Hey folks! I know I'm working on The Return, but I suddenly had this idea and I decided to work on it. I don't know how it turned out... Hope you like it.

Thanks to paula'08 for her suggestions which helped me complete this!

This is set, say, a couple months after Tris' death in Allegiant.

Please read and review! Enjoy :)

Obsession

They didn't use this part of the city anymore. At least, not like they used to.

Over the young months, Chicago had been building itself up from its own debris, forming a new city in itself, not unlike what is used to be in the times long ago. Before the factions. And so as new glass came on the broken buildings, and as the Ferris Wheel once again readied itself to bear people, they just stopped using this building. The glass room where cameras were fitted, which had once been the final test for the entry of Dauntless members. But there weren't any Dauntless any longer, they were just people, they were everyone. And of course, no one just made a joyride out of one's fear. And so they never came to use it again.

But he did. Once or twice a week, or sometimes even four days in a row, his quiet steps would walk the premises leading to this building. The lights would flicker on in the Dauntless control rooms, where no one worked any longer. And after a while, he would walk out, a syringe in hand. His mother would never forgive him if she found out that he still had a large batch of this serum, carefully hidden in the dark, abandoned headquarters. But no one knew. They just thought that it was his alone time, as he had easily established with his firm voice. They thought it was his way to cope with his grief. They were still defeating their own demons of death and loss. They didn't bother to follow him.

The syringe would plunge, the needle piercing the skin of his neck, just above the spot where the tall flames that licked his ribcage ended. The blue eyes would turn to ice. The muscles would tighten. He would step forward, a lone figure in that empty room.

Over time, it had become so familiar to him, as had the vision it showed. It had been a witness to his efforts at defeating his fears, of him exhibiting his strange streak of masochism, of him failing, through all these years. Because even after all these times, the fears never became any less. Even after everything he had done, he was still Four.

But the repeated visits to the lonely room were no longer attempts of defeating his fears. They had changed, but never lost. And he had accepted it with a grim resignation, though he never left. After that event of a few months ago left him with half of himself, the other half lost to a gunshot, lost at the cold table with the beautiful blonde girl, his reasons behind visiting his fear landscape were different. Before, he came to meet his fear. Now he came to greet it.

The first three were unwelcome. He still hated that jump which made his heart practically hammer out of his chest. The walls squeezing him in still made him hyperventilate. In those moments of forcing his faculties to calm down, he couldn't help wish that she were here again, holding him against her with quiet words of encouragement, like she had that one time. As his best option, he imagined her near him, and the memory of her touch alone allowed him to master his senses.

The third fear he wished he could get over with. He was no longer afraid of his father, a fear that had haunted him for the longest time. He was afraid of becoming him, because he knew that he had the same streak of violence within. And with her no longer with him, a golden ray of light that she had been, he was, he felt, perhaps more at risk of succumbing to darkness than ever.

But it was the last fear that drew him in, which made him obsessed with the fear landscape. He could not resist its call. Because it was where he saw her. He saw her alive. He saw her breathing. Sure enough, only for a few minutes, before she stilled, his name a whisper, a plea, on her lips before it all ended. He would see her blonde hair, her blazing eyes, one last struggle that brought afresh her memory like yesterday. It tore him apart every time. It killed him anew every time. He felt more and more helpless, the knowledge that it was, after all, warped form of reality, making it all the worse. But he couldn't look away. He couldn't stop the screams that his mouth uttered, he couldn't stop the useless spasms of his limbs, he couldn't stop the tears that his eyes shed for her. But he couldn't stop staring either. It was some twisted manifestation of desire, which he couldn't ever explain, but which he couldn't deny anyway. On a level, he loved this pain, this fresh, new death every time; he glorified in it. He was like someone slashing their own wrist, fascinated in the deep red of their own blood. Because she was his blood, pumping through his heart, and even as he helplessly watched her breath leave her, perhaps somewhere, he loved it too, because he could actually see her here, even though she was not real. He could see her young and beautiful, the fear, the fight and the desperation in her eyes which always jerked him to action. It gave him a kick out of the blanket of numbness. At least she was more than memories. At least she was right before him. And with every simulation, he woke up more, but after every visit, he broke down even more. In her pain, he found himself more to blame. For her death. For everything. His friends couldn't understand him; you usually swim up from grief, not sink down further into it.

He didn't understand himself too, and really, he just gave up wanting to.

He just sank into the siren call of the fear landscape, watching again, again and again as she died in front of him, as reality repeated itself in various images in front of his eyes. He somehow found a queer satisfaction in ripping open his heart in repetition, a just punishment, he felt, for him and for fate. Maybe for her too, if she was watching from somewhere up there. Why did she have to leave? Why was fate so cruel?

Truth be told, he never really understood why that fear was still there. It had come true, so there was no point in it still coming up. Maybe the landscape had gone cranky with time, or the serum had become faulty. Whatever the reason; who cared? It just was there. And he liked it that way.

Because he just was, too.

He was a drug addict, knowing what he was doing was slowly killing him, but going back for more. Obsessed. Helpless.

What would she say if she saw what he was doing? Surely she would be furious. Or sad? Guilty? It didn't matter. She wasn't here. He was, and he didn't want to be. He wanted out. But he just kept drawing himself in. Maybe it was a form of escape too. Being lost in her. Being lost in pain and grief and self-loathing. And so it was. His secret. His obsession.

-o0o-

The stone chips on the pavement crunched under his boots as he walked once more to the entrance, syringe in hand. The sky was dark, with a faint smattering of stars on it.

"Fear doesn't shut you down; it wakes you up. I've seen it. It's fascinating. Sometimes I just…want to see it again. Want to see you awake." He had told her so, such a long time ago. After that, fear wasn't all that woke her up. She was always awake, alert, alight, a brilliant flame. Short lived. Because a flame so bright cannot live long. And now that she wasn't here, he came here for the same reason still. To see her awake. For a few seconds. To see himself awake. For a few minutes. Fear was his friend now, a twisted messenger to reach her, to reach himself, in a twisted way. How many times had he been here, since she died? He had simply lost count.

The entrance beckoned. He pressed the syringe to his neck. He didn't feel anything at all when the needle broke through skin; he had been through this too many times.

A few steps in, and there he was, the wind whistling through his hair, so high up, higher than even the Ferris Wheel, higher than he had ever been in real life. He felt sick. But he didn't let it get to him, as much as he could, that is. He thought of her zip lining experience which she had talked about, wondering what an exhilarating experience it must have been for her. Not too good for him, but her thought was the necessary catalyst to force him to jump. Two more fears. And then he'd see her again.

The fall seemed to go on and on, and then he was pressed inside that ever shrinking box. No space. No air. Breathe. Relax. God.

"Okay. Then…I can talk. Ask me something."

"Okay. Why is your heart racing, Tris?"

Her blush. Her stuttered lie. The warmth of her around him. Through all the loss, he laughed, the memory vivid, painful now, but happy. And the walls shattered.

One more.

And there was the mirror, and there he was, looking at himself but seeing Marcus. Dread pooled in his stomach, swirling uncomfortably. I'm not him. Never. Never.

I have my mother's nose. The appearance of the reflection moved more towards him. I'm younger. Longer hair. Not so cruel. Not that dress.

Slowly, painstakingly, the image changed. He stood panting from the efforts. But he was looking at himself. Not his father.

You are not damaged.

And at that one fleeting moment, he would allow her to be right.

The scene dissolved to darkness. His heart picked up pace. She'll be here. Now. Any moment. He waited for the patch of light to come and bring her with it. Broken. Terrified. But still there.

But nothing. Only darkness. His heart became the clock, counting away the seconds. Nothing. No one. Alone.

He licked his dry lips. Come on! Where was she? Fear rose, a dull dread struggling up to sheer panic. Where was she? Won't she come? Light, sound anything... but only darkness prevailed.

Then he realized it. The fear had changed, finally. She was gone. It was only him yet again. Alone. Abandoned. That was his fear now. After all the time of holding out, barring himself in, he felt choked in his own body. The darkness.. why didn't it go? He felt like a child again, alone and afraid.

You are not alone. I am with you.

Her voice. It was her voice. A faint echo, but still.

He looked up, startled. The darkness had been penetrated, and there she stood, her hair a halo of pale gold. She was glaring at him.

You are not alone. I love you. Stop trying to kill yourself. Stop it!

So insistent. So firm. Like always. He wanted to laugh. But she wasn't there, was she? The thought made him want to cry out.

Come on! Where did all that strength go? You are not alone, Tobias. Never think that.

Not alone. That was the thought he needed. And at her voice, he found his courage. He was not alone.

He closed his eyes, and when they opened, it was just the room and him. For a few stunned seconds, there was silence. And then he laughed. Laughed sadly, hysterically. Tears dropped to the floor.

What a specimen she was! She had changed him again, even past death. She had taken away his obsession, leaving it with darkness. But perhaps it was a healing darkness. Because he knew that his fear had changed. He would never see her again here. Yes, after everything, he was still Four. But changed. She wouldn't be looking up at him again in the fear room, bloodied, crying. She wouldn't die in front of him again. If he started the simulation again, there would be only darkness. Isolation. And that meant that there was no reason to go into the fear landscape again.

You left me again. But this time for the better.

He gave one last look at the room, at the 'Dauntless' spray painted on the wall. No more simulations. Now her memories were all he had. But perhaps that was what was needed. Maybe it was time to start healing, instead of breaking away again and again. He didn't know if he could, but he could at least try. She seemed to be telling him so.

He looked at the sky as he walked out. His punishment was over. Hers was too, if she had been watching. Would she be smiling now? He hoped so.

"Thank you," he murmured up to the skies, a little message for her. And then his footsteps faded away into the distance.

He didn't use this part of the city anymore. At least, not like he used to.

And that's it. How was it? The original idea was the part before the page break only, but it seemed too dark, so I added on. Tell me what you think of it.

Tootles!