A/N:
So I got a prompt from felyneve90 on tumblr, requesting some love/hate, some romance, and some Eric-at-a-bedside after an injury. I'm actually really proud of this one (although the tenses went wild on me). I'm accepting prompts and requests on tumblr - I love chatting with people as well. You can find me at paradigmflaws.

One.

"Absolutely not."

Eric rounds on her with a scowl. "It's not your call," he snaps. The bite in his voice would have been enough to stymie even the most outspoken Candor. She, however, just rolls her eyes.

"Fine. It's your call. It's still a dumb call. Do you like losing to Four at this?"

He shoulders his paintball gun and glares at the rest of the team that he had selected. The initiates had clustered together (even the Dauntless-born) as if to try to escape the Dauntless leader's wrath. Equally reluctant to meet his stare were the other Dauntless members.

His team falls into line, clearly not willing to argue with his plan. She sighs, rolling her eyes again.

...when they lost, the rest of their team (paint-spattered and weary) huddled together in a compartment on the train as they returned to the compound. The winning team was more rambunctious, allowing even the taciturn Four to bask in the success. He sent a smug look to Eric.

"I told you so," she informed him. "It was a dumb plan."

Two.

Twist. Kick. Rotate out of the hold to avoid that throw. Kick up again while suspended in his grasp. He doesn't drop her (she knew he wouldn't). Her knee slams into his kidney. He grunts, bringing a forearm up to brace against her throat.

She goes limp to try to escape his hands. Locking a leg around hers, Eric brings her flush against his chest. Increasing the pressure against her throat, she finds her head forced back on his shoulder. Staring up at the ceiling of the training room, she feels her heart race. She knows he can feel it in her throat as well.

"I yield," she says, her voice hoarse. "You win."

"I know," he replies, his hold not loosening in the slightest.

"Let me go."

Eric draws her closer, his thighs bracketing her own. The arm that kept her torso secure doesn't relax even as his hand opens. He curls his fingers against her hip. "No."

He leans down over her as he presses his lips against hers. They are soft, although the kiss is hard. Eric coaxes her lips to separate, teeth and lips and tongue an assault on the senses until she finds that she couldn't think anymore. She doesn't like it.

She slams her heel up. It doesn't catch his groin the way she had hoped, but it glances off a heavily muscled thigh. Eric reels back in shock. His pupils are blown, eating away at the grey that created such an intimidating stare.

The obvious sign of his arousal is more intimidating than his temper. "That won't happen again," she pants, retreating back to the door.

She isn't able to push it open fast enough. Before she can escape into the hall, his voice, full of gravel, chases her form. "It will."

It sounds like a promise.

Three.

Her legs swung easily over the open air of the chasm. Resting her head against the metal girder that served as a (pathetic) rail, she shut her eyes. The roar of the water below was having a numbing effect on her senses. Her arms draped over the lowest rung of the railing, feeling the mist kick up from the waterfall to dust everything in moisture.

She was so lost in her own thoughts that she didn't feel the vibrations of the metal platform beneath her. She should have. He was a big man, and his stride was heavy.

A hot, hard hand clamped down around her shoulder. Fingers dug into her flesh with so much strength that she knew she would find bruises in the shape of his hand later. Pulling her back, she felt her shoulders crash into someone's legs. Sprawled back in a supine posture, her eyes blinked open.

"Eric?" She was puzzled, her pensive mood not lending itself to the typical fighting.

He reached down with his other hand. Both slid under either armpit, hauling her up to her feet. She had the sensation of supporting herself for the briefest of seconds before his arm locked around her waist. She was suspended in air, being brought further away from the edge of the chasm.

Resting her hands on his chest, she looked at him from her new vantage point. Looking down at Eric - it had never happened before. For some reason, it brought a smile to her face.

He stared at her, arms tightening at her expression. "Why are you fucking smiling?" Eric's voice was rough with bridled emotion. She felt his arms tremble. Rage?

Stroking her fingers down his neck, she rolled her shoulders in a shrug. "I've never seen you this way before."

Eric slid her down against his body. Her toes still didn't touch the ground but she was more level with his face now. Leaning forward, he pressed his forehead against hers. "Don't do that," he demanded. His voice was strident. "Don't you ever do that."

Understanding hit her. She cupped his cheek in her palm, a low sound of comfort coming from her chest. "It's alright, Eric." She paused, finding the words. "It's just.." They weren't quick in coming. "It's Dauntless. It's wild, and dangerous, and deadly, but it's beautiful. Comforting."

He understood her words. "Don't. Not again."

...Instead of fighting, she huffs slightly. "Not again," she agrees.

Four.

"You're an ass," she snapped. Her arms were folded over her (naked) torso as she stared at him. Hostility radiated off of her.

Eric shrugged. "I am." Leaning back, he kept his hand fisted in fabric. "What's your point?"

The sound she made was closer to the hiss of an angry cat than anything humans typically made. "Give me my shirt!"

Her hand lashed out, grabbing at the clothing in the Dauntless leader's hand. She managed to catch a sleeve, pulled, tried to reel it into her chest. Eric's grasp was implacable. All she was left with was the sound of ripping cloth and a sleeve that had been torn free. She stared at it for a moment. Snarling in anger, she wadded it up and threw it back at him.

He casually swatted it away when it would have hit him in the head. Looking at the now ruined shirt in his hand, Eric let it fall to the floor. There was no wearing it now. "I told you," he echoed, his voice suspiciously even, "wear one of mine. You'll be warmer."

Not even Eric's level tone could disguise the smugness at his victory. She stared at him a moment, temper snapping. Wheeling around to his bathroom, she grabbed a towel off a hook and wrapped it around herself. She was stalking to the door when the man reached out to loop an arm around her waist.

"What are you doing?" The easygoing tone of his voice had evaporated.

She twisted free, securing the towel under her arms. It was long enough to cover her, chest to mid-thigh. "Getting real clothes," she hissed

Eric grabbed for her again. This time, though, she evaded his hands as she nimbly twirled through the door on bare feet. "You're not leaving here wearing nothing," he decreed.

"Watch me." And she ducked through the door, slamming it behind her.

Five.

Tension coiled between them. No one was willing to meet her eyes, even though she, with her bright blue stare, tries to force them. They were too busy staring at their feet. Hands knot uncomfortably, placed in laps as they remain silent. Finally, one seemed to find his spine. He straightens, bringing his shoulders up, and goes to speak.

"Be quiet." She cut him off coolly. The ice in her voice is nearly tangible. "I'll pretend I didn't hear any of that crap." There is a snarl in her words now. "But I'll only say this once."

She stands, moving away from the table. All of the younger Dauntless members (newly minted through initiation) stared at her as she moved. Having caught their eyes, her expression hard.

"I don't give a shit if you don't like him. You don't have to like him. If you're smart, you're afraid of him." She doesn't pause, turning away from their table. "But you will respect him. If you don't, you're not smart enough to be here."

One of the more vocal plaintiffs went pale at the implication. Staring at the woman who was only a few years older than him, he made to protest, to excuse, to justify: whatever it was that he was going to say, he never had the chance. She wasn't interested in hearing it.

Stalking away from the table, the woman made directly for the exit. Temper had soured her appetite.

As she passed through the doorway, a hand reached out from the dimness of the shadows as she exited the brightly lit cafeteria. Pulling her close against his chest, Eric's hands settled on her hips. The kiss that he shared with her was hard, hot and demanding.

When she finally put a hand against his chest to pull away, panting for breath, she blinked up at him. Confusion was rife in her stare.

Eric only laughed, stroking a hand gently down her hair as he turned away. He had heard enough.

One.

He isn't the one to find her. He isn't the one to bring her to the infirmary. He is, however, the one who stays. He doesn't leave the side of her bed, not even when the rattled, labored sound of her breathing is enough to drive off other visitors who come to check in on her.

He holds her hand. It is the only part of her he feels comfortable touching, even though he knows even there, there are broken bones. The rest of her body, though, is damaged beyond repair.

Eric knows the gossip. The chasm takes another one. It isn't uncommon in Dauntless.

But it isn't supposed to be her, he thinks, staring down at pale skin mottled with bruising. She is so small in the bed of the infirmary, covers tucked around her. All they are giving her now is pain medication. They say it helps, but she groans in her unconscious state, and he does not believe them. They can do nothing more, though, not even when he demands it.

So he waits. He waits, and he finds that he prays - to what? His Erudite upbringing doesn't allow for an answer. But he begs someone to listen. Demands someone listens.

But most of all, Eric just wants her to open her eyes again. He wants her to be alright.

For a moment, he thinks that there might be something out there to believe in. Her gaze is dim, but she recognizes him. Her eyelashes flutter with the effort of keeping her eyes open, but she doesn't shrink back from the challenge.

His heart twists as he realizes: she never has.

"I would have loved you." The words take minutes to say. She struggles for breath. Sometimes it seems as if she is preparing to choke although there is nothing for her to choke on. Her lips fight to shape the words. "If you let me."

Eric clenches the hand that does not hold hers. His thumb gently brushes against the back of her hand. "I," he begins, the Dauntless leader fighting for words. "You-"

And she smiles. Her eyes drift shut, as she speaks again. "It's alright," she whispers now.

Her hand goes limp in his. He curls over it, finding it a lifeline against everything he struggles with. "I love you."

She does not move. The laboring sound of her breathing has stopped. Eric drops her hand and shoves himself to his feet. The door rattles behind him as he slams it shut, and the Dauntless leader stalks through the corridors of the compound, temper and grief at war in his mind.

Eric's features change with every step he takes. His face is implacable, stern and unapproachable. His arms are banded with tension, hands fisted at his sides. His strides are long but unhurried. While he desperately wants to leave behind the memory of what he has seen, he knows he never will.

Even now, he feels the phantom brush of her palm against his cheek.

It seems fitting that she is haunting him already, Eric thinks. He wasn't brave enough to tell her. She never knew.

And that, he feels, is the most unfair thing of all.