Chapter 31

Tents are fucking hard to set up.

I shake the damned thing out, laying it flat over the snow patch I stomped over for the last half hour. Driving the stakes down is another task entirely; but the work gives me something to distract myself with, and for that, I am grateful. It's been a long year. It took me far longer than I wanted to eliminate enough of the eastern division to force Becker's hand. But, I did it. Two seasons stand between me and the final trainee examination. I've managed to survive a year without medicine; managed to sit through the withdrawals and learn to boost my threshold back up after my system cleared itself out.

I am not what I could be, but at least, I am alive and well enough to continue on. It's rewarding and frustrating all the same.

I hunch over the next stake, the chill of the metal transferable even through the meat of my gloves. A shiver sneaks its way out and I wait until it subsides before trying to drive the stake down into the frozen ground. The work is monotonous, repetitive and arbitrary in feel when compared to the tasks I've had to do just to get myself back here. Even now that I've succeeded, I can't shake the feeling that my luck will run out: like I've been soaring through the air, and suddenly my chord snaps. I'll fall down into a pit of misery made by my own two hands. Every disgraced trainee–every person exactly like me, before Pyxis gave me a second chance–writhes in that damp hole like snakes, hissing expletives of vengeance; sinking fangs of foretold doom into the backs of my knees and the fat on my hips.

I pause for a moment, a lake gone still, watching the faint lights of the camp down below shimmer. For all the carnage that's stained me, for all the discoloration imposed on my visage in order to see this place again, it is every bit as bright now as it was when I lived here. I can't make out individual figures, but I imagine them all clear as day, milling about like dutiful ants.

I set the tent up as best as I'm able, but in the end, it's a miracle that it doesn't collapse on me. I get done setting the thing up, only to realize that I forgot to attach the sleep tarp prior to building it. I groan, muttering expletives under my breath, kicking rocks. Stupid camps. Stupid tents. I drag the tarp down into the tent, cranking the cot open. It's larger than something I'd need, but comfy, once I unroll my sleeping bag and extra blanket over it.

Aliva, Aliva. What're you doing with yourself? I exhale, then inhale, focusing on the feeling of drawing breath in and out of my lungs. Like ink tapped onto a page's corner and pressed there, seeping across the full document like an endless murky plague, I spent a year and a half growing selfish, vicious, morally ambiguous and cutthroat. Unlike blood and dirt, spit and sweat, I cannot scrub a darkness this warped and wicked out of my skin. I cannot cleanse what I have become.

The frightening part is that I have spent so long trying to get here, at any means necessary, that I haven't stopped to consider why. My memories of this place were not all that grandiose and glad: I fought with Reiner, Annie, and Bertholdt; with Eren and Armin; with–actually, I clashed with nearly everyone. I wince. Geez. Not to mention the weird dynamic between me and Jean. The friendship I remember so fervently seeking to forge with Christa, which now feels less important as before. So much of what I recall in my life is gone, absent. All that remains is that I have always done cruel things, always twisted arms behind people's backs and warped this world so it would adhere to my will. I have no rationality, no excuse, no real oracle to fear.

Why am I here–honestly? Eren has Mikasa and Armin. He's got all the friends he's made in the 107th. Carla would understand, wouldn't she, if I considered my debt to her settled?

I am ashamed to ask this of you, Aliva. If Eren were to know…

I grimace. Fine, fuck it all. So I have some drive to stay. So I don't know where else to go. I've become a scrappy street cat, limbing back to my moldy, decrepit cardboard box because I don't have anywhere else in this world to go. Something in me calls out to stay here. The thought of leaving makes me uneasy, but I don't understand why. Is it the kind of unease that precedes change? That comes with delving into the unknown? Or is it something else entirely, something I've made and created since before accumulating memories, something hidden in what I've forgotten?

If only I had that damned journal.

Muttering to myself, I yank the tent flap open and shuffle out. Some food should help me think clearly. I weave my way through the ranks of trainees setting up their own tents, briefly slowing down as I catch a flash of blonde and brown. Hitch and Marlo are working together, setting up their tents together. Hitch and I lock eyes. "Hey, stranger."

I want to smile, I do. But I haven't done that in a long time. "Need help?"

Marlo turns to follow the trail of sound, seeing me and immediately frowning. "Reaper."

I hold his gaze. In the ranks of surviving trainees, they've arranged themselves on a scale. On one end there's Hitch: amiable enough, but in the way that someone is to a coworker, to a person they've no choice but to cooperate with. In the middle are the Marlos, the ones smart enough to stay wary but who don't care enough to stay hostile. They keep their distance; I keep mine. They're the group that coined the nickname.

"Marlo." Hitch elbows him, shaking her head. "Be nice."

He stays rigid, but caves when she shoves a corner of the tarp into his hands. He sighs and resumes tent construction, back facing me. "What're you here for, Reaper?"

"Her name's Aliva," Hitch chimes in over her shoulder. Marlo frowns. Upright as an arrow, it's surprising to me that he's remained so neutral despite believing so deeply that everyone ought to have a fair chance at the trainee exams. Or maybe it's because my guilt was never proven. I'm lucky, I guess, his fairness extends all the way to me. It shouldn't. But it's nice that it does.

"Right. Aliva the Reaper."

Hitch rolls her eyes, but she's smiling. "We're all good over here. You could ask…" she trails off. I can practically see the gears in her head turning, as she runs the list of trainees through her head. There aren't a whole lot of eastern division trainees left. And most of them are like Marlo in the middle, or–

"I'm getting tired of seeing your face around here."

I turn around. "Floch."

He's standing with his tarp rolled up over his shoulder, displeasure written painfully clear all over his face. "Shame to see you're still here."

I cross my arms. "Where else would I be?"

"I don't know. Try hell?"

I scoff. "Mmm. No thanks."

Floch scowls, baring his teeth. "You can't hide forever. Will you still act all high and mighty when the instructors find out what you've done? It's a crime to fuck around with the tests like you have."

I inspect my gloves. They've gone soft around the stitches from all the wear and tear. "There's nothing to find out, Floch."

"Bullshit–"

Hitch steps in between us. "The instructors ran thorough investigations every week, you know. Remember when they switched up the test schedule, or changed the planned exam right before it happened? If Aliva was guilty–"

"Which she is–"

"If she is, then, they would have found something. But a year went by and she's every bit as guilty as you or me."

Hitch's defense feels good in a way that makes me guilty. I appreciate her defense of me, I do, but I know I don't deserve it. It's useful for keeping the annoying trainees like Floch at bay. But that's it. "Hitch is right. Isn't it about time we left this debate back in the east? We're in the south now. They play by different rules. There's no weekly tests to exploit here."

I can tell he wants to argue. The blood boiling inside of him surges into his face, turning it a furious red. "How can I let it go when Heidi's future is ruined because of her?"

"She can always enlist this summer. In the next group. The, what, the hundred and tenth?"

"Oh, fuck off."

I don't push it further. After all, that was an unacceptable solution for me too. But Heidi was kind of a bitch, putting it lightly. And if the things I remember reading about in the journal are really going to come true–then didn't I save everyone's lives? Didn't I save Heidi, spare her from the fate of countless soldiers and scouts?

But if it doesn't come true–then didn't I gamble with her future? Gamble and lose?

"It doesn't matter anymore," Marlo reiterates, setting a hand on Floch's shoulder. "We'll hardly see much of each other once we're integrated into our new division."

"...Tch." Floch shoves it off and stalks away, tarp swaying with each of his animated steps.

"He doesn't mean it," Hitch tells me. It makes me want to laugh a bit. The corner of my lip twitches.

"I'm pretty sure he does."

Two nights later, I dream of a woman standing amidst rows and rows of trees. All around us a peculiar song drifts, whispered like a lullabye. She's got stern wrinkles left from scowling adamantly over the years. Silver hairs threaded here and there through coarser, darker ones. Fine clothes. Modest fashion. Sharp, pointed heeled boots. They look like genuine leather, stained dark brown.

"What gall you have, to show yourself now."

"I don't understand," I say, dream-like fog whispering around me. It's hard to see the ground. "Who are you?"

"Your mother. As much as you wish to forget me, you can't. Your new mother cannot replace me. Your stepmother cannot replace me. I am and will always be a part of you."

I frown. When I shift my foot, it connects with something hard yet malleable. An animal? "Are you the one who I forgot?"

She sneers. "Yes."

"So you killed me."

The fog vanishes. She looks down; I follow her gaze. There, cast on the ground beside us both, are twin carcasses. One is of a girl, with a gory spray of blood awash on her chest. Her hand is wrapped around my ankle, like a chain. The other one is a woman, latched in similar fashion to the person standing across from me. There's a cavity in her forehead where those wrinkles should be. "Yes, child, I did. And I will do it again."

The corpses twitch. She bends down, reaches her hand out to offer it. The body with the hole in its head responds, grasping onto the extended limb, uses it to stand next to its mirror. The living version begins to flicker, spots of color burning holes in her visage here and there. Pointed boots begin to round themselves out, to lighten in color. Her modest skirt becomes clean-cut pants. The suit jacket warps, changes material, tans and crops itself.

Her muscles grow. She's taller. The corpse watches, leers, stays the same. It begins to speak on her behalf.

"We will kill you. In as many forms as it takes. In as many worlds as you run to. Tell me, my pet, did you really think you could run from me? Did you really believe there was a world in which you could live without my approval?"

Her hair crawls back into her scalp. Inch by inch. The follicles brighten, dawning like the sun, changing color gradually and then abruptly. The transformation is nearly complete.

The corpse hacks, black spittle surging from between its rotted lips. "You cannot run from your fate. You were born by our hands.

"And it is by them that you will die."

The bodies go still. The dead one, every bit as horrifying as it was the minute I first saw it. And the living one–

I go rigid.

I know that face.

I know that person.

"But you're–"

"Dead? No, darling. I'm more alive than I've ever been." Jagged teeth ripple out as the woman claiming to be my mother smiles, her upper lip curling against the gums of her new body. "But I can't say the same about you."

I look down. I am Aliva, as I've always been. The body gripping my ankle is gone.

I crack open my eyes. No light filters in through the cracks in the tent. I've got some ways to go before daybreak, probably. When morning comes, I'll have to pack up this shoddy tent and make my way down into the camp to reintegrate into the southern division of the 107th. That's why I'm restless and having weird dreams. Why else would those kinds of strange things show up in my mind?

Rubbing my temples, I sit up and breathe deeply. The tent feels hot for once; I zip out of the sleeping bag and yank off my shirt. Too many layers of blankets on the cot, even for winter. Fanning myself, I reach a hand behind me to unfasten my brasserie.

A boot crunches in the snow outside my tent.

Instinct puts me on guard in an instant. Quiet and catlike, I spring off the cot and grab the nearest of my two blade handles. It's not equipped with a blade right now, but if worse comes to worse, I can strike fast and hard with the handle itself. I switch the handle into my dominant hand and, keeping an eye on the front of the tent, adjust my gear so that it's connected to the blade sheathes. At the very least, I can launch a cord straight through the intruder's eye.

I narrowly repress the urge to bark out laughing. Being the Reaper has made me more on edge than I've ever been.

"...va."

The voice is deep, unnervingly so. None of the trainees in the eastern division have a voice like that. And Becker's the only instructor with us. I narrow my eyes, tightening my grip around the handle, and creep forward towards the flap.

"Who's there?"

The shuffling sounds outside the tent disappear entirely. I can still sense that presence though, clear as day, stoic as a bell. I reach my free hand forward. I'll throw open the flap, use the element of surprise to quickly assess my situation. That should be enough time to ensure my advantage.

Right?

"I asked a question." Creeping closer requires all of my focus. My breathing is shallow, nervous, adrenaline surging inside of me. I step silently, bare feet nimbly inching their way closer. I seize the corner of the flap in my hand. Brandish the handle. Prepare for the almost-intruder to answer, so that while they're preoccupied with speaking, I can–

"It's me, R–"

I yank the flap open the second I hear him speak. I can tell he's startled, first by the way he flinches back and second by the widening of his eyes. They look like two pale moons in the darkness, fixated on the sight of me standing before him. My finger twitches with surprise, nearly firing. Reiner sees the motion and hurriedly lurches forward, engulfing my hand in his own, pulling my finger off the trigger.

Reiner Braun.

"The hell are you doing here?"

His lips part. "You're…here."

I tug my handle back, but his hand is frozen over mine, like he forgot it was even there. "Yes. How astute of you. Now let go."

He looks down at our shared contact, puzzling his way through understanding why it's there in the first place. "I thought it was you."

Confusion has me tilting my face back up, trying to read his expression. "You knew I was coming?"

He scratches the back of his head, eyes flickering down from my face to my body before immediately jerking to the left. "You're–um. Well. I didn't know it was you. But I wanted to check."

"That's why you stormed all the way up here in the middle of the night?"

It's too dark for me to see his face clearly. I wish I could read his expression. What on earth is this man thinking? How did he even realize that I would be here? A thin sheen of night air ghosts over my features. I shiver as it hits bare skin. Glancing down, I see exactly what caught Reiner off guard: my body, clothed in nothing more than underwear and a brasserie half undone. The tips of my ears burst into flame. "Come here." I grab his wrist and yank him into the tent with me, closing the flap back hastily. Reiner has to stoop to go through the entrance, but he goes pliant in my hands, offering only a muffled sound of protest. I push him towards the cot. "Sit. Explain."

I listen to the cot creak faintly as he obeys; while he does, I set the handle back down with the rest of my gear and fumble around for a candle. I try and fail to light it twice. "Do you need help?" I square my shoulders at the insulting pity in his voice, causing one of the straps on my shoulder to slip down further. Reiner's eyes follow it for a second before relocating to the roof where they plaster themselves without budging.

"You're supposed to be explaining why you're here."

I watch Reiner's thumbs brush together, stroking their pads like pieces of flint while he gathers himself and prepares to recount his story. He keeps his head tilted up to the tent's ceiling, providing me with an ample view of his throat as he clears it to begin speaking in hushed tones. I shake my head and busy myself with lighting the candle. "Rumor spread about something called the Reaper arriving tomorrow. We didn't know at the time it was a person, let alone you. I just happened to overhear Shadis and some other instructor…"

"Becker?"

"Yes. Her."

I nod, rationalizing that sort of exchange. Figures. The wick smarts, flame adhering to its interwoven fibers. "There we go." For a moment, Reiner's attention is on the little fire, watching as I place it on the ground. When I look up at him, though, it's to see that his gaze has relocated to me. The heat of it–the full brunt of his attention, after countless nights without it–is almost enough to make my stomach lurch. Almost enough for that burnt and twisted seed nestled in the pit of my stomach to wriggle and try to sprout once again. I tear my eyes away from him, yanking my strap up over my shoulder and tightening my brassiere. "Keep talking."

"They mentioned that the Reaper was a trainee. A troublesome one, at that. It sounded like they weren't sure whether or not she'd had a hand in the eastern division's current state of affairs."

"Hmph." I step closer to the bed, and Reiner's voice trails off. I bend, grab my shirt off the edge of the cot, and retreat back to the other end of the tent to shrug it on. "And?"

"Shadis asked Becker to send the Reaper over to talk tomorrow morning. That's when I heard the name Moreau."

I glance over my shoulder at him, crossing my arms once my shirt is securely back onto my frame. It still feels stiflingly warm in here, moreso now that someone is sharing the space. "You came all the way here just because of that?"

"Well…yeah."

"Why? I'll be back tomorrow. You could've waited to see if it was me or someone else then." The words coming out of my mouth are the ones I mean to say, but somehow, they're still not. It's like the actual sentence is right in front of me on the tip of my tongue, but no matter how long I talk, I can't get it to slip out.

Reiner hangs his head. "I couldn't wait."

"Why?"

He hesitates. It only makes me more curious, more impatient. The candlelight flickers, at odds with the angular structure of the tent and the jagged figure sitting across from me. Mindful not to tip my lightsource over, I skirt the candle's edge and stand directly in front of Reiner.

"Why."

He peeks up at me through his eyelashes. It's a vulnerable look, confused and guarded all the same. It's almost as if he's screaming to me, I'm not so sure myself. I don't know if I have the kind of patience to tolerate that sort of uncertainty.

I sigh and step back, pointing to the exit. "Well, if that's all you came here for, you can leave now."

"It's not."

I frown. "What else, then? What more do we have to say to each other? I don't think we were ever close enough to warrant you doing this."

I turn in full, stalking towards the entrance to the tent. That seed is churning my gut into a frenzy, with a kind of viciousness that makes my knees want to buckle. Or make me vomit. Either way, I don't think I can handle Reiner being here for either of those outcomes.

"Wait. Please."

His hand has, for the second time tonight, reached out to grab my own. He's still sitting, but he's leaning so far forward that he looks like he'll topple over at any second. I gaze down at his fingers. In my memory, his touch is full of warmth. Here, now, it's chilled like ice. He must have been outside for a long time. When he mentioned overhearing a conversation…was it in the open air? Did he come here straight after eavesdropping, without a thought in the world?

"...Fine." I surrender, drawing closer warily. Just enough so he can let go and sit back without losing his balance.

But he doesn't release me. Instead, he takes his other hand up, cradles my one in his two. One half, one whole. His eyes are riveted to the sight of my hand as he turns it over, palm up, studying the hard earned calluses percolating up and down the ranks of each digit. They are marks of my tenacity; signs of my survival. Testaments to the strength that allowed me not only to survive in the eastern division, but to single handedly wipe it out. "I owe you an apology."

I raise an eyebrow. "For?"

"For what happened in the obstacle course. If Eren hadn't been there…"

Ah. My shoulders sink. It's something I want an apology for, but…I guess I expected more. What else is there to apologize for? He returned the medicine he stole. He saved me when I got lost in the snowstorm. He owes me nothing.

"Look at me," I murmur. I'm not even sure why I do it, but he surprises me more when he tilts his head up. His hair looks soft. He's grown more: there's faint traces of stubble lining his lower jaw and upper lip. He turned 19 this last year; I, 18. We are not the same children we were two winters ago. Not the same at all.

"What happened, while you were gone?"

I blink. "You really wish to know?"

Reiner considers my question. It's weird, talking to him like this. Like a muscle atrophied and out of shape, I am struggling to remember how to exchange words with him in a way that feels natural. How am I to tell him all the things that transpired in his absence, when we are no closer now than we ever were? "Yes," he decides, "I do."

"It will not make you think highly of me."

That grants him pause. "Did you kill?"

I think of the fire in the apartment. The rocks under mattresses, the berries in oats, the salts in pillowcases. "No."

"Then it can't be harsher than what you've already alluded to."

I forget, sometimes, that I told Reiner of the blood on my hands. That there was a time when we found a strange sense of mutual comfort in sharing our sins. I look down. He's still cradling my hand in both of his, like a bird in a nest. If it falls, will it fly?

"I made a deal with the southern garrison commander. In exchange for helping him expose a drug trafficking ring, he would grant me reentry into the hundred and seventh division."

Reiner stays calm. It's like something in him has shifted, changed from the man who apologized with such raw edges in his tone. This man is sharp, understanding. A true man of war. "And did you?"

"Yes. I worked the case and passed it over once I was no longer of any use."

Perhaps he notices the way I can't help but avert my eyes. "Who?"

"My father. His new wife. Her ex-husband and their daughter."

He nods. Then, slowly, moves his thumbs to my wrist. Massages it gently. "Tell me."

And, for reasons unbeknownst to me, I do. The wax dribbles down the sides of the candle. I stand, but my feet find no ill footing. Throughout it all judgment does not flicker onto Reiner's face; only pure, unaltered concentration, as he moves his thumbs down the palm of my hand and to each fingertip, tracing circles with light pressure. I watch his hands, so I do not have to focus on watching him. I can't trust him enough to tell him the full extent of my involvement in what happened to the eastern division…but I let him keep his hold on my hand. Gradually, like winter giving way to spring, his temperature thaws back out, heating his skin until his hands finally return to the way they remain in my memory.

When I get to the point that brings us full circle–the part in my story where Becker announced our impending merge–the spell between us becomes apparent, more tentative, more fragile. "Why did you come here, really? Just to apologize for failing to resuscitate me?"

Reiner's hold on me wavers, his ministrations ceasing. My fingers twitch to life, like they itch to prompt Reiner's back into motion, and yet they move no more than that. I lay witness to my own body's accismus, distracting me enough so that when Reiner speaks, his words catch me far enough off guard to steal my breath.

"I could not gather the courage to do it. I feared…that if I touched you, I would lose myself. That it would distract me from my purpose."

My voice follows his, wavering, dropping lower and lower. "Then what is this now? Your way of appeasing me?"

His hands tighten around my own, just for a second. "I was wrong. I played with your life. That is all."

I inch closer, my knees now touching the cot, my body standing between his legs. "I am in no danger now. Yet here you are. Touching me."

He can't look at me. His eyes scour the tent timorously, like the second that they find me he'll have to face some true terror. That spark in my gut heats, blooms, prods me to move further. It is as if I'm fevered once more, unable to think straight, glancing at a neck and seeing a fruit. I was wrong, then, to push that boundary. Reiner feels he was wrong, the day I collapsed, for not pushing it at all.

Which of us is right now?

"Look at me," I say again, and this time, he doesn't. A muscle in his jaw works to keep his face tilted away, just slightly enough so that his eyes don't betray him. I lean down. My hair, unbraided in the night, tumbles over my shoulder, pools in the space between us, tickling our hands. "Reiner."

"I can't."

"Why? You're already here. Already admitting your mistake. Aren't you curious to see whether or not you did the right thing?"

He's wavering. That hesitation is alluring; I find myself wanting to drive a wedge into him, to watch him crack and splinter. I have lost the conviction that once drove me so strongly. What would happen to him–to any of the warriors, really–if they lost theirs as well? "I can't."

"Can't? Or shouldn't?"

That muscle in his jaw clenches again. Without thinking, my free hand is already reaching out to touch it, to smooth his deflection with my fingers. "...Aliva," he whispers. His tone draws a clear line.

I let my hand linger for a split second. Then I remove it. "There's your answer," I say. What else am I supposed to do?

He finally looks at me. His eyes are tantalizing, shimmering like the sunset. Like dandelion ale, like bourbon, like golden fields of wheat. I see the light of the candle flickering in them. His eyebrows bend upwards. "You've known."

I laugh. It's strange to hear that kind of sound from my mouth. "No. I only knew that it was my answer. I never thought it would be yours, too."

His gaze softens, then…changes. There's more heat in it now. "Why are you back, Aliva? Are you the same woman you were when you left?"

There's a hardened edge to his tone. A threat. A reminder of the way I once put us at odds. All those things seem so far away, now that I can't remember my schemes with clarity. "I am less of her than I was before," I admit. "But she lurks within me somewhere. Even if I no longer recall where."

His lips part. I find my focus riveted on his mouth in response. "And if she returns?"

"Then I become your adversary once more," I shrug.

"Why?"

The corner of my mouth twitches. "Because I want to survive. And…because I made a promise. A few of them, actually."

He nods, almost imperceptibly. Then–

"I hope she never comes back," he murmurs. And pulls me closer.

His right hand engulfs my wrist entirely, tugging it to his side and forcing me to bend down further. His other hand wraps around the back of my neck, and before I know it, my hands are cupped to his cheeks. Tilting them up. Angling them, so that the moment we draw face to face, we can close the gap at any second.

He pauses. Our breath mingles. I can't tell which of us is waiting, which is hesitating. Perhaps we're both doing each.

I close my eyes.

"I can't take this back," he whispers. His breath ghosts my skin.

"Then don't do it. Don't cross that line."

"I can't."

"I don't understand."

I open my eyes, and when I realize what's happening, it's already in motion. "Neither do I."

Reiner's lips make contact with my own, shocking me into losing all sense of the world around us. It's quiet, save for the racing of my heart, the gasp of my breath as he steals it straight from my mouth. The contact explodes in an instant, spreading, turning my lips voracious, moving them all on their own accord. I press back, accepting his, offering my own, kissing him exactly as he kisses me. Little gasps wedge their way between our mouths; his lips large and heated, my warming quickly. The hand on the back of my neck tangles against the base of my hair. I shift closer, straddling him so I no longer have to stand, our kiss failing to break as I adjust my position.

"Mmn–"

I press my lap down over his, sitting my ass down on his broad thighs. My hands drift past his cheeks, wrapping around his neck, forcing him to tilt his head back higher as I press myself closer still. Little breathless moans are the only sounds I can possibly make. He steals all else, devours it, devours me.

He tastes like honey. Like wine. Like sunshine, like heat, like smoked wood. His lips part, tongue prodding the part of my lips. I offer mine in return, tilting my head, deeping our exchange. The heat in my gut drops downward, towards my core, the hand not set against my hair releasing my wrist and gripping my hip to keep me steady. Reiner groans into my mouth and my waist jerks at the sound, surprised and elated by the way it rumbles into me, by the saliva passed against our tongues, by the way I feel his length, hardened and flush beneath me.

"Reiner–" I pant, the second our kiss breaks. I gasp for air, face flush, body tingling. He looks every bit as disheveled as I feel. There's shock on his face, and…god, the way his gaze burns into me makes my clit twitch. I ache to do more; go further. I don't care anymore. Fuck it all. He started it; to hell with all the consequences. I grip the hem of my shirt and quickly pull it over my head, discarding it on the floor. Reiner's eyes immediately travel downward to the sight of my brasserie, which came so close to slipping off me earlier. His hands dwarf the fabric as he learns forward again, lust-laden eyes locked onto the straps.

"Aliva…" he trails off. Swallows thickly, slowly. I watch the sense slowly return to his eyes. "We should stop here."

I study his face. Run my fingers through his hair, exploring the soft strands I once saw daily. I trace his jaw. Feel the stubble, prickling me. "Mmm."

His eyes, though, can't seem to look any higher than my clavicles. The hand against my hip traces little circles there, idly toying with the edge of my underwear. It's driving me crazy; I doubt he even realizes what he's doing. "I can't…" I lean forward, kissing his jaw once, softly. Trying to explain that I understand. His other hand runs up my back, tracing my spine. I shiver. "I can't do this kind of thing…and have it mean nothing."

I lean back just enough to see his face. "What does this mean, then?"

He frowns. "I don't know."

Again, with that phrase. I sigh. "Then we should stop," I offer. He nods, slowly. He holds my hand to steady me as I climb off of him, nice enough to pretend not to notice the wet spot that's seeped onto his pants. I bend down for my shirt–again–and cram it back on. While I do, Reiner stands and makes his way to the tent exit. "I'll be rejoining the old division tomorrow," I say. He's looking at me like he doesn't quite understand what I'm saying. His lips are flushed, slightly swollen. I like that look on him. "I bet you'll be surprised to see that the Reaper is really Aliva Moreau, back once again."

I can practically see the thoughts line up in his head. He reaches back behind him, pulls the tent flap open. "I will be," he assures me. I trust that I made myself clear enough for him to understand. Once he leaves this tent, his presence here–and every damning ripple effect caused by it–are no more. We'll be back to where we were a year and a half ago. Back to being strangers.

He leaves, closing the flap quietly. I wet my finger and press it against the wick to suffocate it. The flame goes out with a faint hiss; the light swallowed by the dark.

I touch a finger to my lips. They remain hot to the touch, swollen like Reiner's were. Proof of our exchange.

Proof that, despite it all, I still ache for him.

A/N: I will not apologize for taking so long to post this chapter. Enjoy.

In other news, the semester started back up and I am already so tired. Oh-and I decided to start fencing, of all things. I'll keep y'all updated on how it goes :)