A/N: As many of you know, I am waiting for my own laptop to be fixed so that I can continue writing City of the Unknown (hopefully next month!). During that time, I read the Divergent series and fell in love with it. I then decided to comandeer my husbands laptop and write this little thing here. I dont know if it is something I will continue or not, or if it will remain a One-shot. We'll see when I get my own laptop back. Either way, I want to say that if you have not read all 3 books, do NOT read this! Also, if you have read them, and decide to read this, I hope you enjoy it. Please let me know what you think! I dont own Divergent or their characters.

~Chapter One~

It has been a year and a half since I stood on top of the Hancock building. Since I had faced my fear of heights just so that I could spread the ashes of the woman I loved more than my own life—Tris. More than my own fears. I remembered the time I had taken her through my fear simulation, how angry I had become when Marcus, who was not really Marcus, had hit her with the belt. How in that moment, I knew I could overcome that fear because I would rather get hit a hundred times with that belt than to ever watch her get hit with it once. Not that it mattered, because she was not with me anymore. I had failed in keeping her safe from the only person I couldn't ever keep her safe from; herself. I blamed myself for a long time for that. Had I just stayed . . . had I not left her side . . . would she still be alive? I don't blame myself anymore, but it was not without help. It has been four years since she died—since I held her in my arms. And while the years have made it easier, have dulled my senses, my nights alone have not. While I'm awake, it's easy to laugh and move and talk about her. Easier than it had been even a year ago. Sure, I still saw Tris in the faces of those around me, and I'm starting to think I always will, but even that is becoming less painful. I would even say I might be ready to move on, to open myself to the idea of being with someone else.

But my subconscious is not so relenting.

I dream about her every night.

Sometimes I dread the idea of sleeping just because I know what it means. How could I possibly move on if I can't get her out of my head long enough to dream of something—anything—else? The dreams about her range from blissful to nightmarish. The worst one being that I am there in the room with her when David shoots her. That I stand in front of her, trying desperately to shield her, but the bullets pass through me as if I were a ghost. Because of the memory serum, David swore he could not remember the exact details of what happened in that room four years ago, so my dreams always run wild with scenarios. Sometimes he comes in and shoots her right after she sets off the memory serum, but before he is affected . . . and other times he is already in there, waiting for her as she enters. She would lunge for the box, I would shield her, and she would get shot anyway. No matter what the beginning scenario is, however, it always ends the same: I hold her in my arms and cry as she dies. Sometimes she would cry too, and other times she would make fun of my tears in her attempt to lighten the mood. "Dauntless don't cry," she would say. "Dauntless don't fear death, we embrace it." But that wasn't true. There had been no death I had ever feared more than hers. On the nights I have nightmares I always wake with a scream on my lips and a cold sweat covering my body, unable to move.

And then there were the blissful dreams that were, to me, almost worse than the nightmares. I guess, in their own rights, they are nightmares. They are the dreams of what could have been. Me and her married and raising our own children, or me and her alone in a room, our bodies pressed unabashedly against each other. We never got enough time alone, and these dreams made sure we got it. I'll wake, still feeling her against me—feeling her lips against my mine, and the ache inside at knowing it wasn't real will send me into a downward spiral of tears, anger, and pain. It is those dreams that make me wish I had not listened to Christina and had drank the memory serum. But Christina had been right; that would have been the last thing Tris would have wanted. Such an act of cowardess would have been an insult to her memory. But then again, Christina never has to wake from those kinds of dreams. And neither does Tris.

My mother moved out of my apartment about six months ago, having found her own place nearby. Even though I knew that she had not liked Tris in the beginning, she had helped make the transition without her somewhat easier for me. She never spoke an ill word against her, not that I would have allowed it, but she didn't let me wallow either. Christina was another surprise for me. She has probably become my closest friend since everything has ended the way it did. She was able to help me accept Tris's death in a way that I had not thought I could. While she and Will had never had the same kind of relationship that Tris and I had, it was no less hard for her to lose him. And then she had lost Uriah too. It occurred to me early on that it was because of both me and Tris that Christina had lost the two men in her life that she had cared for, and yet her loyalty and friendship never wavered with either of us, though it should have. She had found it in her heart to forgive us both.

"I thought I might find you here."

I look up at Christina who is standing on the open platform of the moving train, her hand wrapped around a bar while behind her the background passes in a blur. Her chest is rising and falling under the loose yellow shirt she wears at the exertion of jumping onto the train. I hadn't even noticed her jump on, and I can't say I'm incredibly happy to see her here. Today is the one day that I prefer to be alone, and until now I always have been.

"Yep," I say. "Here I am. Were you looking for me?"

"Yes. Well, not really. Not at first." She says, wiping her hands on her blue jeans and coming to sit down next to me. "But tag, you're it." She bumps her shoulder into mine as she says it. I raise my brow, looking at her. She wears a smile, but it's only halfhearted and doesn't reach her eyes.

It was about a month ago that I started to let myself think about how strong; both physically and emotionally Christina is. How brave she is. Zeke had once made a comment about hooking up with her, but I had merely laughed and changed the subject—something he noticed and gratefully went with. The idea of "hooking up" with Christina is foreign to me. And it isn't the idea of loving her that is foreign either—I already do love her. It's the idea of loving her like I love Tris—loving anyone like I love Tris. I frown at that last thought. Though it shouldn't surprise me that I still love Tris, it does. I shift uncomfortably.

"So what's up?" I ask. I know that her saying that she thought she might find me here was not necessarily the truth. She knew I would be here. In fact, she is the only one who knows I still ride the trains. Though, it is now only once a year that I do so. She also knows it is something I do alone. Though I try, I can't hide the impatience in my voice; my desire to be by myself plain on my face.

"Four years ago, today." she says, ignoring what I know she can see, and I cringe inward saying nothing. This was why she was here? I watch with clenched fists as she leans forward and slips a small black backpack from her shoulders. I hadn't noticed it was there. Setting it between her feet, she unzips it and pulls out two small glasses and a bottle of unopened amber liquid. The sticker on the front has since faded with time, but I know what it is. I watch as she expertly fills the two glasses to the rim, impressed as even with the movement of the train, she doesn't spill a drop. She seems to notice this and smiles, handing me one of the glasses. "My parents have had this bottle since before I can remember. In fact, I believe if I had grandparents, they would have had it. They always said it was for a special occasion. They would kill me if I spilled even a drop."

"And this is a special occasion?" I ask, keeping my tone as neutral as I can to hide both my surprise; I'm sure the Candor could have found use for this by now, and my irritation at anyone calling today of all days a special occasion. "Or," I say, looking at her. "Do they not know you took it?"

Christina simply smiles. A Candor telling a lie? I shake my head. Some things are harder to get used to than the habits that are hard to break. Christina lifts her glass to me, her eyes piercing my dark blue ones, and says. "Almost five years ago, I transferred from my faction. It wasn't easy, but while I was there, I made friends and even found love. There was one person that would change my life forever, though. At first, I wasn't sure if this change was good or bad, but as time went on I saw that it was for the good. That this person was the bravest, smartest, and most selfless person I would ever have the honor of meeting and calling my best friend—Beatrice Prior. Four years ago today, Tris performed the truest act of selflessness anyone could ever do. She gave her life so that others could live."

Christina's voice breaks, and I look up at her. Was it selfish of me, or perhaps just plain stupidity, to think that I was the only one affected by today? That I was the only one who was touched by Tris? I frown at the amber liquid in my hand and then up at the one Christina still holds in the air. She slowly lowers it, and uses her free hand to wipe away a stray tear that had broken free from her eyes.

"Look," she says, meeting my eyes fiercely. "I know, probably better than anyone that you prefer to be alone today. And I understand better than anyone, why that is." She is turning the glass nervously in her fingers now. "The rest of us usually honor Tris today by taking the zip-line, but—"

"You do?" I interrupt, surprised. Though she had said "us" I only focus on her. I could already imagine who the rest that joined her are, but the idea that anyone besides Christina does anything to honor Tris today chokes me up in a way that I'm not ready to confront just yet. Christina nods, noticing my choice word, and smiles through watery eyes that threaten to spill over.

"You aren't the only one that still grieves her death," she says. "But today . . . today as I was getting ready to head over there to join the others, I saw something. And I knew I couldn't be with them."

"What did you see?" I ask.

"It's was nothing . . . something stupid really," she says, looking down now.

Reaching forward, I catch her chin with my fingers and lift her eyes to meet mine. "Nothing is stupid today."

"I saw her. Tris." She whispers, and I drop my hand, my eyes going wide. "Well of course it wasn't really her," she continues hastily. "The woman I saw had dark ebony hair and she was . . . you know . . . fuller chested." My face flushes at her bluntness. "But her eyes . . . it was those same piercing blue eyes that Tris has—had. And then the woman turned away from me, and it was like I lost Tris all over again. I knew then that today I couldn't be with people who only think about her once a year. I needed to be with someone who still see's her in the faces of others every day. I needed to know that I'm not alone."

I say nothing to this. How could she possibly know that I saw Tris every day? But then, maybe I'm not that surprised. Only Christina was attuned to me enough to catch my small gasps when I saw a blond head bouncing my way, or when a small petite frame turned just right. I know her pain all too well, even after four years. I look down at the untouched glass in my hand as I chew on my lip. I raise it.

"To Tris."

It's all I can say. I tip the warm liquid into my mouth and swallow it in one gulp, relishing the burn in my throat and the warmth in my stomach as it makes its way down. When I lower the glass I see that Christina has drained her own glass as well. She holds out her hand expectantly, and I hand her my glass. It doesn't take long before half the alcohol is gone and Christina is launching into stories about Tris that I didn't know. Most of them were during their initiation into Dauntless. And while some of the stories she tells me are funny, others are . . . not so much. In fact, had I known about some of the things Christina tells me now, I may not have let Peter drink that memory serum.

"No one helped us, you know." Christina says now, pulling her knees to her chest and staring out the open compartment to the setting sun. But I know it's not the sunset she's seeing. "To be honest, I didn't even want to help her at first. At first I just watched as she scrubbed at the blood on the floor. Everyone else had left by then. But she stayed, cleaning up Edward's blood as if she herself had been responsible for what had happened to him. I stayed because I could see how important it was to her." She looks at me, and even in the amber rays of the setting sun, I can see the flush on her cheeks. "That's the kind of person she was."

And then she begins crying. Setting the empty glass down, I scoot closer to her and put my arm around her shoulders, bringing her into my chest. My jaw tightens as my eyesight becomes blurry. It dawns on me that Christina is the only one who could possibly understand what I'm feeling, and somehow in the last four years I had missed that. Looking back, I realize that she had never once told me to get over it or to move on. She never tried to convince me that Tris would want me to be happy with someone else. She had only just made sure she was there for me when I needed her most. And now, even though it was today, it was her that needed me. Perhaps I even needed her today too and had just not realized it.

When her cries have dissolved into hiccups, she pulls away from me and wipes at her eyes. "Sorry, I—"

I put my hand up to stop her. "No need to apologize."

She turns to look out the open compartment of the train. "We're going to need to jump soon," she says. It surprises me that with as much alcohol as we've drunk, both of us still seem rather level headed. I agree and get to my feet, stumbling slightly. Okay, only kinda level headed. From the floor, Christina raises her hand to me and I take it, helping her to her feet. I let go once she finds her balance. Together we stand on the edge of the open car, looking out.

"Here," she says looking at me as she slips her hand back into mine. I raise my brow, looking down at our entwined fingers. "I just . . . can't do it unless someone drags me." I meet her eyes again and see a small tear trailing down the worn path on her cheek. I understand then. I don't know how it is I understand, but I do and I don't question it.

"Together then," I smile. "One . . . two . . . three!"

And we jump. Had it not been for the alcohol, we might have even landed on our feet. Or, you know, been able to determine that we were jumping onto a hill. Together we turn, bounce, and roll over one another with loud gasps and grunts. I hiss as my eyebrow hits a rock. After what seems like an endless amount of tumbling, and with one final gasp, I come to a stop right on top of Christina. I lay there for a moment, breathing in her hair and skin. Though I can feel her breathing, it dawns on me that she hasn't moved since I landed on her. I push myself up on my hands and look down at her. Her eyes are wide, and there is a light scratch across her cheek.

"Are you okay?" I ask, my brow furrowing as I look her over for any other injuries.

She nods. Tentatively, she reaches up and runs a finger lightly along my brow. I wince slightly at the pain in my head as my heart hammers in my chest. I'm not sure if my heart is erratic from the the jump, or from the alcohol. When she pulls her hand away, I see my blood on her fingers. She looks amused now, and the spark in her eyes hold mine captive. I am suddenly all too aware that I am lying on top of her, that our legs are tangled together, and that with each breath she takes, her breast push against my chest. It is then that I am able to entertain a third reason for my elevated heart rate. Christina: The girl who was Tris's best friend, and who is now my best friend. The girl who never pushed me to heal or to get better.

I don't think.

Bringing my head down, I press my mouth against hers and I feel her lips part as she gasps in surprise. That's enough to bring me to my senses. I pull away quickly and roll off of her. "I'm sorry," I say quickly. I press my face between my legs, covering the back of my head with my arms. What the hell was I doing anyway? I ask myself. She's your friend. She's Tris's friend. I hear Christina moving next to me, and I focus on the ground I'm sitting on. I focus on the smell of the dirt, letting it engulf my every being. When my heart slows, I still can't bring myself to look up.

"I can't be Tris." She whispers. The words hurt more than the tumble from the train. I look at her sitting next to me, and though she is looking straight ahead, her body is relaxed. She doesn't seem like she's upset, but the tone of her words couldn't hide the sadness in them.

"I—" I stammer. "I don't want you to be Tris." I say.

"I know," she smiles sadly. "But right now, Tris is still what you want. And, Tobias . . . I can't be her, because I'm not her. And I won't be her."

I say nothing because there is nothing to say to that. I don't know if her words are necessarily true or not, but it wouldn't be fair to her until I do know. Her unspoken message is clear, though. She won't push me to heal or get over Tris, but she won't be second to her either.

"Thank you for jumping with me," Christina says now, climbing to her feet and dusting off her jeans. Her voice is light. "I don't know if Tris ever told you, but I said those same words to her right before we jumped onto the Dauntless rooftop during initiation."

I smile, relieved that she's not allowing what just happened to become awkward. "A Candor asked an Abnegation to help her jump?" I tease.

"Are you kidding?" She laughs, reaching down and pulling me up by my elbow. "The fact that she was a transfer from Abnegation was enough to tell me she was a force to be reckoned with right away. I was very aware, even then, that before her, only one other had transferred from Abnegation in more than a decade."

"Wonder who that could have been," I joke.

"Oh," she smiles as we begin walking back toward the city. "From what I hear, his name was Four, and he was a complete badass. Strong and attractive. Another force to be reckoned with."

"Really?" I grin, throwing a sideways glance at her. I had never stopped to wonder what Christina thought of me on a personal level. "So . . . did you ever hear what became of him?"

Christina stops and turns to me with a frown. Reaching forward, she takes my hands in hers and refuses to let me look away. "Four years ago, he fell into a coma."

It feels like my heart has dropped into my stomach. I swallow, unable to look away from her piercing gaze. A coma? Is that how she sees me? And then I can't help but wonder; if that's how she sees me, how do the others see me? All this time I thought I was doing well . . . thought that I was getting pieces of myself back . . . have I been fooling myself this whole time? Christina's frown deepens, causing lines to crease her young face. She shouldn't have stress lines. She's only twenty-one.

"Don't look so shocked," she says. "Even a badass can crumble." And then she smiles wide. "Besides, the strangest thing happened."

"What's that," I mumble, unsure I want to hear more.

"Well," she grins, leaning in as if to tell me a big secret. "I heard that today, he showed his first signs of life." Popping to her toes, she kisses my cheek and then turns and lopes away, calling over her shoulder as she goes. "Who knows? Maybe he's waking up!"

I stare after her as she puts distance between us with each step. She wasn't Tris. Everything about Christina is so incredibly opposite of Tris. But maybe she's right. Maybe I'm almost there. I don't want her to be Tris, I just want to make sure that I don't want Tris when I do want her. I shake my head, wondering if that made sense. Shrugging, I take off after Christina. We walk the majority of the way back to the city in silence, both of us lost in our own thoughts. Every once in awhile, I catch her looking at me, but she looks away quickly each time. I have to admit, I walked a little taller. By the time we reach her apartment, the sun has set and the night has taken over. I wait next to her as she fumbles with her keys and opens the door.

"Thank you for allowing me to join you today," Christina says, leaning against the door jam. "I know that you prefer to be alone during this time."

"You know, it's funny," I smile. "I didn't mind it as much as I thought I was going to."

Christina rolls her eyes, but her face lights up with a smile. "Gee, thanks."

"Of course! I only want to provide a Candor with honesty, after all." I grin.

Christina shoves me back playfully, laughing. "Goodnight, Tobias."

"Goodnight." I stand there and watch as she disappears inside, the door closing slowly behind her. Reaching out suddenly, I catch it and prevent it from shutting. "Christina?"

Christina's slim fingers curl around the wooden door, pulling it back open. She has already pulled her dark hair out of the ponytail it had been in, and her soft brown eyes watch me curiously. It is then that I notice just how lustrous the yellow shirt makes her mocha skin look. Soft and warm; inviting. I look down at my fumbling hands, unsure.

I swallow. "How . . . how will I know?"

It's all I can get out, but as I look up at her, I know she understands. Pulling the door open abruptly, Christina walks out of it and wraps me in her arms with such vigor that I'm forced to take a step back to keep my balance. I can feel my heart racing again, and even though I had taken initiative out on the hill and kissed her, I hesitate now in returning her hug. Slowly though, I wrap my arms around her and hold her to me. I've hugged Christina before, but never like this. It was both intimate, and not. Part of me wonders if she's trying to comfort me, which my instincts naturally want to repel, while another part of me wants to hold her tighter. Before I can decide, she pulls away and my hands immediately fall to my sides.

"I was always taught that the heart is an organ and nothing more. That that is the scientific truth." She says, and I frown. I'm not sure what this has to do with my question, but I say nothing as she continues. "A heart can't feel any emotion. A heart can't break." She sighs and leans against the wall behind her. "But I know for a fact that this is not true. I remember how my heart fluttered like a butterfly when Will kissed me. And I remember how it plummeted lifelessly into my stomach when I learned of his death." She looks speculative at me, and I shift uncomfortably. I don't have to say it, because she already knows that I am well aware of what she is describing. I have felt it myself. I still feel it; late at night and deep in my sleep when I get Tris alive and whole to myself. Christina smiles sadly. "I have also felt the sting of betrayal pierce my heart because of my own thoughts."

I look at her in confusion. "I don't understand."

Pushing herself off the wall, she presses her palm against my chest and I have to resist the sudden urge to bat it away. I feel like a rollercoaster: leave me alone, don't leave me; touch me, don't touch me; kiss me, don't hug me. What is wrong with me? I wonder if she noticed my shudder. If she did, she doesn't say anything.

"You want to know how you'll know when you're ready to move on?" she asks. "You'll know when your heart decides it does not feel guilty anymore."

"But . . ." I think of how to put into words what I want to say. I look down at her hand on my chest. "Christina, you've already helped me to stop blaming myself for her death. I don't feel guilty over that anymore." I don't know what I expected to see when I looked back up at her, but it wasn't the blank face that stared back at me now. No, not blank . . . carefully masked. She was trying to hide something from me.

"Tobias," she sighs, dropping her hand. I can still feel the warmth of her palm through my shirt though. She shakes her head. "Sometimes, I swear I don't know how it is you can be so smart and yet . . ." her voice dies away. "Just trust me when I say that your heart will know when you're ready before you do."

With that, she backs away and disappears behind her door. I don't try to stop it from closing this time, and I stand there and listen to the lock slide into place. I rake my hand roughly through my short hair and sigh as I head home. A short time later, I shut my own door and lock it. I sit on my couch, staring at the floor and wondering what Christina could have possibly meant. My heart is a part of me. The logical part of me even argues that it is the brain that causes the feeling of emotions, and if I decide I'm ready to move on it will not be because my heart told me so. I rub at my eyes. Such a strange day today. But then, today has never been ordinary. It was nice having Christina with me though, and I find myself wondering what she thought of my abrasive kiss. I also wonder what Tris would have thought of it.

I gasp.

Clutching at my chest, my breath becomes shallow as I realize exactly what it is Tris would think. I remember so clearly her reaction to Nita, and I had never wanted Nita. Christina is her friend—was her friend. Is, was, does it matter? I begin hitting my head with my clasped fingers as I rock back and forth. How could I do this to Tris? Dead or not, she deserves better of me! I bite my lip and curl up on the couch, shaking. I finally understand all too soon, and all too well, what Christina was trying to explain. The guilt is overwhelming. How could I possibly move on if this is what I would feel every time I tried? This crippling, heart wrenching pain. Covering my face, I begin to cry.

Again, please let me know what you think, so I know whether I should continue it :)