding. It galled her to know in her own private way, she'd been like those silly, giggly girls that she'd simultaneously scorned and envied back in cadet days.

Hours later, she lay sprawled out on the grass as the sun went down, no longer able to continue punishing her body. Salt water ran down her face and the area around her heart ached and burned. No matter how long or how fast she ran, she couldn't escape it: despite her cautious hopes in what he'd said and done thirteen years ago and now, he had never seen her.

Annie remained silent while Armin outlined the hand-to-hand combat training exercise to the new recruits a couple days later, keeping her eyes firmly fixed directly in front of her. It was only after she'd taken her usual fighting stance that she saw her out of the corner of her eye: the shop girl.

The next few moments were hazy on her end. But from the pain in her fists and the way Armin was staring at her from the ground, she'd apparently punched him. From the way he was holding his middle, probably first in the stomach and then, if the amount of blood was anything to go by, in the face. She may have possibly broken his nose. Squashing the part of her that wanted to apologize, she turned to the recruits and stated flatly, "Try different fighting styles once in a while. You may find something other than your usual is better for quickly dispatching a particular opponent," before giving the order for them to break up and practice. As she walked around pretending to watch what they came up with, she saw Shop Girl run over to her boyfriend out of the corner of her eye. Annie slid her eyes away when she saw that Armin was ignoring Shop Girl in favor of watching Annie with that look he got when he was trying to puzzle out something indecipherable. She had a feeling they'd be talking later. Might as well use the time to think about how to go about her defense.

After hand-to-hand training was over, he immediately stalked over. "What was that?"

She gave him a sidelong look. "Teaching."

"By not covering the technique we planned to demonstrate today and practically breaking my nose?!"

She shrugged. "Must not hurt that much if you haven't gone to get it taken care of. Maybe you should go do that."

"Don't change the subject." His voice softened a little bit. "What's bothering you?"

"Why does something have to be wrong?" she asked with a strategic lacing of boredom. "Maybe I just didn't feel like laying you out on your back today."

"I highly doubt that. Making taller people taste dirt is one of your favorite forms of recreation."

She gave a small, disinterested shrug. "Think what you want, but it's the truth." And she realized with a poignant stab to her chest, it was. She hadn't wanted to use her usual fighting style with Shop Girl standing there watching.

"Why?"

She gave him an appraising look. He looked bewildered and completely adorable doing it. Her heart tightened a little again. Did he just have an ear for when someone was telling the truth, or was he just that good at reading her specifically? She wasn't sure she wanted to know. Pursing her lips slightly, she turned to him and placed a hand on her cocked hip. "Don't you think it's kind of rude to invite your girlfriend over to watch another girl straddle and press herself up against you?" His mouth dropped like a stone. Her lips twitched in amusement before she sighed and looked away. "I suppose since you and everyone else on this base don't consider me to be a female, I understand why you didn't think it a problem, but—"

"I do," he interrupted with an awkward look on his face. "Consider you a female, I mean," he mumbled. Her flat expression told him just how much she believed him. He looked embarrassed. "Not in a weird way or anything like that." She wouldn't mind if it was in the weird way he denied, but it wasn't like he needed to know that. Armin continued, "I just didn't think about how your fighting style could look to other people. It's the best way for you to use your small build to subdue an opponent, so it didn't occur to me that your actions could be interpreted as non…martial…." He peeked over at her and gave her that tentatively sweet smile she'd pretended in years past wasn't just what she wanted when she needed a pick-me-up. "Thank you, Annie." He touched his nose gingerly with a rueful expression. "I guess I deserved this."

She shrugged.

They were silent for a little longer before he winced. "I'd better get cleaned up," he indicated his blood-caked face.

"I'll go with you." Her face shifted almost imperceptibly in surprise at the words that had flown out of her mouth. She recovered quickly though. "Try to fix what I damaged." She paused and mumbled, "If your girlfriend doesn't want to do it herself, I mean."

"She left quite awhile ago, actually."

"Oh?"

"Yeah."

Something that cautiously resembled a flicker of hope fluttered in her chest. "…Then let's go."