( Take her from that first year, she would have punched him. How dare he? How dare either of them? There's a certain wearing down that only time provides, and by the time she'd hardened herself into someone unreachable, she'd ironically started breaking down the reasons she'd self-isolated before. Trying to survive had wrecked all of them in different ways. She and Reiner at least have the chance in both worlds to recover.
Or all of them do here, she supposes. Reiner's steadier than he had been, and not as hollowed out as he'd been when she kicked his head and woke him up so they could run off and try to save the world. (Or because she had nothing gentle to give in that moment, and wouldn't until the Paradis Eldians started to fracture into confronting that they, too, would have to kill their own comrades and not leave it just to the Warriors to fight. Because of course. Aren't they the ones used to killing?)
Bertholdt... She stiffens when he says it was better him than anyone else. On several extremely practical levels, she knows that's not true. On an emotional one, she'd wanted to stop when they'd lost Marcel. Years later, not being able to make a sound, she can't even remember what she'd thought beyond wishing it would stop.
In a fierce if muffled voice, she says — )
Don't say that. There were no acceptable losses. None.
( No better ones either. Simply the ones that happen, and the ones that don't.
She can't help that she twitches at the weight of his cheek on her head, for all it's not particularly heavy. With a hug count up to almost a handful, Annie knows she's navigating her own emotional honesty... but it's not so easy, and not so simple, as suddenly trusting herself or anyone else in her space for more than brief moments. Violence is easy. Everything else is a steep learning curve.
Still, she can hold out for now. Her brow furrows, and she makes herself breathe even with her chest feeling caught in a vise. It'll loosen again. It always does. If the little shudders that come with weeping aren't quite stilled yet, she can at least offer something as distraction, as she'd learned Reiner hadn't known, had been taunted about.
She hates knowing she was used against them. Won't blame either of them, but hates that it worked all the same. )
They never touched me, Bertholdt. I don't know exactly what Armin or anyone else said to the both of you, but they never touched me. No one could.
( She shifts then, ready to pull back. Small steps. Allowing vulnerability and anything other than the front of indifference that saved her sanity from childhood until there was nothing to do but try to run, and no freedom to find but in the hardened crystal she'd made within her Titan's body.
She's run now. She's run back. If she'll find herself more free after all of it, hell if she knows. She can at least meet his tomato-red face and then find herself caught off guard, with a very genuine, very ridiculous: )
Are you blushing?!
( Look.
... Look.
... Or don't look. She makes a small noise of frustration, rubbing the back of one wrist across her eyes, her own face a touch red from the tears and, belatedly, a little embarrassment. Not at crying, but at being this bad at people. )
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Or all of them do here, she supposes. Reiner's steadier than he had been, and not as hollowed out as he'd been when she kicked his head and woke him up so they could run off and try to save the world. (Or because she had nothing gentle to give in that moment, and wouldn't until the Paradis Eldians started to fracture into confronting that they, too, would have to kill their own comrades and not leave it just to the Warriors to fight. Because of course. Aren't they the ones used to killing?)
Bertholdt... She stiffens when he says it was better him than anyone else. On several extremely practical levels, she knows that's not true. On an emotional one, she'd wanted to stop when they'd lost Marcel. Years later, not being able to make a sound, she can't even remember what she'd thought beyond wishing it would stop.
In a fierce if muffled voice, she says — )
Don't say that. There were no acceptable losses. None.
( No better ones either. Simply the ones that happen, and the ones that don't.
She can't help that she twitches at the weight of his cheek on her head, for all it's not particularly heavy. With a hug count up to almost a handful, Annie knows she's navigating her own emotional honesty... but it's not so easy, and not so simple, as suddenly trusting herself or anyone else in her space for more than brief moments. Violence is easy. Everything else is a steep learning curve.
Still, she can hold out for now. Her brow furrows, and she makes herself breathe even with her chest feeling caught in a vise. It'll loosen again. It always does. If the little shudders that come with weeping aren't quite stilled yet, she can at least offer something as distraction, as she'd learned Reiner hadn't known, had been taunted about.
She hates knowing she was used against them. Won't blame either of them, but hates that it worked all the same. )
They never touched me, Bertholdt. I don't know exactly what Armin or anyone else said to the both of you, but they never touched me. No one could.
( She shifts then, ready to pull back. Small steps. Allowing vulnerability and anything other than the front of indifference that saved her sanity from childhood until there was nothing to do but try to run, and no freedom to find but in the hardened crystal she'd made within her Titan's body.
She's run now. She's run back. If she'll find herself more free after all of it, hell if she knows. She can at least meet his tomato-red face and then find herself caught off guard, with a very genuine, very ridiculous: )
Are you blushing?!
( Look.
... Look.
... Or don't look. She makes a small noise of frustration, rubbing the back of one wrist across her eyes, her own face a touch red from the tears and, belatedly, a little embarrassment. Not at crying, but at being this bad at people. )