"I've come up with a rather generous solution."

Celine topped off Hange's glass with more wine; red liquid churning until it nearly reached the brim. The woman sitting across the table with her head in her hands didn't seem to care about the rather generous portion she'd been given. Celine considered this a shame considering how much this particular vintage had cost.

"You comfort me on my real problems …" Celine continued. "... and I'll pretend to care about your fantasy problems."

"Sonny and Bean," Hange said, her voice shaking. "They were … they were like family."

"See, this is what I mean about fantasy problems," Celine said. She took a sip of wine from her own glass and sat back in her seat. Her wooden chair wobbled. Celine suspected the chairs were an addition to the cluttered décor of Hange's apartment acquired for the sole purpose of Celine having somewhere to sit; squeezed among unsteady piles of books and lab equipment Celine was only partially certain Hange knew how to use. There was a very real possibility Hange salvaged them in an afterthought from a pile of firewood.

"I can't understand," Hange mumbled. "I can't understand how anyone could be so heartless as to murder them in cold blood. They were defenseless! I'm sure they were terrified … If only I had been there …"

"You do recall you kill Titans on a regular basis?" Celine said, no trace of pity in her voice as she regarded the wine swirling in her glass.

"Sonny and Bean were different!" Hange said as she snapped her head up. Her red cheeks, puffy eyes, and the trail of snot snaking around her lip caused Celine to recoil.

"We were on the edge of a breakthrough! They knew who I was! They nearly spoke to me, Celine!"

Celine offered a slow blink before taking a sip of wine. "That was them trying to eat you, idiot. I told you before – that weird journal you found outside the wall belonged to someone delusional; Titans can't talk."

"They … can … too!"

Hange broke into a new round of bawling. Her lamentations were unintelligible as she folded her arms and placed her head on the table. The sight caused Celine to sigh and down the rest of her glass.

Celine had been sitting down for breakfast earlier that morning when Marco had appeared at her door. She'd invited him in, but Marco had instead remained on her doorstep, shifting his weight from one foot to the other as he looked down at her.

"I was going to meet up with Eren," Marco had said, his brow knotted in concern. "There was a huge crowd when I got to the encampment. Miss Hange's Titans, they were …"

It had been late afternoon when Hange was finally dismissed after conducting statements and collecting evidence. She'd appeared completely drained by the time she'd made it back to her apartment; hardly any sign of surprise sketched across her face when her front door had been opened to reveal her home already occupied.

"Hey."

Celine had cleared off the kitchen table of the cluttered flat, replacing stacks of notebooks and broken goggles with two wine glasses and three bottles of honey wine.

"Your lock was easy to pick," Celine had said, slowly swirling the wine in her glass. "You should think about investing in a new one."

Day had turned to night while Hange blubbered between sips of wine and Celine had sat with her head in her hand and gazed into nothing. Hange only grew still when Celine eventually hummed and rose from her seat.

"H-hey," Hange said, wiping her face. "You … you can't leave me, too!"

"I'm not going anywhere," Celine said. She opened up the tall doors to the pantry. Stacks of papers slid out and landed at her feet with a thump. The pile was regarded in silence before Celine nudged it aside and resumed looking through the shelves. A can of beans and a can of peaches were produced amid more fluttering papers.

"What are you doing?" Hange asked. She lifted her fogged goggles to wipe her face.

"Cooking dinner," Celine said. An object that was more 'potato plant' than 'potato' was yanked from the back of the pantry. It was regarded with a shrug and placed among the stack of cans.

"You can't cook," Hange said.

"That's the pot calling the kettle black," Celine said.

A microscope was set aside as Celine made work clearing the top of a wood-burning stove. "Tell me more about Sonny and Bean," she said. Celine rubbed her hands to brush the soot from her fingers. "Try to keep yourself composed enough this time so I can actually understand you."

Around an hour of time resulted in a few things: the first being bowls of something which anyone would be hard pressed to call food being placed on the table.

The second thing to come about was Celine having complete knowledge of every one of Hange's experiments with the pair of deceased Titans which her friend had regarded as fondly as house pets. These included observations of the Titans' abilities to heal, react to various stimuli, and understand speech (which Celine took in with a very heavy grain of salt). With this knowledge didn't come understanding, but there was satisfaction in the fact Hange could sit for more than five minutes at a time without weeping.

The next thing to come about was hunger, since both women gave up on Celine's 'meal' about two bites in. They decided to make up the difference with alcohol.

"I don't know why you're surprised," Celine said. She tilted her head back to stare at the ceiling. There was a mental note to later remove the glass shards lodged there from when Hange previously caused a beaker to explode.

"You're the only one who doesn't hate Titans," Celine continued. "There are literally thousands of people who've been trained to slaughter them. All it took was for one person to snap."

"I don't think it was that, though."

Celine regarded Hange from the corner of her eye. A solemn mood had fallen over Hange as she stared at the blood-red wine in her glass.

"I think," Hange said, drawing out the word. "There was someone who didn't want us to learn any more about them."

"A coverup?"

"Possibly," Hange said. "It didn't slip my mind there could be more out there like Eren. It's not beyond imagination to think they may not have humanity's best interests at heart. Eren's case is fascinating, but … troublesome. He has no knowledge of what he is or where his power came from."

"If there are others …" Celine said, looking back to the ceiling. "... they may have answers … though not ones we want to hear."

"I'll still want to hear them, good or bad," Hange said. She downed her glass and sat back with a sigh. Her expression brightened. "You're different, Celine."

"Ah?"

Celine tilted her head, lids drooping. It was a reflection of time ticking closer to the early hours of the morning than the late hours of the evening by this point.

"When Chikatiloni and Albert met their untimely deaths …" Hange said. "... you didn't do much more than call me a fool."

"You are a fool."

"But this time," Hange said, ignoring the remark. "You actually listened. I look at you now and I can see all your pencils have been sharpened."

A line formed between Celine's brows. She sat forward in her seat. "What the hell does that mean? Was that an insult? Tell me if that was an insult."

"Not an insult," Hange said. She reached for the bottle of wine to refill her glass while topping Celine off. "What's been going on with you?"

"Oh, look at that," Celine said, resting her chin in her hand. "You've changed, too. My personal affairs have never interested you unless they had something to do with creatures over four meters tall."

Hange's mouth stretched into a wide grin. "Ah, look at us! That must mean we're maturing and blossoming into our best selves! A toast to our self-improvement!"

Celine took a moment to study Hange's sudden shift in demeanor with a weary expression. "No matter how hard I try," she said, their glasses coming together with a clink. "I can never figure you out." She took a sip of wine and sighed.

"My new position is shit, by the way."

The fall always hurts more the higher up you are to begin with. This had been the case with Celine – a fire had blazed in her chest with so much passion she nearly burnt to ashes the moment she slipped on her Military Police jacket and saw herself in the mirror.

On her first day in the Technical Department, Celine chose to walk to her new headquarters since she couldn't fathom sitting still on a horse. It took all of her willpower to appear collected when the head of the Technical Department, the man who'd spoken at her trial two days prior, introduced himself. The auburn hair he had tied back in a ribbon fell over one shoulder when he bent slightly to shake Celine's hand.

"Section Commander Anthony Walldrin, at your disposal," he'd said, a warm smile to his slim, handsome features.

The Technical Department was small – less than a hundred technicians were given the privilege to pen designs for new or improved field equipment. A majority of the department spent their time putting together or repairing ODM gear; Celine hadn't been able to help but look about the factory in awe at the rows of mechanics testing turbines or welding pieces together. Celine had then inquired whether she'd be doing ODM repairs.

"Not quite," Anthony had said.

In the basement of the factory was where the design archives were stored. Thousands of reports and blueprints were filed within the rows of shelves reaching over a meter high. The room was only lit by a series of small windows which peeked up just above ground level. It was explained having unattended open flames around so much kindling was risky, so only small candles were permitted to be carried about by the archive librarians. The tiny lights drifting among the rows reminded Celine of when she used to watch the Garrison soldiers do their nightly patrols of Wall Sina from the window of her childhood home. It had been like catching stars realigning themselves into various new constellations.

"This is where you'll be," Anthony had said, grabbing Celine's attention by indicating a long bench near the entrance sporting clusters of ink jars and a tall stack of tightly-bound scrolls.

"As a librarian?" Celine had asked.

It wasn't ideal. The librarians weren't the ones building or designing equipment. On the other hand, she'd have an excuse to get familiar with the process of how proposals were submitted and improved. Being in the know concerning cutting-edge technology wasn't the worst position she could be in, either. Advancement would be easy if she correctly utilized her resources.

"Oh, no," Anthony had said. He had been smiling, but the cheer didn't reach his eyes. "You'll be the liaison between the librarians and the other members of the department. You'll file request forms, make sure ink is in stock, help keep the shelves tidy, place designs in the appropriate bins when they're returned … things like that."

Celine was short, but this was the first time she'd felt small since getting kicked out of the Cadets.

"Come on," Celine had said, her smile wavering. "You must've seen my proposal for the cannons. I can do more than be a secretary."

"I have no idea what proposal you're referring to," Anthony had said. If he'd been speaking to someone less practiced in bullshitting than Celine, the statement would've come across as genuine. "You made a bit of a splash during the attack on Trost; perhaps you're unsatisfied with the ripples which have resulted. But you're here, Celine Bodt, so the water will grow still again."

Anthony had bent down, speaking over Celine's shoulder as her wide eyes remained locked with his.

"My research indicates this is what you wanted – to be acknowledged by the Technical Department and become a member of the Military Police just like your mother. I respected her quite a bit, actually; her abilities were formidable, going so far as to have my superior owe me a favor for her daughter's sake. Even now, Victoria Bodt's able to carry you on her back after years in the grave. She's surely a woman worthy of her reputation."

"Celine," Hange said, voice soft. She leaned over the table, her mouth stretching into a thin line. "Please tell me you didn't burn the factory down."

"I'm a changed woman," Celine said. She finished her glass. Upon inspection, she found the final bottle of wine to be empty. "I'm content just being shit at my job; they can't get rid of me now that I'm in. They have to keep me close since I have no reservations over running my mouth. Although this time … if I get court-martialed again, I'd have no hope of not going to prison."

"You should've had that outlook the first time you were doing things which got you court-martialed," Hange said. She scooched her chair over and threw an arm around Celine's shoulders. "That's still a rough deal, isn't it? Maybe you'll get promoted if you stick it out long enough."

Celine scoffed. "Maybe I'm a secret princess, and the Titans are really not bad– just misunderstood."

"That's what I've been telling everyone!" Hange said. "You get it, Celine – we have to look at things from more than one angle!"

Celine smiled in regard to the improvement of Hange's mood. "It was a joke, dummy. Come on- that shit bar down the street from here is probably still open."

Celine's head was breaking apart. Her eyes snapped open, adrenalin pumping under the perceived threat of a Titan having scooped her up and put her between its teeth. Relief washed over her when she took in the stillness of Hange's apartment. The two of them had passed out right at the table, Hange still sleeping soundly as morning light streamed through thin curtains and reflected off her goggles.

Three loud knocks shook the door. It was at this moment Celine's head once again felt like splitting in protest, and she came to the conclusion that was what had awoken her in the first place.

"Get up," Celine said, giving Hange's chair a kick. The wooden leg broke in two, sending Hange tumbling to the floor as the chair collapsed.

To her credit, Hange quickly recovered in a crouch and scanned for a threat. There was a reason Hange had survived for so long in the Scouts ⎼ her appropriate, but delayed, reaction giving Celine insight over why her friend adamantly lamented the concept of drinking while on duty.

"We're getting you new chairs," Celine said, unperturbed. "Go answer the door."

There was another set of swift knocks. Hange got to her feet and scratched her hair as she crossed the room.

"Yes, yes," Hange said, opening the door. "How can I–? Ah, Erwin! How can I help you on this fine morning?"

The stern features of the new caller's face softened. "I'm glad to see you in better spirits," Erwin said.

"No point wallowing in the past!" Hange said. She puffed out her chest and lifted her chin. "I know Sonny and Bean wouldn't want me to live my life to anything other than the fullest. I'll remember them fondly, and put my efforts into finding the criminals responsible for their deaths. The impact they've made upon us all will not be forgotten!"

Celine scrambled to smooth out her hair and adjust her jacket. She put on a pleasant smile as Erwin stepped past Hange.

"Good morning, Commander!" Celine said, her voice going up a few octaves. "I just arrived to see if Hange wanted to join me for breakfast. We would be more than happy to have your company, if you're available."

"Huh?" Hange said, cleaning out her ear. "Breakfast? And you've been here si–"

Celine's cheerful expression wavered in a manner which signaled Hange to stop talking if she enjoyed having all her teeth.

"Thank you for the invitation," Erwin said, missing out on the silent conversation. "But I'm actually here concerning the matter you just mentioned, Hange."

"Really?" Hange said. The door at her back was closed. "What is it you wanted to tell me?"

"Actually," Erwin said, turning his head. "I've been looking for Private Bodt."

The cheery expression fell away. Celine slowly stood. "Looking for me? Concerning … those Titans?"

"You're not a suspect in their demise, if that's what you're concerned about," Erwin said. It was both impressive and unnerving how he was able to convey information without revealing his own thoughts on the matter. "I wanted to inquire if you had an idea what happened to your ODM gear after the incident in Trost."

"My …?"

Celine recalled pulling on a number of straps. She had fallen, slamming into cobblestone which had been warm from the afternoon heat. Her elbow had been scraped enough to bleed through her shirt and her ankle had erupted in pain when she'd jumped to her feet. Her escape had been cut off by a massive foot slamming in her path. She'd looked up and believed with all certainty she had been about to die.

"I … I actually forgot about it," Celine said, surprising herself. That gear had been a side project of hers for months – the reason she was able to make it off the roof and away from a Titan after firing the cannon. Despite it being an inanimate object, Celine felt guilty as if she'd abandoned a pet. "I left it in Trost, near the Headquarters building. And it was … never registered to me, actually. I think the name on the paperwork was Peter Keltz. He died about three years ago."

Erwin produced a small notepad and pencil from an inner pocket of his jacket. Celine was already aware he had an impeccable memory, so the act solidified this information must've been of a great importance.

"One last question," Erwin said as he wrote. "Has anyone approached you in the past two days concerning the repair of ODM gear? Specifically – hiding any signs of use? I can assure you any statement you give on this subject will be anonymous; you won't be held accountable or labeled as an accessory to any acts of misconduct."

Celine caught her mouth hanging open. She collected herself when Erwin raised his eyes.

"No, no one has come to me asking about their gear," she said. "If someone does, I'll contact you immediately."

"Good," Erwin said, tucking the pencil and notepad back into his jacket. "Thank you for your assistance, Private Bodt."

"Call me Celine."

Erwin nodded. "Thank you, Celine. Hange – coordinate with Miche and the two of you come to my office when you're able."

"Yes, Sir," Hange said, holding the door open for Erwin as he strode away. She stuck her head out the door, presumably watching as Erwin hooked the corner toward the stairs. "That was certainly unexpected. I hope this means he has a lead."

"It sounds like he has an idea," Celine said. She groaned, covering her eyes with her palms. "What a spot for me to be caught in – I probably reek of alcohol."

Hange ducked her head under a cluster of dried plants hanging from the ceiling as she approached her desk. "Sorry, Celine – I'm going to have to ask you to go. I need to get myself ready to head in."

"Yeah, yeah," Celine said, letting her arms hang at her side. "I was supposed to be at work … probably more than a few hours ago."

Celine rose from her seat as if seventy years had been tacked on to her age. She navigated through a pile of leather straps she could only assume was some sort of rejected prototype for subduing Titans, cursing softly when her foot became caught and she had to shake it free. Celine turned to look over her shoulder when she finally made it to the apartment's threshold. "Can you do me a favor?"

"Hmm?" Hange said. She lifted the collar of her shirt, making a face when she took a whiff of the material. Her hand plunged into a nearby desk drawer, a fresh shirt being pulled free alongside a number of pencils.

"Can you ask around …" Celine said, her smile turning coy. "... and find out what the Commander's type is?"

Hange shook out the new shirt, letting out a snort. "I like Commander Erwin – I wouldn't set him up with you."

Some fancy footwork had to be done for Hange to dodge the heavy books being thrown her way. An outdated dictionary left an impressive bump on her forearm before she could convey she was only joking.