Synopsis: Tris is an instructor at the Chicago Fight Club, where she teaches kickboxing. After a close encounter, she meets Four, a dark and brooding new comer to the Fight Club. After losing her family, Tris is in a dark place, but new friends and new experiences may mend her broken past and help begin her future. AU.

I do not own the characters. The plot is mine, however I do include some of Veronica Roth's scenes and/or basic dialogue.

CHAPTER 1

"Damn," I mutter, "It's cold."

Setting my laptop down on the couch, I walk to the thermostat on the wall—53 degrees. I'm freezing but I don't turn up the heat. On impulse I grab my phone and call the first number I can think of. She picks up after the third ring.

"Tris," she sings, "I'm a little preoccupied right now." I can hear laughing and joking in the background. A muffled "I hate you Will," comes through. "I'll talk to you tomorrow?"

"Oh, yeah," I say. I'm not surprised. Christina is the best friend I could ask for but her time is more spread thin than mine—her social appetite is always famished.

"You sure?" she asks and I hear hesitation enter her voice.

"Yes I'm sure—now go have fun with Will," I lightly laugh.

I can hear the smile in her voice. "Love you, Tris."

The line is dead before she can hear my sigh.

I huddle up back on the couch. I wish I had hot chocolate; job searching is not an easy task.

The apartment is still cold when I wake up to the early shafts of light. I didn't have any hot chocolate last night, but I finished the last bit of Jack Daniels I had in the pantry. The headache is mild; I'm lucky in that regard.

The clock assures me its five fifteen am. Even so I feel the need to get the day started.

I forgo coffee and just decide to jog to the Chicago Fight Club. Unorthodox, but it is a gym where I teach kickboxing for women, and occasionally men. Benefits of working there mean I get a key. I might as well take advantage of the early morning hours anyway. Changing quickly, I leave, in hopes my mind will stop spinning.

As I get there I work to forget, all I want is to be stronger. There is something intimate about hearing my harsh breathing in the otherwise empty weight room. Even though I wrapped my hands, my knuckles are still bloody after I've pounded and kicked the punching bag for an hour. I think I stay for a while longer, bashing away at my fear and its 7:40 when I find myself in the locker room.

I let the cold water rinse away any residual blood from my knuckles before plastering them with a plastic solvent. It stings, but not as much as the cold water did.

As I'm dressing I catch a glimpse of myself in the mirror. Shock makes slits of my eyes and I don't recognize myself. Over the past four months my appearance has changed. I used to be soft edges and the implication of curve but now there is only sharp edges and toughness. My blonde hair is not unkempt, but only disregarded—my eyes have become a stern angry slate and I am striking. The three black birds that perch on my collar bone look as though they will take wing from my skin. There is no more love in my appearance. It died along with my family.

I am so flustered as I leave the gym, I almost walk into the door. Before I go forward I shake my mother's face out of my mind. I will not mourn her where the world can see.

My thoughts are interrupted by the fierce growl of my stomach. As much as I have become detached from emotional endeavors, I am still human. The thought can almost put a small grin on my face.

As I walk toward my apartment, I pass Christina's little bakery—the aroma of coffee and pastries brightens my mood slightly but enough. Walking a little faster past the glass windows, I spot Christina sitting with her boyfriend Will. Other than the couple, there is only a small group of three on the other side of the café. Something about them draws the eyes. One of them has darker skin and a laughing confidence; the second, a girl, is determined and controlled. The third person at the table is tall, brooding, and has the bluest eyes I have ever seen. Before I glance away, blue eyes turns toward me—his face is handsome and intriguing. His eyes find mine and for a moment there, all I see is a dappled dark blue, and I am able to forget all that the world owes me. The stare is not kind or gentle, but it is in a word brave; he faces me, person he does not know without the fear of embarrassment. For that, I respect him without ever even knowing him. The moment is over before it even began.

The day resumes as any day I have off. I stay at home. I draw new ideas for tattoos and let the day be a quiet one. I fight to leave the images of my family in the past, but from time to time I still remember them. I did not love them enough while they lived.

The quiet is so still in the apartment that when my phone rings, I ruin the new design I am making. I see Christina's name and I am relieved and annoyed all at once. I pick up the phone and am glad that I don't have to say anything before she starts speaking.

"Hey," she coos, "You should have come to the bakery this morning; I know it's your day off."

"I was…tired."

"Liar," she says and I can't help but laugh. Christina has a tendency to utter whatever comes to mind. I can hear her smiling through the phone.

"Well, since you didn't come this morning, you are going to have to come tonight."

"Ah...no. You know my thoughts on clubs."

"Yeah, Tris, I'm pretty clear on that, just come alright? As a favor to your best friend in the universe?"

I laugh again; it's strange but Christina brings out my good humor.

"Yeah, yeah," I say and I can hear a triumphant release of air on the other end before I hang up.

Christina is at my door by seven and spends most of the hour choosing a dress and make-up. The following twenty minutes consists of the shoving of my body into a dress and the application of make-up. I don't take particular joy in the process, but it is nice to be pampered.

"Do you like it?"

When I finally see my reflection part of me is shocked. For one, I haven't worn a dress in months and I look paler than I normally do. The black outline of my eyes makes them stare back at me with intensity, burning holes in the mirror. I cannot change my long nose or rail-like appearance—but Christina has transformed me into something memorable.

I don't know what to say so I simply smile and give her a nod.

She gives me a satisfied grin and slowly begins to push me out the door.

She breathes deep exaggerated breaths and mimes exhaustion. Before she slams the door shut behind us I rush to grab my phone and my wallet.

We have to park about three blocks away from the club but Christina manages to maneuvers us to the front of a line that stretches out the door, nearing the end of the street.

"Hey, Mike," she smiles flirtatiously at him, "Gonna let us in?"

I am surprised; the tone she uses is unlike her and I know she is using him. For some reason, the thought makes me internally laugh.

Mike gives me a once over, but it is not driven by lust, "I don't know, Chris. You sure this one ain't underage?" He gives a bellowing laugh, "She looks barely more than twelve."

Christina puts a finger on his shoulder, I don't know how it works; she is taller than his six foot frame in her heels and is intimidating by right. Even so, she whispers, "I guess you're just going to have to trust me then."

"Alright, ladies, welcome to Club Dauntless."

As we enter I hear those in line give a groan and though I am ashamed to admit it, it gives me a moment of pleasure.

I lean over to Christina, "Must I remind you that you have a boyfriend?"

She tilts her head back and laughs. There is an abandon in her that I know can only come from relief from her fears. This part of her is probably what makes us friends—she is brave in the ordinary acts of life, ones that I have had a hard time facing as of late. Even though she is flippant, there is a closeness between Christina and Will that is too hard to break.

The club is filled will lights that move over us. So many people are here. The smell of sweat, carelessness and unadulterated freedom is palpable and it makes the tension in my shoulders ebb a little bit.

I decide to walk a little before finding the bar. Nodding to Christina, I move away.

There are so many different areas in the club. It is good; there are different areas labeled with overhead signs, like "the Pit", "the Chasm".

I let myself move slightly to the pounding music and vow not to get completely wasted by the end of the night. I already drank yesterday night. There is something about the effects of alcohol that gets me uneasy. Whether or not someone has a drinking problem, the haziness that comes over their eyes makes me grind my teeth.

For a while, I close my eyes and dance. The hairs on the nape of my neck stand up and I know someone is watching me. Scanning the club, I see him, that guy, the one that was in Christina's bakery this morning. He is more handsome in the light of the club. As much as he is attractive, even I know that it is unusual to meet the same person twice in one day when you have never seen them before. The drink I don't remember buying has already fazed me, so I ignore him and just keep dancing.

Suddenly, something is slid into my hand. It's a small note and the only words written on it are "Meet me out back." I look up, Blue Eyes is gone and somewhere in my mind it feels that he gave me the note.

Pushing past people, I go to the back door. I'm not quite tipsy yet, but there is a pleasant buzz that rids me of my alertness.

As soon as I open the door, someone grabs me.

"Peter, What the fu—

Three people are surrounding me and I recognize them, most of them being co-workers, Peter and Drew, and a previous boyfriend, Al.

A punch my stomach slams me against the brick wall; alcohol and heels make me slow and unsteady. An undercut to my jaw could've been easily blocked, but I'm lagging and already there is fog around my vision. In real life, punches break ribs and jaws and once you've been hit, it's over. I've lost and I know it, I just hope they don't do anything worse.

Al's hand covers my mouth so I bite as hard as I can before screaming. My shriek becomes more terrified when I taste his blood in my mouth.

Even though I'm kicking and flailing, I am certain it is doing nothing, but I won't stop. I can't let them do anything to me without making them regret it. I feel Peter's hand grope across my chest and Drew's fingers on my leg and all I can think is I won't I won't I won't.

Then suddenly I'm dropped. I hadn't realized they had lifted me off of the floor, and as I came crashing down I felt my jaws jar together.

I can't see my rescuer; all I could hear were grunts and punches. My view was clouded, and I had hit the back of my head, but when I looked all three of my attackers are gone. And then there they are again— blue, so dark they're almost black. They're all I see before the world begins to sway and fade away.

Thank you guys for reading! I hope that you review! I am open to constructive criticism and hope that you enjoyed.

~Katyajini