Chapter 9

Two days later and the cadets are packing up our things and hopping in the beds of rickety wagons. We rumble along like rocks in a tumbler, jangling about and jostling against our neighbors. The roads are bumpy, slick with rain. The wooden benches are a pain in the ass. Literally.

Halfway through our journey we break for lunch, the sun crawling out from behind puffy grey clouds but for a brief moment. The cadets groan like thunder, moaning about the various bumps and aches that've started to fester since this trek started at dawn.

I shade my eyes from the sun and sigh. My head pulses only faintly, thank goodness. I shift my hand, running my fingers idly over the little stitches Johan gave me. It's good work, admittedly. Nothing as fine as the ones I had after that spring accident back in my original world, but for a country far behind my own as far as medical technology goes, it's not shabby at all.

"Alright; back on the wagons!"

I don't catch which officer barked out the command, but the cadets begin to file towards the carts like obedient soldiers, like sheep heading to the corral. I catch a glimpse of blond out of the corner of my eye, but fortunately, it's only Christa. Today Ymir isn't with her. "Where do you think we're going?"

At my words, Christa purses her lips. "Not sure. Any idea?"

I shake my head no. I watch Sasha and Mikasa slip into the wagon in front of us, claiming seats next to each other. Armin, Eren, Connie and Jean flock to the one just beyond ours. I'm almost foolishly relieved to see that Annie picked the third wagon, with Bertholdt and Ymir–that is, until I sit down and another blond figure claims the empty seat next to me.

I pointedly turn to my left instead, towards Christa. "Marco told me we'll be trying the ODM gear for the first time once the winter ebbs away. So maybe today we're leaving the base for some more intensive training?"

"Could be. I can't imagine what we'd be doing, though."

I shrug lightly, shifting as the wagon lurches into motion. One of the officers trots by on her horse, eyeing us all carefully. "The roads get bumpy from here, cadets! Best to brace yourselves."

Christa leans in, hands slipping to grasp the bench beneath her. "Hopefully it's not that bad," she murmurs.

"I'm sure it won't be. If it was bad, the wagons wouldn't be able to go over the roads. Besides–we've already been bounced around all day. By now, we're used to it."

She laughs and turns her sights to the road ahead. "I suppose we are."

And for a while, things are calm. The wind gushes around us, tousling the baby hairs that escaped my braid. The hair is starting to get on my nerves; idly, I toss the braid over my shoulder. The last of the leaves are finally tracing the path to the ground, making for warm piles of decay all over the forest floor. I watch the discarded foliage breeze by us in spurts, entertaining myself by looking for the brightest leaves of the bunches, those rare samples of vivid red-orange.

Christa nudges me gently. "Do you have any siblings?"

I notice the head to my other side shift subtly, turning to look my way. I pretend to take no notice. Instead, I sigh and lean back against the side of the wagon. It's more comfortable in theory, but I feel every hard bump and bounce more intimately now. "No. Never." Not in this life, or the one before that. "Why? Do you?"

I already know the answer, but for whatever reason, Christa tilts her head noncommittally. "Not really."

"Ah."

"Just curious about what you were like before enlisting."

I smile wryly. "So that's how it is," I tease lightly, even as my head begins to start spinning. Gears shudder into rotation, creak to life. The figure next to me shifts again, his arm ghosting against mine faintly. The touch puts me on edge.

I wonder, suddenly, if Annie told the other warriors about our conversation.

"Not really much to me," I say lightly. "I had good parents. Raised me well. We lost our fortune, moved to a place we could afford until we got the money back. Didn't quite make it out of there though."

I think of Efa's too-short apron. The nice plates next to the cracked cups. The locket, the golden wedding band, the watered down soup. Betham with his promises of money just around the corner. The little, sickly girl too loved by poor parents to be let go.

The story seems to be enough for Christa, though. She nods thoughtfully and looks out again at the road.

And on the off chance that the man next to me knows what I said to Annie, it's still generic enough to be about a citizen of Marley, too. I almost sneak a glance at Reiner, but I don't want to give myself away. I don't want to appear anxious about what his expression would be. If I do not seem calm, reassured, why would they believe me? If I was not convinced of my own honesty, how would I ever hope to convince them, too?

I sit up, suddenly uncomfortable. My shoulders groan at the movement and ache with the now-dulled sensation of being smacked repeatedly into the wooden sides of the wagon. "Hey, doesn't that look like a big dip in the–"

The cart wobbles, pitches to the side as it slips into a thick divot in the road. The cadets jangle about like keys, murmurs of alarm springing up around us. Christa doesn't sway too drastically–she, at least, still had her hands on the seat–but I lurch to the side entirely, losing my balance. My hands fly out to brace myself and immediately strike warm fabric. A hand cups my shoulder, steadies me. "Woah," its owner murmurs, voice low and warm like sun-soaked rocks.

I blink, barely hearing as the driver apologizes for taking the wheel straight through the pothole. One of my hands fell on the wooden bench. The other is against Reiner's leg, against his pants. His hand has slipped down a little bit, less on my shoulder and more on my bicep. I push off of him carefully. "Sorry."

"No worries." His hand doesn't leave my arm until I've adjusted, sitting up normally again. I still won't look at his face. I spot Christa's face out of the corner of my eye, lips pressed together in amusement.

"Shut up," I hiss. She smirks and shifts in her seat, shoulders shaking with silent laughter as I glare halfheartedly her way and move my hands to grip the bench.

"I told you–"

"I know, I know." Christa laughs openly this time.

"You sound like Ymir."

I snort, and a second after, a chuckle of my own escapes past my defenses.

Like the officer promised, the ride really did get worse during the second part. It seemed that dip in the road was only the beginning: despite our valiant efforts to clutch onto the bench, Christa and I clack together like teeth, our sides smacking into each other over and over until I swear I've earned myself a few bruises. Where Christa has the advantage of the end seat, and only bumps into one person, I've got the poor misfortune to be sandwiched between two blondes. While Christa and I slide around the bench and groan in unison, everytime my body slips to the other side and I crash into Reiner, it's like hitting a brick wall. He's like a lamp post, and I the car curling around it. His leg doesn't budge once; maybe it's a side effect of being stoic. Maybe it's a side effect of bulking up on muscles.

Either way, I stop muttering absent apologies after biting my tongue in the middle of one.

Tongue smarting, butt numb, shoulders aching and fingers sore from gripping the bench, I slump with relief the second the wagon rumbles to a stop. "Thank fuck," I groan.

Christa stands up and stretches. "I was starting to think we'd never stop. Where are we, anyways?"

I look around. I'd been so focused on not falling into Reiner's lap again that I'd hardly noticed the change in scenery. We'd relocated to a steep rock face, tawny trees flecking its edges. Ropes and peculiar metal devices hung suspended from the top of the rock wall, the ropes dangling down its length at set intervals. I frown. "This is new."

I see Shadis's horse curl around the group, voice barking out and carrying easily on the autumn wind. "We'll be setting up camp here! You'll be climbing in the mornings and jumping in the evenings. We'll be staying here until each of you can manage to climb up that cliff in under ten minutes."

I gulp.

It's not an incredibly high rock face…but it is high. Climbing will demand full-body exertion, unlike walking or stretching. And if we're to stay here until everyone can get up that wall in time…I glance down at my pack, tucked between my boots. I'm running out of medicine. Meaning that the longer I stay here, the harder it'll be for me to climb up those rocks.

I need to do it right the first time. I don't have any other choice. And if not the first time, and not the time after that–I'll have twelve days to get it right. What I have left in the vial won't last that long…but that's when I can go back to the infirmary and get the medicine from Johan.

I just need to last until then.

I take a deep breath and reach down, grabbing my pack and standing up. By pure unfortunate coincidence, Reiner bends down at the exact same time, and when he tilts his head into my line of sight, I can't help but look. Up close, it's so easy to see that honey mead shade of his eyes. Seventeen, making him exactly how old he was in the original storyline by the end of the third season. His hair has grown out a little bit. It's shaggier. It looks softer. By this time in the original storyline, he would've lost Bertholdt. But here we are, one boot pressed next to the other, his knee knocking against mine, his best friend hopping out of a nearby wagon.

He gives me a distant smile and stands up.

Bertholdt doesn't even look my way as our group of wagon goers joins the rest of the cadets. Annie does, though, and when Christa splits off to go stand with some of the others, I come to a stop right next to Connie so that Annie doesn't feel inclined to approach me. She's been my shadow for the last two days, no doubt waiting for the right moment to drag me off into the woods and force me to finish the conversation I so foolishly started. At least for now it doesn't seem like she's told the other warriors about what was said. I'm not exactly eager to find out how they'll react when she does.

"Tough ride, huh?" Connie scratches his head, looking over at the rocks behind us. I follow his gaze and nod.

"My back is killing me."

"Same here." He flashes me a cheesy grin, but our conversation ebbs away when Shadis barks out orders to harness up. We spring into motion, cadets branching off to different stations: half to set up camp, the other to start climbing. The group that gets stuck setting up tents and fires first climbs second; the first group to climb gets stuck making dinner for everyone.

I get lumped in with the tent-makers, which seems like a blessing in disguise in that it'll give me a chance to study the climbers first before it's my turn to go. That, and any opportunity to exercise my body and condition it to tolerate any sort of physical exertion is one I desperately need to take full advantage of. The downside is that I'll be exhausted, no doubt. I get a sudden vision of myself slipping and falling to my death and shudder.

Armin points off into the forest. "I think we should gather firewood from out in the trees."

I squint where he points. Of all the people to get paired up with, it's almost ironic that the two infamously weak cadets got matched up. Then again, it was either match with Armin and make fires or match with Ymir and do tents. Between the two tasks, I'd rather gather firewood. "Sure. Lead the way."

The two of us shuffle off together, occasionally glancing back at the cliff when the first cadets begin to hook into their harnesses and climb. The two of us pause for a moment when Mikasa takes to the wall.

"She's a natural," I say without thinking. Next to me, Armin nods.

"Looks like it." While he continues to watch her, I start to prod random branches and twigs to see which ones are dry and which ones aren't.

"The stuff over here is too wet. We should go where the canopy is denser."

"Agreed." The two of us trudge further into the forest, occasionally catching a glimpse of the cliff and of other firewood groups. Jean and Connie flicker into sight for a brief moment, Jean griping loudly about wet bark.

The branches above us grow thicker together, like yarn in the middle of being knitted into thick coiling strands, like hair tangling in a windstorm. The afternoon light flickers through the foliage, filtered like water through river beds. "Let's look around here."

I bend over, starting to pick up branches and twigs that're dry enough to hopefully light. Armin does the same, circling a nearby tree trunk. The rustling of leaves stands as our only source of conversation.

Suddenly, he stops, hesitating to pick up a nearby branch. His fingers hover just above the ground. "Are you nervous?"

"About climbing? Or jumping?"

"Both. Neither."

I rub my neck and stand up, looking back the way we came. "Yeah. I'm worried about not being enough."

"Me too."

I study Armin for a second. He's more similar to me than I've ever cared to acknowledge. We both have a good sense of the world around us (me, because of my past life and him, because of his intelligence and creative thinking). He's not exactly a physical contender, like Mikasa or Annie. Neither am I. He's scared, back in the beginning of the story.

So am I.

"Thank you. For helping me the other day."

"Oh!" Armin's face lights up in a bit of pleasant surprise, like he wasn't expecting to get any recognition for what he said to me. He bends down the last few inches and picks up the stick. "You're welcome. Did you…?"

"Yeah."

"Good." He nods again, this time with a greater weight to the motion. When he stands up he looks older. "Sometimes I feel responsible for you. Like…I have to make sure you make it. Because if you don't, then what my grandfather did…it would be for nothing."

I'm caught off guard by the weight of his words. I've been so focused on the guilt I feel for altering Carla's fate, for the weight of carrying the brunt of Eren's anger, that I hadn't realized I was beginning to forget about the other lives I influenced. Aliva's parents. Armin's grandfather. Hannes. How many others would I inadvertently kill? How many would I try and fail to save? The world seems to revolve around Eren, Mikasa and Armin to some degree–a fact made evident by the fact that everyone is in the 107th and not the 104th–but to what degree does my existence here also force it to revolve around me? Everytime I have attempted to change the course of the world, regardless of whether or not I've succeeded, I've placed myself at the deviation's epicenter. I've painted a bright, shimmering target on my back. A neon sign that says that's her, right here, she's the one responsible!

Armin smiles and shakes his head. "Nevermind. That was a weird thing to say." He hoists the branch onto his stack, shifting it in his arms and smiling again, eyes closed. His face isn't exactly turned my way. "I think I've got all that I can carry. Want to drop these off at camp?"

I glance down at my stack. "I am sorry. For what it's worth. I never meant for him to go in my place."

"I know."

My head snaps up, eyebrows wrangling into perplexion. Armin glances my way, then looks back at the camp.

"He saw you trading your rations away. He told me about it before he left. Said he didn't want to be in your debt." I've made a stupid, foolish mistake. When Armin glances back at me, his eyes are sharp, intelligent, too observant for his own good. For a moment I'm irrationally angry. My hands tighten around the firewood in my arms. "That's why I told you about the medicine. Consider us even, Aliva."

We walk back in silence.

I am a damned fool. Armin is hands down one of the smartest people in Attack on Titan; all he'd need to do is sit down with the knowledge of what I did to get his grandfather's name out of the draft to realize that I'm more trouble than I've been letting on. Because, logically, why would I waste good rations on an old man's name? Why not put them towards my own mother? Myself? I would have had to know who'd be drafted in the first place.

And the second that Armin realizes that–the second he begins to suspect me–I'm officially fucked.

For now, the best thing is to ignore him. Get myself so far out of his periphery that he forgets I exist. That means no more squabbling with Eren, no more approaching the green-eyed boy when it's just him and his best friends. I need to keep my head down, keep my shoddily passing score, and vanish into the background of the plot.

I think of Annie, slinking in and out of existence like a predator. Maybe it's smarter to take my chances with the warriors right now than it is to test the bounds of my luck with Armin.

When we head back to camp, I get Ymir to swap with me and start building tents in her stead with Sasha.

And when it's my turn to hook in, I strap into the harness, press my fingertips into the cool face of the cliff like exploring a lover's touch, and climb.

AN: I'm going to try and keep updating regularly, but just as a heads up, I've got two more weeks of classes and then semester finals. Being a college kid is busy sometimes, but (hopefully) I won't have that much to do. In any case, hope you enjoy the new update! I'm curious to know what people think of the story thus far. Until next time!