Chapter 15: All's Fair in Love and War

Although she knew better, Nora had hoped the only purpose for visiting Hange in her office was a little tea break.

Alas, no such luck. There was tea, yes, but Hange had news. Literally.

"I got about three weeks' worth of Marleyan newspapers sent from Hizuru today."

Taking a sip of his tea, Levi showed no outward reaction to the news at all, while Nora froze with her cup halfway to her mouth, her grip around the drink tightening. "I see," she said, somewhat strained. "Are we in trouble?"

"No, no. Levi was right. You two did…" Hange hesitated, then added with a sigh, "Well, you did a good job." She turned the paper around with the tips of her fingers, pushing it across the desk. "Here." She pointed at a narrow text passage along the right side of the page. "The body was found three days after we left. They identified him two days later. Presumed armed robbery turned murder. The connection to the crime scene was made eventually, seeing as he worked in the area—" She pulled another newspaper from one corner of her cluttered desk over the first. It was dated more recently. "—but of course, they are completely in the dark, otherwise. I mean, we basically don't even exist outside of this island. And they can only guess when exactly he died—another advantage of throwing him in the river." Hange threw a side glance at Levi, who did not look like this was news to him. Then, she concluded, "Just another disposed of body in a big city, another robbery, another one of those low-priority cases that'll likely never be solved."

With some difficulty, Nora swallowed down the lump in her throat, trying not to picture what that body must have looked like after four days in the water. "So glad we put in the effort to make the murder I committed look boring and basic, then." Her voice was bone-dry.

A small smile flitted across Hange's face. "Boring and basic; how fitting for you two."

Levi shrugged off her little quip. "If you've seen and done enough, you know what does and doesn't stand out. You either learn or you die."

And Nora was sure he had learnt quickly. But others did not possess a mind or instincts like his.

For several moments, Hange just stared at him, unblinking. "Sometimes I forget where you come from."

"Good for you, four-eyes." He leaned back in his chair, folding his arms, crossing one ankle over his thigh.

It wasn't a good idea, but Nora had always been dedicated to the truth to an extent that bordered on masochism, so she took a second to skim the article, finding what she had been looking for.

She'd known the man had a name—obviously—just like everyone else. Which meant learning it shouldn't make a difference to her.

"Michael Kostner…" she read aloud, as if it really didn't make a difference. "Ever come across anyone here with that name?" She was mainly addressing Hange; as the commander—and the curious, sociable person she was—she had talked to the most prisoners of war out of everyone in the Regiment.

"Not that I'm aware of. But then, we don't know many of the captive Marleyans by their last name, do we? We weren't the ones having to do the paperwork, thankfully." Hange went silent, thoughtful, rubbing at the black eyepatch covering her left eye. Just before the survey mission in Marley, she had got herself a new one—with a thin band so it hid nothing of her face except the damaged eye. It chafed far less, according to her, but she still fidgeted with it almost as often as she did with her glasses.

Over time, Nora had got so used to it—both the eyepatch and the fidgeting—she barely noticed it anymore.

But when she did, it somehow aggravated the sense of unease that near constantly nagged at her, increasingly chafing her just like the eyepatch chafed Hange.

"We could ask the Garrison to take a look at the register of those with permission to work," Hange said, watching Nora carefully. "The question is just… Would that knowledge be of any use?"

Nora placed her teacup back on the table with more force than intended. It made a noisy clank. "Well, I could walk up to him and say 'Hey, I stabbed your brother to death, the other day. But your nation attacked us first, and besides, he wanted to snitch, so no hard feelings, right?'"

To Hange's credit, she didn't point out how unhelpful the sarcastic remark was; she stayed silent, looking down at the table with a mixture of discomfort and weariness. And Levi only directed his frown at Nora; not an irritated one, but scrutinising.

She sighed. It was time to put an end to this dreary subject. They'd discussed what needed to be discussed. "What I'm meaning to say is that you're right. I killed a stranger who's the brother of another stranger. It doesn't matter who they are." She fastened her gaze on her hands, clenched into fists in her lap. "I didn't give much thought to the families of the Anti-Personnel Squad members we offed during the coup, either, and I certainly won't start with it now. It's over and done with, anyway."

#

At supper, Nora told her squad mates the good news. It didn't feel like good news, maybe, but that's what it was; everything had played out exactly as planned, and they could leave the matter behind them without having to fear any repercussions—from this particular little mishap, at least.

Officially, not a single person from Paradis had ever set foot in Marley. Or killed there.

Yet.

The others were visibly relieved, most notably Sasha and Connie.

"Do we know the man's name?" Armin asked, taking his spoon back in hand; he'd interrupted his eating as soon as Nora had broached the subject, focused and apprehensive.

"Yes," she said, eyes on her soup. The meal wasn't all too enticing, today. "Michael Kostner. No one familiar; at least it didn't ring a bell for Hange."

A loud clatter made her look up. Across from her, Sasha had dropped her spoon, her hand frozen in mid-air. All the colour drained from her face.

"Oh no," she said, voice thin and quiet, shaking her head back and forth. "No, no, no no no…"

Nora put down her bread and cutlery. She had a distinct, hollow feeling she wouldn't need it anymore.

"What's your deal?" Jean was frowning at Sasha, who looked like she'd seen a ghost, eyes wide as saucers.

"That's Niccolo."

There were three seconds of dead silence. No one chewed, or moved, or even breathed.

Then, it sank in.

A snort escaped Nora through her nose, her lips curling up against her will. She clamped her hand over her mouth, trying and failing to keep in the laughter bubbling up from her chest.

Of course, it had to be one of the handful of Marleyans they knew closer. Of fucking course. Fuck this day.

Her squad mates gaped at her as though she'd just announced she was going to blow up Mitras. Even Mikasa and Eren seemed shocked, blinking at her slack-jawed, and Armin's expression bordered on terrified.

"I'm not joking," Sasha said, stunned.

"Yeah, I know," Nora spluttered, wiping at her eyes, struggling to regain her composure. "Running out of bad luck, my fucking arse." Slowly, her chuckles died down, ending in a heavy sigh.

Well, damn, now she felt sick. She shoved her bowl—not even half-finished—an arm's length away from her. Something told her Sasha wouldn't eat her leftovers, this time.

"Oh shit," Connie said, summarising the situation appropriately. He turned to Sasha, stiff and motionless in her seat next to him, and grabbed her upper arm. "Are you sure? How do you even know his last name?"

"What do you think?" Sasha's voice had climbed an octave. "He told me!"

Connie gawked at her, clearly out of his depth. "I somehow thought you only ever talk about food," he said at last. Just like Nora and everyone else around the table, he apparently couldn't come up with anything helpful.

What was there to say that would change what had happened?

"Shit." Sasha was clutching the wooden edge of the table with both hands, her knuckles white. "I can't believe we killed his brother."

"Well, I did," Nora corrected. Sasha merely stared at her—or rather through her—still looking like a fish out of water.

"Maybe Kostner is a common name in Marley and it's a coincidence," Armin said, briefly squeezing Nora's elbow. The gesture was probably meant to be reassuring, but she found the effect was somewhat negated by the desperate edge in his voice.

"He also told me he has siblings. A sister and a brother." Sasha's round eyes went glassy, her lower lip trembling. "And his brother works—worked—at a forge."

Forges definitely belonged mainly in the industrial area. And he'd had a nice, sharp knife with him.

Yeah, that would be one hell of a coincidence.

"Fucking hell…" Nora slouched back in her chair, rubbing at her temples with both hands; she was suddenly very tired and had developed a pounding headache. "That was it for me with the gourmet food."

"I have to tell him," Sasha blurted, close to hyperventilating.

"What?" Jean snapped his head towards her, alarmed. "Why the hell would you do that? Do you want him to poison our food?"

"But he deserves to know! I can't look him in the eyes and eat all this delicious food he makes me for free and act like nothing happened!"

"Wait," Connie interjected, brows furrowing. "He gives you your meals for free?"

"Sasha," Jean said, his voice now measured and sensible, "the guy has a major crush on you. You wanna break his heart?"

"What? I—he—what?" Two flaming red spots appeared high on her cheeks, stark against her currently cheesy complexion. "We're just talking! You know, about his cooking and… and other stuff!"

"This is war, Sasha," Eren said. "Things like this happen. He might be our friend, but he's also on the enemy's side. Just like Reiner and Bertolt were." He sounded calm, but his features were tight, tense, his blue-green eyes reminiscent of a frozen lake.

Sasha sniffled, blinking rapidly. "It's not the same, he—"

"Telling him would only make things worse, and you know it."

She shook her head, not in denial but in helplessness, leaning over the table and seeking Nora's gaze, almost dunking her elbow into her bowl of soup. "Nora, please. Tell me what to do. It's your call above anyone else's." Sasha's golden-brown eyes were shining with tears, the whites reddened. "I'd tell him exactly what went down, of course, and that it's not your fault, but mine and Connie's."

"Hey, leave me out of this—"

"It's like Jean and Eren say. From a soldier's perspective, you shouldn't tell him," Nora said, cutting Connie's protest short. "But I'm definitely not the right person to tell you that you must act like a soldier in this."

Taking this decision from Sasha, ordering her—as her superior—to keep her mouth shut, struck Nora as… hypocritical, almost. And it didn't really feel like it was her business, no matter what Sasha thought.

This wasn't even first and foremost about the war, and more importantly, it wasn't about herself. Nevertheless, Nora had an idea what she would do—what she would want—if it were.

But that was neither here nor there.

"Decide for yourself. Niccolo would hate me, but I can live with that," Nora told her distraught squad mate. And that was nothing but the truth, even though right now, her insides felt like they were made of stone. Big, chunky, sharp-edged stone.

Judging by her panicked expression, that wasn't the answer Sasha had wanted to hear. "Shit. I shouldn't. I know I shouldn't." She buried her fingers in her rich brown hair, ruffling it until it came loose from her ponytail and fell freely past her shoulders. "But I can't just stop talking to him and avoid him all of a sudden."

"Why not?" Mikasa asked. A valid question, but also about as empathetic as a pure titan.

"I…" Sasha faltered, eyes darting all over the place, before she squeaked, "I just can't, okay?"

"Then continue talking to him, but don't make it any more complicated than it already is," Jean said with a dismissive flick of his hand that suggested it was both obvious and easy. "Or you let him off the hook—gently."

Sasha pressed her palms against her eyes, shaking her head. "I don't even know what that's supposed to mean!" Imploring, she looked back up at Nora, as if she expected her senior squad mate to have the answer.

Why, though? Because Nora was older and therefore supposed to be more experienced in such matters? In that case, she had to disappoint.

Nora shrugged. "Me neither."

"That tracks," Jean said, rolling his eyes at her. She scowled in answer. Had she been in a better mood, she would have smacked him.

After a few seconds of helpless silence, Armin spoke up. "It was bad luck, Sasha. You didn't really do anything; you never even noticed the man. And… I know why he did it, but—" He bit his lip, threw a sideways glance at Nora. "—still, the fact remains that he attacked Nora first. What would telling Niccolo help, when he can't go back home, can't even contact his family?"

Something in his eyes—the slightest bit too wide—and in his too steady, too reasonable voice gave Nora pause. He wasn't lying, per se, but… he wasn't being entirely honest, either. What she had discussed with Levi about the subject, back in Marley—that had been honest. And when Armin's eyes flickered to the side and, for the shortest instant, met hers again, she saw that he knew, and that he knew that she knew.

He was only saying what helped achieve his objectives—damage control and comforting Sasha—and omitting the rest. Purposely looking at only one side of the coin.

Sasha gave a tentative nod at last, her shoulders sagging. To say she looked crestfallen would have been an understatement.

Nora bit the inside of her cheek to keep silent.

There was nothing she could add that wouldn't make this worse.

#

This time, it wasn't about newspapers, and Nora was more than alright with that.

When she opened the door to her commander's office, she found Levi already waiting there with Hange, the two of them immediately interrupting whatever they'd been talking about.

How odd.

She looked back and forth between the pair. Hange was busying herself with cleaning her glasses, using her blouse. And Levi did not look his usual flavour of disgruntled; he looked pissed. Not good.

For a moment, Nora thought they had called her here because someone of the squad had told them about the whole Niccolo issue—which would be weird timing, considering they'd found out days ago and let the subject rest ever since, acting by far and large like it had never happened. It wasn't like they needed or wanted to keep it a secret from their commander or their captain. Just something that was already done and dealt with—mostly thanks to Armin—and something Nora would rather not think let alone talk about for a while. There wasn't really anything to tell, anyway; after all, Hange had said herself it didn't matter whose brother they had killed.

Maybe Nora would mention it sometime soon over tea or something. Not today, though. When she felt like it. Because she'd sure wake up one morning and feel like dealing with Hange's sympathy and Levi's… whatever the hell that would be.

Yeah, sounded exactly like her thing.

Maybe one of her squad mates would do it one of these days. Probably. She'd prefer that.

But again, this wasn't important, in the grand scheme of things; not for Levi, or Hange, or the Scouts, or the war, or any of the people of the Walls.

So why was she still wasting her limited time and energy ruminating on it? Stupid brain would never shut up when she wanted it to.

It was more likely something Hange had said to him was the reason for Levi's current mood. Wouldn't be the first time by far.

"What did I miss?" Nora asked, taking the free chair next to his.

Levi twitched a little in his seat, his frown all at once directed at Hange, who gave Nora that specific smile that brought a pretty, mischievous glint to her russet brown eye; that glint that was all her. "Oh, only good stuff, don't worry."

Unhurried, Hange took a sip of her tea, then set the cup back down on her desk, right on top of the documents lying strewn around all over the surface, seemingly at random. Brown, overlapping, ring-shaped stains exactly the diameter of the cup's bottom decorated several sheets of paper. A short glance at Levi confirmed his distaste, his nose wrinkling, disapproval written all over his face. Nora's lips curved into a small smile. Truly, his various quirks never failed to cheer her up at least a little, in part because of their predictability.

"We'll cut back on your shifter training for now. To, let's say, once a week," Hange announced the moment Nora was done with pouring herself her own cup of tea.

"Oh, okay." Her reaction was immediate and instinctual.

Then, she caught herself, quickly doing her best to wave of relief washing through her; she had to be rational, here. Maybe the insight came a bit too late, though; Levi was already watching her, brows furrowed.

"I mean, why?" she hastened to add. "I know we've covered most of what we aimed to achieve, but I supposed we can never practice enough, so—"

"That's exactly the point," Hange interjected. "It looks like there is an enough, after all. We don't know the extent, but we do know using those powers is taking a toll on a shifter's health. We've seen what it does to you and Eren when you overexert yourselves. And we expect the damage will reach a permanent degree, at some point. Our observations aside, your father's notes said that much, and so far, they've proven to be accurate. Considering that the Rosenbergs were closest to the Reiss family, it's no surprise." The crease between Hange's brows dissolved, replaced by a forced, bright smile as she rambled on. "But remember, the good thing about this is we can still take it as a given that there really is no thirteen-year death curse, just as stated in the notes. The shifter grows weaker and weaker until, after roughly that timespan, the power eventually just fizzles out. Your… pronounced signs of physical exertion only support that theory, in my opinion, seeing as there is a clear correlation between the extent to which you use your powers and the damage caused—as your particularly straining training sessions have shown us."

Pronounced signs of physical exertion. Now that was one way to put it. Well, the description was not inaccurate, and Nora had no desire to elaborate on Hange's assessment.

"Yay for me, then," she said instead, voice flat, effectively summarising Hange's little speech, her gaze fastened on the tea stains on the papers. "And yay for Eren."

Who doesn't love some good, permanent damage—possibly still lethal, in the long run, no divine devil-or-god-or-whatever shite needed? Good thing they might not survive long enough to ascertain the magnitude.

Though she had to admit she had not lost her morbid curiosity about the biology behind all this—for scientific instead of personal reasons, mostly. Knowledge was power.

Seeing as there was no way to get the titan out of her for as long as she lived, she had no choice but to embrace it; the good and the bad. One of the few advantages of her special circumstances was that, aside from the immediately obvious things such as her insane regeneration and resulting near-invincibility, all the little aches and pains everyone had to deal with now and then were simply gone. For good. No back pain from sitting too long or making an unfortunate movement during training, for example, no colds or illnesses of any kind, no mild inconveniences lasting longer than a few seconds when she stubbed her toe or something.

No more than dull, short-lived pain from minor injuries… which also included the occasional little accidents happening in certain situations. The, well, nice kind of pain, if she could even call it that; it didn't even register as such in those moments when just about every touch—feather-light or bruising or everything in-between—felt exactly right.

Aside from the disconcerting effect Levi had on her, she supposed it was also because her powers made her feel less pain from the get-go. She remembered the time he had let loose a little bit too much before she'd become what she was now. That had registered as pain right away; nothing more than a little ow, but she'd still had to convince Levi not to stop.

Totally worth it, no question.

Damn, but if the rooftop back at the base in Trost wasn't the best fucking rooftop in existence.

All that said, as a shifter, she did have to deal with some aches others didn't—the 'pronounced signs of physical exertion'. Like breaking all your bones, for example, and having to live through the agony until they finally mended. Or pushing the limits of your powers until your nose bled and your head hurt so much it felt like it was splitting open. Until you were so exhausted you felt sick, barely able to stay on your feet, unconsciousness creeping in from the edges of your vision, every single muscle in your body weak and leaden and hurting.

Those aches stayed for longer than just seconds or minutes. Yeah, that was very much not great at all.

Only Eren really knew what it was like. The understanding looks they shared spoke for themselves. Sometimes, they even talked a little about it, exchanging a few wry remarks. But for the most part, Nora wasn't keen on sharing these experiences with anyone in more detail than absolutely necessary. Not even with Levi.

Especially not with Levi. That subject was sore enough as is. He already noticed plenty of her hardships without her adding to the pile, seeing as the nightmares and the bulk of her injuries were impossible to hide from him. And then of course, there was their early-morning-talk a few weeks ago. Somehow she doubted that she had managed to change his stance on who was mainly to blame. But maybe, and only maybe, the stubborn idiot didn't expect her quite as much to bail on him, someday, as he had before. That would be something, at least. She didn't want to undo what little progress they'd made in that regard.

Levi shifted in his seat, half-turning towards Nora, tearing her out of her thoughts. "What four-eyes was trying to explain here before she digressed as usual—"

"Hey, what I was saying was totally relevant for—"

He ignored Hange's interruption. "—is that we're now at a point where the risks outweigh the benefits. The things left to improve aren't worth inflicting more damage on you than necessary, in the long run. We can't afford to lose you in the middle of a war. Now that you've got decent control over both your sixty- and your thirty-metre titan, there's other stuff we need to prioritise."

His expression was inscrutable, his voice level, matter-of-fact. Captain mode, in short. But there was something that almost seemed… off. Slightly. Nora couldn't pinpoint what; maybe something in his guarded, grey eyes, or an imperceptible tension around his shoulders. She might be imagining it.

"Hm." She considered both him and her best friend. Hange's eye flitted to Levi for a split second. He was scowling at the messy desk, again. "So, just to get this straight, you both agree on this, and you both decided this is the best course of action, for now. As the leaders of the Survey Corps."

"Yes," Hange said firmly and without hesitation. "What else?"

Nora had no idea how to put it into words, and what little she came up with made her feel awkward even without saying it. Besides, why was she even asking? Sore subject or not, from a personal perspective, she trusted them implicitly, knew without a doubt they had their priorities straight, and everything they'd said was reasonable and true. So, she allowed herself to just be glad about the development, for once.

"Nothing," she answered. "Makes sense, Commander… Captain." She gave both of them a severe nod and did a little, one-handed mock salute.

Scowl deepening, Levi gave the edge of her chair a shove with his foot. "Stop being weird and impertinent, brat."

"What's next? You telling me to stop drinking tea? Or breathing?"

"Anyway," Hange cut in before Levi could reply. "To summarise, you and Eren will still practice, every now and then—separately and together, do some more sparring—but on the whole, we've covered our bases." This time, the smile lighting up her expression was entirely genuine. "Which also means we can and should focus on training with the new ODM gear. We'll get it within a fortnight." She bounced a little in her seat.

Nora had to admit, all that didn't sound half bad.

The sparring part of her shifter training, while it still sucked arse in the exhausting aftermath, was at least kind of fun—partly because she won a lot. Granted, her being twice Eren's height—another circumstance she found immense satisfaction in—did give her an edge, but it was more balanced than it seemed; his agility and speed naturally trumped hers, making up for the height difference. Besides, the Attack Titan pulled off quite a punch.

Eren hadn't even needed to teach her Annie's manoeuvre. For obvious, very irritating reasons, Nora was already fairly familiar with it. Bertolt had always kept a close eye on the gloomy, reclusive girl-psycho. He had been very impressed, which meant Nora couldn't help but be, as well. Sometimes. To a degree.

That said, if she were allowed to… she'd still gladly crush the owner of the Female Titan, no questions asked.

Probably. She wasn't always so sure. Also, it wouldn't be wise. For now, it was best to keep the Female Titan out of the equation; they had no way of getting her out of that hard crystal—sturdier than Eren's hardening—without risking blowing her up or crushing her in the process. And if Annie died, there was no telling when and where the Female Titan would show up.

Better to focus on her research—and the new gear. Finally, something in her soldier life she considered fun, again.

Now if she could only convince herself to have fun and relax, for once.

Even if it was just for a single, bloody minute.

AN: I don't know why, but finding a suitable surname for Niccolo took me way longer than coming up with Nora's. Both of them.

Here's some unnecessary trivia about my thought and research process: Kostner is a common name in the north of Italy (and I think you all know that Niccolo is an Italian name). My native language is German, and I've always found it interesting how Isayama uses mostly German names, but also mixes in some from other parts of Europe - oftentimes with one and the same character (Eren is a great example). It's not inaccurate, seeing as these kinds of mixtures are often seen in Europeans. And since Marley is one big Germany metaphor, I thought it fitting for Niccolo.