A/N: The story starts out using part of the actual chapter from the book (pg. 489) but switches to my own writing halfway through. I don't own, so don't shoot me. Enjoy!

Tobias

We drive past the fences and stop by the front doors, which are no longer manned by guards. We get out of the truck, and Zeke seizes his mother's hand to steady her as she shuffles through the snow. As we walk into the compound, I know for a fact that Caleb succeeded, because there is no one in sight. That can only mean that they have been reset, their memories forever altered.

"Where is everyone?" Amar says.

We walk through the abandoned security checkpoint without stopping. On the other side, I see Cara. The side of her face is badly bruised, and there's a bandage on her head, but that's not what concerns me. What concerns me is the troubled look on her face.

"What is it?" I say.

Cara shakes her head.

"Where's Tris?" I say.

"I'm sorry, Tobias."

"Sorry about what?" Christina says roughly. "Tell us what happened!"

"Tris went into the Weapons Lab instead of Caleb," Cara says. "She survived the death serum, and set off the memory serum, but she... she was shot. She's in a coma, and we're not sure if she's going to make it or not. I'm so sorry." She sniffs and looks down at her shoes.

No.

No. NO. This isn't possible. Isn't real. Why the hell did she have to pick this moment to be selfless, after claiming that she was too selfish for Abnegation? I could lose her. She could die, and I could be left alone in this cruel, cruel world.

"I want to see her," Christina demands.

But all I'm doing is standing still.

It's all I can do.

.

A heart monitor beeps in the corner. Christina and I sit on either side of the hospital bed, both holding one of her hands. Silent tears drip down our face, but neither of us mentions them. In fact, we don't say anything at all- our silence says more than words could.

She's so pale and still in the bed, hooked up to tubes and machines that read her brain and pump her heart. When I see her, I can't help but think of Uriah, in an identical bed with his family standing around him. Uriah, who will never wake up because of what I did.

I have to believe she'll wake up. I'm holding on by a fragile thread as is, and giving up on her would push me over the edge.

The door opens. I look up. A doctor in a white coat is standing in the frame- he must have been a sympathizer, one they inoculated. He runs a hand through his wispy gray hair and stares at me over the glasses perched on his nose. I stare right back, unfazed by his air of arrogant superiority.

"I'm Dr. Smith, the head doctor. Are you her boyfriend?" he asks me. I nod. My throat hurts from keeping the emotion in.

"I'd like to talk with you for a second, if that's all right."

I get up, squeezing her hand one last time, and follow the doctor into an adjoining room, furnished with a metal desk and two chairs, on on either side. He gestures for me to sit down, but I ignore him and lean against the wall instead.

"What seems to be the problem, doctor?" I say with as much sarcasm as possible. I'm trying to hide what I'm really feeling from his prying eyes- I'm so scared he's going to say she'll never wake up, that they're going to unplug her like they will Uriah.

"Well, for starters," he says, " Ms. Prior appears to be in stable condition, although at this point it is unclear when she will regain consciousness- it could happen now, it could happen in two years. We really don't know."

The doctor doesn't say anything about the possibility that she won't wake up at all, and despite my wariness of him, I'm grateful. I slump against the wall in relief, but then the doctor says, "wait."

I straighten.

"There are other... complications, and we might need you to make some medical decisions on Ms. Prior's behalf."

What else could possibly be wrong? "If she's going to die, just tell me now," I say, my voice cracking despite my efforts.

Dr. Smith gives me a grim smile and clears his throat. "As I said, she's in stable condition. But in order to help her, it was necessary to run a few tests. And in doing so, we discovered that Ms. Prior is pregnant- not very far along, only a couple of days." He pauses to gauge my reaction.

I gasp in surprise, but my mind is racing. Her lips on mine...the birds flying over her collarbone...salt skin and bright eyes...fingers scraping my tattoo...

Oh my God.

It only happened once, right before I left for the city to inoculate Uriah's family. I'm only eighteen. Fuck, she's only sixteen. It's impossible.

Of course it's possible- it's a natural process, happens all the time. Once was enough.

I press a hand to my chest to calm my racing heart. Shakily, I sit down in the empty chair and rest my head in my hands.

"Are you all right, Mr. Eaton?" Dr. Smith inquires.

"Fine, thank you," I manage.

"Now, normally we would explain the options to both of you and let you talk them over, but given the extenuating circumstances, you may have to make a decision for her. There are three options- keep the baby, or give it up for adoption. Or, you may choose to abort it."

"Abort it? You mean...kill it?" The cool, calculating voice the doctor uses to deliver the information is next to unbearable. Black spots swim across my eyes- he's talking so casually about taking an innocent life- the life of someone who hasn't even been born yet.

A life that was never supposed to happen, but still.

Think, Tobias. What would Tris say, if she were here right now? I know she'd see an abortion as the equivalent of murder. But a child, and we're both so young...

Does it even matter? We were both Dauntless once, after all.

"Age doesn't matter here," I say in response to the Candor's question. She needs to learn to keep her mouth shut, or she's going to get cut. But it's true. Age isn't important. Dauntless die young, so things tend to happen earlier- weddings, families, promotions- then they do in other factions.

Beside her, the Stiff watches me with a clear, steady eyed gaze that makes me want her closer.

Who is she?

"She'd want to keep it," I say. "I... I need some time to think about this."

"Of course," Dr. Smith says kindly, and despite his superior air I think I see pity in his eyes. I mutter a thank-you and slip out, leaving the door open. Through the windows, I can see that it's still snowing, thick fluffy flakes that pile on rooftops and trees and cement.

I walk back to the dormitory in a daze and collapse in a heap on Tris's bed. It still smells like her, like sweat and fresh air and home.

I need her to wake up.

I need her here with me.

This is all my fault.