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Annie could not remember a life without fighting. Even before she was officially enrolled into the warrior program, her days were spent under the baking sun with her father and the punching bag, learning new ways to cause pain. The drills were endless, her muscles were never without aches. And her father was always there, arms crossed, a permanent expression of disappointment written across his face. No matter what she did, no matter how hard she tried, Annie knew she would never be good enough for him. But still, she tried.
Annie didn’t question why she wasn’t allowed to play with other children. Truth be told, she wasn’t completely sure she understood what ‘play’ meant. But that was okay. She could hit harder than any of them, kick higher, and didn’t that make her better than them? More and more children were sent home from warrior training until there were only a handful of them left. Annie knew she was the best.
Her father came to watch her train sometimes, after she had been officially named a warrior candidate. It was the first time Annie thought he looked proud of her. One day, she had fought both Galliard brothers and that strange older boy Zeke at the same time, and her father had actually smiled as the last of them hit the ground, joining the others in a groaning pile in the dust. Annie beamed back, but her father quickly positioned his face back into apathy.
The Marleyan officials frowned just as much as Mr Leonhardt. She wasn’t deaf to their mutters. It wasn’t like they were being particularly subtle, anyway, not really caring if the children overheard them talking about the candidates. Annie heard she’s an excellent fighter, but a lot. There was always a but. She was good, she was the best, but she could never be perfect, no matter how hard she tried.
Magath pulled her aside one day, after the warrior candidates had been whittled down to 7 and she was all but guaranteed to inherit a titan. Annie knew she wouldn’t be the one left behind. She was the best, after all. But there was always a but.
“Annie, you need to work with the others. You don’t have to be friends with them, but you need to try to get along.”
She had pushed Reiner over and stomped on his nose, making all sorts of disgusting liquids flow from his face. She’d looked on with disgust as Bertholdt had tried to mop up the blood, snot and tears. They were both so weak. She remembered the day her father broke her nose, how he only hit her again when she cried until she learnt that weakness was not tolerated. That’s what Reiner needed, not that big oaf trying to comfort him all the time. But Magath had seen and now somehow she was in trouble because Reiner was a baby.
Still, an order was an order, and she did try to work with the other candidates instead of just alongside them. She really did try. But there was just this air of helplessness around them that Annie could not get past. She even catches Zeke sniffling after inheriting the Beast titan, crying into an old leather glove and the sight makes Annie’s blood boil. How could someone so feeble think they deserve a titan? And how could the Marleyans agree?
One day in training, as the seasons changed from autumn to winter, they did a long run through a winding forest track, their heavy packs of gear weighing them down as they squelched through the muddy ground, careful not to trip on overgrown tree roots. Her calves burnt and there was sweat dripping into her eyes, but she didn’t allow herself to slow down, the thought of stopping not even crossing her mind. By the time she reached the finish line she was dead on her feet, but she still stood smartly to attention, waiting for Magath to dismiss her. Porco and Reiner stumbled into the clearing, Porco immediately complaining about how much it hurt and how hungry he was and every other stupid little thing that crossed his mind. Reiner collapsed beside him, lying flat on his back as his chest heaved, both with exhaustion and sobs. He’d come last again. Bertholdt and Marcel went to console them, an endless stream of lies leaving the former’s mouth. It’ll be okay. You’re good enough. You don’t need to worry about it. Annie scoffed. If Reiner wanted to be good enough, he just needed to try harder. He had to learn to ignore the pain, like Annie had. Ignore what he wanted and instead follow the orders he was given. Tears weren’t going to solve anything, neither were platitudes.
Still, she watched as Bertholdt pulled his friend to his feet, tucking their hands together as they walked back to Headquarters. She loathed their weakness, but she felt a strange pang of something inside her as the boys wrapped their arms around each other comfortingly. It was the same thing she felt when she saw Mrs Galliard pick up her sons from training, fresh steamed buns in hand as an end of day treat, or when Pieck had found a stray kitten and had cradled it in her arms for the rest of the day with such tenderness that Annie had wanted to puke. Yet, she hadn’t been able to stop thinking about it for weeks after, the look of pure unconditional adoration on Pieck’s face burnt into her memory.
She walked herself home after training, mentally preparing herself for more drills with her father before she would be allowed to sleep. They ate dinner in silence. She thought of Pieck’s face as she sat across from her father. She wondered if she would ever see anything but steel and disappointment in him. She thought about how gently Pieck had held the kitten, such a frail little thing, as she practised how to break bones and exploit her enemies' weak spots that evening, how to mould herself into the perfect fighting machine.
Annie was not weak. But sometimes she wished she could be.