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(Manga spoilers, swearing - it's also insanely long. Sorry!)

The wooden slats of the carriage can't block out the cool evening air, and you shiver a little as you huddle under your cloak. Well, try to huddle. The torture device — sorry, 'corset' — you've been strapped into doesn't really let you bend.

Linus, seated opposite, glances away from the window and smiles at you warmly. "I'm sure you're chilly now, Captain, but you'll soon be grateful. The ballroom of Mitras Castle gets awfully stuffy."

You look back, despairing that Captain Doctor is so distinctly unbothered about this ordeal. Of course, there's no reason he shouldn't be. This is all a normal, pleasant part of life to him. This mindless frivolity is a perk of rank. He has not advanced any negative opinions on canapés, nor considered waltzing to be an inexplicable ritual void of purpose. In fact, his views on the whole thing thus far have been in total opposition to your own.

You frown, trying to move the pile of curls on your head to a more comfortable position. "I'll be grateful when I'm in my uniform again, Doctor, and not a moment before."

"Do stop fussing with your hair," he answers, taking no notice of your words but looking very serious about your activities. "I really didn't spend all that time on your coiffure only for it to expire before we've even arrived."

You try to take a deep breath in order to sigh, but there isn't enough give in your midsection. You settle for huffing a short breath out through your nose. "I told you that it wasn't necessary." None of this is bloody necessary.

He gives his usual calm, slightly superior smile. "I do apologise for my efforts in presenting you well to our fellow officers. Perhaps I should have left you dishevelled and confused for your debut."

"Yes, perhaps you should have," you say, irked by his condescension. It's not exactly fair of you, though, is it? He had good intentions, and he really did work hard. Drat. You lower your head slightly, glancing at him with a streak of regret. "Sorry."

"Quite all right, my dear." Sanguine as ever. "I realise you're uncomfortable. Though perhaps something else is wrong? If so, I would hope you'd confide in me."

Outside the window, the capital's buildings pass by in flickering torchlight. Of course something else is wrong. There are only two of you in the carriage. Linus had been surprised back in Stohess when you told the driver to take off without waiting, but he hadn't poked for an explanation.

You shrug, feeling the peculiar way the silk dress moves beneath the wool of your cloak. "I don't know what you mean." How easy it is to fall back into bad habits. Right now, your resolution to be more honest and open seems like a childhood promise long abandoned.

But Linus is having precisely none of it. "I believe I've held my tongue long enough, Captain. Where is he?"

You can feel your lips pressing together as your stomach recoils. "Don't know." The sound of hoofbeats echoing over cobblestones has become soothing, after so many hours spent travelling over the past few days with nothing to look forward to except going back home.

"I'm not certain that's true." Linus' voice is soft, but the tone is cool. Your reticence is not appreciated. "Regardless, you knew enough to depart without him. What happened?" Just as your lips begin to frame another 'don't know', Linus moves in for the kill. "Have I disappointed you in some way, Captain? If I have, I'm sure you could find a better way to demonstrate it than to cut me out."

Mitras Castle comes into view ahead, atop a slope that elevates it above the rich dwellings of the capital streets. It's no royal palace, but the concept of it belonging to one family is no less shocking.

"We're almost there," you murmur, and it's not the dreadful thing you'd have expected since it will get you out of this conversation.

But this does little to distract the doctor. "As your friend, I am asking you," he says, his voice both cold and insistent, "where is Captain Levi?"

"I'm telling you, Lange is the best option."

"And I'm telling you, that's a sack of shit! Hange, I really don't think Felix could spy his way out of a wet paper bag."

"'Felix', huh? I think the captain has been working a little too closely with her officers."

You rub your forehead to quiet the audio of your memories. "Hange called us to a meeting. There was a... difference of opinion." You were supposed to agree on an officer to take command of the infiltration mission. You had put forward Rico Brzenska, a skilled officer who kept her cards very close to her chest.

Levi had put forward Felix.

"What's that supposed to mean? Unlike you, I've worked with them closely enough to know who can do this. Commander, Rico Brz—"

"It means that you've decided to protect your little bitch at the cost of the mission."

Your left hand curls into a fist at the remembered provocation, though it looks somewhat less threatening when it's wearing a white satin glove.

"Not one word of that is true, you arrogant little basta—"

"Tch."

"Stop interrupting me!"

"A difference of opinion," Linus says, carefully. He leans back in his seat, smoothing out his coat. "One would hardly imagine it to be the first."

No. Indeed, as incandescent with rage as you were, it was not some insurmountable event in your personal history with Levi. The problem was...

"That's quite enough. I have your reports here, and I'll make my determination accordingly. It's time the two of you left for the capital."

"I'm not going."

"Captain Levi, this is not open for nego—"

"I got the meeting. He'll be here in a couple of hours."

"I see. Very well, then." You remember Hange's mask-like face as she turned to you. "You're dismissed, Captain. Do try and enjoy yourself."

You try to rest your head back against the wall, but the pile of curls gets in your way. You lean sideways instead. What can you say? "They mentioned an unscheduled meeting. I don't know with who, or why. Nobody would..." Neither of them would even look you in the eye as you stared at them, so obviously excluded. "It doesn't matter. I should've known the little bastard would find a way out of going," you finish, with a lightness that is too sharp to really land.

"Oh, my dear." Linus leans forward and takes hold of your gloved hand, apparently not fooled by your breeziness. "I am sorry. I'm sure they have an impeccable reason to keep it from you. They are your closest friends, after all."

You look at his bright, well-meaning eyes, somehow existing in another world — a world where your lover must also be your friend, and your best friend would never dream of severing ties with you. "I'm sure they have good intentions," you agree, because you are sure of it. The problem is that you don't know what those intentions are, or for whose good they might be.

The carriage slows, coming to a gradual halt outside the castle. A footman moves forward to open the door, and you stand with unaccustomed awkwardness, navigating the heeled shoes as best you can. Between the footman in front and Linus in the back, they help you down the steps onto the carpet rolled out from the imposing castle doors. The air is sharp up here, and the light cast over the walls is cold as well - it's lit not by torches or lamps, but by carved slabs of glowing crystal spaced out along the base. From the cavern beneath the Reiss Chapel. It's beautiful and dramatic, but it seems a waste of a precious, limited resource. It's also a reminder of Levi. Forgetting about everything else, you lift the hem of your dress away from the ground and cross to one of the slabs. The edges are carved ornately, with flowering vines and tiny songbirds twining along their length, but the effect is marred by the unearthly glow. You can imagine that huge, subterranean space made entirely of this crystal, echoing in its size and emptiness until the undoubtedly bloody battle that took place inside it. There's no—

"Please, Madam, you'll catch a chill." The footman is hovering uncertainly on the border between the carpet and the crystal, looking exceptionally worried. You'd feel bad for him if you weren't busy trying to deal with being called 'Madam'. My name is 'Captain', you think, and it takes a few seconds to remember that it's not.

Linus reaches his arm out, and you take it, still trying to deal with being treated as a civilian. How do civvies live like this? "In we go, Captain," Linus prompts as though to placate you, and you fall into step with him. You crane your neck to look back at the eerie blue-white light until you pass into the castle.

Inside, your cloak is whisked from your shoulders without so much as a by-your-leave. Linus is similarly divested, though he stands regally in full formal evening wear, which you probably do not. The dress is pretty, you'll give it that; it doesn't have the ostentatious embroidery or frippery you'd feared, just a sweep of gauze decorating the low neckline and sweeping up to sit at the edge of your shoulders. The silky fabric of the dress isn't silk at all, but something thicker and slightly stiffer — textiles were not covered in training, so you know not what it is. The only problem is that you do not, as a rule, wear full-length gowns and gloves and heels, and you feel like a bit of a tit, to be honest.

Before you've adjusted, Linus has tucked your hand inside his arm and taken off. "You're absolutely certain you want to wear that?" he asks, with a note of hopelessness. "I did take the liberty of bringing an alternative piece."

You follow his gaze to your... well, your bosom, no two ways about it. Apparently bosoms are all the rage right now, and it would have been unconscionable to leave yours in your bedroom where it belonged. The dress fitting had contained some... discussion... on this topic, where you were outnumbered and outgunned, but you found a method of passive resistance. In pride of place upon your bosom is the medal awarded by Queen Historia. Though in many ways you still loathe the sight of it, now it says something new - not 'I let lots of people die and got rewarded for it', but 'I am a soldier of the Scouting Corps. Bosoms be damned'.

"Yes," you say, with some satisfaction. "I am absolutely certain."

The exchange distracted you enough that only now do you realise you're standing at the entrance to the ballroom. Once again, your stomach recoils, though for more mundane and shallow reasons this time. Linus mutters to a nearby footman and then, with little warning, the man suddenly calls out in a loud, carrying voice: "Captain and Doctor Linus Mueller, of the Scouting Corps and the Garrison respectively!"

"Wait, what?" you ask, so utterly thrown that you might land in the middle of those hateful canapés.

Linus is smiling, but it's pained and forced. He half-drags you along with him as he enters, answering you only in an aside. "It seems he mistook us for a married couple. Just keep walking, dearest, for I don't think we can address the mistake without extreme social embarrassment." Then, in a rare and delightful display of annoyance, "And I'm a captain too, damn it."

Despite yourself, you're smiling. Somehow, Linus' flicker of anger does more to comfort you than anything else he has tried thus far, and you look around with a fresh perspective. The cavernous room is exceptionally bright with lamps; there are more ornate carvings in the plaster and a good deal more gilt than anyone with taste would ever allow; and the arched ceiling is painted to resemble the sky. It's more crowded than you'd expected, with women in embellished pastel dresses flitting around like pieces of pretty paper caught in the wind, or else anchored to the spills of severe black and white that the men are wearing.

"Well, is it as dreadful as feared?" Linus asks, having obviously noticed your interest.

You narrow your eyes. The gilded windows are another breach of good taste. "It's all very... lavish. Am I walking funny?"

"Gliding like a swan, my dear."

"I bet." Linus seems to be guiding you somewhere specific. "Where are we going?"

He nods at a particular series of couches and chaise longue spread evenly beneath the windows. "I thought perhaps you'd like to take a seat while I fetch us some wine."

"Isn't the wine supposed to come to us?" That's what happens at nobby parties, right? A waiter follows you about with a tray of drinks? You'd kind of been looking forward to that bit.

"That may take some time. Personally, I find a touch of alcohol to be the ideal start to a ball."

The pretty papers whirl past, pastel skirts swishing into the air like gossamer wings. The laughter sounds too high, too sharp, to be natural. The men's voices bellow, an edge to them that already speaks of too much wine. Unfamiliar faces are everywhere you look, so remote, so removed from everything you know.

Linus slows. "Perhaps we should sit for a while before I venture forth? Until you get your bearings. It must all be rather a bit much."

The kindness and concern are somehow shameful. Why does Linus always end up taking care of you? You glance at him, at his constant expression of courteous condescension, and then take another, closer look at the strangers, seeking out anything familiar.

There — that guy by the window has a black eye. And one of the pretty papers leaning back on a golden couch is clearly wearing boots under her magnificent gown. You twist to look at two men passing behind you, drawn by the sound of swearing

"So I says to him, go an' fuck yourself, mate, and he says to me, 'you what?'—"

No matter how dressed up they are, no matter how noble some of their families must be, no matter how high high their rank — these are still soldiers. The dizzy confusion recedes as that thought solidifies. Because if they're soldiers, then the following is certain: they are going to get far too drunk, throw up in the ornamental shrubbery, smash an expensive urn, and end the night by brawling over the last miniature egg. And that's the kind of party you're used to. Yes, yes — you will do well here.

You nod to yourself. "Thanks, but I've got this. Could you do me a favour and try to find where they're keeping the whiskey?" This ball looks fancy, but there's no way it expects a bunch of soldiers to drink wine all night without complaining.

"By all means." When you glance to him, you see a sort of pride on Linus' face. "I knew you'd rise to the challenge, my dear. I'll return presently." He raises your gloved hand and kisses the back of it. Combined with his tail coat and good looks, he's every inch the gentlemen, and one or two longing looks are being directed his way. You can imagine his reaction: Alas, dearest ladies. Best look elsewhere.

As he departs, you resume the journey to the wall, trying not to walk like a newborn deer. A red chaise longue has drawn your eye, all empty and inviting, but before you make it there a young brunette steps directly in front of you. Her golden dress is stiff with embroidery and lace, and her curled hair is nested in a bun decorated with a thin band of jewels.

She isn't looking you in the eye. In fact, she seems to be staring at your bosom.

"Can I help you?" you ask, resisting the urge to cover said bosom.

She looks up sharply. "You're a Scout, yeah?"

Oh — the medal. You nod, not sure where this is leading.

"Great," she says, and she swiftly grabs your wrist. "You were going to sit, right? Can I sit with you?"

Mystified, you fall awkwardly into step with her, unconsciously trying to tug your wrist free. "Erm, well, I'm actually here with somebo—"

"This party is crap," she interrupts, her eyes narrow under the weight of her made-up lashes. "Next guy that leers at me is getting a punch in the mouth, honest he is. I figured, 'it's a ball', right? So it'd be just like in the fairytales, yeah? Well — no. Tell you what, you can put a pig in a tailcoat, but he's still a pig."

"Someone bothering you?" Perhaps she grabbed you for protection.

Reaching the red chaise longue, the brunette drops onto it with a huff. "Only everyone. Half the women are putting on airs and graces, half the men are chasing anything with a skirt. And d'you know they've got this rule, right, where you can't talk about work?"

"You can't?" You sink onto the cushion beside her. "But... then... what do we talk about?"

She throws her palms up in an extravagant shrug. "Hell if I know. Anyway, I spotted you and figured you'd break that rule, all right. Never met a Scout didn't wanna talk about work."

"Hah. I'm here with a Guard and he says the same thing about us." Linus would be so smug right now.

She grins; it's small and feral. "We're pretty sharp in the Garrison, you know? So, yeah, that's why I tagged along with you. I ain't gonna stand about with men staring down the front of my dress and talking about the weather."

"Fair enough." You settle back. "So what do you reckon about conscription, then?"

"That's a... y'know, conundrum. We need the bodies, but do you know any soldier who wants to work with a conscript?" She pulls a face that indicates that she, personally, would not.

"I think both our commanders pushed it off for a bit, but..."

"It's inevitable, yeah. I know. But that's war, right?" Nonetheless, your new comrade looks gloomy.

You lean your arm on the back of the chaise longue. "Then when do we bring it in? If we leave it too late, we've just drafted a bunch of farmers who would turn tail in their first fight. And if we do it too soon, without giving recruitment a decent chance, then a bunch of civilians would be killed for no reason."

A voice breaks in from your left. "But they wouldn't be civilians." Startled, you both turn to see a middle-aged man standing next to you, his greying hair slicked back, a glass in his white-gloved hand.

"You what?" The brunette eyes him guardedly.

"You're thinking of them as they are right now — as civilians. But if we conscript now, then by the time they have to fight, they'll have become real soldiers." He glances to either side, then draws nearer and adds in a low voice, "Pardon the interruption. I'm sick to death of talking about taxes."

"By all means, pull up a seat," you answer, amused. "And yes, they might have the skills of a real soldier by then, but they won't want to be there. That's an important distinction."

He does as suggested, pulling over an elegant wooden chair and sitting down to lean in. "You're an officer of the Scouting Corps, yes? Tell me: have you ever seen a soldier in battle who wanted to be there?"

You share a glance with the brunette, who grins sharply again, then look back at him. "Yeah, actually, I have. A fair few."

"Scouts are mental," the brunette interjects, laughing. The man laughs too.

Another new voice breaks in. "You're a Scout, Miss?" Another young woman, her red hair braided like a crown around her head, her pale green dress trailing along the floor behind her, has stopped on her way past. Her eyes widen when they take in the crest you're wearing.

Without further discussion, she drags a nearby chair over and sits down, leaning in to join the conversation. "I heard your lot gave Karanshe a big speech about how you're still going to fight Titans. Is that true?"

"I expect so," you answer, slightly bemused. "I mean, Marley can turn people into Titans and use them as a weapon. I don't think our knowing that will magically stop them doing it."

The brunette taps your arm. "And wouldn't you rather they sent Titans? That's where all your training and experience is, yeah?"

"Oh, come now," the man cuts in. "There's only a handful of people left who've ever fought a Titan. It's a lot easier to take down a human, and a lot easier to teach people to do it."

"Does that mean we won't need manoeuvre gear, then?" asks the redhead. "Only I think I'd feel a bit sort of naked if I went into a battle without it."

You shake your head. "Manoeuvre gear can be used against human targets. And if used properly, it's a serious advantage."

"But the training it takes — how long are we expecting Marley to leave us alone?" the man asks.

"Sorry, did I hear 'Marley'?" A young man passing by stops and beams at the four of you. "I knew someone round here was going to have a proper conversation. Oi! Gerlinde!"

An older woman in a pale blue dress looks over from several paces away. The young man gestures for her to come over, then grabs a chair from the seating area beside yours. "So I was thinking, right, if they can make people into Titans, why can't we?"

The brunette groans. "Why the hell would you think the answer to this is more Titans instead of less? Are you simple?"

By the time Linus returns with the drinks, your seating area is standing room only, and ringing with heated discussions about the war. You spot him trying to politely make it through the group, and lean forward. "Gerlinde, Ernst, let him through, okay? That's the one I was telling you about."

A bewildered Captain Doctor sidles over, handing you a whiskey and raising his eyebrows. "All good things, I hope?"

The whiskey hits your tongue but then seems to vanish, evaporating and spreading through you like a wisp of burning smoke. You're sure you can smell burning peat. "Wow," you manage, once the burn has diminished. "Wow, this is... I didn't know whiskey could be like this."

"You like it, love?" Liesel, the brunette who commandeered you, springs nimbly to her feet. "I was gonna go over to that woman anyway — you know, the one with the boots on. She looks our sort, yeah? I'll fetch another for you while I'm up."

"Oh, that's okay, I just got this one aaand you've gone." Liesel moves remarkably fast considering how stiff her dress is. You glance at your whiskey and shrug. "Eh, I'll live."

Linus takes her place, sitting next to you and scrutinising the guests. "Apologies, dear, for the length of my absence. I was frequently waylaid by acquaintances desperate to reacquaint themselves."

"Captain, don't you agree?" Helmut, the older gentleman, waves to you. "I was just telling Dieter and Anja that if they think the rifles are outdated, they must think the swords ancient." He turns back, gesturing with his glass and sloshing wine on the floor. "Not using our guns because they might be a bit behind the times is hardly an argument for using swords instead!"

Hah. You look sidelong at Linus. "Don't worry about it. I found my people."

"So I see." He sips his wine, then sighs a little. "I'd hoped you might forget about the war for tonight. I sincerely wished to see you living the life of a woman rather than a soldier, if only for a few blessed hours."

How unexpectedly maudlin — it appears Linus had more than one glass before he found his way back. You pat his knee comfortingly. "You can't change people, Linus. And you know what? It's not just Scouts. Everyone ended up over here because they're soldiers first." You didn't catch all their names, and you don't share all their opinions, but everyone sitting and standing around you is more concerned with the war than the weather. They would have found one another eventually, you have no doubt, but your medal drew them in like a magnet.

"And you thought I wouldn't fit in," you add, nudging Linus and sipping your drink.

"You are the undisputed belle of this ball, dear Captain," he answers, then sighs again. "Of this particular corner of the ball, that is. I fear you'd do worse around the less... militant guests."

A loud snort heralds Liesel's return, a tall, solidly-built woman in tow. "We'll never know, though. She's sticking with us all night, right love?" She holds out a fresh glass.

You finish your drink and reach for the glass with gratitude on your lips, but the thank-you is cut off by an announcement ringing out over the conversation.

"Captain Levi— er..." The footman at the entrance peers at his list and then apparently accepts that there is no surname listed. "Captain Levi of the Scouting Corps!"

"Look who's fashionably late," Anja murmurs, craning to get a look. Your whole group is. Lots of people are.

Liesel quirks an eyebrow. "I think at this point it's just really late, isn't it?"

"...Shit." You knock your whiskey back, the smoke turning to fire in your throat. You thought he wasn't coming. He—

"And Commander-in-Chief Darius Zackley!"

The noise level dips as the entire room turns to look. You can't help standing to confirm your suspicion. There is Levi, completely unlike himself in a black tailcoat but still wearing his white cravat. He's heedless of the stares as he walks in, and a little distance behind is the thickly bearded head of the whole military. Not together, but less than a minute apart.

"He said 'he'," you say to Linus in an undertone. "He said he'd arranged a meeting, and he would be there in a couple of hours."

Linus stirs. "One ought not jump to conclusions. Coincidences do happen."

Except you know. You know. Something is going on; Levi and Hange are up to something, and have been for months. How long ago is it, now, since they first kicked you out of a meeting? Since they first refused to tell you what they'd discussed? Now Hange won't even look you in the eye and Levi is walking in with the head of the entire army at his back. Coincidence? Hah.

Levi comes to a stop, glances around him, and suddenly his grey eyes meet yours from across the room.

Balls.

You sit down sharply, cowering as much as your corset will allow. Not now. You can't deal with him right now. You need time to think about what's going on, and to get over the fight — because neither of you had been acting in it. No, not now. Shina, please.

"He's coming over here," Ernst says with surprise, and as one, the entire group stops looking at him.

Now they're looking at you instead.

"Oh," Anja says, her freckled skin creased by a frown. "Is everything all right, Captain?"

Um... no?

"You've gone pale, love," Liesel adds. She puts a hand on her hip. "You work with him, right?"

"Yeah." isheseriouslycomingoverherepleasenotrightnownotnowokay— No, panicking is no good. You force a smile. "And you know what? We do not get along."

Helmut sits back, affronted. "I'd think, considering his status, you'd be more respectful of him, Captain."

"Hah!" Even you turn to stare at Linus, who covers his mouth before another scoff escapes. "I do beg your pardon. I was just thinking, sir, that you obviously have never met the man."

Linus is a funny drunk.

Gerlinde tuts. "The old man's right. Whatever your personal feelings, Humanity's Strongest Soldier deserves a certain regard that y—"

"Shutup shutup ssshhh!" Ernst, the group's impromptu lookout, speaks up with a red face that he immediately ducks.

The conversation slams to an instant halt, and a second later, Levi appears at the edge of the group.

He stands there. You look at your lap. The conversations don't pick up again.

Nobody knows what to do.

"This is uncomfortable," Liesel mutters. She stands up and holds out her hand. "Levi, yeah? I'm Liesel, this is Helmut, Gerlinde, the pink one's Ernst, that's Anja, big one's Heike, this here's Dieter, Jörg's over by the wall there, this is Linus, and this is—"

"I know who she is," Levi breaks in.

Linus peers at him over his wineglass. "You know me too," he points out. "You might've said. It would've been good manners to point that out. Well, just thought I'd mention it. Take no notice of me, by all means."

You raise your head. "We didn't think you were coming."

"I had my orders, same as you." He still doesn't move forward.

You can feel your cool expression wavering as you answer. "Yeah, but you got busy. Sudden meeting. With... someone." Darius fucking Zackly! you want to scream. You're holding secret meetings with the Commander-in-Chief! You think I don't know? I'm not stupid! Or— well— anyway, I do know, so just fuck off, secret-meeting-haver!

He gives a dismissive half-shrug. "The commander needed me. It was important." His eyes suddenly narrow. "You pissed that she didn't need you?"

"No." Yes.

"Good. Why would she?" His eyes glint cruelly as he speaks.

Linus starts to speak, but you silence him with a gesture. You don't need protecting from Levi. "Maybe because there's only so long anyone can endure your presence?"

"I say!" Helmut cuts in. "Young lady, I thought you had more respe—"

"Shut it, old man." Levi is continuing his long tradition of losing friends and making enemies. His eyes never once stray from you. "So... you admit you're no use to her?"

"Oh, fuck you." Why bother coming up with a defence? It's true. You're not in the inner circle — well, with two people it's... really just an inner line —because they don't trust you, or because they're using you for something. But that doesn't mean you have to sit there and have salt poured into your wound. You stand up. "Excuse me, Liesel."

Now Levi does move, swiftly weaving between the seats to reach you. "You forget your orders? You're supposed to stick with me, freak."

Freak means feelings.

...And you don't care right now. "I said: Fuck. You." Every syllable tinkles crisply into place. "And you know what? Fuck Hange, too."

"How dare you sa—"

Liesel sighs sharply. "Shut up, Helmut. On you go, love." She shifts to let you out.

You start to shuffle through the gap when an iron grip seizes your upper arm. Levi is frowning at you, hardly unusual, but his gaze is questioning. You really don't know? You really think it wouldn't bother me? He doesn't know you at all. Linus is right: you're nothing but a soldier. Now you know that you're not good enough, and you don't even know why.

Suddenly, a shape looms behind him, and a comparatively massive hand closes over Levi's and pulls it free. "That's about enough," Linus says, quietly. It's unlike him to be imposing, so much so that you didn't recognise him for a moment. "I can carry out the order to babysit you."

"...Babysit?" Levi rounds on him.

You don't care to see any more. Willing yourself deaf and blind, you set off through the ballroom, drawing nearer to the dancers. In the distance you spot a table laden with glasses and you head directly for it, forcing some of the pretty dresses to scatter like confetti. A drunken man bumps into you, slurs an apology, and rebounds into the path of a waltzing couple. They derail into the path of another couple, who collide with them, tripping up the couple who were following them, and before you know it there's a seven-couple pile-up on the dance floor. You watch it with raised eyebrows for a few seconds, then continue on to the table, leaving well-dressed carnage in your wake.

The whiskey is good. You pour yourself a measure. It looks a little short, so you top it up. Still doesn't look like enough. You fill the tumbler to the brim and lean back against the table, watching the fallen dancers struggling upright.

"That's the most entertaining thing to happen all night. Thanks."

You glance at the man to your right. "You're wel— Wolf?"

The 96th Training Corps (Southern Division)'s number two cadet, Wolfgang Dietrich, stands next to you, seven years older but little changed. His hair is still black and messy, but he seems a little taller than back then. You have to tilt your head back to meet his dark blue eyes.

He smiles at you. "You haven't changed a bit, Betrüger."

"Yeah, I have. For one thing, I haven't been called that in years. Which has been nice." The nickname conjures up memories of a dozen petty arguments in the mess hall, mainly started because Wolf had been the number one cadet prior to your enlistment. Shaking your head, you hold out your hand to him, a smile tugging at your lips despite yourself. "It's good to see you again."

Wolf glances at your hand, then snorts. "You wish."

"I just thought— oh, you're coming in for a hug," you announce, surprised, as his arms wrap around you. "Oh, well... hi." Awkwardly, you pat him on the back with your free hand. "Don't spill my drink."

He draws back, grinning at you. "Looking at you makes me feel so much younger."

"Really? I suddenly feel a lot older." And warmer. And more awkward. You're remembering a mountain training exercise that you'd rather forget. Keep talking; it'll ward off the embarrassing memories. "So you made it to officer, huh?"

"Several years ago, in fact. You'd know that if you'd ever come to one of these before." He makes a show of taking in the scenery, then nods slowly to himself. "Yeah, this isn't your kind of thing at all."

You sag. "Not even slightly, Wolf. Not even slightly."

"Why'd you come, then?" he asks, reasonably.

The turmoil in your stomach resurges. "I was ordered to." Don't think about Commander Hange right now. Don't think about the babysitting orders you're disobeying. Definitely don't think about Levi.

Oblivious to your woes, Wolf laughs. It's a pleasant sound, though once upon a time it meant that something nasty had been left in your bedroll. "Yeah, you're the type who'd have to be ordered into a dress. I bet you didn't need any encouragement for the alcohol, though."

"The alcohol makes the dress bearable," you say, taking a drink to demonstrate.

"Well, you look beautiful." He smirks slightly. "Betrüger."

'Imposter'. A charming lad, that Wolfgang Dietrich. "You too." His tailcoat looks expensive. Wonder how many extra harnesses you could've bought for that?

"Men aren't supposed to be beautiful. We're supposed to be handsome. Or possibly debonair."

"Yeah?" You shrug again. "Then you're those." It's easy when people tell you exactly what compliments they want.

He smiles again. You don't remember him doing that so much in the Training Corps — but then, he did hate your guts for quite a lot of it. "Weird, isn't it? We both look like adults."

Pffft. "I already was an adult, youngster."

"I'm only a few years younger than you." Ah, yes; that always did annoy him.

People really shouldn't reveal what annoys them when you're around. "Oh, child, are you sure about that? Can you even count that high?" You pat him on the shoulder. "Go play with your friends, kid. I've got some adulting to do."

He surprises you by grabbing your hand before you can withdraw it. "I wasn't too young during the mountain training. Do you remember that?"

He leans in, so close now that you can see the snowflake suspended on his eyelashes.

"Uh, what are you doing?" you ask, through cold-numbed lips.

He pauses. "I'm going to kiss you. Got a problem with that?"

The falling snow muffles the world, the cadets' voices sounding so far away. When his lips touch yours, they're so much warmer than you imagined...

"No." Lying is old hat to you by this point. "Look, Wolf, it was nice running into you, but I really have to go." It's too warm in here.

He lets your hand go. "Sorry. I wasn't trying to make things awkward."

"It's fine. I'm just busy." Warm and noisy. So many people. Your face is starting to flush.

He smiles, a little ruefully. "It's a ball, Betrüger. What are you busy with?"

Your mind suggests the truth, in a way. Hah. "With my partner. He's actually a little drunk and I think he just picked a fight with Captain Levi."

"Captain Levi?" Okay, at this point you could go a whole lifetime without seeing soldiers awestruck just by hearing the name, please. "Ah, I forgot, you're in the Scouting Corps."

"And you're a filthy MP, but I don't judge you for it," you tease, though it is not entirely true. "Anyway, you see my predicament. I'd rather Linus wasn't murdered tonight."

"Linus?" His face clouds for a moment, then clears. "Well, I hope... you know what, I hope you're really happy, Betrüger. And... I'm glad you're one of the ones who made it back."

The reminder of Shiganshina stabs through you cleanly. "Right. Thanks." Slightly numb, you start walking away, as automated as a clockwork doll.

His voice follows you. "I wish you'd come to one of these sooner, you know."

I wish I'd never come to one of these at all. You head for a pair of open double doors leading into the castle proper, a headache coming on. You've run from your fellow soldiers, from Linus and Levi, and now from your past. You've run away so much, you're going to end up with blisters. Snatches of conversation play in your ears as you leave the ballroom.

"My darling bought them for me. He was promoted to Squad Leader recently, and he said only diamonds would do..."

"...and this wench had the absolute gall to address my wife as 'Miss'. I told them she ought to be flogged..."

"His balls, ahahaha! You ain't seen anything half as funny, I'm tellin' you!"

"Oh, don't be ridiculous. A seamstress? One might as well wear the same dress twice..."

"...sideways. Really. That's not how you're supposed to do it..."

Then you're moving through a hallway, torchlight playing on the stone walls. You wander on, your footsteps muffled by the dark red carpet, trying doors at random, comforted by the sounds of the ball growing ever more distant. After some time, you try a doorhandle that turns. It leads outside. Acres of landscaped gardens surround the castle, shadowed by the night, but touched by moonlight. You step out onto gravel and quietly shut the door behind you. The air is cold enough to give you chills, but it's refreshing after the noise and heat of the ball. It smells sharp, too, like lavender and rosemary. You stroll out, the train of your dress dragging along the ground behind you, sweeping the gravel with it. Only the sound of the music reaches out here, distinct and somehow sad.

To think — you were having a fairly nice time at first. What you'd dreaded about the ball never really came to pass. You weren't excluded, or disliked, or bored to tears with small-talk. You actually did know someone. Nobody made you eat tiny eggs or talk about hair. You talked about real things, like weapons and tactics.

All the unpleasant things that have happened caught you completely off-guard.

You come to a halt before a large fountain. It's not running, but the moon still shines off the still water, and it's peaceful. You stare at the reflection of the night sky, letting the cold air wash over your flushed skin and not thinking whatsoever. That was all — as Linus would put — rather a bit much, and you need to stop thinking and just be still for a while.

But someone's walking towards you in the darkness, their steps crunching over the gravel. It'd be damn hard to sneak up on someone in this place. You hold still, waiting for them to pass, dreading the thought that they might want to talk to you — but the footsteps stop just behind you.

Maybe I'll get lucky and it's an assassin.

"I got kicked out of the ball," says Levi.

Of course it's him, and of course he did. Staring at the rippling reflection of the moon, your laughter is soft and tired. "Yeah, that sounds about right."

Gravel scrapes behind you, and then his hand touches your lower back. "Turn around."

"No, thanks." You look skywards, where pinprick stars are scattered across black velvet.

Undaunted, he comes to your side. His face is beautiful in the moonlight, but you see it only from the periphery. You'd rather watch the stars. Their effect on you is a good deal less controversial.

"What I said back there—"

"Don't," you interrupt, quickly. "Please, just... don't."

"Fine."

You stare up, tiredness reaching your very bones. Things with Levi... they aren't right, are they? From the beginning, from the very day you met, he has called all the shots. He decided everything; where you would live, what parts you'd play in missions, even how you spoke to each other. Leaving was the only choice you got to make, and even that was overruled when he appeared on the base a year later wearing a Scout's uniform. And the dictation continued; you tried to make amends, tried to explain yourself, and he rejected it with a vengeance. He decided the whole future then and there, and chose years of hatred. And then he decided, after a few hours of not fighting and one make-out session, that you were in a relationship. And then he provided you with a list of rules, none of which he has deigned to follow himself.

Maybe this isn't a fair train of thought. Perhaps it only feels like he's pulling your strings because of the secret meeting with Zackly, because of whatever little plot your superiors have cooked up. But there's no denying that since you met, you have always been the one who adapts to him, and never the other way around. What if you told him that this isn't the kind of relationship you want? What if you tried to set some rules yourself?

But you already know the answer, because he's already given it more than once.

"It's non-negotiable."

"It's not up for debate."

"Oi. Come here." He takes your hands and drags you around to face him, unconcerned that you already told him you didn't want to, unconcerned that you're resisting. "Dance with me."

God, what the hell was in that whiskey? Are you hallucinating? "Did you just—? Levi, do you even know how to dance?"

"Of course not." The shadows and moonlight match him perfectly, his pale skin and white shirt standing out against the darkness even as his black hair and tailcoat fade into it. "Do you?"

"Oh, sure. I took waltzing lessons in the Undercity's premier dance school. I could have made it big." When everything else has failed, sarcasm is there for you.

He steps closer, encircling your waist. "Shut up and dance with me."

Unable to help yourself, you put your arms around him. The distant music is soft and slow, and you find yourself swaying in time with it. Eyes closed, you rest your head against his. I can't stop. You already knew that this would be hard. You knew you'd never get the kind of love you want from him. You knew that it would all be what he wanted, what he decided for you. You've already learned to adapt to it, because you love him. You love him and you want him to be happy, and when he holds you, it's so hard to remember that you want anything more.

But you do.

He stills. Before you can open your eyes, his mouth finds yours. The kiss is hesitant as you resist it, knowing that things just aren't right — but it's Levi. He... makes you weak. Your lips part of their own accord, and he holds you closer, tighter, as he deepens the kiss. Doubt and fear begins to melt away inside his embrace. Then his hand caresses your shoulder, sweeping your sleeve down and tracing warmly over your chilled skin. You can't remember what was bothering you a few minutes ago. He catches your lower lip between his teeth and bites down, his tenderness turning savage, and you hold his face—

From behind him comes the telltale crunch of gravel.

As your eyes fly open and you start to jump back, he smacks you in the chest, hurling you backwards. Your feet don't even graze the lip of the fountain as you hurtle through the air, seemingly in slow motion, knowing exactly what's about to befall you.

You hold your breath as you hit the water, but the icy shock has you spluttering instantly as you automatically gasp. Your back yelps in pain as it hits the stone floor, the sound of the splash muffled from beneath the surface.

cold! cold — cold, coldcoldcold, COLD!

You jerk your head out of the water, rolling onto your side and coughing out water as you scramble desperately to your feet to escape the frigid water. Water sleets down your face from your drenched hair, blinding you, and you instinctively hold your arms out like a zombie as rivulets roll from them. Wheezing, water running from your nose, you squint at your dress. It's several shades darker and feels so much heavier than before. Wearing shoes in water is, in particular, an exceptionally bizarre sensation.

The water is clearing your ears, now, and you shuffle around in an awkward circle when you realise people are talking.

"But there's no damned call for — for that!" Linus snarls, gesticulating wildly in your direction without looking. "I don't care what the circumstances are — do you even know how long it took me to achieve that hairstyle?"

"It's not your fucking business," Levi says, his eyes narrowed and his tone sharp.

A shiver rips through you, goosebumps breaking out over every inch of your skin. The gentle night breeze cuts like a razor.

Linus is drunk and mainly concerned about your hair and make-up, but he's right — there was no call for that. So somebody was coming over while you were kissing — so fucking what? How did 'don't get discovered' become 'immediately attack me'? And he's the one who said nothing would happen outside your quarters, but he's always the one instigating the thing that he then covers up by throwing you around the place and— and—

"Fuck off. Just... fuck off." Shivering again, you force your way through the water, your arms stiff by your side. Your dress feels like it's absorbed the entire water supply. Linus tries to help you over the lip of the fountain, but you shake him off, dampening him a little in the process, and step over it awkwardly. You're tired, you're cold, and you're soaking wet. You're done. "You know what? I'm glad. I'm glad you tossed me into a fountain."

Levi lifts his head at Linus. "Told you."

"I actually needed that." Your teeth are starting to chatter. "Say, how was your meeting with the Commander-in-Chief?"

His grey eyes find yours, and narrow further.

Say something, Levi. Anything. Throw me a bone. Give me a hint. Don't treat me like I'm stupid or oblivious.

...Just please don't lie to me.

"I never met with Zackly."

The sudden coldness of your heart matches the coldness of your skin. "Levi... I'm serious. I'm asking you about that meeting I was kept out of, and I'm not kidding, okay? Who was it with? What was it about?"

He looks at you, fathomless and inscrutable, for a long time.

"That's private."

"Private." Desperation rises up, thick and sickly. "You mean classified, right? You're under orders not to discuss it." You can understand that. You're a soldier.

The next word rings in your ears harder than the water did. "No."

No. Not classified. Not restricted information. He could tell you, but he won't. Oh, there's surely a good reason — or a reason he thinks is good, at least. But that doesn't actually change anything, does it? You're still being held at arm's length, still being kept outside, without even courtesy. He's still lying to you, because you know it was Zackly he met with, you know it. You're still getting thrown across rooms and into fountains, still getting bruised and drenched, and still — still — making excuses for him.

But you're too cold and wet to be anybody's little bitch right now.

"This isn't going to work," you say through chattering teeth. Not a muscle moves on his face. "I really wish it was, but it's not."

What the fuck are you doing? your heart asks in disbelief. Are you drunk or something? Take that back! Take that back right now!

Levi keeps his silence, his face shadowed.

The hateful gravel crunches again as Linus drapes a cloak over your shoulders. It's yours — he must have come to collect you. "The carriage awaits, my dear."

You fasten the cloak, the soft fabric sticking to your clammy arms. Before you turn, you hesitate, your heart urging you to stay, even if you don't say anything — just stay, in case he speaks to you, in case he...

But still he says nothing.

You turn on your heel, walking across the castle grounds as bittersweet music curls into the air.