So I was on a plane for twelve hours, and wrote this. Not sure why. Guess a little bit of Four POV is my version of travel zen. I have writer's block on my other stories, so you get this instead. So read, review...it'll inspire me. Happy Monday!

~wk

I want to touch her.

I sound like a stalker, or a freak, or a pervert, but every time I see her, I can't stop myself. A hand on her back, or a quick grab of her elbow. A warm palm on her stomach, my fingers twitching.

I want to touch her, and feel her body shiver. I want to touch her, because she knows how much it matters. Only a Stiff would understand the significance. Only a Stiff would build walls instead of breach them.

Only a Stiff can know what a touch can mean, and she is still a Stiff, with her stubborn posture and kind eyes, watching mine.

She is still a Stiff, because she has never tried to touch me.

Not yet.

I stand at the railing at the chasm, and lean over, letting the mist needle my skin. All around me initiates and members find their family members. The Pit is full of hugging and high fives, kisses and back slapping. Loved ones, touching each other.

I hate Visiting Day.

I lean further, scraping my fingers against the cold metal railing. A few flecks of paint flutter towards the water below. I need sensation; I need to feel something, anything to distract myself from this sudden desire to find her and hug her, to run my fingers through her hair, around the curve of her ear and the edge of her jaw. To squeeze her until the walls break, both hers and my own.

I shouldn't be here, lurking and waiting, hoping to run into her and then behaving like a cold-hearted asshole when I do, a number instead of a person. But I am sick of running away. I stood on a ledge with her, high over the city, afraid. I faced it, with her, and the fear meant nothing. If I can do that, I can stay, and get closer to her.

I can touch her again.

A soft cascade of laughter hits my ears, warm and open. Someone has found the person they love, and they are happy. The murmur that answers the laughter is quiet and low, harmony that feels like melody. Her voice.

I look over my shoulder, and there they are, Tris and her mother, both short, blond, and slight. Her mother is beautiful, but the daughter is more interesting, angular and bright-eyed – her hair pulled back again for her mother's sake, but her tattoos visible, coming alive against her skin as she moves.

Natalie Prior introduces herself to me, Dauntless-style. I can tell by the squeeze of her hand and her raised eyebrows that she knows who I am. I stiffen, my head filled with images of her talking to Marcus, or worse, turning to Tris and saying my name.

Instead she just looks at me and smiles.

"Four. Is that a nickname?"

"Yes," I say warily, fighting against the instinct to act like a jerk and walk away. Tris looks from me to Natalie, her brow furrowed. My mind races, casting about desperately for any topic but names. It lands on the only thing I seem to be capable of thinking about.

"Your daughter is doing well here. I've been overseeing her training."

I sound like a robot, but it isn't a lie. She is brave, and tough, and could survive here, even thrive. I want her mother to know that. I want her to respect her daughter's choice.

"That's good to hear," Natalie says. "I know a few things about Dauntless initiation, and I was worried about her."

Tris raises her chin, her jaw set with determination. I look at her nose, and lips, and chin, her flushed cheeks. I touch her with my eyes.

"You shouldn't worry," I say, finally turning to look at Natalie. Her green eyes twinkle, and she nods, a tiny movement, aimed only at me.

"You look familiar for some reason, Four."

It's an opening, her way of telling me that she can keep a secret, that I can handle this on my own terms. But it's also a warning. She wants me to be honest with her daughter. She knows why I watch her, why I was lingering by the chasm, only turning when I heard Tris's voice.

Natalie knows I like her daughter. She's a Stiff, and a stranger, and she can see straight through me. It makes me afraid.

And fear makes me act like the Dauntless asshole I have become.

"I can't imagine why," I snap. "I don't make a habit of associating with the Abnegation."

She laughs lightly. Selflessly. She lets me insult her. I feel relieved, and I feel shame.

"Few people do, these days. I don't take it personally."

Tris looks up at me, and I see questions in her eyes. I avoid them, just like I've avoided all the others.

"Well, I'll leave you to your reunion," I say, and Natalie nods, releasing me.

I walk up the path towards the trains. I will need a break from Dauntless today. But I can't help pausing and looking down, watching Tris and her mother make their way across the floor. I watch a Candor parent grab her arm, and a sudden wave of anger pierces me, watching that man touch her when I can't.

She pulls her arm away and keeps walking, and I watch.

I undress her with my eyes.

I want to strip her down and see her insides, the source of her strength. I want to rip that strength out into the open and watch her embrace it. And I want to touch her, not just to comfort her, or encourage her, or to help her train. I want to touch her because I don't want anyone else to. I want her to be mine.

I feel the possessiveness, and it scares me more than anything else. I don't own her, and I don't want to. But I feel the desire building, the loss of control. I feel the cracks in my armor.

I pause halfway up the path, and watch her mother pull her towards a deserted hallway, a place without people or cameras. Natalie looks like she knows where she's going. Maybe she was one of the brave, once.

Maybe I can be one of them too.

Two weeks ago, I was ready to run, to give up on Dauntless, like the coward I knew I was. But then she dropped into my life and I welcomed her. She climbed into the sky and I followed her. She stood in front of a target and I hurt her. She fought back against me, and all the people who would hold her back, or watch her break.

She hasn't grabbed my arm, or brushed her slim fingers against my back. She hasn't even tried to shake my hand. But she has touched me anyway. She has shown me that I can be more.