Chapter 30

The Reaper arrives tomorrow.

That is what everyone says, at least. Reiner isn't exactly sure who started saying it first. All he knows is that Shadis announced a week ago that the eastern division would be merging with the southern division. As for the reason why, all the instructor stated was that their sister branch had experienced an unforeseen level of dismissals and could no longer operate without being absorbed into a different division. And the eastern division was selected after considering that Shadis had casted out the most trainees, thanks to his decision to cull a quarter of the division's ranks a year and a half ago, and once more six months ago.

Three days ago, what remains of the eastern division arrived in Trost. Two days ago, they arrived at the edge of the encampment. None of the trainees have mingled with the newcomers yet, but some of the officers have. That, at least, is why Reiner suspects one of them for being the perpetrator behind the spread of this particular rumor. In any case, it spread like wildfire, igniting overnight and seeping into every inch of the camp.

It's enough of a hot topic that everyone, regardless of whether or not it is something positive or negative, has a speculation to make about what the Reaper is. A person? An item? A code of reference for a test, something to make their lives as trainees a living hell?

As for what, exactly, Reiner suspects the Reaper to be, he can't quite say. A part of him sides with Bert in thinking it to be a person–after all, there's plenty of new trainees on their doorstep. On the other hand, Eren seems convinced that it's some sort of curveball in their training. Both seem like decent theories to him; it's hard to say if he can side with one over the other.

Coincidentally, Reiner finds himself sitting between the two at dinner that night. He hunches over his plate, shoveling food as an excuse to keep his mouth shut and out of the conversation. Eren, to no surprise, is back to passionately making his case about the Reaper's identity in an attempt to convert Bert over to his side. While his best friend isn't exactly matching Eren teté a teté, Bert is doing an excellent job of calmly countering him measure by measure. The banter between the two of them wouldn't have been as awkward to sit through, were it not for the fact that he's pretty much exactly in the middle of everything. He's a bit too gangly to stuff into a small space, so Bert and Eren are doing their best to lean around him to talk. Unfortunately, Reiner can't exactly eat in peace knowing that everytime he leans forward to take a bite he obstructs their view of each other. The time between his bites grows longer, the idle tapping of his fork against the edge of the plate louder.

"I'm stuffed," he declares, pushing back from the table and stooping down to grab his plate. "I'll catch you both later."

Eren nods, and Bert smiles. "See ya."

Reiner buses his spot, grabbing the water glass last. He finds himself staring at it as he walks, tilting the glass to catch in the light. The liquid inside sloshes to the side, going with the flow, acquiescing to the motion he demands of it. A year and a half has passed since he saw her–two full years since his water returned to normal–and yet he can't stop staring into his cups, looking for the faint discoloration and odor he used to find in it every other day.

He wonders, not for the first time, what that girl is up to now.

It's better this way and he knows it. She was like a blackbird, out of reach, soaring for something he couldn't see. Fierce, territorial, determined.

Gorgeous.

Befriending a creature like her is the kind of thing that takes time. It takes honesty, patience; the ability to lay oneself bare before another. Reiner had never really had the chance to talk with her well, but he hadn't been able to shake the feeling that somehow he never needed to gouge his heart out of his chest for her to see him as he is. How unsettling to know, or at least to think, that there was a person out there who could gaze upon him with such familiarity. How strangely disappointing to know he could never do the same for her. She always had a wall up, even in those most vulnerable moments between the two of them. Those brief exchanges in the forest, or the one in that wintry cave. She was near enough to touch and always, always, out of reach.

Trust cannot be given without some willingness on the recipient's behalf to accept it. Deep down he knows there never could have been anything between them without it. Despite her alleged knowledge of his sins, he was impervious to hers. His were known, though he almost wished they wouldn't be; hers, entirely out of reach and beyond his means to acquire. He did not give her his truth of his own volition. She never once, not even for a second, considered sharing hers.

And whether he wants it to be or not, his time on this damned island of devils is temporary. Even if one of those devils has left her feathers on his head, in his pillow, in every sky he sees. Even if he wants to cage her, bring her back to Marley–back to her home, his home. Their home. He can't. There isn't time for something like that. He's the Armored Titan; what else is he good at, save for protecting his secrets, his life, his fellow warriors? When has he ever picked up something fragile and left it whole?

Reiner scrapes the excess off his plate before dumping the dinnerware in the bucket of dishes yet to be cleaned. He weaves through the tables, eyes briefly flickering to where the girls he always used to see around her sit. Christa and Ymir. Mikasa and Sasha. And even the girl she befriended after cutting ties with him and the other warriors. They look like they get on rather well, even in her absence. A muscle in his jaw twitches and he averts his gaze. What were they supposed to do, mourn her dismissal? She's not dead. Just…somewhere else. Somewhere without all of them.

He wants to laugh just then. No, not dead at all.

When he steps outside, the winter air darts into his nostrils. It's frigid enough to make him feel like his nose hairs will freeze and fall off if he stays out here for too long. But at the same time, the temperature shock is nice. It reminds Reiner of his guilt. His fingers twitch, each nerve ending coming alive to remind him of the sensations he felt so vividly the day that girl nearly died due to his ineptness. If he closes his eyes, he can feel himself transported back to that day, sunlight blistering the back of his neck, her soft skin flush beneath his fingertips. The delicate bridge of her nose, the light dip of her chin, as he angled her airway into position, opened her mouth with a single shift of his broad thumb.

But the memory stops there. His actions go no further. All that is left from that scene is the way he watched it unfold without him, gazing upon Eren in the place that could have been his, watching him perform the role he never should've abandoned. Eren was his friend–no, more of a younger brother or junior for which he felt responsible–but watching him engulf her lips with his own had made Reiner envious beyond belief.

And so, though the memory ends there, his imagination works overtime to make up the difference. He sees instead a dozen different ways in which that scene could have gone differently. He can see himself bending his head down closer to hers. Claiming her mouth, tasting her, saving her. Proving to her that she could trust him with her well being, that she could put her life in his hands without regret. Medicine had exchanged the glasses they once passed back and forth. In comparison, oxygen should have been no different to that. He should've been able to breathe life into her.

But he hadn't.

And now she is gone. Gone, with the memory of him in her head soured beyond belief.

Reiner exhales, watching his breath puff into the air. He trudges through the snow, thinking of all the things he could have said to her and didn't. Of all the things he could have done, all the times he could have closed the gap between them. He has no excuses, no true reason behind hesitating that he could even begin to explain to himself. Everytime he demands an answer from his subconsciousness, the only thing it can fire back is I don't know. Which feels like a pretty shoddy response to the whole situation.

He tugs his jacket closed, tired of the cold air seeping into the space between his shirt and his skin. Reiner has always been the kind of guy to run hot–even now in the dead of winter, he isn't irritated by his body's lack of heat so much as the way the wind seeks to make him shiver.

He's never cared all that much about the winter as opposed to the summer, but ever since two years ago, Reiner feels like he's become rather fond of it. It's a reminder of the warmth he carries in his flesh. The way that he's capable of getting even warmer than that, when someone shares their body heat with him. They'd fought in that cave, sure, but he can't help but smile whenever he remembers cramming those gloves of hers back onto her frosty fingers. He thinks of the way he's clasped her hands together first, breathed heat over them, warmed them with his own. Realization of the intimacy he'd thoughtlessly initiated had him shoving her gloves back on a moment later. But before that…he'd been of use. Not breaking down walls, not destroying families, not murdering and lying and betraying. Just helping.

Reiner makes his way back to the porch of his cabin and hangs his head, arms resting on the porch fence. What the hell is he even thinking of, anymore? He's got a job to do. He's not in Eldia to make friends. He's here for the Founding Titan. He's here to take down King Fritz, to bring honor to his home country, to prove his worth. To make his mother proud.

I am no better at saving mothers than I am at killing them.

There is the mother that birthed me, and the mother that made me. They are not always the same person.

He wanted to know what kind of past that girl had. What kind of things someone would have to experience to make that sort of expression when saying those words. He had no decent way to describe it: something melancholy, wistful, angry, subdued, unresolved and guilty. Something eerily similar to the way he felt everytime he caught his reflection since coming here. In Marley, being a warrior candidate was easier than this. He could handle the bullying, the harsh training, the devilry he was still unfamiliar with. All of it could be ingested and swallowed. Since coming here, seeing titans for the first time and opening his palms to find them caked with blood, he's been choking. Nothing he consumes, nothing he tells himself, and nothing he does makes that go away.

Was that why he felt compelled to tell her of his own sins?

I've killed people, too.

Is that why he was so shocked to hear her response? Because he didn't need to explain himself, not to her?

I know.

It does not get easier.

He did the right thing, in pushing her away. If he hadn't–if they'd continued to grow closer, continued to confide and confess their mutual sins–he would've weakened. Would have faltered. It would've been harder to carry out his missions with distractions that did not align with his objectives. He thought she wouldn't blame him, because she herself admitted that his mission and hers did not align. He thought she would understand him, because she herself declared her detestment for weakness in a world that had no place for it.

But the way she'd looked at him when she left…no, they didn't understand each other at all.

Reiner is so caught up in his own head that he doesn't even realize he's been walking again until he looks up and finds himself smack dab in the instructor's area of the camp. It's every bit as still and quiet here as it is by the dorms. Reassured by the lack of officers flocking to the streets to yell at him, he continues wandering aimlessly. The downy snow feels nice beneath his boots. He watches his footprints, studies the imprints left in his wake. Tries to leave a perfect bootprint.

"Well, I'll be damned," a woman laughs. Reiner stops moving forward the second he locates the sound. Two shadows creep out from in between the two buildings just in front of him and to the left. "I knew that old drunkard had a hand in things, but I never knew it was your replacement that spurned you to even grant him leeway to act. To think a single trainee could get the attention of that many commanders, just to stay in a place like this."

A grunt of agreement sounds after that, nearly swallowed by the air. Reiner takes careful steps backwards. He doesn't mean to eavesdrop. Now, he just wants to slip away without alerting whoever's conversing to his presence. "I can't tell if it's patriotism or plotting."

"I'll admit, when Commander Pyxis's seal slid across my desk, I was a bit skeptical. The recruit he promised me was hardly similar to the one I got."

"How's that?"

"Come now, Shadis. There's a reason she's called the Reaper."

Reiner immediately stops moving, ears perked at the mention of the Reaper. So Bert was right: it's a person. A girl, specifically. Judging by what he's already overheard, she must be one of the trainees from the eastern division, set to transfer over. "You'll have to be clearer than that, Becker."

The woman takes her time deciding what to say. Meanwhile, Reiner sashays to the left, sidling up against the side of the nearest building, mindful of even the smallest of sounds. "Let's just say Pyxis made it sound like I'd be getting the former, when all I got was the latter."

At that, Shadis chuckles. "You could have dismissed her."

"Could I? We didn't find anything to suggest she had a hand in all the failing scores."

"Figures."

"You speak as if she's guilty of foul play."

The pair's exchange falters, making Reiner contemplate whether it's better to keep eavesdropping or to leave while he still can. Probably better to slip away unnoticed than to push his luck. Slowly, he begins to retract his feet, taking one step back at a time.

"She surprised me, is all. She is like another one of my trainees in that sense: if there's a force out there that can stop her from her path, it's clearly something higher than us."

The woman–Becker, was it?–exhales sharply. "I didn't take you for a man of fate, Shadis."

He grunts noncommittally. Reiner looks over his shoulder; he's just about to the point where he can turn around and make a covert getaway. The voices start to drift farther down as the wind changes direction, carrying their conversation in lighter and quieter tones. "Well," he says, with a tone that indicates a clear change in subject, "I'd like to chat with our little Reaper before she integrates back in full."

"Are you asking me to send her over to your office? She's probably asleep by now."

Abruptly, the sounds of their conversation grow louder. Reiner sees the shadows enlarge and hastily ducks into a darkened corner, hunching behind a barrel and tucking the rim of his jacket up over his mouth so as to avoid sending exhaled plumes into the air. "Send her in the morning, then. At dawn."

The scuffling sounds of their boots draw nearer. Reiner tries to grow smaller, to condense himself, to think quiet, stealthy thoughts. Curse his evening stroll for bringing him into this section of camp. Curse his innate curiosity for causing him to linger far longer than he ought to. Reiner can't see their shadows from where he hides, but he's almost certain that one of them stopped walking near his hiding spot. "What do you want to see her for?"

"Who knows," Shadis exhales. "Perhaps I'll interrogate her myself, to see if she really did play a hand in what happened in the east. Perhaps I'll see if she's really the same flimsy trainee I kicked out."

Reiner's brows furrow. He's lost the conversation; then again, he's not quite sure he was ever following it to begin with. How could a bunch of commanders get involved with passing one trainee back and forth between divisions of the 107th?

"And if she is? Will you get rid of her again?"

A beat of silence. Reiner finds himself leaning forward, curious despite his inability to surmise their conversation's context. "I suppose, Becker, that will all depend on Moreau herself."

Reiner's heart skips a beat. His breath freezes in his lungs. His eyes go wide–he clamps a hand over his jacket-covered mouth to refrain from inhaling sharply.

Because he knows that name. Who else but her could it belong to? Who else, but the woman that has claimed his mind for her own and engulfed all other objects of thought? And if he's to understand everything that he just overheard…then not only is the Reaper someone he knows, but someone tenacious enough to weasel her way out of being dismissed as a trainee. Someone with enough grit and stubbornness to get relocated instead, then–if by malicious intent or pure, perfect coincidence–return to the place where she originated.

Oh.

Oh.

Aliva Moreau is coming back. Tomorrow.

No: she's already here. Waiting.

A/N: Special chapter to commemorate hitting THIRTY CHAPTERS, and also my first day of the new semester. I ripped off all my nails during my classes today so I typed this chapter up fast as FUCK. Enjoy! We are in the final year of the training arc...y'all excited?

Also, irrelevant question, but if I were to write another fanfic, what parent work/tropes/character(s) would you all be interested in seeing? I think I mentioned it before but this is my second fic (first AOT fic) and so I still have a long ways to go in terms of perfecting my craft with regards to fanfiction writing. Anyways, the reason I ask is because I'm just curious to see if there's something else people might enjoy reading in my style...OK BYE FOR NOW MWUAH