Tips
I'm tentatively testing the waters of the Divergent Trilogy fandom. I've only written two Tobias/Tris one shots so far (Four and Three), so I'm still a bit of a newbie. I'm warning you now, this is an AU: Tris works as a waitress at a bar called Divergent to help pay off her family's debt after she and Caleb lose their parents to a break in shooting. Soon she attracts a quiet, regular customer who never says more than four words to her. As for the rest…well, you'll just have to read and find out.
Disclaimer: All rights to Divergent belong to Veronica Roth.
Nineteen…twenty three…thirty four…forty o-
I was cut off from counting my meager pile of crumpled dollars and sprinklings of coins when the bell hanging overhead the door tinkled in what I swore was maniac glee. The small of my back ached, and I whimpered internally. The customer's shadow swept over the bills, and loose change before moving on further into the dining room.
I sighed, and slipped off of my perch behind the bar. I grabbed the jar clearly labeled Tris from beneath the counter on my way down. I swept my tips into it, and tightened the lid until I was certain that I'd have to use a pipe wrench to get it off again.
Slapping a smile onto my already sore cheeks, I wound my way out from behind the scratched wooden bar. I clipped my hip on the very corner and cursed, causing Christina to poke her head out of the kitchen. From the streaks of grease on her apron and the snarl twisting her lips, she had just finished helping Uriah clean off the grill. She caught my eyes, rolled her own, and turned to glare daggers at the patron who had settled in the corner booth.
And from the way her angry red cheeks softened into a glowing pink; the twisted snarl uncurling into a surprised smile, this wasn't our average customer.
My narrowed eyes watched as she slipped back into the kitchen without a single complaint before I resumed my brisk walk over to the corner window booth. Why they had chosen to sit so far away, alone, was beyond me.
My eyes flicked over to the clock mounted on the wall. 10:38. I prayed that my patience would stretch itself even thinner and not snap before eleven.
The muscles in my cheeks twitched as I tried to make my blank smile more sincere as I neared the booth. It faltered and almost slipped away completely when I took in a tall, hunched frame; long, curled fingers drumming on the laminated menu; and dark, deep set blue eyes which were staring at me expectantly. The little patch of lighter blue in the corner though, gave amused life to his otherwise void expression.
I blinked rapidly, as if I could clear away how striking he was. He's just another customer, I reassured myself and forced my smile back into place, albeit it was more wobbly this time. "Hi, how are you? I'll be your waitress tonight, I'm-"
"Abnegation. Water please," He inserted smoothly into my rehearsed welcome.
My mouth fell open with an audible pop. The tiny corner of blue winked at me as he turned away to stare intently at the screen of his running laptop, which was filled with code of some sort.
After almost three months of working at Divergent, it had finally happened: I had been dismissed.
I snapped my jaw shut, and somehow managed to say "Sure" without stuttering. I scribbled something on the ticket that probably didn't look like my regular short hand.
"Thanks," he replied absently, eyes still tracking new lines of random letters and numbers appearing on the screen.
I walked back to the kitchen, mind blank and body numb- which was probably a good thing because my feet were conspiring against me and my no slip shoes. I shoved the order at Christina, who was hovering right beside the door and nearly vibrating with excitement. In turn, she pushed it into Uriah's expectant hands for him to start on. She took a deep breath, opening her mouth wide. I could literally see all the questions that she was going to ask with no regard for how loud her voice was.
I clapped a hand over her mouth, causing her to let out an undignified squeak. Yanking her away from the door's window, which happened to be in plain sight of the corner booth, I forced her to duck to my full and very unimpressive height next to the fryer.
The other line cook, Uriah, didn't spare us a glance; used to our –Christina's- whisper wars about the customers.
I let out a harsh breath, stirring the fine hairs near Christina's forehead. "Look, I will tell you all about him after he leaves all right?"
Her eyes begged one unspoken question.
"No, I do not think that he's gay."
She licked a line up my palm, making me jerk back and stare at it in disgust. She spat into one of the sinks like the refined lady she was, wiping her mouth on the back of her hand. "I don't think that was very sanitary," I informed her with a wrinkled nose. She ignored me.
"Not what I was going to ask." She said petulantly, expression sour.
I sighed, pinching the bridge of my nose. "And what were you going to ask?"
"I was going to ask you if you thought that he had a girlfriend."
I craned my neck, pushing the door open a crack to peer into the dining room. His body tensed, then relaxed as his head slowly turned-
I ducked, a blush staining my cheeks pink. I did my best to pretend that it wasn't there and that a pair of eyes weren't burning a hole through the wall and into my back. I shrugged indifferently. "Probably."
"Why?" Christina demanded to know, in an overly loud voice.
I bugged my eyes at her, lips pressed together in a thin line; the universal expression for: Please shut up now. "Christina, guys like him are never single for long."
"What do you mean?" The self-proclaimed 'love guru' asked innocently.
I scowled. "You know exactly what I mean." I groused.
"No, I don't think I do." She said, tapping her chin and pushing out her lower lip thoughtfully- All the while keeping up the ridiculous farce.
"Because he's hot!" I burst out, hands clenched at my sides and teeth bared. Through my heavy panting, a low chuckle floated through the diner, over the sizzling of the grill. Too low and too quiet for Uriah. The sound faded, as did what remained of my pride.
"Order up!"
I balanced the warm plate easily in my hand. Stomping past Christina, I gave her a curt response. "I'm going on break after this"
She smirked.
I marched across the checkered tile to the corner booth. He was hunched over his laptop, eyes taking in each letter and number racing across the screen. His jaw worked as he swallowed. The movement drew my eyes to the thin, faint scar slicing through the edge of his bottom lip. It curled upwards with the corners of his mouth as I came to a stop.
The plate clattered on the table top, skidding to a stop in front of him. Sweet peas rolled, crowding next to the chicken and wheat roll fearfully. The water trembled in the glass, sloshing near the rim. I had set it down harder than I had meant to.
"Enjoy." I said through gritted teeth. I didn't bother with a smile. He didn't look up to see if I had anyways.
Spinning on my heel, I wound my way back into the kitchen, brushing past Christina and Uriah; not stopping until the bathroom door was shut and locked behind me. My hand lingered on the knob, the wood grain etching itself into my forehead. I allowed my head to loll, my body following the motion so that I slouched back against the creaky wooden door. I stared up at the flickering bulb and stained ceiling until the noises in the bar and my embarrassment faded. I raked my hands over my face, eyes drooping as they took in the various towels and cleaning supplies that surrounded me. How had I gotten here? Caleb was off doing God knows what in medical school, but it would still be at least another year before he would graduate; and even then he would need to find a hospital to take him on as a resident.
I had found Divergent by accident, walking home after another failed job interview. Nobody wanted to hire a twenty-something girl who hadn't finished college. I had had to walk through the dingier part of the city, and was paying more attention to my surroundings than to my feet. One of my stout heels, miraculously, had broken; sending a sharp pain into my ankle and leaving me limping awkwardly down the sidewalk. Then, on top of it all, it began to snow, slapping me in the face and berating me further. I had hoped that I would have made it home from the interview before the snowstorm was predicted to hit, but the world was simply against me today. I had stumbled into the hole-in-the-wall bar, pushing stringy hair out of my eyes. It had slipped out of the bun I had twisted it into that morning.
I ran hands trembling with cold over the sleeves of the simple grey suit jacket I had forced myself to don this morning. It was ruined, and it had been my mother's. It was the only thing suitable I had to wear for an interview.
I stood in front of the door, its bell still announcing my entry. I shivered in my wet clothes, eyes filling with tears as I continued to stare at the ruined suit jacket.
Tori, the dark eyed and tattooed owner of Divergent, had taken one look at me before she forced me to sit down in the booth. She plunked a cup of black coffee, and a burger and fries in front of me. She had ordered me to eat, sitting across from me with her hands folded and expression expectant. She hadn't moved until I had finished, eyes studying intently. When I had, she took my plate, brought it back to the kitchen before reclaiming her seat across from me.
In spite of her intimidating tattoos and intense eyes, she was quiet and didn't prod me when she asked what had brought me to Divergent. In an uncharacteristic outpouring of emotions, the hastily constructed dam that had held my grief was utterly demolished as I explained my situation.
She was quiet, spinning the pen she thrown carelessly on the table with the thinning order booklet between her fingers. Her too dark brown eyes grew distant, before refocusing on me rapidly. "Can you take orders?" She asked suddenly, stilling the pen and lacing her fingers together.
I had stuttered, my tongue of no use at all to me. She repeated the question, and asked me another. "Can you wait and clear tables?"
I finally managed to get a straight answer out, nodding yes to reaffirm it.
A bright smile over took her face, clearing away the calculating shadows that were cast by the fine bones of her face. Her tanned skin wrinkled by the corners of her eyes as she smiled. "Great. You're hired. You'll work three to eleven, and help close Monday through Saturday."
Christina had helped to train me, making the transition from waitress to bartender herself. She had explained how they usually ran a dessert special every Wednesday night, rich chocolate cake mostly. And warned me about the pickier customers who had been coming here longer than I had been alive. The dark eyed girl, who had been working at Divergent for almost three years, knew all and every single one of the regulars, and most anyone else who walked through the door.
I tugged at the half apron that was tied around my waist. It had been Christina's. With her being far curvier than I, I could wrap the strings around twice before tying it into a loose bow. The black fabric formed a bridge over the shallow valley between my two sharp hip bones.
I drew in a shuddering breath, smoothing my hair away from my face, and tucking fly away strands behind my ears. My cheeks were flushed, a light sheen coating my forehead. I wrinkled my nose at the small dingy mirror. I ripped off a paper towel from the automatic dispenser, ignoring its small snarl as it rolled out another. I swiped at my face, dragging the rough material along my cheeks and forehead. I bit my lip, considering my semi successful technique.
I unlocked the bathroom door. I immediately sidestepped, leaning against its frame. I leaned my head against the creaky wood, turning so that I faced Christina who was opposite me.
"Who is he?" I asked. The words left my mouth on a gusty sigh. It reminded me of gentle summer breezes; the tiny corner of blue in the corner of the mystery customer's eye the light and endless skies of the season.
Her mouth parted, but no sound came out. She closed it, eyebrows furrowing as she considered. She shrugged. "I don't know."
I stood straighter, a broomstick taping itself to my spine. I peered around Christina's relaxed form, holding up a finger for her to hold that thought. I wandered over to the swinging door, and peeked my head out. Its hinges squeaked slightly. Curious eyes peered over a darkly clothed shoulder. I let it shut again, ignoring the flush in my cheeks as I headed back towards Christina. The back of my neck burned as if I could still feel his eyes studying what little of me he could see.
"What do you mean you don't know?" Frustrated curiosity made my tone a bit sharper than usual.
Christina narrowed her eyes at me, tucking her tongue in her cheek before answering. "I've never seen him before. Not while I've been working here at least. Maybe Tori knows him."
I hummed, nodding absently. Christina crossed her arms, shifting so that her shoulder leaned against the doorframe. I squirmed under another dark, but familiar gaze. "What?" I asked in exasperation, listening to Uriah's whistling somewhere back in the kitchen.
"Why do you care?" She asked, tilting her head.
I bit my tongue, scrambling for an excuse. "Well, you've never seen him, and I just think that it's weird."
Christina studied me some more. "Yeah." She agreed, not taking her eyes off me. "Weird." I scoffed at the tone she chose, and pushed off of the wall. I walked towards the swinging door, and peered out the window. I rolled onto my toes to get a better view of the dining room. Instinctively, my eyes swept the rest of the empty tables; searching for phantom customers. A frown pulled the corners of my mouth down as I saw the empty corner booth, perfectly clear. As if the striking man had never been there at a-
"Tris."
I let out a muffled squeal, and whirled. A blinding streak of white shone through a blur of tan skin. Uriah flung his head back and laughed. I scowled, eyebrows pushing down low over my eyes. I resisted the urge to cross my arms.
"You a little focused on something there Tris?" He asked, peering over my shoulder into the empty dining room.
"No." I spat out, too quickly.
Uriah pressed his lips together to subdue what was surely another smile. "Okay. Well your guy in the corner booth's been done for a while. Sat and worked a while after he finished eating." He slapped the ticket into my hand. I glanced it over- wincing at my terrible shorthand -and the familiar total stared back at me- $7.50. Another small tip.
Uriah continued. "I think that he's some kind of programming guy. I'm pretty sure that was code going over his laptop screen, and by the way his fingers were moving, he was writing it. He left just a minute ago."
I jerked my head up at this. "He left?" I asked, looking over my shoulder into the dining room again as if to confirm this. "But I didn't hear the bell on the door."
Uriah shrugged. "Yeah, neither did I. Weird right? He even bussed his own plate."
I shook my head in wonderment. "This is the first time that both Christina and I have seen him in here. How would he know where to put his dishes?"
Uriah shrugged again, holding his hands up in innocence. "Hey, I don't know. Don't shoot the messenger here. My brother Zeke might know him. He worked here with some other guys here before he left for college."
I bit my lip. "'Kay," I agreed absently, folding the ticket absently between my hands. Uriah nodded once, ruffled my hair as he went to finish his cleaning routine. I scowled, and swatted at his hands. A chuckle floated through the shelves that separated the waitress station from the grill. I frowned at the unusual thickness of the folded ticket. I unfolded it. Five bills fluttered out onto the dusty tiled floor. My heart skipped a beat in my chest, bumping into my vocal chords and making my voice crack.
"Uh, Uriah? Did you already ring that guy up?"
He poked his head out from behind the shelves full of plates, bowls, and platters. "Course I did Tris. What do you take me for, an idiot?" He winked good naturedly and disappeared again, whistling.
I cradled the worn, soft bills in my hands. I pushed through the swinging door of the kitchen, stooping to grab my jar from beneath the counter. I set the ticket down on the uneven surface, and began the challenge of untwisting the lid from my tip jar.
A neat, bold word written in black pen over my sloppy, red shorthand caught my eye.
Thanks.
By the same time next week, I had forgotten all about our mystery diner. Zeke was out of the country on Spring Break. Where, I could only guess, was somewhere warmer than my freezing and breezy Chicago. I gazed out the window, looking at the sleet lashing the pane. Its sound was absolute static, both soothing and putting me on edge all at once. I shook my head, reaching for another napkin and a knife, fork, and spoon; all somewhat respectively in their jumbled piles. I rolled them together tightly in the paper linen, and pulled the plain white wrapper over the seams of the napkin to bind it.
I glanced at the clock. 10:37. No, now 10:38-
The bell above the door tinkled. A stooped figure stumbled in, pushing the door closed behind them. They shuddered in place and went to take a step forward. They paused, looked at the clean, dry floor and paused to wipe their feet on the mat.
I sat up straighter, a smile already lighting my face. One less mess for me to clean up. I scooted out of the corner booth. I plucked my ticket book out of my apron pocket, and grabbed the pen that was tucked behind my ear.
"Wow, it's really coming down out there isn't it?" I asked, watching as they raised their head. A droplet of water threaded its way out of their hair; missed the corner of their eye, and trailed down their cheek like a tear before hovering on a thin, faint scar slicing through their bottom lip-
Dark blue eyes knocked the breath out of me with the force of the wind howling outside. The corner of light blue winked at me again.
He simply nodded, although his lips were stretched into a small smile. He took the seat across from the one that I had vacated, eyes tracing over the silverware yet to be rolled into napkins. My mouth popped open in surprise, and I hurried over. I paused beside the table, eyes flicking between the utensils and his blank expression.
"Err, I'll get this cleaned up right away. Sorry to inconvenience you." I mumbled. Heat burned off of my face, so intense that I thought the windows would start to fog up from the temperature change.
He waved it off. "S'Fine," He rumbled the words bleeding together to form one, pulling his bag into the booth with him. He flicked water droplets off of it. He shook his head, trying to keep streams of water from going into his eyes. One leaped across the table's expanse to me, landing on my cheek to give me a cool and sly kiss. My breath hitched in my lungs. I passed it off as a clearing of my throat.
"Abnegation," He said, voice clearer now. I blinked quickly, glad that he was studying the violent storm outside. It didn't cross my mind to realize that he hadn't looked at the menu to even consider ordering something different.
"Water? Or are you still waterlogged from your little swim outside?" I was surprised to hear a teasing lilt in my voice. I wasn't flirting. Tris Prior, waitress at cozy little Divergent bar and grill, didn't flirt with customers.
"Please." He looked up at me curiously, but there was a playful light in his eyes. I was rewarded with a small sliver of straight white teeth. He leaned a hand against his jaw. His long and slim fingers- made for gentle, careful movements –covered my treasured strip of his smile. He nodded, looking up at me through a tangle of dark lashes.
I quickly wrote down the order, one of the few we had had today. "Order," I called back to where it looked like Uriah and Christina were in a spamming frenzy on Snapchat. I shook my head as I went to grab one of the tall glasses stacked near the soft drink dispenser. I had never been so grateful not to have a smartphone. Christina had nagged me for my Snapchat name for two hours before finally realizing that I barley even had a basic cell.
Cold water trickled over my fingers, creating numbed stripes across my knuckles. "Shoot," I muttered. Water sloshed over the rim of the glass as I hurried to set it down. I grabbed one of the extra hand towels out of the bathroom, quickly mopping up my spill.
My eyes flicked back out into the dining room. I wandered over to the small window set in the door to the dining room, watching as droplets continued to stream from his short cropped hair down the back of his neck. I shivered empathetically as I tossed the damp towel in the small basket meant for the dirty linens before grabbing a fresh one. I folded it over my arm and grabbed his water glass. I chuckled quietly to myself. I looked as if I were impersonating a waiter from a fancy restaurant. Luckily, the squealing hinges of the swinging door covered my giggle.
I set his water glass down on the table, careful to put it far enough away from his laptop so that it wouldn't be ruined it if it spilled. Code was racing across the screen again, and I watched as his fingers set the pace.
I gnawed on my lip for a second before carefully making my way back to my cooled seat. The split covering crackled beneath me slightly as I leaned forward. I laid the towel a few inches away from his hand. Just as I drew my own away, his eyes flicked up to mine, and I froze.
"I-I thought that you might like to dry off a little bit," I said quietly, hoping and praying that he couldn't hear how it shook slightly. Good God, what was wrong with me? It wasn't if I had never seen an attractive man before!
Those mysterious eyes studied me a moment longer before they crinkled slightly. His cheeks rose, lips spreading in his first real smile. My heart stopped, and restarted again at the sight, double its original pace.
"Thanks," He said gratefully. Sometime while I was in the kitchen, he had shrugged off his coat, and draped it over the back of the booth. He wore a simple black t shirt beneath it. He wiped down the long length of his arms first, drawing my attention to the way the short sleeves were tight around his shoulders and biceps. He scrubbed at the back of his neck next, eyes heavy lidded as he hummed in pleasure. The damp fabric of his shirt clung to his chest, but grew loose around his tapered waist. A curl of dark ink was revealed as he moved the towel away from his neck.
I cleared my throat slightly as the cloth was slapped back onto the table, heavy with water. I looked back down at the piles of silverware and napkins and cast another glance at the silent man across from me. His attention wasn't on me, but on his laptop once more, keys clicking quietly under his fingertips.
I continued with my task. I ignored the fact that I would probably have to redo the first few bundles of silverware, loose in their napkins. Every once and a while I would look at him through my lashes. I watched how the remaining moisture clung to the five o clock scruff that shadowed his jaw. How a wrinkle formed between his eyebrows, and his deep set eyes tracked across the screen.
We sat in silence until Uriah called out to me from the kitchen. I answered back quietly. I swung my legs out of the booth, and retrieved the dish from the kitchen. Luckily Christina was on break, sitting on one of the back counters and making strange faces at Uriah's phone as she filled it with photos of herself.
I bit the tip of my tongue to contain my laughter as I neared the booth again. The plate warmed my chilled fingertips that smelled of metal. My eyes flicked over the cluttered surface, filled with silverware, napkins, his bag and his laptop. I shoved the silverware over. I winced at the slight squeal that emitted from the jumbled pile. I slid the plate across to him, along with one of the looser pairs of silverware. One less for me to redo later.
He didn't start eating immediately, eyes still flickering over the screen like it was the most important thing in the world. I looked out the window again, leaning my head against the cool glass and letting it quiet the blood still rushing to my face.
I wondered if Uriah was right. Perhaps he was a programmer. It seemed like the most logical job for him, based on what little of his work I had glimpsed. His build and size contradicted it though. It looked as though he was involved in strenuous, physical activity daily to earn the muscles that hid beneath the fabric of his clothes. My face flushed again, and I burrowed further into the corner of the booth. I watched my breath break over the glass, a thick white before fading back into nothing.
I started gently when I heard silverware scrape against his plate. I shook myself out of my pointless musings, and returned to folding the silverware into napkins.
Nearly twenty minutes later, I had ache in my neck, and no more silverware to roll.
I raised my head, and spent a minute staring at the space across from me.
And apparently I also had an empty booth, and another too generous tip.
I shook my head, and shoved the mountain of rolled silverware into the clear bin they were usually stored in back in the kitchen.
"Hey Tris," Uriah walked out of the kitchen, wiping his hands on a towel. "You just about ready to call it a night?"
I was still looking down at the ticket in my hand. Uriah leaned over the bar, his usual teasing face concerned. He put a hand on my shoulder, squeezing gently. "Hey. You okay?"
I forced myself to look up at him, made my lips curl into a weak smile. "Yeah, yeah, I'm fine. Just- tired I think." I stood up straighter, and moved to pick up the bucket of rolled silverware. "You and Christina all finished then?"
He waved a hand. "Christina left about ten minutes ago. Something about having a date with her DVR and some Ben and Jerry's."
I chuckled, and set the bin on the counter with a little huff. The ticket crinkled in my hand as I punched in the total and put in the last sale of the night. I stuffed the rest of the crumbled dollars into my tip jar. I would empty it tomorrow, when it was a bit fuller. It had been a slow enough day and I would be getting my paycheck tomorrow anyways.
Uriah whistled impressively at the amount that fell in. "How'd you do today?"
I shrugged, "Eh, I bet at least forty, less than sixty. Not fantastic."
"How well does this mystery guy tip huh?" He wiggled his dark eyebrows. I shoved him into the counter, making him choke on his laughter briefly.
"Well enough, thank you very much." I answered primly, and squeaked when Uriah caged me at the register with his arms.
"Really?" I asked dryly, and sighed he nodded seriously. "He gave me five out of an eight dollar total."
"Very well indeed then," Uriah mused, smiling mischievously. I shoved him away again. "I still can't get a hold of Zeke yet. With his luck he probably dropped his phone in the ocean, and then a Great White swallowed it."
"Technology just really doesn't like him does it?" I agreed. I had heard plenty of stories. A laptop that had nearly set him on fire, a satellite that had narrowly avoided giving him a concussion, and an iPhone that had shocked him more times than anyone could count.
"I'm sure that we'll hear from him soon. He always sends postcards." I gestured to the small bulletin board that was almost filled with small, scrawled notes from Uriah's older brother in his travels. Italy, Germany, Venezuela, New Zealand, India- all places that I myself had wanted to visit one day. One day is still coming, I told myself positively, it's just not as close as you want it to be.
"What, so he didn't talk to you at all?" Christina demanded, elbow deep in suds. Peter, the buss boy they had hired to actually wash the dishes, was leaning against the wall picking at his nails.
I scowled at him as I deposited another tub full of dirty plates next to her. "Christina, not all of the customers have to be social. He's barely said four words to me, and two were to order his dinner."
"But he tips well?" I raised an eyebrow at her, and her eyes flicked back to the grill. Uriah whistled a cheerful melody to the harmony of sizzling burgers and the bubbling fryers.
"Thanks for blabbing Uriah!" I scowled at him between the shelves of plates.
"Welcome, Tris," he said bashfully. He cried out as the grill flamed up a little bit, and I snickered.
"So he does tip well." She said, stacking the clean plate in the drying rack.
I shrugged. "Five out of an eight dollar bill."
"Very well indeed then," Christina mused, obviously imagining some alternate universe where me and this guy would get married and have a dozen kids that she could play generous 'Auntie' Christina to.
I bumped her hip with mine to knock her out of her day dreams of becoming an 'auntie'. "Why does everyone keep saying that?"
"Yeah, really?" Peter chimed in, nastiness lurking in his tone. "I mean, why would he want to tip Tris for anything other than service?" His lip curled. "I mean, it's not like she has anything else going for her."
Christina's eyes practically threw sparks. She yanked the hose used to spray the dishes out of its holster, and doused the little ungrateful snot.
Peter held out his arms, letting his water heavy sleeves drip onto the floor. He swiped a hand over his face, flinging his usually smooth and styled hair out of his face. The name he called Christina next certainly didn't help to improve his reputation with her. He grabbed his coat off the hook, and stormed out of the kitchen.
I turned back to look at Christina. The dark skinned bartender had tucked her swing of hair behind her ear, and stuck the sparkling bobby pin in her mouth. She struggled to arrange it how she wanted before finally sliding the pin back into place. She blinked at me innocently, and brought a hand up to shut my mouth with a quiet click.
I shook my head. "I'm going to go check on Peter…"I muttered, mostly out pity because nobody had gone after him.
Christina scoffed, and turned back to her dishes. "Whatever you say Tris, but I doubt he's going to be coming back for the minimum wage and this mountain of dishes." She gave them a long, lingering scowl before diving her hands back in and scrubbing fiercely, like Peter's sneer was etched on every one.
Peter was standing near the door, the light overhead casting sharpening shadows over his handsome face. He was rooting around in his pockets for his keys. Green eyes glared up at me from under blonde brows at my approach.
"Can I help you?" He spat out, still digging in his pockets.
"You know, maybe if you apologize and improve your attitude Tori won't fire you." I suggested weakly.
"Oh, and since when do you speak for the boss?" Peter drew hands that had curled into fists out of his coat. He marched towards me, coming closer than my liking. I backed up, and winced as the thick edge of the bar pressed into my spine.
"Ever since I knew that she had been considering firing you, and that now after what just happened in there, she will have no problem letting you go." I shot back, uncaring of my previous intentions now.
Peter snarled, and braced his hands on either side of me like Uriah had days earlier. I suspected that his aims were decidedly darker.
"Now listen here you smart mouthed, uppity little bitch," I gasped, and shoved at Peter's shoulders, trying to push him away. He caught my wrists in his hands. "I've been working here a lot longer than you have, and I've been hinting at switching to a waiter for months. You have absolutely no right to come in here and take what should have been mine."
"Yeah, I can see why Tori didn't train you as a waiter. You really need to work on your people skills." Tears sprang to my eyes as his grip around my hands tightened even more. I blinked them quickly, desperate not to let Peter see me cry, much less see that he caused my tears.
The skin on the back of my hands stung as he stumbled backwards, trying to tug me with him. Eyes filled with righteous, dark fire blazed over the suddenly stuttering boy's shoulder. "Problem?" I wondered if the dark eyed customer always spoke in splintered sentences, not quite broken, like he didn't want to waste words on simple pronouns or adjectives.
Peter whirled around, his temper flaring as he began to give him a piece of his mind. "I don't know who you think you are, but you don't have any- business…digging into- other people's…" The words petered out as he tilted his head back to look up at the larger man.
"Go." It was so obviously not a request. And although usually Peter challenged anything that even remotely resembled authority, he only sent one more glance that promised more to come and stalked out.
I leaned back against the bar gingerly, wincing at the tender spot on my back from where I had collided with the solid wood counter earlier. I pressed a shaking hand to my forehead, my breath coming out in weak, warm huffs against my wrist. I caught my breath, feeling my entire frame shake with each inhale and exhale. I wiped at my cheeks, even there was no evidence of tears. I looked up at the patiently waiting man in front of me, thumbs hooked in his pockets. His eyes were at half mast, that drowsy blue color making it seem as though if he leaned against the wall he would fall asleep. The tenseness in his forearms and shoulders told me otherwise.
"You okay?" He blinked, and all of that strange, soft and murky light disappeared from his eyes. Once again they were calculating as he scanned me up and down- as if I were a line of code running across his laptop. And after he left again I would be gone and forgotten.
I nodded, trying to swallow the lump in my throat that helped to bottle the hysteria inside me that felt ready to burst.
I fished my order booklet out of my apron pocket, even though I knew that Uriah and Christina wouldn't be able to read anything that I wrote down from the way my hand was shaking.
"Abnegation and water tonight?"
He hummed in agreement, shouldered his bag and walked over to the corner booth. I tilted my head to the side. No, he didn't walk like everyone else. His movements held a sort of grace that escaped most people, like he was skating across the floor.
I shook my head out of my wandering thoughts and pushed into the kitchen. Christina looked up from where she was thumbing through her phone. "Are you okay?"
I caught my breath again, this time for a completely different reason. "Not really." I admitted, trying to think of how I could gloss this over to the point where she wouldn't want to murder Peter.
Christina reacted accordingly, even going so far as grabbing her coat and yelling at Uriah to get her bail money ready. I snatched her keys out of the little dish we kept next to the phone, and hid them in clenched hands behind my back. "He's gone already, what are you going to do? Besides, I'm pretty sure that my new regular scared the crap out of him anyways."
Christina stopped struggling to stuff her other hand into her coat, her hat skewed sideways and covering a dark and glaring eye. "The one who never talks?" She clarified, and through a twinge of irritation I nodded.
"And it's not like he never talks, he just doesn't talk…a lot." I finished awkwardly. It didn't seem right for her to identify him just because he didn't talk, not after what had just happened in the dining room.
Christina hung up her coat again, a knowing smile tugging at her lips and making her eyes gleam. "Sounds like Mr. Four Words was a real white knight, huh?"
My hand shook a little bit as I brought out the warm plate. I tightened my grip, hoping that it wouldn't slip out of my sweating grasp. I set it down away from his laptop, knowing that he would pull it closer to eat when he finished whatever he was working on. He still didn't look at me, only flicking his eyes down to the plate in front of him and grunting something that was probably his equivalent of 'thanks'. I hovered for a moment, my lips trying to form the polite thank you I had formed in my head while his order was cooking.
As he began to turn his head, no doubt to check why I was still there, I swept his half empty water glass off of the table. I hurried away with a burning face. I'll thank him after he finishes, I assured myself as I refilled the glass. I scooped in some fresh ice cubes. He's busy right now, and probably won't like being interrupted.
I brought out the glass, but my hand didn't shake anymore. To my surprise, he had already started eating, buttering the whole grain roll. The wind outside whipped at the windows, moaning as it wound its way through the maze of the city.
I set it down exactly where I had found it, and stepped back. My teeth dug into my bottom lip, and I fiddled with my order booklet before ripping off his ticket. I slid it next to the water glass. My knuckles brushed against its cool surface, making the ice cubes knock together musically.
He cut another bite out of the chicken breast and popped it into his mouth neatly. He held up a finger, and went to dig into the pocket of his dark jeans.
The few and tiny white scars under my grasping fingers rasped against my palm. He froze with his other hand half way into his pocket. For a moment we both stared at my hand, curled around his on top of the table. I didn't know when I had given permission for my hand to move, or to make my fingers lock with his. The hold was awkward, his knuckles surfacing between the spaces of my fingers. To even span the back of his hand, the skin between my fingers was stretched far past their normal limit. I didn't draw back yet, hoping that by staying still it would make this entire situation less awkward.
I dared a glance at him through my lashes, and mumbled through my teeth which were still murdering my lip. "No charge."
Pulling my hand free from his, I imagined the least bit of resistance, as if he had wanted me to stay. I walked back into the kitchen, determined to let this be the most romantic I let my thoughts get about a certain tall, quiet, blue eyed customer.
I sat on the small stool that was pulled up to the waitress station, idly twisting my hands together. I clenched them into fists, trying to stop the anxious movements. The tender beds of my nails pulsed, the nails bitten too short. I uncurled them again, and pressed them into the denim covering my thighs, wiping off the moisture that had formed on my palms.
"Four all settled in then?" I crashed off of the stool and onto the tiled floor. I pressed a hand to my chest, determined not to let my heart jump out of it.
Christina stared down at me in shock. She pressed her lips together tightly as her surprise melted away. Her shoulders shook, and she hunched over, trying to contain her laughter. A snort escaped her, and the rest came pouring out. I held a hand up expectantly. Christina hauled me up, still crying with laughter. I scowled at her as I brushed myself off. I muttered words that neither my parents nor Caleb would approve of.
She tucked a dark swing of hair behind her ear. She wiped away a tear that still lingered in the corner of her eye, inspecting her finger for smears in her makeup. She sighed as she caught her breath, and placed her hands on her hips.
"Well, is he?" She asked, leaning against the counter.
I pushed a hand through my hair, which was coming out of the bun that I usually twisted it into every day before work. I kept it there, bracing my forehead against my wrist. "Who?" I asked wearily. I dragged a hand over my face, struggling to wake up and pay attention.
"You know, Mr. White Knight? Guy that just saved you from Peter? Who's been coming in for the past few weeks? Ringing any bells here, Tris?" I stuck my tongue out at her condescending tone.
"Yes, I know who you're talking about. What did you call him?" I asked again as I went to peek out into the dining room.
"Four. Get it? Because he only says-" I held up my hand, massaging the place between my eyebrows with the other. A headache pulsed there dully.
"Yeah. Yeah, I got it now Christina." I gave her a weak smile to soften my words.
I heard the bell this time, the sound almost swallowed by the wind the whipped eagerly into the dining room. I caught a pair of dark blue eyes flashing to mine and a dark coat before they stepped out into the night.
I went to collect plate that he had surprisingly left on the table. His ticket was tucked beneath it, along with a five dollar tip.
I sighed, looking down at the money in my hand. Folding it into my palm, I walked behind the bar to grab my tip jar. After stuffing the rest of the crumbled bills in the jar into an envelope, I wandered back into the kitchen to check on how clean up was going for Uriah and Christina.
I hadn't even realized I was smiling and blushing until Uriah poked my cheek and wondered at my good mood. Christina grinned wickedly. I shoved her shoulder with a scoff. The blush burned brighter, and my smile gentled, but didn't disappear.
It was busy. Busier than it had ever been since I had started working at Divergent. Although I suppose that my seven months of experience wasn't much to compare it to. I hooked my fingers in a quartet of empty glasses littering the bar. At least that would take some pressure off of Christina. Her black hair was pinned up out of her face with her glittering clips, and her lined and darkened eyes were narrowed as she juggled the bottles of liquor and glasses. People were lined at the bar, two deep all the way down the counter.
My arms shook as I hefted the nearly overflowing buss tub and marched into the kitchen. Zeke was barking at Uriah to drop two orders of wings and a single of onion rings into the fryers. Uriah's older and sun-darkened brother was manning the grill, sweat creating a thin sheen on his forehead. He had just gotten back from Australia, taking back with him a shark tooth necklace and a waterlogged phone that would need replacing…again.
Tori nodded to me, and turned her attention to the warming shelf that Zeke and Uriah would push her orders onto when they were filled. She had a tray half filled with plates and bowls of fries, burgers, cheese curds, and the like.
The hawk eye tattooed on the back of her neck seemed to wink at me as she began loading the rest of the order onto the tray. Uriah flung the order ticket at her, and was immediately sent by Zeke to start tossing the wings in barbecue sauce. She barley even glanced it over before stabbing it onto the tall stack that was slowly growing bigger and bigger. Fourth of July weekend, and it didn't seem like things would be slowing down anytime soon. Uriah and Zeke would have to keep the kitchen open extra-long tonight, it seemed like, and Christina with the bar even longer.
Through the blur of carrying various cocktails, beers, and food to customers, I caught a glimpse of dark blue eyes. My own flicked to the clock mounted above the bar. 10:38. Four was right on time, like always.
The first few times he had come in after the Peter incident, Christina had refused to refer to him as anything other than Four. She claimed that 'Mr. White Knight' just didn't sound right. And seeing as I didn't even know him name, she began to rub off on me. Most times I didn't even write a ticket out for him; just calling back to Uriah that Four was here. That wouldn't be the case tonight.
He seemed a little lost, hovering in the crowded entry way of the bar. His eyes flicked longingly to his regular corner booth which was stuffed full of drunk and giggling co-eds that were already making eyes at him. Or maybe he wasn't longing for his spot after all, rather the people who were in it-
I grabbed his elbow, and steered him over to the miraculously free space at the very end of the bar. I whistled sharply to Christina. She smirked knowingly as she saw me point to him, but instead of his standard water, she poured him a tall glass of amber colored beer, tipping the foam over the lip. She slid it down the bar to me. I caught it with ease, and plopped it down in front of Four.
He parted his mouth to protest most likely. I patted his shoulder, and gave a gentle smile. "It's on me, Four." He stiffened, and then began to turn towards me. I hurried away, internally flogging myself and doing everything short of physically bashing my head into the wall in embarrassment.
I hurried back into the kitchen, peeking through the opening of the warming shelf to check on Uriah and Zeke. They had just started my order, so I had roughly two minutes to just lean against-
Somehow through the insane noise in the dining room, the pathetic ringing of the bell attached to the door filtered into the kitchen. I whimpered, hauling myself away from my temporary perch. I peeked into the dining room. My heart dropped down onto the tile floor between my feet. I stumbled backwards as Tori pushed her way into the kitchen, too caught up on getting her order to get a good look at my face. I glanced into the dining room again, where the group of loud, guffawing guys had decided to seat themselves.
Not in my section, not my section, please not my section-
My prayer went unanswered. I forced my feet to send me out into the dining room. I didn't bother with a smile. I didn't know what would come out in its place.
"What can I get for you guys?" My voice shook a little bit. I looked into devious, glinting green eyes. I clenched my jaw, made my cheeks turn up in the barest hint friendliness.
"I want to see why Four over there," he jerked his head to the bar. I felt my blood drain from my face at the use of his nickname, and the way his head turned at the sound of it. "Tips you so much. So-" he drummed his hands on the table, and sent a wicked smirk to his companions. "Chop, chop, sweetheart, let's go."
"If you guys want some drinks, Christina will take care of you up there at the bar." I wasn't sure how she was managing it, but the furious bar tender was managing to mix drinks and attempting to bury Peter six feet under with glares alone all at the same time.
I continued on, as if I didn't notice Drew's eyes trailing up and down my slight build. The creep had come in multiple times to try to mooch and flirt free drinks off of Christina and I. Ice seemed to trickle down my spine. "I'll grab you guys some menus, and give you some time to decide what you want."
Drew grabbed my already bruised wrist, and pulled me down into his lap. I recoiled at the rough touch and the harsh smell of liquor that already lingered on his breath. "I know what I've wanted from the first time I came in here." My eyes darted up towards the kitchen, but were sidetracked by Four's intense gaze. His hand was clenched around his half drained glass of beer, so tightly that his nails were turning white. I tore my gaze away from his, to the door to the kitchen, hoping that Tori would come out. She didn't.
I winced as I pulled myself away from Drew's wandering hands. I scrubbed a hand down my arm, lingering on my throbbing wrist. "I'll just leave you guys to get settled and come back when you're ready to order."
Peter and the rest of his cronies gave me orders all right. They had me do everything short of getting down on my knees and licking the dirt off of their shoes. They had all steadily become more and more drunk, struggling to even sit upright in their chairs as they watched other tipsy groups leave one by one.
Drew slouched down in his chair, shirt hitching up over his distended and hairy belly. I ignored the way his eyes followed me as I met Christina at the bar. She scrubbed at the already gleaming surface, most likely hoping that they would take the hint that the bar was closing down.
"How's the liquor holding up?" I asked, folding my arms so that they rested on the damp wood. Christina hummed, and went to crouch behind the bar to look into the mini fridge where she kept the alcohol chilled.
I dropped my head onto my arms, letting it roll back and forth in an effort to ease some of the pressure that seemed to have built all through my shift. It didn't help. I huffed out a sigh, and plopped my chin on my forearms instead, and met a dark blue stare. I stood ram rod straight, and rounded the bar to crouch beside Christina. She tapped her chin, muttering to herself as her eyes flicked over the emptying bottles.
"Four's still here?" I asked, my tone far too casual.
Christina rocked back on her heels to look at me. "Yeah, hasn't ordered anything since Drew and his group came in. Hasn't touched another drop of that beer in front of him either." She snorted, and pulled a bottle of vodka out to check the less used bottles used for mixed drinks. She stuck her head inside the small, chilled space. "You're lucky that he even bothers to say four words to you. I didn't even get one." Her voice seemed amplified by the walls of the fridge, and echoed through the empty restaurant.
My face flushed darker, and I stood quickly. I strode behind Christina, ignoring the way she yelped when a brush of my leg sent her off balance. I opened the cash register, digging out the key for the liquor cabinet. I shut the door with a snap, and raised an eyebrow at Christina, who was scowling at me.
"Three bottles of vodka, two bottles of Jack Daniels, and another two of gin," She listed off, and finished with a glare.
I rolled my eyes, and gripped her waiting hand to haul her up on her feet in a peace offering. She hip checked me lightly as I scooted past her. I came out from behind the bar, striding forward a few paces to unlock the basement door. I flipped on the light switch, squinted at the dark light that offered me a view of the rickety and steep stairs.
"I'll be right back," I told Christina, who nodded, and jerked her thumb towards the kitchen.
"I'm going to check on Tweedle Clumsy and Tweedle Dumb-Ass back there and make sure that they're not driving Tori completely up the wall." She flipped her hair dramatically. "I need someone to sign my paychecks after all."
I giggled as I made my way down the creaking stairs, ducking my head at the low ceiling of the basement. There wasn't any real need to though. I had about a foot or more of space between my head and the concrete ceiling. I shivered and rolled my shoulders in the cool basement. I sucked in a breath of stale air at the squealing and groaning of floorboards overhead, and forced my heartbeat to calm itself. The building was old, and it could very well be Christina coming back out to the bar with Zeke or Uriah. Or better yet, I let myself hope, Peter and the rest of them finally leaving.
I trailed my fingers along the huge shelves full of industrial sized cans of ketchup, gravy, and various vegetables. My eyes skipped over the foam take out containers before settling on the door to the liquor room.
My hand shook a little bit as more creaks sounded, this time seemingly much closer. I clenched my jaw, and the lock scraped a bit as it turned. I entered the narrow, long room, facing a wall of shelves filled with bottles of hard liquor, wine, and even a couple of dusty bottles of champagne. I grabbed an empty box stacked next to the door, and propped it on my hip. I grabbed what I would need to restock the bar, the glass of the bottles clinking against each other as I loaded the box. I juggled the box in my arms, pulling the door shut behind me before relocking the door. I stuck the key in the box, and trudged back on the winding path back upstairs. I clicked my tongue rhythmically in time with my steps, eyes flicking over the shelves again: plastic utensils, napkins, cups, chairs, dangerous green eyes, canned goods, condiments, soap, towels, the ice maker-
A hand grabbed my arm, and shoved me against the shelves. By the time my startled and pained shriek escaped through my parted lips, a hand had clapped over my lap, and the box of alcohol had crashed to the floor in a mess of glass and liquid.
I thrashed, hair loose and covering my eyes. Through the strips of pale blonde hair, I saw green eyes, heard a low snarl of, "Drew, get your ass over here now. The bitch won't stay still." Rough hands yanked something over my eyes, blackening everything and making me hyperaware of every shuddering breath my captor breathed out against my shoulder. Soft fingers pressed hard into my cheeks, keeping my mouth covered. Another pair had grabbed at my flailing hands, thick meaty fingers clenching them together tightly.
"Molly keep watch," Peter barked. I flinched away from it, my ear ringing from his close proximity. "Al, get over here, and make sure that sure she doesn't make a sound. I don't plan on losing any fingers today. The twit's got a mouth on her, and who knows what else she uses it for other than pissing people off." He brushed hair away from my still ringing ear with surprising tenderness. "You should've listened to me the first time, Tris."
` He broke away with a laugh. I could picture him throwing his head back from the way the sound bounced off of the walls. "I bet that's why Four tips you so much, isn't it? For your mouth?" Heat rushed to my cheeks, from anger, fear, humiliation, sheer terror. I thrashed again, kicking out with my feet.
I struck something soft, and was immediately met with a groan. I jerked my head, biting sharply at the hand that covered my mouth, hard enough that the bitter taste of coppery blood filled my mouth. I dragged heavy and tingling hands up to wrestle the blind fold off, and was immediately met with a slap across the face.
Dimly, I heard shouting over the rushing in my head. Peter caught me with a hand at my throat, slamming me back into my place against the shelves. The floor above me squealed and moaned again- or maybe that was me? I couldn't tell anymore. Maybe it was Christina laughing, Uriah and Zeke taking advantage of her ridiculously ticklish sides.
"-hard is it to do one simple thing?!" Peter's usually neat and styled hair drooped across his forehead which was shiny with sweat. A day's worth of stubble shaded his face. It didn't seem natural, like he was simply a boy who hadn't yet grown into his features enough to keep the facial hair. "I told you to keep her from moving and make sure that she doesn't make any noise."
Spots of color flashed before my eyes, turning the light violent shades of dark green, blue, black, sickly yellow and violet. All the noises around me were blurring together into static, and the yellowing light bulbs overhead flared and dimmed un-naturally.
A sudden thought struck me as I watched the rapidly fading lights. I never paid the electric bill, and Caleb has no idea how to deal with bills even though he's the one who finished-
I didn't get to finish the thought, the laugh that had been caught in my throat and stopped by Peter's hand squeezed out. My ears rang, and over my stumbling heart and gasping breaths I heard the violent sound of fists hitting flesh. Grunts and groans punctured the stillness of the basement air.
A body fell next to mine, reeking of alcohol and blood. I flinched away from it, curling around my chest that burned with every breath I struggled to take. A shadow fell across the stained and cracked concrete in front of me, looming over my vulnerable body. I craned my neck to look up at them, wishing that I had already simply blacked out from the lack of air. They blocked out the bare bulb hanging above us, the light that managed to get around them shadowing their features. I felt them move to kneel down beside me. I curled in tighter around myself, cradling my head in my hands. They hovered next to me, as if going to touch my shoulder or my hip before they left.
Hopelessly, I prayed that Peter simply thought that I had passed out, and left to go and gloat that he had taught me my place and beaten whoever had thought to stop him. God had been merciful enough that he had sent somebody to try and play the white knight once more.
The cold from the floor seeped into my side, causing the aching of the fresh bruises to become a dull throb instead. There wasn't any sound from the bar above me. Uriah and Christina were probably finishing up in the kitchen, Tori perhaps was wondering where I was as she put away glasses at the bar-
There was a gasp, and a choked whisper of- "Tris?". Multiple shadows loomed over me now, and at least two hurried sets of footsteps overlapped each other as they rushed to get to me. Another pair led them, slower and measured and calm. Long, calloused fingers that I had grabbed once long ago settled on my shoulder. I clung to my tiny patch of floor, refusing to move and unconscious of the bed of shattered glass I was lying on.
"Is she-? Did they-?" Christina's slightly hysterical voice behind me made something flutter in my stomach. It began to unfurl faster with each unfinished question she tried to ask, filling the empty shell that I had become until it threatened to consume me. The hand on my shoulder squeezed. He must have felt the muscle coiling tighter as Christina's hysteria re-awoke my own.
"Uriah, Zeke- you should probably drag those three upstairs. Christina, grab the first aid kit out of the kitchen. Tori, you should probably call the police."
For a moment, we all sat in stunned silence. Nobody had heard Four say more than- well, four words since he began coming in at exactly 10:38 a few times each week. There was a flurry of movement behind me, low curses and quiet murmurs as Tori got 911 on the phone.
Four gently turned me over, scooping a hand under my knees. We were a tangle of arms, both of mine looping around his neck, and his supporting my weight as he hurried us past bloodied and unconscious Drew, Al, and Peter. Over Four's shoulder, I saw Zeke cast a dark glare down at Peter before giving him a swift kick in the ribs. Four ducked his head as we came up the stairs, nudging the door open wider with his foot before hurrying over to the bar and seating me on top of it.
Christina came out of the kitchen, a first aid kid clutched in her hands. She was gripping it so tightly that her knuckles were white, like her bones were about to break through the skin.
"Where's Molly?" Christina asked, refusing to loosen her grip on the box until Four answered her question.
"Well, I couldn't exactly hit her, and I was more concerned with those three-" Four jerked his head over to where Zeke was emerging from the basement. The tall and still scowling cook was dragging Drew out feet first, paying no heed to the way his head knocked against every step on the way up. "She must have ran as soon as I started kicking the shit out of Drew." After dumping said bloodied guy on the floor near the table they had occupied earlier, Zeke curled his lip in disgust as he looked down at his hands, like he wanted to soak them in bleach after he was finished. He clomped back down the stairs as Uriah called up to him, wanting some help with Al.
Four finally pried Christina's fingers off of the box as lights flashed in the window. I squeezed my eyes shut against the harsh red and blue lights that raced over the walls. Christina nibbled at her lip before rushing out with Tori to meet the police on the sidewalk. They let in a gust of thick, muggy air before blessedly the door shut again. Leaving Four and I alone.
"Have you ever taken self-defense classes?" I started at his voice again, unused to hearing so many words fall out of his mouth.
I parted my lips, but only a pained moan slipped out. Suddenly I could feel my heartbeat in every single bruise I had been gifted from Peter. Pain crackled up my back, crawling over my shoulders, and settling in the base of my neck.
Four grunted, studying how my much smaller hands, cupped in his large palms, still shook. He let them fall to my thighs, as he circled behind the bar. Hoping not to catch his eye, I wiped them off on my food stained apron. I clutched the hem between my fingers as I risked rotating to catch a glimpse of what he was doing.
Four had stepped behind the bar, throwing a shot glass up in the air casually. My breath caught in the back of my throat and clogged the words that wanted to come spilling out. It rotated and spun end over end before coming to rest in his palm again. He tipped a bottle of vodka up, neatly pouring me a shot, and then one for himself I assumed. He held one out to me, and cast another glance at my shaking hands. He frowned before knocking the glasses together in a toast. Four knocked his back before bringing mine to my lips.
I spluttered a bit as the liquor burned at my already ragged throat, but Four kept tilting the shot glass higher and higher until I had drained it. Miraculously, I had managed not to spit it out all over his fingers.
"How did you know-" I rasped, barely even loud enough for myself to hear. Somehow, Four had caught my words anyways.
"-Where everything is?" Four raised an eyebrow at this as he rounded the bar again. "I started working at this place even before Tori inherited it. An old trainer of mine, Amar, used to own it before he passed away. Damn shame, guy could shoot like nobody else. He left it to Tori in his will, and obviously she's been running it ever since. I worked with Zeke for a year or so before I started running code for Erudite Tech."
"You called lover?"
Zeke- when had he gotten there, and how long had he been standing there? –was doing a ridiculous, sexy pose. One hand braced on the bar, hip popped out with the other hand resting on it, and he was even fluttering his eye lashes. I probably would've laughed if it didn't hurt so much even to breathe.
A grin revealed that lovely smile again as Four shook his head ruefully. Zeke shot forward, clutching shoulders that I had been clinging to not moments ago and practically hanging off of Four. "Oh Tobias, my one true love, please, don't ever leave me again!" He sniffled, and began loud, and obviously very fake, wailing sobs.
Uriah clapped a hand on Zeke's shoulder, and pulled him away from Four. I swear, I heard the ripping of Velcro as Zeke refused to release his grip on Four after Uriah finally pried him off. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Four brush off his shirt and straighten it discreetly. "Uh, bro, I um- I think that our man Four here might already be spoken for." Uriah flicked his gaze pointedly between Four and I.
Zeke blinked blankly. "Who the hell is Four?"
I face palmed, groaning as Uriah hauled Zeke outside to watch Drew, Al, and Peter be stuffed into the back of a squad car. Four opened the first aid kit, and pulled out a set of tweezers, rubbing alcohol, and cotton balls. I pinched the tweezers between my fingers, holding them up and raising an eyebrow.
Four shrugged. "I just want to make sure that there aren't any glass shards in your hands from when you fell down." I flipped my hand palm up helpfully, and he began to study my palm, which was beading with tiny droplets of red. "Four, huh?"
I started at his light teasing tone, and let out another groan. I resisted the urge to put my head back in my hand in favor of looking at him through the fine pieces of my blonde hair. "Yeah, um… Well, I've never caught your name, and my friend Christina picked up that you don't say much, and then after the Peter thing- the first Peter thing," I clarified, "Well, she felt that she had to give you some sort of nickname. And Mr. White Knight just didn't do it apparently." I peeked up at him, but he was still concentrating on my hand, dabbing rubbing alcohol on a cotton ball now.
"This is going to sting," he warned right as he quickly swabbed my palm. I hissed out a breath and he chuckled quietly. "It's too bad. About the nickname," I was his turn to clarify. "I've always wanted to be known as Mr. White Night instead of Tobias Eaton."
"Tobias…" I repeated quietly, trying out how his name felt in my mouth, and deciding that I liked the taste. I studied how he barely seemed to touch my skin, as if he was afraid that if he pressed too hard that I would shatter into a million pieces. Already the bleeding had stopped, and the tiny cuts had practically melted into nonexistence in the lines of my palms.
"Other hand," Fo- Tobias requested. I gave it to him obligingly, not resisting as he turned it this way and that. "So why Four as a nickname?" He asked conversationally. After he was satisfied that it had been cleaned as thoroughly as my other hand, he let it fall to my lap, and made his way around the counter to sit next to me.
I shifted back and forth on the bar, my shoes squeaking against the cracked seat of the bar stool they were resting on. "Well, again, Christina noticed that you usually didn't say more than four words to me so…" I shrugged helplessly, and then wished that I hadn't.
"So what's next on Tris's list of most hurting body part right now?" I started at how easily my name fell off of his lips. I had never heard him say it in my presence. A week ago he barley glanced in my direction even when I was taking his order. The feeling of those dark blue eyes concentrating on me- not a computer screen, or a plate, or the street outside –was positively heady.
I huffed out a weak laugh at his attempt to clear the awkward air that hung between us, clinging to our skin like mist. My chuckle came out in a wheeze, and my lungs seemed to crumple pathetically in my chest cavity.
"Hurts to breathe," I managed to get out. I didn't dare to cough.
"Anything else?" Tobias asked, fiddling with the supplies in the first aid kit. He shrugged a bit helplessly at my slightly incredulous look. "There's not really much I can do about that."
"Should be it," My voice came out in a whisper. Four rested his own hands in his lap, studying his red, and swollen knuckles. The light behind him shadowed his face, made it look as though his eyes were set even deeper beneath his brows. It wasn't shadowed enough that I couldn't see the thin cut that sliced through his upper lip.
My hand didn't shake any longer thankfully, but I hesitated when Tobias turned his head towards me. I didn't look into his eyes, focusing on the cut at his mouth. I touched the edge of it lightly, afraid of hurting him.
"Tris," he mumbled around my finger, but making no move to remove it. "I'm okay. You should see the other guy." The joke fell flat as I finally met his stare.
"You didn't have to," I was whispering again. I moved closer to Tobias, being careful of how quickly I moved. Tobias finally moved my hand away from his mouth, but kept his loosely clasped around mine on the scarred counter beneath us.
"Well if I didn't, then who else would have?" Neither of us had an answer for that, so Tobias asked another question instead.
"Again, have you ever taken self-defense classes?" I shook my head, and Four hummed thoughtfully. He slid off of the bar, tugging on my hand to try and get me to leave my perch. I hopped off of the bar, swaying on my feet. Once more, I found myself caged against the bar, but unlike the last two times, I was sure that I didn't want him to move unless it was closer to me. I didn't want any space between us-
Tobias grasped my forearms, thumbs rubbing over the sensitive skin just below the inside of my elbow. The touch scent electricity zinging up my arm. "Are you okay to stand?" He sounded genuinely worried, as if he was afraid that he had pushed me too quickly.
I didn't answer right away, my own hands lazily crawling over Tobias' elbows to grip tightly and stop the spinning whirl of my mind. Nothing gave beneath my fingers, solid muscle standing firm. "Yeah," I said faintly, "Yeah, I'm good." We waddled awkwardly away from the bar, into the middle of the dining room. "Why do you ask if I've taken self-defense?" Hopefully he wouldn't revert back to his old fractured sentences. Tobias released his grip on my arms, those long fingers cool against my burning skin. They left stripes of goose bumps in their wake before they fell away.
"I used to teach them a while back with Amar. He was busy running the restaurant a lot of the time, so I took over most of the classes. It was just something that we both thought people should know more about. You never know when it might come in handy." Four's eyes flicked up and down my slight figure without any real interest; studying for weaknesses I was sure.
"You're small, and not exactly the heaviest person ever, so you'll have to be light on your feet. No substantial amount of muscle either; you're better off hitting someone with your elbow or knee. If you're trying to escape an attacker, your moral compass should go out the window. There's no need for fairness in a fight, especially when your attacker is most likely going to be bigger than you."
I gasped as his hand slid across my stomach, fingers creating a bridge over my sternum to the other side of my rib cage. I hadn't even noticed that he had moved behind me.
"Always keep tension here," He murmured lowly in my ear. I shuddered as his voice vibrated deep in his chest against my back to come out in a quiet order near my ear.
Unfortunately for me, Tobias noticed. "Are you sure you're all right?" He asked again, without moving his hand away. It rose and fell with my small, panting breaths.
"Just peachy keen," I struggled to keep my voice level, and claimed it as a victory when it only shook a little.
"Then why are you breathing so fast?" An amused note in his voice told me that he already knew why.
I spun in his arms, his hand coming to rest between my shoulder blades. I boosted myself up onto my toes, staring at the tiny scar that sliced through his lip. "Why do you always leave me such a big tip?" I countered.
"Maybe because I like to observe people, and you're a good server?" he suggested. I shook off his response, my loose hair tickling the back of my neck.
"Please, I'm terrible with people," I scoffed. "Remember what happened just now? Why do you leave me such a big tip?" I insisted, eyes now drawn to the shadows that haunted the skin just below his jaw.
"Fine," He pushed this out on a sigh. "Because I like you Tris. Because even though you are a terrible at judging people's intentions, and you had to come up with a nickname for me, you're smart, and you're not afraid." Boldly, his eyes flicked up from where they were studying the shape of my mouth to my own eyes. "I've seen you be embarrassed, laughing, angry, but never afraid-"
I pressed my mouth to Tobias', shutting off his ramble. Rambling was one of the last things I had expected him to do after not saying more than four words to me for months. I pressed my palms to his face, the tiny cuts becoming irritated as they scraped over his stubble.
I drew away, not able to help the wide smile that overtook my face as Tobias' leaned forward, chasing after my lips. "Are my intentions clear enough to you now, or do you need me to explain them again?" I pressed my hands to his chest, shaking with weary laughter. My head tucked perfectly beneath his chin, and my forehead was cradled in the dip of his collar bone.
"I don't know, I might later just in case I forget. And of course I'm a bad judge of people's characters. I mean, how do you think I'm friends with Christina?"
"Smile!" A loud squeal sounded in both of our ears. I caught sight of a bright flash of light, and heard the snap of a picture being taken.
"Christina!" I yelped, scrambling out of Tobias's embrace reluctantly. I held out my hand expectantly. "Give me the phone," I demanded, holding out my hand expectantly. The dark haired girl cackled, and danced out of my reach.
"No way!" She shoved her phone into her bra, smiling widely when my face promptly flushed to crimson. I clapped a hand over my eyes, peeking embarrassedly through the gaps in my fingers. Just out of the corner of my eye, I saw Tobias staring at Christina like she was from another planet.
When she was sure that I wasn't going to dive for the phone, she slipped it back out of her shirt. Christina smiled gleefully- correction, maniacally –at the phone. The bright glow from the screen lit up her face eerily. I was reminded of when people told ghost stories, they held a flashlight just in front of their face for dramatic effect.
"I am going to keep this forever," She declared, "so that when I'm Auntie Christina, I can tell them how Daddy saved Mommy by beating the ever living shit out of our douchey ex co-workers!"
The end? I don't know, I just feel like I had to end with Christina to end it on a light note. And for some reason I'm convinced that she would love to play Auntie to the cute little babies that Tris and Tobias would make. *sniffles* Sorry, still have lingering feels from Allegiant.
Anywhoos, hope that you all have enjoyed. Reviews are loved, the people who write them even more so.
SNO.