A/N: An anonymous prompt on tumblr asked for an OC requesting Four to spare Eric's life - and then a final goodbye. I had fun with this one. This is a sequel to "Forgiveness" and "Forsaken" - and it looks at the plus one scene from "Five Times: Eric's Happy Endings." You can find the link to my tumblr on my homepage here - I love to chat! Please drop by. I'm always accepting prompts and requests.
I cannot breathe. It feels like there is a hand on my throat, constricting it so tightly that I am incapable of inhaling. The pulse of my heart ricochets loudly in my ears as I sway slightly on my feet.
No one looks at me. It isn't uncommon. Even now I still have the stigma of being the woman that Eric loves. Loved? Whatever it is he feels, it isn't enough. Not even my love - and I know it is - could have saved us. We are here because of the choices that he made. I wish I could tell him that. I wish that I could give voice to the words that I have struggled with for so long.
It is not that I am not good enough. It is not that I am a failure, or that I am not enough. It is not my fault.
I am not sorry, I wish I could say. I am not sorry for making the choices that I did. I want to tell him that I am not the one who locked someone in a room while the rest of our faction were turned into an army, while they were made to commit murder. I want to tell him that I am not the one who has sided with a woman whose radical attempts to eradicate a group of people has torn the fabric of our society apart. I am not the one who has made these choices.
But I cannot say these things, because my heart is in my throat and I know that I have made my own choices. Some of them are equally unforgivable. Some of them are as reprehensible as what Eric has done.
I cannot say these things to Eric because at the end I know that I would tell him the last truth that mattered to me. I do not forgive you. But I have not stopped loving you.
Even now.
In another time I might cry bitterly over how unfair it is. That isn't a luxury that I have right now.
The sight of Eric kneeling on the floor keeps me present. It keeps me from breathing, but it keeps tears from falling from my eyes as well. His arms are bound behind him, and his voice makes my knees go weak but I do not lose my footing this time. I might be brought back to another place and another time through his voice but his words keep me firmly grounded in the here and now.
He talks of living with the blood on his hands, and how he has come to terms with it, and I want to lash out. I want to shout at him now, to slap him, to shake him so hard that these poisonous thoughts lose their hold on him.
It is years too late for that, now. Everyone knows that Eric, former leader of Dauntless, is going to die here.
Maybe the version of my old faction that I hate will die here as well.
Four turns away, his features resolute. Still, his dark eyes find me in the group of us that have gathered. It is not hard. No one stands near me. I suspect they find it uncomfortable. Especially now.
He walks forward and stops beside me. My heart turns in my breast and I look up at him. His shoulders shield me from the rest of the room - fromEric - and for a moment, I can feel the sternness in my expression crumble. I hiccup.
"Do we have to?"
It is the only moment of weakness I will allow myself - I tell myself that, as if I have chosen to ask that question. As if it had been my decision to consciously shape those words in that order, when the answer is inescapable.
Still, Four is kind. Perhaps I should have seen his Divergence sooner. There is a sensitivity in him, an awareness of people, that is not Dauntless. But maybe it can be, now.
His hand is warm on my shoulder where he rests it, and he does not reply. The expression that he gives me says it all.
I duck my head in silent acknowledgement.
"You don't have to stay," he says so lowly, that I think I have imagined it. "You don't have to see this."
Strength is a virtue of Dauntless, I want to say. I know that the others who have only barely veiled their contempt for me, will hold it against me and think I am weak. That I am sentimental, that I am still in love with a man who has done terrible things.
Well. I would laugh at them, and tell them that the joke is on them. Because I am all of those things, and more.
"No." For a moment, Four is confused. "I won't watch. But I will speak with him, Four."
Even before he speaks I know that he will protest. It is in the sharp slash of his furrowed brow, his lips pressed into a thin line. "You've already heard what he has to say," he tries to say, being gentle in his refusal.
I laugh soundlessly. "Yeah. I know." My voice is hollow. "But for once, I need him to hear what I have to say."
He swears emphatically and I know that I have won. If Four will not stand against me, no one else will. I step around him and it takes less than a second to make eye contact with Eric. As I walk forward, I find that I cannot break it. I do not want to. If I look at him in the eye, I can ignore the other Dauntless, hushed and uncomfortable, where they ring the periphery of the room. I can ignore the way that his arms are cinched behind his back, or his unnaturally submissive posture.
All of it falls away in a second, but it comes crashing back in an instant.
I have to drop to my knees to be on level ground with him, and it is something that I do willingly. Eric goes to protest and I find myself choking back a sob. I cannot listen to it. I silence him by reaching out, tracing my thumb across his lower lip. It is a gesture I have done what must be hundreds of times before.
It is one that I will never do again.
I cannot help but cup his cheek. His beard is a rasp against my palm and I fall to habit. Leaning forward, my hair brushes against his shoulder as I shift as if I were going to embrace him. I cannot though. I know that I would not be strong enough to let go.
Curtained by my hair, I shut my eyes for a moment. The intimacy between us is undeniable, but we have afforded ourselves a moment of privacy. It is the only moment I will get.
Steadying my breath, I looked at him. The burn of tears made my eyes ache, but they were still dry.
"I loved you as best I could," I say. My voice is thick with emotion but it does not shake. There is strength in me that I did not know, and I am drawing upon it now to make it through this.
Still, it is not enough.
"I would have loved you more, if you let me."
I could have been enough.
Any more than this would demand a composure that I do not have. I have to stop. I have to leave. I know how this will end, and so does he from the way he will not look away from my eyes. There is something in his expression now that I have never seen before.
It is a wonderment, an awareness of something…and it is regret.
What he regrets, I do not know. I will not ask. The time for apologies is long past.
My hand drops and I see him sway infinitesimally. The place where his cheek rested against my skin burns so I am glad to know that, even now, he is not unaffected by me. It is the only consolation that I can dredge up for myself.
I rise to my feet in a single motion and turn to the door. Eric does not speak - has not spoken - to me. No one stops me as I walk to the door. No one can stand to look at me.
I am glad for my solitude.
The report of a shot ricochets through the hall and my breath catches in my throat. I crash to my knees and I can hold it in no more. Tears stream from my eyes and I fold against the wall, bringing my thighs against my chest and make myself as small as I can be.
He is gone.
I loved him, and he is gone.
What am I supposed to do?