This is one hell of a throwback; it takes place at the beginning of OMWF. If your memory of the first three chapters isn't all too fresh, I'd suggest rereading those first in order to get the most out of this. If you want. I don't think it's strictly necessary.

Chapter 7: Of First Impressions

She was even smaller than she'd seemed while flying through the air and slicing titan dummies left and right, with a skill and technique he wouldn't have expected from a newbie—and even less so from a Garrison brat. Still, her slight stature certainly didn't count as a disadvantage for ODM, ideal as her build was for swift and agile movement.

The girl turned as she heard him approach. No, not exactly a girl, anymore, Levi determined upon closer examination, but a young woman, at least Petra's age. The look in her eyes was… older, though, beneath their excited gleam.

With that wild mess of wavy, sandy blonde hair around her freckled face—the unusually dark eyes wide open, providing a staggering contrast to her pale complexion—she certainly already looked like a Scout—meaning, crazy and unhinged. The blood trickling from the shallow cut on her cheek reinforced the effect. Besides, who in their right mind would give up the safety and hefty salary of a higher Garrison position in favour of joining the Scout Regiment?

So, either his assessment of her was correct, or she was spying on them for the MP. The first possibility was definitely more likely, but he'd have to grill her, just in case.

In any case, the maniac looked like she'd just had the time of her life. Levi imagined she must seem deceptively harmless if she were more put together and less bloody and messy. Probably the kind of woman who turned heads.

Not that it mattered. The only thing that mattered was that if he was right about her, she would make a fine addition to his squad.

As soon as she'd cleaned herself up, at least.

#

Levi couldn't remember the last time someone had him so… worked up, which might be connected to the fact that he also couldn't recall the last time someone had had the nerve to talk to him like this. And even worse: he was quite sure he'd never had a conversation that was so utterly infuriating, yet at the same time… entertaining. Somewhat. Which shouldn't be possible.

One talk with her—one-and-a-half, maybe, if he counted their pleasant little chat over lunch, and the few sentences exchanged on the training ground—had been enough to make several things crystal-clear; the brat was one hell of a spitfire, and she wouldn't only be a major pain in the ass.

No—somehow, he had a distinct feeling that woman meant trouble.

And his instincts were usually dead-on.

Hange came to his table, putting down her tray, although she didn't sit down. For once, her presence was a welcome distraction.

Until the obnoxious woman opened her mouth.

"How was your talk?" she asked, nosy as ever.

He couldn't help but grimace a little. "Even more irritating than this one's going to be, probably."

"I can imagine," Hange said without blinking twice, basically confirming his insult. "Especially for her. Did you make the poor girl piss herself? I hope you didn't scar her for life."

Levi thought of the 'poor girl's' undisguised outrage at his perfectly justified—if not all too diplomatic—inquiries. "Not exactly."

"No, I didn't think so." Hange's grin broadened. "She's got spunk."

"That's one way to put it. Not the best sense of self-preservation, obviously. Try threatening her or simply ask one little, personal question and she flies off the handle. Shitty brat has a godawful temper and no respect for authority."

For some reason unbeknownst to him, Hange's brows climbed halfway up her forehead. "Oh, really? Now, we can't have that, can we?" Her tone was dry, almost mocking. And then she said something that annoyed him even more than anything Nora Weiss had said to him.

"Sounds like you've found your match, Levi," Hange laughed, and had the gall to pat his shoulder. He was this close to swat her hand away, and not gently, either.

"Don't touch me with your filthy hands," he grumbled, shrugging her off.

Unperturbed, Hange prattled on as if he hadn't spoken at all. "Anyway, sorry, but I'm going to eat with my new buddy, today. No offence, but she makes for a much better conversational partner, to be honest. Still, you're welcome to join us, of course."

He deliberately ignored her invitation. "'Your new buddy'? You've known the brat for less than a day, four-eyes."

"So what? I can tell, already."

One look at the eager glint in Hange's eyes, and Levi almost felt sorry for the newest member of his squad. "And she has no choice in that matter?"

Hange beamed at him. "Nope."

#

A major pain in the ass, indeed. Like Nora had admitted, she was pretty shit at hand-to-hand combat. He had to give her some credit for her merciless and forthright self-appraisal.

Anyway, her inaptitude alone wouldn't have been the problem. A bit tedious, yes, but nothing he wasn't used to. What he wasn't used to, however, was one of his subordinates coming at him like a fury, which inevitably led to him having her back pinned to his front and her braided, barely tamed hair in his face. While he lectured her, an unwelcome and utterly unproductive part of his brain registered her smell—lavender. And something else that couldn't be compared or described.

It was distracting, and her sarcasm didn't help, either.

If he hadn't been distracted, and if she hadn't seemed to be listening to him despite her hissy fit, he would have taught her one hell of a lesson.

He really had his work cut out for him, and he could blame no one but himself. Almost.

And as he found out later that same day, she was shit at cleaning, too, to add insult to injury.

"Insolent brat," he said after he'd listened to yet more of her impudence. "Ever got kicked for your sarcastic, disrespectful attitude?"

"Not yet," she shot right back. "Unless you count getting whacked by an insufferable clean freak this morning."

It was after that exchange that he realised what exactly it was that bugged him so much about this impertinent terror of a woman, what he had sensed the day before when she'd stood up to him in his office, but hadn't been quite able to put his finger on it.

It was two things. First, the brat wouldn't be intimidated by him—and he had, in the very short time span that he knew her, already threatened her more than once, if one wasn't overly nitpicky with the definition of 'threat'. No, she was idiotic enough to meet him head-on, even after he'd 'whacked' her first thing in the morning.

Second—and more pressing—her lamentable cleaning skills aside, they were… alike. At least a little bit.

Both of which posed a simple question.

What the hell was her damage?

AN: Now that I went all the way back to the beginning, I can't quite fathom how I got the two of them together. I suppose we have Nora's "damage" partly to thank for this.