Yeah, not my best work. This is the result of being sick over Easter and reading Divergent for five hours straight, then writing a fanfic about it. Needless to say, it's probably all very cliche and very sappy. But at least I neutralized the plot bunny. This is dedicated to SilverEyeShinobi and AeonFirebrand, who so lovingly reviewed my other story! As for the rest of you. . .
Disclaimer; Veronica Roth would probably be ashamed of this *facepalm*
Face Your Fears
"Tris, are you sure about this?" I glance over my shoulder , giving Four a look. "If I weren't, would you be here?" I shoot back. I hear Four's rumbling laugh behind me, the one that makes me feel weak at the knees. "Actually, never mind, don't answer that," I say. Of course he would be here.
"Tris, you should really know not to ask questions like that," he says, the barest hint of amusement lingering in his voice. "I know," I grumble as I push aside the door.
I breath in and out as we arrive at our destination. The fear landscape. The flickering lights on the grey concrete walls remind me of the first time I was here. The first time I was here was to see Four's fear landscape, when I was only an initiate. The one with – surprisingly – only four fears. I suppose it's finally time to repay the favour.
I pick up the familiar smooth black box and open, revealing two glistening syringes. They are filled with a clear orange serum. I shudder at the memory of Eric injecting the mind-control serum into me. Thank heavens I'm Divergent.
I offer the box to Four, and he picks up a needle. "Ladies first," he murmurs as he brushes back my long blond hair. I feel the familiar ache as he presses the plunger down, feel the liquid coursing through my veins like quicksilver.
He discards the now-empty needle and hands me the other one, which I carefully empty into his neck. I hope he can't notice my hands trembling. If he can, he's polite enough not to say anything.
Four takes my hand gently, lacing his long fingers with mine. His hand is cool and dry. I silently thank whatever there is to thank that I wiped my hands on my jeans first. "Ready?" he asks, squeezing my hand, firmly, but not enough to hurt. Just enough to let me know he's there.
"As I'll ever be," I say, hoping I sound a lot more confident than I feel. Tobias removes his hand from mine and hugs me with one arm around my shoulders. "Then let's go, Six," he says, and opens the graffitied door to my fear landscape.