Gabi wraps him in an embrace, and Reiner welcomes it. Wraps his now-freed arm around her, one hand still covering his eyes. It should have been Reiner who died; it should have been Marcel who lived; it should have been Porco who inherited the Armored. So many regrets, so many "should have been"s. But Reiner still accepts Gabi's hug, clinging to that comfort, undeserved as it may be. He's only human in the end. Only human, his psyche nowhere near as strong as his body, much less the Titan residing within.
Then Gabi begins to speak, listing the traits that Reiner knows so well: a natural leader, reliable, caring. All things Reiner broke himself to become. Did he ever succeed? No, if he is even a shadow of Marcel, it's still nothing in comparison. Reiner knows that in his bones.
But … Gabi didn't know Marcel. Gabi only knows him. Reiner, her cousin. The Warrior who went off to fight devils when she was just a toddler. Her cousin, who apparently comes back home and grows a goatee. To her, is he enough?
I just need you to be you, Reiner.
What does that even look like? Who is he when he's not trying to be someone else? He's not Marcel, the leader who looked after everyone. He's not the soldier who fought to defend the Walls. He's not the proud Warrior who earned the Armored. He's not the Honorary Marleyan with a far-off father who loves him. He's just…
What? What is he? A terrified child running from a Titan? A son throwing away his future to earn his mother's love? A boy stretching out his hand and begging the world to wait, please, just wait? A teenager struggling to stitch together the shredded remnants of his sanity?
A beloved cousin. A young man who died before Gabi turned fifteen. Someone that she needs, flawed and fractured as he is.
He can pull himself together for her, can't he? He can get to know the young woman she's become. He can see a time of her life that he will never be able to back home. He can be there for her. He can keep pushing forward.
Just do what you have to do. Just keep moving forward. It's all we can do.
He swallows down the ugly sobs that threaten to rip out of him. Squeezes Gabi a little tighter, his shoulder damp from her tears, trying (and failing) to stop trembling.
"Okay," he says, his voice shaking. He pulls in a breath, releases it slowly. "Okay," he repeats, a little steadier. And then—because it's all too much, too raw and painful—he adds, "I'm sorry."
Is he apologizing to Gabi? To Marcel? Both, maybe. He doesn't know.
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Then Gabi begins to speak, listing the traits that Reiner knows so well: a natural leader, reliable, caring. All things Reiner broke himself to become. Did he ever succeed? No, if he is even a shadow of Marcel, it's still nothing in comparison. Reiner knows that in his bones.
But … Gabi didn't know Marcel. Gabi only knows him. Reiner, her cousin. The Warrior who went off to fight devils when she was just a toddler. Her cousin, who apparently comes back home and grows a goatee. To her, is he enough?
I just need you to be you, Reiner.
What does that even look like? Who is he when he's not trying to be someone else? He's not Marcel, the leader who looked after everyone. He's not the soldier who fought to defend the Walls. He's not the proud Warrior who earned the Armored. He's not the Honorary Marleyan with a far-off father who loves him. He's just…
What? What is he? A terrified child running from a Titan? A son throwing away his future to earn his mother's love? A boy stretching out his hand and begging the world to wait, please, just wait? A teenager struggling to stitch together the shredded remnants of his sanity?
A beloved cousin. A young man who died before Gabi turned fifteen. Someone that she needs, flawed and fractured as he is.
He can pull himself together for her, can't he? He can get to know the young woman she's become. He can see a time of her life that he will never be able to back home. He can be there for her. He can keep pushing forward.
Just do what you have to do. Just keep moving forward. It's all we can do.
He swallows down the ugly sobs that threaten to rip out of him. Squeezes Gabi a little tighter, his shoulder damp from her tears, trying (and failing) to stop trembling.
"Okay," he says, his voice shaking. He pulls in a breath, releases it slowly. "Okay," he repeats, a little steadier. And then—because it's all too much, too raw and painful—he adds, "I'm sorry."
Is he apologizing to Gabi? To Marcel? Both, maybe. He doesn't know.