Soli Deo gloria
DISCLAIMER: I do NOT own Divergent. So, obviously, this is an AU fanfic. I'm taking all those cliché Divergent fanfiction what ifs: ie, what if Jeanine hadn't been making serums to control the faction members, therefore leading to no war on Abnegation? What if Tris didn't transfer to Dauntless? Will she still fall in love with Tobias? and putting them into a story.
Yes. And he's never Four here. Just Tobias.
"For a few minutes we kiss, deep in the chasm, with the roar of water all around us. And when we rise, hand in hand, I realize that if we had both chosen differently, we might have ended up doing the same thing, in a safer place, in gray clothes instead of black ones." — 'Divergent' page 338
* Tobias's point of view *
My father's life intent is to be a key figure in the political council of the faction system of our city. He has high rank in the council, a reputation that even the other factions know and commend him for.
What a facade. He is a liar, easily able to not fit into the box of black and white of Candor. His life is as gray as the clothes he wears.
Being so prominent has him hiding me away. I am the one blemish on his perfect record. He tries to either make people forget me, to not notice the stain on his white, perfect blank sheet of paper, or make them see me as a burden, someone that drags him down. Useless. Nothing more than a person to excite sympathy for Marcus. The poor man, now a widower, to deal with such a rebellious son? Only pity can be for him. Only indirect looks out of the corners of eyes for me.
But there is something Marcus has noticed. Something I say nothing about, something I know will rile him to no end:
I am a single man.
It's not that simple. It can be boiled down to that, but Marcus knows that his reputation will only go down if his son lives at home his entire life. He knows that I need a wife. And the very thought makes me clench my hands into fists under the kitchen table.
My father's life intent is also to have control over every aspect of my life. After all, I am the only one he does have complete and utter monstrous control over. After Mom died and even before then, I have done everything according to his rules. Anything other than that is rebellious, selfish, disobedient, and repaid on my back with a sharp, unrelenting, merciless, unloving belt.
It will have a complete impact, solidly and indefinitely there, if I get married. Even worse would it be if Marcus chooses someone out for me. Because every time I look at her, I will think of his placing her there. Planning and moving the pawns in his plan. And know that he has found another way to lord over my life. A living reminder for the rest of my life. A permanent scar.
So then, at breakfast, on a reasonably calm morning, for what it's worth, he says, "I've invited a family over tonight."
I nod. Keep my eyes on my toast, the bite in my mouth tasting like nothing. "I'll be upstairs."
"Not this time. You will stay downstairs and answer questions when asked," Marcus says, his tone sharp. But firm.
I look up then. Furrow my eyebrows together. I want to know why for the sudden change, what is the meaning of this. But no questions can be asked without retribution.
I think back to our latest conversations. If they can even be called that. They consist of Marcus telling me things, pointing out what I have done wrong, how he dislikes every last thing I do, and what I should do to better myself. And of me answering meekly back with monosyllables.
My lips form a hard line. Marriage. That was a subject we had discussed.
"What is the family's name?" I ask. Don't meet his eyes. I'm too much of a coward to even meet his eyes, which would burn me on the spot. Too scared to meet his eyes.
"Prior." The word is hard, pressing. He doesn't elaborate, but goes on to his papers. He always has work to do. No complaining about it. That is selfish. But as near to it as he can. But only to me. His colleagues know him as holding his work as the highest priority of his life.
Prior. Andrew Prior is a councilman. His wife, Natalie, works with delivering food to the factionless. They have two children: a son and a daughter. The son had transferred to Erudite. Not one of the Abnegation faction anymore. Both of the same age. Both two years younger than me. That must mean that they are eighteen now.
Eighteen. Two years younger. And one daughter. This daughter, one I can barely describe, can barely pull up a point of her face to think of, to remember, is who my father will have me marry.
My heart hardens. My heart aches. She shouldn't be pulled into a plan of Marcus's for his life to be seen as good and pure to the rest of the city. To take care of me, perhaps bring a little light and honor on his poor excuse for a son. There shouldn't be someone else pulled under his influence. To take his secret to their grave.
Everything Marcus touches turns to dust. Cold, broken, scattered in the wind. Lifeless. Someone else shouldn't be turned to that.
Something strange burns inside me. I realize that whoever I marry, she will know. She will be sucked into a world of horrible knowledge, of my secrets. The marks across my back. The cower I do whenever Marcus walks towards me. The slightest flinch I give at the slightest touch. The sharp intake of breath, the feeling of slicing pain. She will find out me. And even though she will be Abnegation, even though she will nod and respectfully not mention it, she will know. Think about it. Dwell on it. And I can feel the feeling of pity and judgment on the back of my neck a mile away.
I bite my lip. Try to recall her name. Nothing comes to mind. My nails dig into the table.
"Tobias?"
"Yes, sir?"
"Don't forget. Tonight. Six o'clock."
Supper is prepared and eaten. It tastes like nothing, flavorless, as all Abnegation food tastes. It is the same food every family in this faction eats. Those whose jobs are distributing the food deliver an amount to each family each month. A prescribed portion per person.
The table is cleared. The house is clean. Not a spot of dust on the ground or table. I sit on the stairs, examining my hands. Clean, dry, red around the knuckles. Not from defending myself, like the knuckles of the Dauntless, who get into school fights. I remember how they would pick them, as a game. They were reckless. And bloody.
Marcus had arrived early, is now showering and getting dressed. He then comes downstairs and examines my clothes, tightens my tie so I feel like I am choking. A grey tie. Not necessarily indulgent to wear. Straightens my collar. Drills me. Always forever drilling me, making sure I have every word and response and physical gesture memorized. I am aiming to please. That is the objective.
He stands now at the door, waiting. His figure is tense, but ready to relax into an easy manner the moment the time calls for it. What he is the most worried about is me screwing up. Somehow that makes me smile a little. To think that I still have control over myself, that I can manage to do something against his will, is freeing. Like being able to breathe.
I can hear the footsteps coming up the cold grey path leading to the door. My ears have become accustomed to picking up the slightest of sounds. Hiding away in my room has taught me to be stealthy when it comes to Marcus arriving at my door.
Marcus turns to me. "Remember. Stand up straight. Say hello. Nothing more."
I nod and stand up. My hands feel sweaty inside. I don't know why. Perhaps because I am being put on display for my role. Screw it up, and I will no doubt feel the sting of my punishment once the guests are gone.
So it's best not to fail.
A knock on the door. Marcus gets it, opening it with an easy smile. He bows his head, smiling slightly. The show has begun.
The Priors enter the house. Natalie and Andrew smile, bow their heads towards Marcus. Present their daughter, making their attention not on themselves but on their child. Their last sole Abnegation child, who chose a life of conformity in grey and selflessness. A life Marcus wants for a wife of mine.
The girl is introduced as Beatrice. Her hair is yellow, the color of the silk of corn, and long. Cut at the exact length of all the Abnegation women's hair. Her body is slim, thin and birdlike beneath heavy, sagging Abnegation clothes. Her height is short, her cheekbones heightened.
The Abnegation keep their eyes downward, away from catching glimpses of indulgent tastes. But her eyes are bright, alive and alert, eating up the two people before her.
Including me.
"Tobias, this is Beatrice," Marcus says. His eyes meet mine. They're hard. Stonelike.
I bow my head in respect, though I have none for her. She has done nothing to deserve any. "Beatrice."
"Tobias," she says. I wince instinctively. The name feels like a curse, like a pinch every time it's said. The only one who ever says that is Marcus. To hear it, even from an even female voice, still hurts like the slap of a hand.
Marcus invites us all to sit down in the living room. The same furniture dots the rooms of the Priors' house. All is familiar and duplicate in everyone's eyes as we politely sit down. I sit on the far edge of the couch, ready to get up as soon as physically possible. My fingernails, worn and short, tap against my knee. A sign of nervousness. My eyes never leave Marcus. Except to stray away to glance at Beatrice. How she sits on the edge as well, glancing at her hands. Not out of selflessness. No. To avoid us. A strange trait for an Abnegation member.
Marcus and Andrew fill the air with polite conversation, mostly about work and the factions. The council and the slightly bumpy road the Erudite information is taking on. I raise an eyebrow but don't say a word. No talking unless being asked a question. Even then, the words on my lips are rehearsed.
My eyes keep straying to Beatrice. Her hair is bright, strange to see in an Abnegation household. And her eyes. They're big on her plain face. Inquisitive. Seeing everything. Indulging in the sights around her. Another sign of being not wholly Abnegation.
Not wholly Abnegation. That is impossible. Each Abnegation member knows the morals, the habits of the faction they live in. After sixteen, complete and utter devotion must be given to this lifestyle. And most Abnegation members, who are rarely transfers of other factions, who cannot bear the thought of laying everything down for a life of putting others first and even the slightest selfish needs second, fulfill the role of the perfect representation of their faction.
But she is eighteen. She should be totally Abnegation now. Born and bred, as they would say. But not so.
She catches my eye and holds my gaze. Something burns inside me. Not in an angry, slowly smoldering kind of way. No. There is no sign of her being scared of me, of the boy locked away from sight, being the rebellious, hot-tempered son of Marcus that he is. There is no sign of any raw emotion from her. Just an almost authoritative blankness. A carefully constructed face. Not one of the Abnegation.
It is strange, to see someone in shades of grey like that. Quite literally. And I know that I should keep my eyes away from her, drag them to the conversation between her parents and Marcus instead, but they can't help but be drawn to her.
"Tobias," I hear Natalie Prior say. I quickly put my eyes on her, knowing Marcus is watching to make sure I'm paying attention.
"Yes, ma'am?"
"Suppose you and Beatrice could go on a walk. This talk must bore you," Natalie says.
I raise an eyebrow. Which is the wrong thing to do. But not something I retract.
Beatrice stands up quickly, too eagerly. "Tobias, let's go," she says. She offers her hand. I frown. She notices and withdraws the hand, letting it hang at her side. She nods and we quickly exit the room. I can feel Marcus's eyes on the back of my neck.
The door opens to reveal cool air. Not quite winter, not quite fall. I shiver, despite the thick gray jacket that hangs off my shoulders. My body is skinny, never truly having gotten thicker in muscles because of puberty. In Abnegation, I have never truly challenged myself to strengthen myself. Sometimes, I wonder, if I had joined another faction, such as Dauntless, which I know is my other faction, the other half to the result of my aptitude test, if I would have entertained the idea of building muscles, of strengthening my body. The answer is obvious. You must grow stronger to survive in Dauntless. But all you need to be in Abnegation is a quiet, self-sacrificing comformat. No testing of skills, no testing of mind or body. Just community service.
Beatrice hisses through her teeth as she walks down the steps. The cold wraps around her thin body like a blanket. Even then, she tugs closer her too-large grey jacket.
"When do you think the Abnegation will take into account the average size of each age and provide clothing that actually fits, according to each one's body type and height?" I ask suddenly, not sure exactly where the words have come from.
Beatrice stares at me. She knows as well as I do that all the clothing is not made particularly for each one's size. It's from the grey rationing. It doesn't matter if it fits you or not. You take it, because you do not want someone else to have one that doesn't fit them.
"Never," Beatrice says. "The factions changing even the slightest detail? They can't. They can't change." Her tone surprises me. It's defiant, if a little angry.
"What if they could?" I ask. I fall into step with her. We walk down the grey sidewalk, the concrete the same exact color as the houses. Everything here is monotonous in tone and breath.
"Change?" Beatrice shakes her head. "How so? Do you expect the Abnegation to become less selfish? The Dauntless not so . . . reckless? Candor not so straightforward?"
"I was thinking more along the lines of what if Dauntless wanted to know more knowledge? If the Candor were kinder, the Erudite wanted to be honest and not so manipulative, if the Abnegation could be brave and strong, would that be such a bad thing?" I ask. Our feet are synchronized. Keeping pace with each other.
Beatrice is quiet for a moment. "That sounds very traitorous, Tobias."
The name still hits me like a slap, but I try to hide the wince. "But is it a bad thing to want?"
Beatrice stops walking. Looks up at me and stares at me for a moment. Her eyes are fixated on me, a hardness to them. Something that has formed over years and years. Certainly not the look of a contented faction member. "Is this why you were so quiet in the living room?" she asks.
"Excuse me?" I say.
"My parents were talking to Marcus, and you looked like you wanted to say something, but you didn't." She hesitates for a moment. "Is this the reason that you don't attend social events with Marcus? Because you talk of turning the factions on their heads?"
If only it were that simple. "No. Not even the slightest." Imagine if Marcus knew that I thought such of the factions, how I dislike the way the entire government runs our lives, wanting us stuck inside grey, hard boxes. Imagine the stripes on my back then.
She frowns, but doesn't prod.
I wonder if Marcus will approve of her. Her thoughts are provoking, interesting, and surprising to see in a member of Abnegation. Like me. And he wants complete devotion to Abnegation from her. So then she won't tell anyone about the scars on my back, of my entire family situation.
I remember something. When I had received my aptitude test result, I knew that I had received two differing results. One was Abnegation. And I know that the other was Dauntless. But I wasn't like the Dauntless. I wasn't brave enough to rip myself from my father and his control. It's a decision that haunts me my every moment, awake or not, in life or sleep.
I remember how her hand had reached out for me. How you're not supposed to do that in Abnegation. I grab her hand then. She looks startled. Physical contact like this between two unwedded people is practically illegal.
"Please," I say. "Be a complacent Abnegation. Be the most selfless woman you've ever met. At least around Marcus. Be perfect in front of him. But don't change. Not for me. Please." I squeeze her hand, hope that my point comes across. That she can't act like this in front of Marcus. That he won't have it, won't stand it.
But it's the first taste of fresh air I have tasted in twenty years.
* Beatrice's point of view *
My parents have always been good to me. To think anything else is a lie. Of course they have been pressuring with rules and chastising me, but that is for my good. To make me a true Abnegation member. Someone that I'm not.
I think my mother sees that I am not truly selfless, that my efforts, while aspiring to be good, are not as they should be. Her sad smile is true to this. Perhaps she knows that I am Divergent. Someone, a thing, that is hated and feared throughout the factions. She isn't supposed to know, but so far nothing has happened because she does know. And somehow I don't know why Tori, my aptitude test instructor, had warned me so fervently against anyone knowing of it.
So far nothing has happened. But that doesn't mean I'm not on edge at all hours of the day. That I'm not scared that this soft, selfless life I now lead can't be taken away by a sweep of someone's hand.
One of the reasons I joined Abnegation was because I wanted to be with my family. That was my main drive, one of the only good reasons besides the fact that I thought that I could be good enough to be Abnegation. But that blow hit me, slowly, then hot and fast, when Caleb chose Erudite. He chose knowledge and power over his entire family.
I felt betrayed. Angry. And somehow, my own loyalty to my faction lessened. It wasn't given to another faction at all. It just subsided, boiling in anger that has mounted inside me for two years. He escaped. He made a choice, one that has changed everything.
I don't know if I am mad at him, or if I am mad at myself. Because now I realize that Abnegation is not my home. It is where I live, where the people don't do anything except smile and help you. But it's not home. It's not living, it's not breathing. It's a containment. And I want out.
My parents don't want me to be alone. So they take up the invitation to meet Marcus Eaton and his son at their house. I wonder if they fully know why his son is always hidden away in his house. I want to know the reason. I'm curious in that way. In the way of the Erudite.
A part of me doesn't want to be married to some Abnegation boy. To marry a man and live a life just like my parents. Sure, they love each other. But there is nothing in their marriage that has me wanting it more than anything. They live together, are family, but they don't seem happy.
Happiness is overrated in some factions. In mine, it is selfish.
He is . . . different, though. Not what I was expecting. I was expecting the boy to be like one of pure rebellion against his faction, one like the Dauntless. There is none of that. He is calm, cool, collected, and far more thoughtful than any Abnegation should be. Ever.
That is why I talked to him. Because he is not polite at all like Robert. He is questioning the system, which is everything. And I love it.
He says nothing when we return to Marcus's house, though. Not a single word more. Our parents have finished talking, and they bow their heads and then we exit the house, taking the one-minute trip home.
"How was your walk with Tobias, Beatrice?" my mother asks, her voice polite and patient, inquiring just a little. Not too much.
I am silent for a moment. "It was fine."
"That is good," Mother says.
"How do you like him?" Father asks.
I am quiet a moment more. I have questions for them, despite what they have told me. That they want to make sure the boy I marry is good and faction-abiding. The thought of me marrying the son of one of the councilman sounds like a good thought to have.
Perhaps it is because they know that I don't fit in well with many in the Abnegation faction sector, or even with any of the other faction members I mill around with when I help my mother, traveling about the city and meeting new people. They fascinate me, but I don't fit in well with them. Which is good. Imagine if I made a friend outside Abnegation. It's unheard of.
I was a little disturbed by the way that he wanted me to keep quiet about the opinions I had so easily made known to him. Now, I understand. I'm showing my Divergence.
That keeps my heart pounding. He knows. He must know about my deadly situation. He warned me. Didn't report me back to his father. Or maybe he will. But maybe he won't. He is Abnegation, after all. We don't tattletale, unless it is for the best. Which this, in his mind, might be.
"He is fine," I say in reply. I need more time before I can say anything more.
I see Tobias Eaton out of his house at a social event for the first time in eighteen years. Notwithstanding the Choosing Ceremony every year. I think it is because of me. It's the Abnegation way of dating. Courting, which is seeing each other in a situation with other people. I suppose it's to keep us from tearing at each other. As if that could ever happen.
But he's there when I follow my mother to the warehouses where the Amity drop the food off from the farms. She leaves me, smiling patiently, to do her duties, and I am startled out of my skin when he walks up to me. He's so much taller than me, having to tilt his head just to fully see my face.
"Good morning, Beatrice," he says. "Which warehouse are you going to?"
I follow him to warehouse number 4. We spend the afternoon together unpacking the large pallets full of fresh food and repacking them into smaller boxes to take to the soup kitchens and the canneries that the factionless operate. We don't talk much. I work hard. The sound of ripping tape comes from his direction.
Finally, I ask, my curiosity needing to be quenched, "Why are you here?"
Tobias is silent.
"You never show up to anything. I'd almost call that selfish." This is meant to be a joke. But the Abnegation never joke. That is why I earn several scolding faces from the people around me.
I shut my mouth and continue with my unpacking.
When we leave, he follows me to the large doors that allow the trucks in and out. He holds one open for me, his arm against the door, and he says, "I don't come out because Marcus doesn't want me to."
"Marcus?" I say, startled. He calls his father by his first name?
"My father," he says quickly, not missing a beat. Not looking like he had just messed up.
"Why not?" I ask.
"Because," he says.
"That's not an answer," I say.
"A complete sentence? Is that what you want?" Tobias says. Lines furrow along his forehead. He stares off into the distance, past my shoulder. Can't meet my eye.
Finally, he says, "Marcus doesn't let me out of the house much. I'm his horrible, rebellious son, remember?"
The way he talks of his father is with contempt. I could never imagine talking about my parents with contempt.
I swallow. "No. You're not. You're not horrible."
I turn and leave, my feet packing against the road. The door closes behind me. Then large feet, covered in worn grey shoes, match my speed and carry down the road with me, going through our monotonous neighborhood until we reach my house.
"It was nice seeing you, Beatrice," he says.
I hiss. My name seems so Abnegation to me. Not at all fitting my personality.
"What's wrong?" he asks.
"I don't like my name," I say. "It doesn't fit me."
He studies me for a moment. I feel like bending under his piercing, dark eyes. But I don't move. I keep my chin up. He's still Abnegation. But nothing like them at all.
He finally says, "I feel the same. About mine. It's mine, but I hate it. I hate what it means to me." He bows his head respectfully and leaves me at the door, not bothering to wait to see my parents. An error on his part. But I'm left pondering. Pondering why he hates his name. Avoids contact with other people. Speaks little, and when he does, in strange sentences.
He makes me wonder after him like I never have after anyone. I want to speak to him more, find out more about him. He is far too mysterious for Abnegation. And maybe that's why I'm interested in him. Because he must be like me. Divergent.
I originally posted this as a long, 30,000 + word one chapter, and then realized that was bad. So I'm splitting it. :)