Who We Are Today

by LivianLynx

The battle for Shiganshina was won and the Survey Corps secured custody of the Colossal Titan. No one believed that they'd achieve peace with Marley's war machine by talking to the one enemy who could answer them but refused. No one but a single scout who'd believed in negotiation since the very beginning. (Canon divergent rewrite of AoT, Bertholdt survives Shiganshina)

9. Diplomacy

Bertholdt Hoover.

Friend turned enemy.

Holder of the Colossal Titan.

Paradis Island's only key to an outside world that wanted them dead.

An erratic enigma that Armin once, in times long past, would've claimed with absolute certainty he understood and related to, but that was now replaced by uncertainties and unknowns. How much of that understanding still held true, he didn't know. He couldn't know so long as he was given nothing to work with.

It had been well over a month since Armin had last spoken to him, and a layer of questions hung over him, thick like the fog that blanketed the plains he'd travelled early in the morning to get here. What did he think of Armin's sudden disappearance, if he thought about it at all? Was he ready to speak, or had he receded even deeper into his shell? Had he touched Armin's gifts at all, or was he determined to deny anything that was extended his way, no matter how much it could help him?

Armin stood in front of that all-too-familiar gate, this time on his own. Travis had assured him that he was 'old enough to find his way towards the Colossal's cell by himself like a big boy' before shooing him. As promised, the gate was already unlocked. This was it.

Floch's words had germinated in his mind over the past week, infiltrating every moment of respite and shaping his dreams. Armin alone was responsible for Bertholdt. Everything that transpired from this point on and every decision he made had to be in function of this fact. He had a responsibility. To Erwin's legacy. To the Survey Corps. To Paradis. And in a way, because it would help him out of this dark hellhole, even to Bertholdt.

Hitch's words had been on his mind just as much as Floch's. To be open. To give him full truths in order to receive full truths in return. To communicate and to let his words be what guided him to the future. In reality, it was all about finding the right balance between what he could and what he couldn't say. It wasn't by any means a new development, but after the shocking revelation about the serum's fate, Armin had lost his grasp on that mentality.

And finally, Levi's. To never regret whatever he chose to do. To live with his actions and not let them spoil his future, because there was nothing he could do about the past. Forgive himself but don't forget, no matter how hard that may be.

So many ideologies, so many concepts he had to put to the test.

He pulled hard on the gate. It grated over the uneven floor and his lantern shone onto Bertholdt, his outline visible long before he was. He sat slouched against the wall, upright this time, wrapped up in that isolating leather of a sleeping bag, and the faded green of a blanket peeked right out of the collar. He had accepted Armin's help.

Bertholdt was already looking his way when he entered, but Armin couldn't read any surprise in his features. It was as if he knew he was coming way ahead of time, despite having no means of knowing. He looked better. Less like a cornered animal and more like someone who was already bored with him before he'd even said a word. It was a step-up.

Armin reminded himself to focus. Follow the plan. Do what he did best.

"Good morning, Bertholdt," Armin greeted, quirking up one corner of his lips. He went to hang up his lantern and shed his backpack in front of the crate he'd sit on before taking his place.

Eyes never leaving Armin, Bertholdt simply watched. It wasn't that much of an issue; Armin had planned that today would be another long session of coaxing him into responding. This time, though, it would be just a little easier.

"How are you doing? I'm glad to see you're making use of the things I left behind here last time. I hope you're sleeping well," Armin continued. He didn't grab anything from his backpack yet, finding it would seem too preemptive and calculated, though there was one thing in there that he intended to unearth eventually.

He didn't expect an answer at all and crossed his legs in preparation to continue, but then, Bertholdt shook his head, eyelids drooping as he broke eye contact and leaned back against the wall in what almost resembled a relaxed position. If he had legs, he'd surely have them pulled up to his chest.

"Is there anything I can do to help with that?"

Bertholdt shook his head again. Armin could tell that he hadn't really thought the question through from how quickly the answer came. A pillow or a sleeping mat to lay down on and soften the rocky mine floor could both improve the conditions in which he slept. He simply wasn't trying.

This was good news, regardless. Bertholdt wasn't ignoring him. He was responding, even if it was the bare minimum. Armin's sudden departure had worked the way he hoped it would. He had to make sure it would remain effective for as long as possible.

"If there is, please let me know and I'll see if there's anything I can do," Armin said, placing his hands over his lap. "I… know it's been a long time since I last came to see you, even though I said that I'd be back soon. I didn't intend to take so long, but when you asked me to stop and some other things came up, I thought that you wanted to be left alone a bit. We can try again now."

His fingertips pressed down into the fabric of his pants as he prepared for the next bit. "At least… we can if I know there's a point in coming here. If I'm talking to a wall every time, neither of us benefit from my visits. It takes several hours to travel here and it takes up my entire day. I want to know that it's not for nothing. Can we at least… talk when I'm here?"

At the very least, Bertholdt was considering it — eyes a little wider than they were before, now back to focusing on Armin's. But he wasn't quite there yet.

"It doesn't need to be about anything relevant to what I said last time," Armin continued. "I know I sprung a lot on you all at once, and what I said wasn't exactly the type of stuff that would inspire you to say much back. It's not much of a talk if it's just me saying things and if you never give me anything to respond to. That sounds painfully one-sided."

He looked down momentarily to accompany the disappointed tone of his voice, then resumed. "And I also think that it would do you good, if nothing else. I meant everything I said about wanting to help you out of this situation. Even if there's not much I can do without your word that you'll help us, I can still be a listening ear. In all that time since Shiganshina, I don't believe anyone has bothered to listen. You must feel lonely, right?"

Thanks, Hitch. That had been a golden tip.

It resonated with Bertholdt, who straightened his position just slightly to lift his head off the wall. Still no sound out of him, but he was curious, proving himself receptive.

"And if you're lonely, then you're unwell," Armin continued his line of reasoning. "I can't see anything good come out of that. If I'm gonna help you feel better, that shouldn't just entail material things. I feel like I can say that because I'm not like the others around you here. Weren't we friends?"

Armin gazed deep into Bertholdt's eyes to search for a reaction. If they were the window to his soul, then the idea of their friendship rang hollow to him. It either wasn't real after all or he couldn't sustain the validity of all what had happened before through what he suffered afterwards.

He scratched the underside of his chin, head tilted to the side as he looked deeper into the mineshaft. "Maybe we weren't the type of friends who'd ever make it through a situation as compromising and intense as this one, but it's never too late to try. I'd rather have you beside me on the surface than down here. I don't think it's too late to restore what was broken. Wouldn't you rather we talk and see where that takes us?"

His eyes darted back to Bertholdt, who jolted up slightly. Something uneasy had broken through the boredom he'd carried with him since the start.

Armin waited for him to say something and let his eyes do all the work of begging him to respond, leaving them in silence for a long time.

"Yeah."

"Yeah?" Armin immediately echoed, more as a gasp than as a neutral reaction. His hands latched onto the crate, one on either side of his legs, at the response.

"Yeah," Bertholdt repeated, voice hoarse and tired. He left it at that, but he didn't look like he was lying. The smile the affirmations elicited from Armin was wide and genuine, and to a certain degree felt so nostalgic that he immediately dialled back his reaction.

"Okay. Thank you, I appreciate it," Armin said with a great deal more enthusiasm than he planned or cared for, but he figured it would play in his favour here. He sat back against the crate from leaning forward. This was the type of victory he thought he'd gotten last time, but this time, it was real. So long as he ensured that Bertholdt kept talking, he'd stay on the right track.

"Then… Can you tell me? You didn't answer me when I asked how you were doing."

"Um…" Bertholdt took his time to answer, eyes drifting away from Armin several times before adjusting themselves, like it was an involuntary reaction. "How I look."

"Ah-hah." He looked just about everything at once, but nothing good. "Anything more specific than that?" Armin pushed.

Bertholdt sighed. "I'm tired. Hungry."

The way he talked, Bertholdt was barely present. Not quite fully in it with his head, only able to give short answers in a gruff, weakened voice drained of all the steadfast melodic warmth Armin was used to. Tired sounded right — it was like he'd just awoken from a long nap and was still collecting his bearings, which was likely the case, but Armin worried that time wouldn't fix this.

"They started giving you larger portions when the tests started, are they not honouring that agreement?"

"No, I… They are." Bertholdt looked pensive for a moment. "The portions I got weren't enough even before. They don't suffice at all now."

"Do they know about this?"

Bertholdt shrugged.

"Have you told them?"

"I don't know."

"You don't know?"

Slowly shaking his head, Bertholdt sighed through his nose. "They'll just add more water instead of more food," he changed his story.

"Is that what you think they did when they upped your portions?" Armin asked.

Again, Bertholdt shrugged, giving Armin no verbal answer.

If that was the case, the situation down here was even more dire than he'd suspected. Could a titan shifter starve, or would their healing pick up for them when things got bad? Hange had noted that Bertholdt's food intake nowhere near matched the amount of damage he had to heal, and while he slowed down, he consistently retained the ability to heal. If that were the case, then Bertholdt might simply be so hungry that he was in no state to cooperate.

No wonder he was always so listless and uninterested, if he was being deprived of the energy to care about anything at all. Feeding him properly was the first order of business. Having Bertholdt operating on an empty stomach would get Armin nowhere.

"I'll talk to them and make sure that they give you more food. They have enough to give you extra and more than enough to prevent you from being hungry."

"They won't listen."

"If they don't, I'll talk to Hange, who will change the protocol. I'll make them increase their portion sizes."

At that, Bertholdt's eyes narrowed. "Why would they?"

"Because they have no reason not to listen," Armin answered, paying attention to what he did and didn't say here. "I'll explain to them that you are in no state to talk when you're hungry. You'll be well-fed in no time."

"Hange doesn't want that."

"Huh?" Armin hummed. He waited for Bertholdt to specify what he meant, but he didn't. "Why do you say that?"

Again, Bertholdt shrugged. "I'm easier to manage like that, I suppose."

If that were the case, Bertholdt was volunteering information that could work against him. If Hange was keeping his diet restricted for safety's sake, then changing it would be out of the question.

On the other hand, why did Bertholdt have only one limb left untouched if those measures weren't enough? They'd done testing on Eren to let him transform after remaining wounded for weeks and it hadn't worked. To subject someone to subhuman conditions as an extra safety net when one was already in place was nothing short of cruel and unnecessary.

So Armin smiled at him with confidence, earning him a confused look. "I wouldn't offer to get you out of here if I couldn't even get you more food. I'll get it done."

Bertholdt was perplexed, blinking a few times to process the promise. Even Armin was a little blindsided by how different today looked compared to his visits last month. He attributed it to his success in revalidating instead of falling straight out of his hospital bed into the mines. The opportunity to speak to people who actually believed he could do it instead of going in with a plan that everyone silently discredited played a role as well.

If all it took to get Bertholdt to speak was to appear warm and forgiving towards him, then pushing down how he felt was a sacrifice Armin was willing to make.

Armin pulled his backpack closer to get his notebook. "I'll write it down so I won't forget." In reality, he wrote down things about Bertholdt's demeanour. Distant, avoidant, stubborn but not irrevocably so, exhausted, and shrouded in disoriented confusion. Anything he'd expect from someone who was tired and starving. He could only imagine how he'd appear once those issues were taken care of, how much they could get done.

Putting down his notebook beside him, he looked down at Bertholdt to see if he had anything to add, but the other remained silent. So he continued on his own.

"Is there anything you want to know?"

"Um." Bertholdt blinked hard a few times, looking down in his lap as he shifted around. "Like what?"

"Anything. Date, time, how the weather is, how I've been, I don't know." Maybe even more incriminating questions, but Armin was ready to handle those.

He stayed quiet for a long time. Then, very carefully, he asked his question. "How long have I been here?"

"You were brought here a few days after the Battle for Shiganshina. It's the start of March now." Bertholdt looked up at him expectantly, like he hadn't answered in full yet. Forcing him to do math now would be a little cruel, admittedly. "Around five and a half months."

Bertholdt voicelessly mouthed the words to himself and he looked empty. Armin wondered if anyone ever told him the date down here or if he was kept in the dark entirely to further disorient him.

A bang startled Armin as Bertholdt threw his head back against the wall behind him. Hard enough that it must've hurt a great deal, but Bertholdt remained unfazed, gazing up at the ceiling of the mineshaft with hooded eyes and his lips apart as a trail of steam gently rose from the back of his head.

"And now?" came quietly, defeated.

"The third of March, around 11 o'clock," Armin continued, ignoring the action for now. "A Sunday morning. We've had a harsh and long winter but it's a warm day and the snow on the surface is finally melting away for good, it would seem," Armin volunteered. "And… Just to be complete, I've been fine. I'm revalidating and it's been fruitful. Lots of physical training, since it's not the technique I need to learn this time around. Are you… okay? That was a pretty hard bang."

Bertholdt didn't follow up with anything, barely even graced him with a nod as an answer. It left him cold, that last bit of information. Armin figured that he'd need a little while before he showed any interest in such details about his old comrade again, but somewhere, he'd hoped that he'd at least show that he felt guilty about being the one who'd put Armin in this situation.

Regardless, he knew that eventually, Bertholdt would cave to boredom and latch onto any stimuli he could get.

"Is there more you want to ask?" Armin eventually asked.

Bertholdt lowered his head until the bottom half of his face was buried in the blanket. "You won't answer."

There it was. Sooner than anticipated, but what else would he ask? He was probably bursting at the seams to finally have some questions answered, if it weren't his whole reason to break his silence in the first place. Questions he knew would cost him.

"Because what you have in mind is of a sensitive nature?"

"Yeah."

"Hm." Armin placed a hand on his chin, feigning pensiveness. "There are things I can't tell you, but there are also things that you can't tell me that I hope you eventually will. It wouldn't be fair to expect you'll divulge such matters if I won't. How about an exchange?"

"What?" Bertholdt flatly whispered.

Armin clapped his hands together, leaning forward. "You know, a mutual arrangement! For simple questions like… for example, the weather and other pieces of small talk, this would be pointless. But for sensitive questions, I think it's fair that for every question of yours I answer, you answer a question of mine. Granted it's of the same level of confidentiality, of course."

He tilted his head just a tad, the gesture mirrored by Bertholdt. "We'll both always lose something by answering each other, so we might as well get compensated by getting a question of our own answered that may otherwise remain unanswered. That way, we both gain something from it. Doesn't that sound fair?"

"What if I refuse?" Bertholdt asked.

"There's not much I can do about that, I suppose. But… Let's see," Armin answered, placing his fingers on his chin again and snapping them a moment later. "Okay, how about this? For the sake of fairness, we make sure that we both know beforehand which intel will be exchanged, and we both agree to the exchange before anyone answers. That way, we know what we're getting into if we answer, and we can refuse and find a better question."

"And you go first?"

"It's best if you answer me first and we switch afterwards."

Bertholdt shook his head, more firmly than he had the times before.

"No? Why not?"

"How do I know you'll honour the agreement?" He glared up at Armin, that typical mistrust glinting in his eyes. Despite how casual this whole deal sounded, it was far from that. Bertholdt was aware of the illusion. Armin had certainly acted honourlessly several times when dealing with him and there was no other choice, and it seemed he hadn't forgotten about that.

Armin licked his lips before he went on. "There's not one single bit of information you could give me that's worth you never talking to us again because I decided to run off with it. It would be plain foolish for me to go without answering your inquiry as well first. Not to mention, mean-spirited and underhanded." He hoped Bertholdt didn't consider that Armin could easily lay out bait for him that way. But even then, losing him to get one answer would be far too risky when they were pretty certain that he didn't possess any information that would change everything. "I promise."

The silence that spanned between them lasted for longer than Armin would've preferred. The urge to grab for his notebook and make additional annotations was hard to resist, but he had to avoid looking like he was cataloguing Bertholdt. It wouldn't help him establish trust.

Maybe most mesmerising of all was just how still Bertholdt sat. The only movement that disturbed his stillness were his shallow yet calm breaths. He must've had a lot of time to get used to not moving a muscle, especially if he was hungry so often. Every movement was energy that he couldn't afford to expend.

Armin stayed quiet. This was his best shot at letting his words get through to Bertholdt. He needed time to think, after all, and discover there were no downsides to this.

"Okay," Bertholdt finally answered.

"Okay, great," Armin repeated, shooting him a reassuring smile. That was progress. It went without saying that Armin knew far more than Bertholdt did, and Bertholdt couldn't possibly know which information Paradis had gotten, so lying was made more difficult. Anything he said now would be valuable information.

"But I get to choose what I answer?"

"Yes. If you refuse, I'll try a different question, but it's ultimately up to you whether or not you find the offered deal agreeable. We also make sure that the question that's asked is the only one that's answered. Supplementary questions when the initial one wasn't fully answered are fine, but they have to be within the topic of the original question."

"Fine, I agree, I guess."

"Good! What do you want to ask me, then?"

"I want to know what you're going to do with me," Bertholdt immediately asked, his question already at hand.

"Sounds reasonable."

Armin took the notebook and wrote down that first question. Better to keep good records of all that was said and get a visual overview of the questions to detect overarching patterns. There was a lot that could be asked here, but it was best to connect the topics to one another.

Time to learn more about Marley in the modern day rather than what a 20-year-old book had to tell them about it.

"As for my question… What would Marley do with you if you went back now? Sounds fair?"

"I think so, yeah," Bertholdt responded after a brief moment of consideration. "So… I answer you first and then get my answer?"

"Yes."

"Then… Considering I was your prisoner, Marley would interrogate me, then kill me."

Bertholdt was entirely unfazed by what he'd just said, despite how horrifically honest it was. Marley was still killing Eldians. To be expected, judging by the fact that they'd sent warriors to Paradis, but this confirmed that not much had changed since the time Grisha still lived there.

"Why? Wouldn't they want to keep a trained warrior like you in their arsenal?"

"No." Bertholdt lowered his head into his blanket. "I'm a liability. The candidates aren't. It's not a hard choice to make."

He knew that they were aware of how titans could be passed on, or he wouldn't have mentioned candidates so openly. Hange had told him about how they'd feed him to someone during several of their many sessions, but that didn't guarantee that Bertholdt would've remembered. Just like Armin had forgotten a great deal of what had gone down when he was burnt, Bertholdt's pain may have prevented him from reliably committing that which he'd been told to memory.

It was good to get confirmation that any information that they had fed him was likely remembered but could still be used as leverage. It was a matter of testing what he had and hadn't retained.

And what did that mean for Reiner? Was that why Bertholdt seemed so uninterested in going back home to him when Armin had previously mentioned him?

No. Reiner hadn't been imprisoned. He was far less of a liability than Bertholdt had become, they wouldn't get rid of him. Bertholdt had gushed about the idea of going home together too enthusiastically up on Wall Rose for Marley to realistically kill any of them just for having lived within the Walls. Reiner knew better than to not cover his tracks when doing his story to the upper brass. Asking would be a waste of a question.

"So they have candidates at the ready?" Armin asked instead.

Bertholdt shrugged. Armin wasn't going to get more out of him and he didn't want to risk overstepping the rules he'd made up and angering Bertholdt.

"I see. When we build relations with Marley, there won't be the need for them to kill you at all. We'll be allied nations and they'll have no grounds to suspect you of doing anything of detriment to them on. I'm certain that they'll prefer to keep you instead of having to teach a new candidate how to use the Colossal Titan. In fact… We can offer you asylum until they can guarantee your safety."

No, Bertholdt shook with his head.

"I'm just reminding you. You wanted to know what we plan to do with you?" Armin changed the topic, to which Bertholdt nodded weakly. "Well, currently, as it stands, the upper brass have no other intentions with you than the purely functional. They want to expand our knowledge of medicine and the human body for the sake of improving the overall health of our people, which is why you're being subjected to these tests. That aside, they hope to reclaim the powers of the Colossal Titan."

They. Not we. Not I.

There didn't come any particular reaction after that. It was hard to tell whether Bertholdt asked to confirm something he'd already been told, or if he genuinely didn't know. If it were new information, Bertholdt was taking it well.

"Of course… Whether that is at the end of your lifespan or sooner is to be seen. If you help us, then that would be met with an extension to your life as part of your compensation. Even if they find a fitting new host for your titan. That much is fair."

Shaking his head, Bertholdt's stance on the issue was clear.

"I just wanted to remind you that the offer still stands."

"I'm not taking it."

"Okay. That's fine. But keep it in mind," Armin insisted. He noted down a few things about the exchange in the open notebook next to him on the crate. "Does that answer your question?"

"Yeah."

"Okay. Good. Is there anything else you want to know?"

Bertholdt thought it over, taking a few minutes before he came up with something. "I didn't see Krista in the battle. Did I kill her?" he asked, and this time the question came with a slight quirk of his lower eyelids. Guilt, maybe even sadness, Armin decided to interpret it as.

That would be a logical assumption to make if he hadn't seen her in the later stage of the battle. With only nine survivors and her not among them, it wasn't that strange of a leap of logic to make. It was a miracle that their entire group survived when so few others had.

Was it safe to tell him that she was the Queen? Regardless of what they knew, Ymir had convinced Reiner and Bertholdt to delay their escape and take Historia with them instead. Historia later said that they had believed Ymir when she said that Historia would be the gift that spared her from being killed. Ymir's letter suggested that she was already dead. Was there a fair tradeoff he could make, one that didn't show just how sensitive of a question Bertholdt had asked?

No. Armin would have to hope that Bertholdt would later underestimate the value of one of Armin's own questions to make up for this. Now, he had to make a gambit and dangle a piece of information before his eyes.

"In that case, what happened to Ymir after you left with her?"

Bertholdt licked his lips, briefly pressing his mouth into a thin line before he answered. "She went with us to Shiganshina. We gave her the choice to escape, but she stayed with us despite knowing what would happen."

"And after that?" Armin implored him to continue despite the volume of Bertholdt's voice indicating that he didn't want to dwell upon this too much. That alone more than confirmed it.

"She went back to Marley, where she would be eaten."

"Do you know if she was, and if so, who did it?"

Bertholdt weakly shook his head. "I don't know if it really happened, but it's very likely. I don't know who was chosen."

"I see." Armin crossed his arms over his lap. He never was particularly close with Ymir at all, and at some point she'd even suggested they leave him for dead when he was unresponsive back in Trost. Connie had spoken about how uncalled for it was. The few times they sparred, she was thoughtless, showing no regard for his stature or state.

That didn't change that it was always shocking to hear confirmation that someone he'd trained with had been killed, however. Moreover, that nigh confirmed that her titan was now in Marley's arsenal again. "Do you know why she went with you if she knew what fate she faced?"

Bertholdt's face was buried so deep within that blanket that his eyes were barely visible now, masked well by his matted bangs. "She felt guilty. She knew that we couldn't come back empty-handed and she wanted to repay us for having eaten Marcel."

Marcel. The name of the previous inheritor of Ymir's titan. Bertholdt didn't seem aware that the name would've meant nothing to Armin.

"That's noble of her."

Humming affirmatively, Bertholdt didn't move. Armin let him, not calling on his choice of posture, folded over like he felt ashamed of what had gone down.

Armin shouldn't push, but he wanted this insight into Bertholdt's psyche. "I had the impression that you were friends. You let her die to save yourself? You were fine with it?"

Bertholdt stiffened for a moment. With a delay, he responded. "It wasn't about us."

"It wasn't about you?"

"It was much larger than the three of us. I didn't want it either…"

Now he was being cryptic again, the same way he was during his interrogation. Armin figured that he wouldn't get Bertholdt to explain it any further, so he annotated the odd words and moved on.

"Alright. That satisfies me," Armin said. He crossed his legs and cleared his throat. "As for Krista, you didn't kill her. She's still alive and healthy. Since that's a bit of an underwhelming answer compared to what you told me, I'll also tell you that she has received Ymir's letter."

Bertholdt surfaced, looking at Armin wide-eyed. This was possibly the first time he really looked immersed in the conversation instead of listening in with only half an ear.

"You… You got the letter?"

Armin had to suppress a smile. "We did."

"How?" Bertholdt immediately followed up, masking none of his distress.

"That's a different question than what I was answering," Armin flatly responded.

"What do you want in return for it?"

This time, Bertholdt glared at Armin, unhappy with the game he was playing. It had gone so well until now, but the illusion was bound to get shattered the moment Armin used the rules to his own advantage. He'd hoped that Bertholdt would be too tired to notice.

It was no issue. The information was more important than being bitter at Armin for a little while, so the risk was minimal.

"You want to ask me how we got the letter, right?"

"Yes."

"Then tell me what you remember about the Battle for Shiganshina first."

Bertholdt's eyes came to a squint. He opened his mouth to speak, then seemed to change his mind and looked down at the floor to think over his next words carefully. He squeezed his eyes shut, then looked back up at Armin, something accusing written across his face. "That's not an equal question."

"You can always change the terms."

"If we're talking about what I remember about Shiganshina…" Bertholdt bit on his lip. "Then I want you to tell me what really happened."

"That sounds fair to me. There are some details I can't tell you for security reasons, but I will give you an account that's as complete as I'm allowed to give. And one that mirrors what you tell me, of course."

"And how you got Ymir's letter?"

"It'll be part of it."

Bertholdt's grimace melted away into something more at ease but still on guard.

"I don't remember much. Only fragments," he started, sight purposely pinned onto the gate. "I know that you took out Reiner and I remember stopping and telling him to roll over. I… think that I shouted something at you. Don't remember what…"

He glanced over at Armin to gauge his reaction, and Armin made sure not to give him anything so his eyes went back to the gate, slouching deeper against the wall behind him. "Then, I transformed and made my way to the Wall. I burned you but stopped when I couldn't think of a reason why you wouldn't wait for help. I remember thinking you were dead."

"Ah-hah." At that point, he may well have been. Armin didn't remember anything after it.

"And then… I, um, chased Eren to grab him. Yeah, by the river. And after that…"

Bertholdt paused. He spoke like he was trying to remember what had happened for the first time. Surely, the battle must've played through his head a thousand times with how much time he'd had to spare. This all sounded so disjointed that it was hard to believe he had. That, or he really didn't remember much at all, only capable of retelling major details. They'd talked about fifteen minutes before his death, but even that detail was nearly entirely absent from his account.

"After that?" Armin encouraged.

"After that…" Bertholdt echoed, taking his time to find his words. Armin waited with intrigue. It was moments like these where he wanted to unspool Bertholdt's brain, trail his fingers through everything that was woven into his being. To understand what he still remembered, what was gone, but most importantly, how he was knitting together all these fragments of confusing memories.

"Reiner," Bertholdt suddenly said. "Reiner — he was hanging out of Pieck's mouth. But he was alive, she'd gotten him. And then she…" His eyes widened momentarily before narrowing down painfully. "She ran. She left me behind, and I followed. I made it to the Wall and I got shot before I fell. I don't remember much after that."

"'Don't remember much', you say? Not nothing at all? Can you try to think of anything that might've happened between your fall and the next time you woke up?"

"Um…" Bertholdt hummed, shifting around against the wall behind him. "I've tried. All I can remember is that at a certain point, I felt like I was drowning."

"Drowning?" In his own blood, maybe? There was a lot of it, and with the trauma to his throat, it wouldn't be strange if some of it had trickled into his windpipe and he'd choked on it in his last moments.

"I don't know… Everything hurt and I felt wet and limp, like I was floating. My lungs were filled with something dense and I couldn't breathe. That's all I remember."

It must've been a fever dream he'd had while his lungs had collapsed and he couldn't use them to inhale anymore. It would make sense that, in the chaos of the moment, his mind would interpret that as drowning. It wasn't every day that someone died and lived to tell about it.

"Your lungs were ripped open. You must've felt the blood they filled up with."

"Probably. It felt heavy."

"I see," Armin said.

If that really was all, then Bertholdt hadn't retained anything from the battle save for the crudest of details.

He didn't remember Armin's request to talk.

He didn't remember demanding Eren be handed over and all of humanity in the Walls to die.

He didn't remember admitting he decided on everything.

He didn't remember dismissing Annie's fate.

He didn't remember taking back what he'd said about them being the spawn of the devil.

He didn't remember his first attempt on Armin's life that day.

And if he did, then he was wise not to speak of it. Who knew what that would cause between them, what old wounds it would rip into? He could very well be keeping details he was ashamed of hidden.

Armin wanted to pry every detail of this story loose, but now wasn't the time. Bertholdt was looking at him, staring at him with begging eyes — just to tell him that they hadn't gotten Reiner too, as Hange had claimed many times, and that he'd really escaped. Stalling for time now might drive out quick answers to get his part of the answer over with.

"That's a lot to take in." He leaned forward on the crate, hands propped steadily on either side of his legs. "What you said isn't wrong. We defeated Reiner and you made a detour to check up on him, then we talked on top of a church. I requested to talk and asked you why you were doing this. You told me that you wanted us to die and that you wanted Eren but that we're not devils. You got away and transformed, killing most scouts within the city. And then…"

Had Armin told anyone what had happened at all, directly?

So far, no one had asked. He was more often the listener than he was the storyteller. Anyone who might have listened had either lived through the battle, or read the report, or were briefed by third-parties. Or they simply didn't bother to ask. There was a lot to be inferred from the wounds that ran over his chin down into the collar of his shirt and melded with the left corner of his lips and cheek, leaving the scars over his shoulders, arms, and sides hidden by his clothes. Considering the outcome, it was a painful memory Armin would rather not recall in detail.

On top of that, telling it the way it was could turn Bertholdt against him. Armin had already let him know the impact Bertholdt had had on him, how much pain he'd caused. If he wanted to become a person Bertholdt believed he could trust, it was better to avoid talking about the ways that he had hurt Armin, no matter how tempting it was. Judgement over the past would push him in the wrong direction, he needed hope that the future could be fixed.

Short and generic it was.

"… Then we came face to face before you stopped and Eren whisked me away."

Bertholdt only inhaled deeply but steadily, holding his breath. In lieu of a verbal response, Armin observed how his body language changed as he continued.

"What came after, I've only been told, since I also didn't wake up until a while after we had returned. You pleaded for Eren to come with you and offered to spare the rest of us if he did, but he refused and instead took himself hostage. You hesitated and Captain Levi caught up to you. After that, you chased after… Pieck, you said her name was?"

No reaction aside from that constant intense stare and his eventual exhale. Armin cleared his throat.

"Right… Well, she went to pick up Reiner after we defeated him for a second time. You want to know how we got Ymir's letter?"

Armin paused until Bertholdt realised that he was waiting for his input and nodded. "When Reiner was dragged out of his titan, he frantically reached for his chest. Searching him, Hange found the letter, and Reiner asked us to deliver it to Krista. So we did."

Throughout the course of the story, Bertholdt's eyes had drifted down, off to the wall on Armin's right side, until he notably sighed out a lungful of air he'd been holding for quite some time. Piling on the good news after the bad news was a sound strategy. Armin would rather deliver good news, anyway.

"Pieck managed to grab Reiner and then ran away before any of us could get to her. Those in the city were low on gas at that point and couldn't make pursuit. They said it was strange that Pieck went deeper into the city instead of running away until they realised that she was going after you. You tried to reach each other, but when she saw the Captain was after you, she turned around and fled. And then, when you made it to the Wall… You jumped off and tried to transform, but the Captain managed to cancel it out when he shot an anchor through you."

"Oh," Bertholdt whispered, very quietly and unobtrusively, almost an involuntary reaction.

"Are you remembering more now that I'm telling you? Do you remember any of this happening?" Armin followed up.

"I… I'm not sure."

"Did you know you tried to transform again?"

Bertholdt didn't react to that, staring emptily in front of him. He probably didn't, Armin concluded. Bertholdt's arm shifted under his sleeping bag, emerging from its opening to come to rest in his neck. He looked up at Armin with the expectation to hear more.

"So after that," Armin complied, "you fell from pretty high up. You were gravely injured, and everyone believed you to be dead."

"Dead?" Bertholdt asked, as if it were new information.

"Yes. You weren't breathing, and apparently, you were missing a lot of your organs. The anchor entered you in the middle of your back and came out of your throat, and when you fell, its path through your torso didn't leave much in place."

"I came back from the dead?" Bertholdt repeated, caught up in that one detail.

Bertholdt didn't know that he could survive something like this. He hadn't remembered it from when Armin first came to talk to him. Maybe he hadn't been listening at all back then, because he hadn't had this strong of a reaction to the information the first time Armin had told him. That made quick work of the theory that staying on Paradis was a strategy of his.

This dreadful undertone filled the cavern, enough to agitate even Armin. That look on Bertholdt's face — not one of shock to know that he could've died that day, but one that craved it, almost envious that he hadn't. Out of the mouth of the man who'd been made to beg for death countless times only to be denied it in an effort to break him, the terror had authenticity.

"So… you really were dead, then? We honestly didn't know what to make of it."

Shrugging his shoulders almost mechanically, Bertholdt grimaced. His hand tightened against his neck, resting just behind his ear and curling behind his skull in a comforting gesture.

"Do you remember anything at all from it? Besides the feeling that you were drowning when you came to?"

"No," was the word Bertholdt mouthed but didn't voice.

If he did, he wasn't reasonably going to say anything about it. Knowing one couldn't be killed was a dangerous thing in his predicament, one that Hange had used to their advantage many times. Armin wanted to dig into the issue, discover exactly why he had experienced temporary immortality on that day when it was evidently a mystery even to him, but he knew that he wasn't going to get anything else out of him.

He would ask once Bertholdt trusted him and had no more reasons to keep these things from him. In the face of titan research, this could be an immense breakthrough.

"And then what?" Bertholdt asked, once again composed.

"Right. Levi thought there could still be some life inside you, so he took you into the city to see if there was anyone who could be revived."

"Revived?"

"Yes, revived," Armin repeated. "We had serum on us. They wanted to revive Erwin, but Eren… See, he wasn't sure that I would survive, so he wanted me to get it instead. They fought and lost the serum during the altercation."

Bertholdt let out an uneasy hum more akin to a groan. Another close brush with death, this time to save the person sitting in front of him. What was he thinking, Armin wondered? What did it change? What did it change between them, for himself internally? To know that no matter what they did now, he'd always be the person whose mere status of being alive was the least desired outcome and everyone would've preferred it if he'd been dead instead?

They had that in common. There was something terrifically comforting about this kinship.

"It is what it is," Armin reassured Bertholdt when he was staring ahead of him, a little lost. "You're alive now, so that's what I will work with."

Nodding, Bertholdt glanced at him for the briefest moment, eyes glassy. Better to move on.

"This has all been a lot to take in, Bertholdt," Armin commented. "I'm curious. Why are you telling me the truth so openly now when you lied all the time to Hange months ago? Didn't you want the pain to stop?" The question genuinely captivated Armin.

"I didn't lie," Bertholdt unexpectedly answered, not making up any terms at all to answer the question but rather defending his honour.

"You said many things that didn't match up with what we learned. You contradicted yourself a lot and you have definitely said things that you hoped Hange would want to hear rather than what you knew. Is that not lying?"

That ticked off Bertholdt, who looked away with offence written all over his scowl. "If they'd kept their word…" he mumbled.

This wasn't a conversation Armin wanted to have. He could lose any grounds that he'd won, but he was too far in now. What could he do with this? "What was that?"

Bertholdt shook his head in swift, short motions. "They said that they'd stop if I told them what I knew, and then just continued when I did. You're all the same, always lying…"

"Bertholdt, that is…"

Not true. Armin had read it all. At least a fourth of the things he proclaimed, they knew were inaccurate, so the rest of his information became useless.

No. No kneejerk reactions. This needed a more diplomatic approach than to just defend them. This wasn't about his honour, or anyone else's. This was about how this could be applied for the good of Paradis.

He sighed out a hot breath, eyes coming to a half squint as he looked down upon Bertholdt, now lightly shivering every now and again.

"I'm sorry."

Bertholdt stiffened, not looking up from his huddled-up position but definitely not expecting what Armin said.

"I'm sorry that that is how things went and that you were so wronged," Armin continued. "If I think about it like that, then I believe you when you say that you think you were telling the truth. Hange should have never continued hurting you after you did what they asked of you. They should've understood that you wanted to speak honestly and openly, but that you were held back by what they were doing to you. That's what happened, isn't it? What good would it ever do to keep going after that? I don't understand why they did that…"

Would Armin be able to stay calm and composed under so much pain and fear, after days of being so thoroughly taken apart and humiliated until he was less than human? It wasn't likely. But this posed a new opportunity. One to say, look, I am not with those people who hurt you.

"But I would never want to do that to you. I'll always honour our agreements and I'll always do what I can to improve your conditions down here, even if you don't want to cooperate with me. I'm very thankful that you're being so honest with me."

Bertholdt's breathing was shallow as he processed what Armin had said. He pressed his cheek against his forearm, chin resting against his chest as he stared into the fabric of his blanket.

"Is there anything I can do to ease your worries?" Armin asked.

"I just want to move on," Bertholdt responded, voice muffled.

"Okay. We can do that. Give me a moment to think of something else to ask you."

"Isn't it my turn?"

"Oh." Armin dug his fingernails into the palm of his hands. It had been worth a shot to get a free answer, at least. "We didn't agree to turn my question into an exchange, but I suppose it is fair," he quickly corrected when Bertholdt's avoidant glare turned offended. "What do you want to know?"

"I don't know what to ask for in return."

"Nothing that follows up what I've said? It can be unrelated too."

When Bertholdt shook his head, Armin tapped his hand on the notebook beside him. "In that case, how about I write down that I'm one answer behind on you and you think about it? I'm sure you'll come up with something."

"Yeah," Bertholdt said, calmer. Armin scribbled it down. Keeping his word even in the long run could build trust.

"There. Now we won't forget," Armin confirmed with a smile. He was putting himself at a disadvantage here and Bertholdt's lack of inspiration suggested that he might be running out of things to ask that were of this level of sensitivity. Maybe Armin could inspire him.

"That reminds me of something I wanted to know," he said. "How long do titan shifters live? Can you come up with something to ask me in return for that?"

"I suppose," Bertholdt replied, attention still focused at a faraway point to his left. "Maybe… Um, where did you learn about the existence of serum and where did the dose you got come from?"

Technically two questions, but it would do. "That sounds fair."

"Thirteen years."

"Exactly thirteen years?"

"Yeah? I mean, it varies from person to person. But usually, it's around thirteen years. It can be off by a few days."

"How long do you have left, then?" Armin tried.

"I'm not telling you that."

It was worth the try. Out of everything, Bertholdt had been most reluctant to tell them how much time he had left. When he did answer, the values he'd given varied from anywhere between two years and nine years, the latter of which was impossible if he'd been on the island for five years. Hange had estimated him to have four to six years left, leaving room to account for several years of training with the Colossal Titan before he'd been sent out to Paradis.

At least it confirmed what Grisha had written about the thirteen year rule. If that were correct, it was safe to assume that the rest was too.

"That's fair. While you were out there waiting for us in Shiganshina, we tracked down the royal family and found out about how titans are passed on. That is also how we obtained the dose that we took with us to the city."

"Hm," Bertholdt hummed, leaving it at that.

"Did you know that the king was a fake?" Armin tried.

"Only if you tell me who the real royal family is."

Bertholdt was adapting to the rules of the game. "Fine."

"We did. Annie often went into the capital at night," Bertholdt explained, swallowing after his start. "She figured it out through espionage and eavesdropping, but we never uncovered the real royal family."

"Even during training?"

"Yeah."

That would explain why she always looked so bitter and tired, dismissing anyone who braved her.

"I see. The real royal family is the Reiss family. They live in the northeastern section of Wall Rose. But as you know, the Founding Titan hasn't been among them for a while now." Historia's identity didn't need to be protected from Bertholdt if she didn't have the Founding Titan, but it was better to be safe. Royal blood did weird things to titans.

The conversation died down there. Bertholdt was fidgeting with his wrapped-up hand around his neck, growing antsy. This knowledge could've saved him in hindsight, so to know it now while it was also meaningless had to be at the very least frustrating. Armin put his notebook in his lap and scribbled down what he found important from the conversation they'd already had, then went back to reread old details.

"I know what I want to ask you. From before," Bertholdt said after a good fifteen minutes of nothing. He was hesitant.

"Shoot away."

"I really wonder…" His face contorted into something uneasy. He tried to suppress it but failed. "Why isn't Annie a viable source of information while I am?"

So Bertholdt didn't know about Annie's ability to crystallise her body, just as Armin expected. But it did complicate things that he was asking about Annie so efficiently, with so much calculation behind his question. No multiple questions about her fate and whether she was being treated right, just one singular question that made it tough for Armin to wave crucial information that fell outside the topic of his question in front of his face. Tact was involved in this.

"That's an expensive question, Bertholdt. More expensive than what I've asked you. I will need to ask something new and sensitive in return."

Bertholdt's eyes squinted, barely noticeable, but he didn't outright decline the new exchange. Time to uncover a little more information that could help them out in the long run, should Bertholdt prove to be no good source of information.

"I want to know what influences how memories are inherited between predecessor and inheritor."

Armin fired a quick prayer, looking on as Bertholdt's eyes flicked away from his in thought.

"Proximity," Bertholdt finally said, and relief washed over Armin that he hadn't caught onto his motive behind asking this particular question.

"Proximity?" Armin repeated. "In what way? Familial connections?"

"Yes."

"That's interesting." Armin considered the memories that Eren had inherited from Grisha, how they would sometimes be so vivid they sent Eren into lively hallucinations on rare occasions, but it had only started after reading those journals. None of the other shifters Armin knew exhibited such unusual behaviour, never seeming out of place or behaving in a way uncharacteristic of them. But then again, he didn't know their relation to their predecessors, except that Ymir had none. He could infer that they inherited from people outside their family, but that information was useless.

He could try to ask Bertholdt about the memories of his predecessor, but it wouldn't matter much. They didn't have any of Bertholdt's family on their side. It would be a waste of a sensitive question. With one short answer, they were done.

Unless he was concealing part of the answer by omission.

"Is that all? Just familial bonds?"

Bertholdt's face sank subtly. "No."

"What else?"

"General proximity," Bertholdt said, exasperated and like it was obvious. "They think that memories come more easily and more frequently when the inheritor had a bond with the predecessor than if they were a stranger."

Did Bertholdt know how much he was endangering himself by giving this away?

Bertholdt had to be aware what terrible effects his silence had on their island. Why was he giving that information away so easily, especially for something as relatively inconsequential as Annie's status?

Time was of the essence. They needed his input now, and every day they wasted was a day that Marley had on Paradis. But they didn't need him for that, just his experiences and his knowledge. And on said island dwelled various people who'd spent enough time around him to be considered in close proximity to him.

If they had serum, this answer would be what convinced Armin that they had to feed Bertholdt to someone in the 104th right away. But, without the ability to turn someone in Bertholdt's proximity into a new titan, this was virtually useless and he was of much better use to them alive.

Of course, they could always try to feed Bertholdt to Eren if they really needed those memories fast and negotiations were leading nowhere. Again, the thought sent shivers down Armin's spine.

"But they still do get passed between strangers, correct? Just at a much slower pace, and not as many?" Armin moved on to rinse the thought out of his consciousness.

"Yes."

"What about their nature? Do strangers also pass on feelings?"

"Feelings?" Bertholdt asked.

"Yes. Memories that can alter how someone feels. Maybe even how they act." Like Eren had.

"I've never gotten such memories. I don't know about the others. We never discussed it."

"I see." That should prove to be enough.

Armin wrote down a few words about memories, underlining the words 'One of us?'. Then, he looked back at Bertholdt, who for the first time that day showed something vulnerable in his eyes knowing that he was possibly about to get closure with something that had been tormenting him for too long now.

No need to draw this out by further circling around the details on memory inheritance.

"Annie can't help us because she's inside a crystal."

Quick and vague, no need to make it any longer than that. Bertholdt sighed deeply. His eyes came to an even tighter squint, off-focus and forlorn, so Armin stayed quiet to give him the time to deal with that information. He didn't say when Annie turned herself into a crystal, how she did it, or whether they did anything to her prior. He'd have to ask again if he wanted to know.

"You…" Bertholdt started after several minutes of long silence, fidgeting with the blanket. "You didn't properly answer my question."

"Which part didn't I answer?"

Bertholdt looked up, desperate. "Why do you trust me more than her?"

"Because you can talk to us. If you were inside a crystal, you'd be just as little of a source of information to us as she is right now, but you're not. That's the only difference."

Bertholdt swallowed. "And if she weren't?"

"Then I would not have to be here."

Armin bit his lip. He shouldn't have answered that last part. The information was too valuable and too damning to give away like that.

No going back now. No room to regret it.

Bertholdt looked entirely dissatisfied rather than insightful about how little he'd just gotten. Armin wanted to feel like he'd earned a victory, but really? It just felt like he was pushing Bertholdt away by making use of the deteriorating state that led to him giving away everything, while Armin gave him almost nothing to work with. There was no winning this game.

He didn't yet know how long he'd need his long-term compliance. If he would reveal everything they needed here today, maybe in the coming weeks, or if he would need to stay on Bertholdt's good side and avoid antagonising him at all costs. But, honestly, what could he possibly say that would make him entirely obsolete? They needed either his powers or his lived experiences in Marley and cross-reference them with their own plans, so the only option was long-term.

If he wanted to make Bertholdt disgusted by him, this was the way to go. And Armin wasn't sure which principle to reject right now: his pragmatism, or his humanity.

"Just tell me if she's hurt," came so softly that Armin almost thought he'd imagined it. Bertholdt's pleading eyes said it all, so vulnerable and soft, for once allowing to let shine through the part of an old friend Armin hadn't seen in months.

And he loathed to see it. To get a taste of what was once there and what he had expected to be long gone to evidently still be a part of him. It was rusted and weathered, but so evidently still a part of him. Oh, it hurt so much. To make such a targeted appeal to Armin's humanity, to that one thing he'd sworn he had to throw away if he were to make any advancements at all.

Pragmatism or humanity? Trust or convenience? Surely, Bertholdt would recover from the blow eventually if Armin chose to withhold information from him because he wasn't specific enough. Bertholdt would do it. Reluctantly, but he would do it — and then he'd never talk to Armin again unless Armin took drastic measures again, like letting him feel his absence for a while and understand that he preferred Armin over being alone.

Armin swallowed hard. No, not like this. He couldn't. Discomfort and pain will NOT work.

"She's not. We never even touched her."

Bertholdt only responded with a sigh, through gritted teeth and a shuddering chest and the effort to hide his full reaction. He hid it well. Were it not for the fact that Armin had seen how livid the fate of his comrades made Bertholdt when they fought outside Wall Rose and in Shiganshina, he wouldn't have detected it. He could only tell it was there by the shadow those two incidents cast.

A weight dropped off Armin's shoulders, but its roots remained constricted around his heart, pulling and tearing at him on its way down. Whether this gambit would be worth it in the future was yet to be seen.

"Is that a sufficient answer for what you told me?" he asked, wanting to keep the conversation going lest he lose himself in regret. Don't regret it. Don't.

"Yeah," Bertholdt said, and with a delay, he mouthed something extra that Armin thought might be a word of thanks.

"Okay. That's good."

Armin left it at that. He wasn't sure what else he could add about this topic without losing Bertholdt, but he didn't want to move on yet either in case there was more that he'd say, so he gave the moment the weight it deserved.

He instead turned aside, one leg pulled up on the crate for comfort, and pencilled down as many things as he could think of, wanting the nuance of this situation to stay with him for as long as possible. Words Bertholdt had used. Words he had used. Bridges he'd burnt, opportunities he could still take, ideas for the future and how to handle this catastrophic turnout as it roiled in his mind.

Why had he done that? What an idiotic strategy, to reveal his hand so early on just because Bertholdt seemed hurt. There were enough ways to keep him talking without having to reach for the heavy-duty options. He even could've been convinced that Armin was being fair and just in their exchange, honourably following the rules as they'd outlined and only answering what fell within the topic at hand.

If Levi knew what he was thinking right now, he'd definitely give Armin a kick to the shins.

It had been over twenty minutes and Bertholdt wasn't going to say anything else. From the corner of his eyes, Armin could see that his head occasionally lulled to the side before his neck tensed to keep it from falling all the way to his shoulders and chest. If Armin didn't keep him engaged, he could risk a repeat of the first time, but he also suspected that Bertholdt's energy was already depleted. Knowing his schedule, Bertholdt would be lucky to accumulate even an hour of social interaction a week. Armin had been in the mines for almost two hours now. He'd read in a book once that for those who weren't used to communicating much, like monks or recluses, talking for long was more draining than it was revitalising.

One more question, then. One last thing to ask him to lift the mood. To make sure they left not on a topic as dark as Annie's status, but on something a little more hopeful. And if that weren't possible, something neutral. Something enticing that could go either way.

"Bertholdt, are you still up to talk a little longer?"

The sudden question jolted Bertholdt out of his daze, like he'd forgotten Armin was still there. He gaped at Armin for a few moments before letting his shoulders drop. "No," he answered.

"No?" Armin repeated, to which Bertholdt shook his head. "Not even one more question? I have to leave after that, I just was curious about something."

No answer came, but Bertholdt didn't look outwardly hostile towards the idea. Just resigned to the fact that it was going to happen, so Armin grabbed the opportunity.

"I wanted to know a little more about you, actually. About life in Marley. You told me that you grew up in a small hunter and farmer's village, but that doesn't sound so accurate now. Can you tell me about your experience growing up in Marley, how you came to be a warrior and such?"

Bertholdt's story had elements of growing up poor with an ill, deteriorating father, his task as a hunter for the village from a young age, and a dying wish to go back to rebuild. Not everything about it could've been fabricated — lying effectively requires tapping into what one already knows. The more elaborate the story, the harder it is to stay consistent, and Bertholdt and Reiner had always kept their shared story the same.

Ever since they found out Bertholdt's real identity, Armin had wanted to know what was true, and after they found the journals, he had to know how much of it matched up with Grisha's story and how much of the oppression Grisha had faced still held up to this day. Maybe even find out how his mind worked, how he lied, and how Armin could reconstruct the truth out of the fragmented reality he wove in the past, the present, and the future.

Bertholdt rubbed the inside of his fist against his cheek a few times. "I want to know what the Survey Corps has been doing since the Battle for Shiganshina."

"That's reasonable. Do your story."

"You… um, you know now that a lot of what I told you isn't true."

"Yes," Armin hummed, nails finding their way to the itchy underside of his thumb.

"But not everything I told you was a lie. There were many things that were true, just…" one corner of his lip quirked to the side, "put in a different setting."

"Let's start early. You're from Liberio, right? What was it like before you became a warrior?"

"We were poor, just like everyone else. My parents were regular people, so they scraped to get by. When I was five, my father was diagnosed with cancer. Eldian hospitals have no access to much modern medicine, no specialised equipment, and a shortage of doctors. The medicine we did have was expensive, so we couldn't afford it."

"That's horrible, Bertholdt. I'm sorry to hear that."

Now that the story had changed from 'eaten by a titan' to 'back home with cancer', Armin wondered if his father was still alive, but he let Bertholdt speak for as long as he possibly could without interruption.

"That's how the world is," Bertholdt replied. The fragments of this exact same conversation played through Armin's head and made him suck in a sharp breath through his teeth. "We thought that the warrior program was the best shot we had, so I joined the military."

"Ah-hah. By your choice? Or by theirs?" Another ghost of an old conversation. Armin reserved his judgement, keeping his tone suggestive of sympathy.

Bertholdt glanced away for a brief moment. "I don't know. I was too young to remember. But I know that I wanted it."

Something about 'too young to remember' and 'wanted to learn how to murder people' created a schism. A dissonance where the two stood in mutually exclusive opposition of one another. Armin found it hard to believe that Bertholdt really wanted it. Maybe at age 17, years of knowing nothing else helped him grow into the killer's mindset like it was his second skin, but not at that young of an age that he had no memory of that period in his life.

"I was good at shooting and at obeying orders, so they chose me. I got the Colossal Titan and we were sent out to Paradis."

The story about Marley did indeed end there. That didn't mean there wasn't anything to expand upon.

"Right. In Grisha's accounts, he wrote a lot about the type of oppression that Eldians face. They were not allowed to leave the internment zones they were confined within, and should they do so without permission, they'd be met with often lethal force. Was this commonplace in your generation?"

"Yeah. It won't change," Bertholdt replied, his disgust for the situation barely concealed.

"We can try. We should, at least. From the sound of it, Paradis is the only nation that fully opposes Eldian persecution. If not for our sake, why don't you join me for that of the Eldians all across the world?"

"It doesn't work like that," Bertholdt grumbled.

"Aren't our chances far better with someone on our side who understands the culture we are dealing with?"

No, Bertholdt clearly communicated with his body. His mood seemed to be tanking despite how much more present he'd become over the course of their session. He may have reached his limit for now. If he was hungry and tired, his general stamina for social interactions would be limited. Responsive or not, a tired person was not in a good state to be coerced.

"Well, I don't agree with that," Armin said to make his stance clear and round off the topic. "Maybe eventually, I'll be able to convince you why I hold that stance."

Bertholdt didn't look particularly interested in the challenge, the way he was listlessly draped against the wall behind him and didn't bother to say anything back, barely bothering to keep his attention on Armin.

"To answer what we've been up to — that new information we got changed quite a bit. We've been helping break the information of the outside world to the public and we've been helping with the construction of structures that we can use to clean up the titans within Wall Maria. Eren has been working hard to kill titans we couldn't reach that easily. We've been inactive during our winter break, which we mostly spent planning, but we've become more active recently."

"Oh." Bertholdt responded, suddenly engaged with the topic. "Have you gone to see the ocean?"

"What?" Armin asked, unable to stifle the irritation in his voice.

What a strange, dishonest question.

Why did he care to ask about that? Did it really make the difference to him that he had?

Or was he just turning something that meant a lot to Armin into something that he could use to discover how close to meeting Marley they were? What an underhanded tactic, to use something so close to Armin and change its meaning right now. Looked like Armin wasn't so wrong about him.

Bertholdt shifted around uncomfortably, eyes now wide. Almost panicked.

"The… You…" Bertholdt flexed his hand into even tighter a fist. In a small voice, he continued. "Didn't you want to go there more than anything?"

Was he asking out of interest?

Why? What would that accomplish? Was he trying to reconnect with Armin for the same reason that Armin was trying to reconnect with Bertholdt, by trying to feign interest in what once was there? To show some base level of involvement in what Armin had once told him he was so excited to see?

But this person in front of him, this husk of his former self, seemed so devoid of the means to deceive the way Armin intended to. He sounded genuine. At the very least, he responded genuinely to Armin's growing agitation, shrinking back farther and farther with the hints of a grimace tugging at his lips.

So was this real, then?

There it was again. The glassy cold beginnings of indignation bubbling up from his stomach and gripping his sides, threatening to start seething to something intense if he didn't get it under control right now. His image in front of Hitch wasn't so important, but it did matter what Bertholdt thought of him so he couldn't risk blowing him off. Stay in control.

"No," Armin flatly stated. "I haven't seen it. We intend to go come summer." If he made it in time. All the effort that went into keeping his voice neutral resulted in it cracking several times at the high tones. He sounded more pathetic than he did angry, at least there was that consolation.

"Oh," was all Bertholdt dignified him with. He looked like he regretted speaking up about the topic. Almost like he was ashamed. Whether that was good or bad, Armin was too biased right now to properly judge.

Armin emptied his lungs completely over the course of a long and silent sigh for the first time since the topic had come up. This was working out — that nausea was rolling back into his body rather than blooming out, and he felt that his level head could prevail. He wanted one final push before he left.

"The Survey Corps is expanding. More people are choosing to join now that we no longer have any titans to worry about. Once we go out there, we may even make contact with people from other places. Other nations. Isn't that wonderful?" The smile that followed felt fake even to Armin, but it would have to do given the situation.

"I suppose," Bertholdt said. He leaned his chin against his chest, closing his eyes. "So you don't need me."

"We do," Armin immediately contested. "We'll want someone with experience in making contact with the other side to guide us. The better we accommodate for our differences, the better our chances for the formation of smooth diplomatic relations will be."

"Either you make it or you don't. I'm better off doing nothing."

"No, you aren't. Maybe it sounds weird, but have you ever considered that maybe, the universe decided to pull you back from the dead because you still have an important role to play?"

Exhaling loudly, Bertholdt made his stance clear. "If that's so, then the universe is wrong about me."

Oh, this was interesting. "It's not every day that someone survives dying multiple times, let alone for hours. There must've been a reason you came back, something you are meant to do instead of sitting here waiting to die again. Don't you think it's irresponsible to leave things to chance instead of trying to figure it out with me?"

Bertholdt's eyes widened in a way that showed Armin he'd struck a chord. "It's wrong," he forcefully repeated. "You're wrong."

How stubborn. If only he'd give it a shot. There were so many reasons to try, but he simply wouldn't budge and it was hard to understand why when the benefits far outweighed his losses. Hunger blinded.

Nothing more he could do for today. Bertholdt was turning grumpy, and so was Armin. He was starting to babble about fate and predestination and all of that, that was more than enough of a sign that he needed some fresh air and to clear his head from all that had been said today.

"Regardless of whether or not it's linked to fate, you're alive. That's what's important. You have a role to play and you matter," Armin said. "To me and to Paradis, and also to the Eldians all across the world. There's so much good you can yet do. You were meant to be a hero, no? Now's your second chance. You'll realise it sooner or later. I'll be here to help you with that, I promise."

He didn't wait for a response. He wasn't going to argue this in case Bertholdt still felt like pushing back against the hope Armin just extended his way. Instead, he lifted his backpack and placed it in front of his feet, storing his notebook and pencil inside before snaking his way between its contents.

"I'm going back to the surface now, but before I leave, there's something I wanted to give you first. I think you'll be happy I brought it."

Bertholdt opened his eyes again to see what it was. Armin fished out of his backpack a fresh apple, extending it his way with one hand, and it definitely caught Bertholdt's attention.

"Where should I store this? Somewhere the guards won't look, preferably, so that you can eat it when next they unwrap your hand. I'm not sure they'd just let you hold onto it if it were out in the open and I don't want to risk it."

He looked around the cavern for a moment until an idea occurred to him. "Here, I'll give it to you to store beneath your blanket so you can eat it as soon as possible," he said as he stepped forward. Bertholdt flinched, backing up against the wall violently and with more vigour than Armin had ever seen out of him, and it nailed Armin to the ground for the moment where they stared at each other in stunned silence.

"Don't."

Those wide awake eyes that glared up at Armin like a cornered animal said enough: come closer and I'll hurt you. Armin stepped back immediately, not wanting to test how fast Bertholdt could close the distance between them. Don't approach him, was the message. He wasn't ready for it.

"Okay, I won't," Armin promised, equally pulled out of his tired daze as Bertholdt was. He pointed behind him. "That crate I sat on, do they ever look inside?" he shakily asked.

Bertholdt's eyes didn't leave Armin's, breaths much too shallow for how fast he was breathing. He really had a bad reaction to being approached, and Armin was pretty sure he understood why. With a tremble to it, Bertholdt shook his head just enough to make the answer clear.

"Then I'll place it in there." Armin turned only halfway around, crouching without resolve with half an eye behind him, because if Bertholdt wanted to, he could easily get Armin right now, and he wasn't so sure that Bertholdt would abstain from attacking. He had no reason to — Armin had respected his distance, why would he want to close it now? — but there was still that irrational part of his mind, the same one that kept visiting him at night, that had him convinced that all it took to be jumped was for him to stop paying attention for one second.

The lid lifted easily, and seeing the crate was empty, Armin quickly lobbed the apple inside before turning his head over his shoulder. Bertholdt was still where he'd been a second ago, not a thing changed about his expression and body language.

Armin stood up, worry sliding off of his shoulders only in part. "This is all I can do for now, but soon, things will start to improve and you won't need to rely on what I bring you anymore. I'll talk to the Commander about getting you more food. Hot soup instead of cold, fresh bread, vegetables, fruit, cheese, actual food. They have a few cows and chickens up there so getting you access to dairy and eggs shouldn't be an issue either. All in large enough quantities to keep you well-fed."

He smiled reassuringly a final time at Bertholdt before picking up his backpack off the floor and putting it on. Bertholdt still was too much under the spell of his fight or flight, not bothering with politeness right now. He'd have the opportunity to reflect on what Armin had said and done when he calmed down again, Armin was sure of it.

Bertholdt would think. These seeds would get their chance to germinate yet.

"So, about next time. I can't visit every day the way I used to back in January, but I can make time to visit once a week for one or two days. I'll be back next Sunday, hopefully with good news. In the meantime, I'll talk to a couple of people and pull a few strings. If you come up with any questions to ask, hold onto them, alright?"

For a final time, Bertholdt didn't give an answer, though he did settle down, sighing out shallow breaths through his nose several times in a row. It would have to do.

"Alright, that's a deal then," Armin answered himself. "I'll see you next week."

As he stepped away from that cell, Armin could barely believe how well that had gone. He'd felt just about every emotion back there, but it was for a good cause. What he'd felt, Bertholdt must have too. He'd left doing what he wanted and didn't forget his lantern this time. Bertholdt had talked, had given him plenty of information that they'd been trying to wring out of him for so long.

Why was everyone so opposed to talking things out when it clearly was the most effective method to win someone over? Just imagine how far they'd have gotten had they just done this from the start. Made the compromise that they couldn't hurt him, and that he would in turn help them.

But that was behind them now. Nothing could be changed about the past. There was only the future, and right now, it looked bright. There was the time and space to learn how to approach him.

Armin walked out of those mines with a confident smile, greeted by a gentle late winter breeze that announced a warm week.

---

Restlessness.

It's all he can think of, fidgeting endlessly with a bandage he can't afford to pull loose. His head is foggy, and yet he feels his brain itch with every passing second. Nothing distracts. Nothing suffices. His body is numb and stale, and that's comforting most days, but not today, exponentially amplifying the screeching echo of his infuriating psyche.

How long has it been? Two meals?

No, three.

Five?

He's been keeping count. He should know this. Why can't he recall how long it's been? It's all a blur, as everything has been for years now. Is he even going to come back this time? It's been weeks.

How long did he say it's been? Two months? But that was ages ago. How long has it been since? He's apparently 17, he's pretty sure he didn't dream that up, so that means…

No.

Focus. Retrace his steps.

When did he eat that apple?

Never. Doesn't remember where it's gone, but it's without a doubt laced. No energy to figure out what with. Easier to just ignore and forget.

Teeth grit. Body rocks back and forth in anticipation for something, as if he has the energy for that. Head slams into the wall behind him a few times to subdue it, but nothing comes of it.

Five meals. Anywhere between three and ten days. This time, he won't forget.

That's too long. Too much to deal with.

He has to try. It won't work but he can't spend even a second longer sitting still and feeling nothing.

His arm rips out of the mouth of the sleeping bag haphazardly draped over his waist, freeing itself from that tight blanket.

It has been long enough.

It has to be today.

No hesitation, uncovered wrist straight between his canines, before he bites down with all the strength his jaws still possess, blood dripping down his chin and onto the collar of his shirt.

Body flares up, heat rising from his stomach and blooming all the way through his torso. Standard. But when he sees despite his darkened surroundings and hears deep static in his ears, he knows that this time, for some reason, it's different. Sparks fly all over his wounded wrist, crackling down his arm and through his head, deep into his stammering heart.

He's never gotten a response before.

Not like this. Not one that leaves his own veins and explodes in the world.

This could be it. This has to be it. Please let this be it.

He puts his every muscle, every thought into it, with just one wish: put a stop to it.

Then what?

What can he honestly do?

What will it achieve if not put him in a darker, deeper pit alone?

Where to go from there on out? Why leave the comfort and kindness of hell for the unknown? Why continue to fight?

Just as swiftly as it came, it goes, leaving him once more surrounded by darkness.

By silence.

By nausea.

By disappointment.

And he screams at the top of his lungs.

It keeps fucking him over again and again, leading to brutal defeat and the pain of dealing with the aftermath. First in Shiganshina, now here, like their bond means nothing. Like nothing ever happened between them. Like it was all a lie.

"Why aren't you helping me!?" desperately rips out of the back of his throat. His arm crashes into the hard ground, already steaming the evidence of his crimes away. Nails tear into the flimsy textile keeping them constrained and he throws it down again and again until something snaps and he instinctively stops.

Only pants and strained groans still escape his worn body anymore, drenched in cold sweat. It doesn't cool his boiling mind, desperate to grab for that way out yet again. He has the power for this, why isn't it working? Who cares what after, he'll figure it out when he's there. How could it reject him because he had a bad thought? One thought crime is enough to toss him back into the void?

Something stirs in the back of the cavern.

Someone's coming.

He freezes, and only in his stillness does he notice that his face feels raw. He runs his palm over it with a hiss and feels something through the flimsy textile of his bandages. Lines have been etched into his cheeks — not quite as deep as his titan marks and carved into his flesh only where it borders his teeth, but without a doubt visible to anyone who looks closely.

Now he's panicking. He can't have that. He needs to calm himself, before anyone sees.

He wipes as much of the residual blood from his shivering wrist on the dirt beside him, his broken bones' ache masked by the settling adrenaline still coursing through him, then stops healing and tucks his arm away beneath his blanket again for when they inevitably reach him to check out what he's been screaming for this time.

So close. So damn close, and it had to backfire so spectacularly.

A wound. A will. Balance. The three components of titan transformation. It's been long enough since he last healed major damage, he should be in positive energy balance again by now despite his missing limbs, and yet…

What else?

What else isn't there?

What else is missing? What else is holding him back?

He falters in calming down; recoils his head as hard as he can, banging it into the sharp rocks behind him in frustration.

He has to think.

Another bang.

Think it through.

Bang.

Think. Think. Think.

Bang.

Think.

Bang.

Think.

Bang.

Think!

Bang.

THINK, GOD DAMMIT!

Crack.

Ah.

There is no point.

Not like this, not until he gets that which they've been careful to deprive him of.

Not until he figures out what the hell he wants.

Not now. Not when he's fading.

His hair feels wet. Success.

Hurt, he will always be. But what a blessing it is to feel, for once, something that is warm and real.

Maybe he should go looking for that apple when he comes to. Laced or not, sugar is sugar. Precious energy. Maybe that will be enough to make it.

He mellows out, mind too broken to still have the capacity to be this angry. Maybe he used up his small stock of energy for the day by throwing a tantrum. Maybe it's the head trauma. Who really cares?

He collapses against the wall, finally drained, and drinks in the rare bliss where it does not matter whether he's passing out, or if it simply is too dark in his cell to see he's still awake.