Remember Me

Disclaimer: This is a modern day Divergent AU. Characters were based off of Veronica Roth's characters, but are not exact replicas in characterization due to different circumstances involving their plot and histories in this story. I tried to incorporate as much of Veronica's ideas and vision/insight surrounding her characters in this as possible, so some snippets are from the books themselves (usually in internal dialogue). I do not own any of those selections and used them to try and keep the integrity of the original characters.

Rated M for language, adult themes, etc, though more so in later chapters than in the begin.

Chapter One

It couldn't be a worse day for flying, with everyone flying home after their holiday vacations. Throw in the adverse weather sweeping over much of the country right now, it's chaos. Of course, I happen to be going to one of the places being hit pretty heavily right now. Not that I should expect anything different, considering it's January in Chicago. It just makes this whole situation that much more FUBAR.

The Sky Harbor is so packed, I'm ready to call Mr. Vega to cancel this whole thing, tell him I don't give a damn what he does with the situation at hand, but that's not going to fly. If only I could have such luck.

The line for security screening is understandably long, stretching long past the parameters set up. It doesn't make it any less stressful or aggravating, with kids crying and whining, people talking loudly, announcements being made, and machines beeping and rumbling.

This is going to be a long night, especially because there's already some delay for my flight. I just hope it doesn't get delayed any more than it already has...

It takes half an hour before I reach where the line starts twisting due to the parameters set up. Once I'm a few rows in, which takes another fifteen minutes or so, my chest tightens slightly. It's not exactly confinement, but with the noise of my surroundings and the distinct bickering coming from a couple next to me, though technically behind me in the line, it may as well be.

Another loop around, and I'm back next to the bickering couple. I can't catch what they're saying right now because they're keeping their voices down at the moment, so I look them over.

The guy is tall, though not as tall as me, with a bulky build, greasy blond hair, and a sour expression. The girl he's with is also blonde, but her long hair is clean and shiny, falling straight down her back. She's petite, but she stands in a confident, sure stance, and there's a steadiness in her expression that doesn't make me underestimate her for a second. Sure, she might be close to a foot shorter than I am, but I've learned that being tall or big isn't always an advantage. Hell, she's got that much less body to move and control. The small ones are often the fastest for that reason.

The guy whines, albeit in his deep voice, "It's going to be miserable. You do know it's going to be below freezing, right?"

The girl's expression hardens, clearly aggravated, and her blue eyes remind me of electricity. "I am well aware, as you have been telling me several times a day for the past week," she snaps.

"Don't you dare talk to me like that," he snaps right back. "You know better."

"Excuse me?!" She is looking away from me but I'm sure her expression could melt ice, especially given the way he shrinks ever so slightly. Hell, her voice is one that says, 'Go ahead, piss me off. Watch what happens.' It'd almost be comical if it wasn't for the fact that he's being a total bastard to her. The line moves, however, and I'm too far away now to hear more conversation.

When we are side by side again, they're in a stony silence, and the girl looks livid. She won't even look at the guy, and he seems unconcerned with the whole thing.

Around again, and this time they're arguing again.

"You don't seem to grasp how important this is," he fumes.

"I don't understand? Are you kidding me?"

"Careful, your blatant ignorance is showing, Little Loca."

She rounds on him, face bright red in anger. "What did you just call me?!"

Then the line moves again. This time, I'm actually frustrated. I'm vicariously angry, with the way this guy is talking to his girlfriend or whatever the two are to each other. I'm ready to kick his ass, but this is none of my business in the first place. Still, I can't help but want to know what's happening.

By the time I've looped back around for the final stretch, to my surprise, the guy is nowhere to be seen, though the girl remains, her head shaking in disbelief. There's some residual anger, sure, but I can see a hint of relief, too. I don't blame her.

The line moves up, and soon, the girl is too far behind me to even see without turning to look for her, so I try and just keep my eyes ahead. This fails once I'm going through security, as I turn around to collect my cleared items. I can see her in line, her entire stance tense as she looks intently at her phone. She seems to be reading something. Move on, Tobias.

I make my way to my gate and find an empty chair in the respective seating area. There aren't a lot of people around as of yet, probably because they've heard the flight is already delayed a good hour. Not that I'm complaining.

To pass the time, and to ease my mind, I pull out my sketchbook and flip open to a blank page before I glance around, looking for something to sketch. I take in the other people waiting for the flight: an elderly man in a suit with a briefcase that looks as old as he is; a middle-aged couple who won't even acknowledge each other; a few women in their thirties who chat animatedly; a man with two teenage sons who are each solely focused on their phones; and a woman in her twenties with a baby asleep with his head resting on her shoulder and her little girl, no older than five, with long honey blonde hair.

Without much thought, I decide to sketch the mother and children. They sit across the aisle and down two seats to my left, so it's fairly easy to see their expressions and features enough to sketch. The mother has a blank look on her face as she stares absently at the crowd making their ways around the airport. Her little girl is sat cross-legged on her seat with a coloring book on her lap, a box of crayons sitting open beside her on the seat. She currently holds a blue crayon, but she's holding it a few inches above the paper with her face scrunched up in thought.

I watch her for a moment, somewhat amused by such concentration. Finally, she cocks her head to the side before nodding, as if she's sure about her decision. She then leans down to start coloring.

I return my gaze to the page and start my sketch, glancing up occasionally for reference. The mother and infant stay relatively unmoving, which would be unnerving if the little girl wasn't so animated. She makes a new expression with each new color she pulls to incorporate, and she puts so much thought into each and every choice. I suspect she'll have a love for art, one day, if she doesn't already.

With a final glance up at them, to check for last minute changes or additions, I notice from the corner of my eye that someone knew has joined the seating area. It's none other than the girl standing in line for security screening. She seems a lot more relaxed now than she did before, sitting comfortably in the seat across from me and over one to the right. She has her eyes closed, as if trying to nap, but the ringing of her phone causes her to open them once more, releasing a sigh to go along with it.

"Hey, Chris," she answers neutrally. "The flight got delayed."

While receiving her response, her eyebrows shoot up, followed by an eye roll. "Figures," she groans. She must still be listening, because she's nodding. When her eyebrows shoot up again, it's with a hint of irritation this time. "Well, you can tell my idiot brother that this is what happens when he chooses to get married in January."

If she's on this flight to Chicago, she really does have a point. Who's dumb enough to chance that?

"Christina! You're preaching to the choir. If there was anything I could have done about it, I would have," she says, flustered by whatever her friend is saying.

"Okay, okay. I get it. And fine! Just, pleeeease don't end up with a hangover. You know my mom would freak." She smiles at her last comment, like it'd at least be amusing to witness. Her friend must agree, because she laughs at the reply, though it fades as fast as it came.

"Yeeeaaah, about that," she starts nervously, biting her lip as she closes her eyes briefly. "I may have sent him home before we even made it to security." She barely gets the words out before she recoils from the phone, probably because this Christina chick responded loudly. "Hey, easy with the eardrums," the girl confirms as she winces.

"I am not going to apologize to anyone, especially not my family," she says flatly. "Besides, if they really thought Eric and I would be good together, they don't know me at all." That… could say a lot, especially with the way she says it, her expression heavy just at the idea of it.

It's replaced quickly enough with the expression she sported as the bickering was taking place in line. "He's a complete ass with no regard for others! He's spent the last two weeks doing almost nothing but complain about coming with me to Chicago for my brother's wedding, saying he was going to miss the big fight on t.v. that night. He wouldn't pack his own things, so guess who did it? Me, of course, because of my dad, but what self-respecting, grown-ass man makes his girlfriend pack his bags for a trip? Who does that period?! Oh, and don't get me started about the shit storm he rained down on me about the damn weather. He's known about this for months, and now he has a problem?!"

She nods as her friend responds, and then answers with an exasperated, "I know! So I told him, 'If the weather is too much for you, and this fight is so important, I'm not going to hold you back, but I won't continue to date a guy that doesn't prioritize family.' And you know what he said?"

She pauses, giving her a chance to respond before she drops her voice, imitating the guy's voice almost spot on. "'It's not even my family, why should I give a shit?'"

She flinches away from the phone again, though she nods in agreement. "Right?! So I just said, 'Goodbye, Eric. Hope your life is as good as that fight.' Then when he just stood there, I turned and said a few choice words that are not safe to be repeated at the moment," she says, glancing over at the family a few seats to her right that she seems to have just noticed. "When he didn't go after that, I just turned my back on him and said, 'You can go now. I'm done with this.'"

This time I have to suppress a grin, because I can just imagine the look on the guy's face when she said that to him. She gets a proud look on her face, either being praised by her friend on the phone or feeling good about what she did. She should. This guy sounds like a real piece of work.

I take a glance to the mother and children, who are in the same positions as before, though the girl now has a red crayon in hand. She starts looking around her, and as she turns, I see a big purple bow that matches her shirt pinned in her hair on the side facing away from me. It seems like a detail that needs to be in the sketch, to reflect her properly, so I quickly add it. It'll be an artistic liberty.

With my sketch finished, I glance up at the young woman from the line again, seeing as she hasn't said anything in a few minutes. To my horror, when I glance up at her, her eyes are trained on me with an expression I can't read. Usually, my eyes would flit away, but hers hold mine in a way I can't understand.

I give her a curt nod, trying to ease the awkwardness of this moment, which makes one corner of her mouth curl up ever so slightly. Phew.

I turn my attention back to my sketchbook as to avoid any further embarrassment on my part, though I can still hear her conversation. Well, what would be a conversation if she continued talking. This Christina chick must be a chatterbox, because the girl hasn't even gotten in an "uh-huh" in the past few minutes.

"Well, look at the bright side," I hear her start, finally, "the view is exceptional. You'd be hard pressed to find a better one." I wonder what they're talking about now? She did say her brother was getting married, perhaps the venue? Something else completely? As if it's my business.

A couple light taps on my left knee pulls my attention away. Looking up, it's the little girl with the big purple bow. She's looking up at me with giant, awestruck eyes that are a deep amber color, with a solid, dark brown outer ring surrounding the irises.

Seeing as she has my attention, she points at my sketch. "You drawed that?" I nod. "Wow," she says, her voice echoing her expression as she looks carefully at my sketch. "You drawed good, Mister."

"Thank you," I say in the nicest voice I can manage.

"You have any pitchers in a art place?" she asks excitedly.

I'm assuming she meant to say 'pictures,' which is adorable, really, and I'm guessing the word she was looking for was 'museum.' Again, adorable. "I'm not that good. Maybe someday someone will think my pictures are worth keeping in a museum, but for now, it's kind of just a hobby."

She has her eyes plastered on me, clearly still in wonder, but her eyebrows scrunch up at the end. "What's-a hobby?"

This time I laugh a little. "Something you do for fun, or to help you relax."

"Ooohhhhhh," she says before she giggles. "Why is it your hobby? I didn't know growed ups was 'lowed to draw."

I nod seriously. "Some grown ups even have jobs just drawing."

The girl's face lights up like it's Christmas. "Really?"

I nod again. "There's a lot of jobs where people get to draw. Look at all the Disney movies," I say. "Ever see Lion King or Cinderella? People drew that stuff and put all those pictures together to make a picture. Each movie has thousands of paintings and drawings smushed together."

Her eyes have swelled even bigger, like her tiny body cannot contain such a concept, but then she smiles brightly. "Wow! Is that your job?"

"No. I work with computers," I say, and she frowns, like she's disappointed.

"But dontcha love drawling?"

"Well, I draw because it helps me," I say, unsure how to explain the idea that I don't normally ever show people what I draw, and its purpose is not to create so much as to cope or distract.

"Helps you?" she pries, but I know she's just trying to understand.

"Yeah," I say, rubbing the back of my neck. "It helps me when I'm feeling…" I don't want to say scared, because that's a gross oversimplification and wouldn't translate right. "You ever feel bad because you're hearing or seeing or feeling something you don't like? Maybe it scares you, or it just doesn't make you feel happy or safe, or something."

"I don't like thunder," she offers.

This is actually a perfect example. "What do you do when there's thunder? Do you do something that helps you get through it?"

She nods. "Mommy puts on loud music and we dance and sing and make cocoa and play games," she says enthusiastically.

"Does it help and make you feel better?"

"Uh huh," she beams.

"Well, drawing does that for me, when life gets hard. If I have a bad day at work or if I'm not feeling well, I draw and it takes my mind off things. It helps me feel better."

"Ohhhhh," she says, clearly getting it. "So, you're not feeling good?"

I did not think that one through. Oh well… "I don't like flying in airplanes," I say simply, and she nods.

"This my first time on a airplane. Is it scary?"

I shake my head. "Not usually. It'll be really cool for you, especially if you can see out the window. You can see all around, and you'll go through clouds."

Wide eyes are back again, this time she seems to be hanging off of every word. "Wow! You don't like it?" she asks incredulously, as if I was completely shocking her.

Normally, I would feel inclined to shut down this kind of conversation, but she's just a little girl, and our paths are unlikely ever to cross again. So, I decide to tell her the truth, or at least part of it. "I don't like heights."

"Oh," she says, sympathetically, patting my knee like she's comforting me. "So you feel bad waiting for the plane?"

Not exactly, but there's no easy way to explain I'm not a fan of people, especially crowds of them, and even more so if we're all confined together. Sometimes kids take those things wrong, and I don't want to be that asshole, so I shrug but nod. "I don't worry about it if I don't think about it," I say.

"Well, I think if you drawed for a job, you would be happy and other people would be happy 'cause you drawed them or something they love and they could see it all the time. I color pitchers to give 'way 'cause I like to see smiles." It's then that she holds up the picture she must have been coloring, held in the hand that's been at her side the whole time so that I never noticed.

It's from a Disney movie, though the name escapes me right now, as I only saw it once when I was a little kid myself. The picture has a red dragon holding a sword with a cricket sitting on the hilt, with mountains in the background. She did a good job of staying mostly in the lines.

She then offers it out to me. "I want to see your smile and you need something to make you smile," she says simply. "I want you to have it."

Carefully, I take it from her, and somehow, like magic, I break out into the smile she was hoping for, which she returns happily. "That is so thoughtful of you. Thank you so much." Then I get an idea. "Hey, one second," I start, holding up my left index finger, indicating for her to wait. I quickly sign and date my sketch and tear it out of the book, offering it to her.

"As a very special thank you, I want you to have this. You seem to have an eye for art, so if by chance I end up in a museum someday, you can sell this and make lots of money. Just promise me you'll use the money for something that makes you happy."

She beams at me, like I just gave her a puppy or something. She carefully takes it and looks at it fondly. Then she looks at me, as if trying to decide if she should ask me something. "What if I want to keep it?"

"If you decide to keep it, keep it as a reminder that you can do anything when you grow up. Keep it as a reminder that the possibilities are endless, and you can chase any and all the ones you want. Don't give up on your dreams or the things you love."

She smiles at me kindly, and all she says is a simple, sweet, "Thank you."

I give her one last smile before she runs back to her mother, who seemingly has been watching our exchange. She mouths a 'thank you' to me before turning her attention to her daughter. That went… well. I'm not around kids hardly ever, so sometimes, I'm not sure how to handle interactions.

It's been a while here, so I decide to get up and walk around, though not wanting to lug my stuff around, I walk over to the mother and little girl, who both smile at me. "I'm going to walk around. Can I get you anything?"

The mother looks surprised and flattered, though somewhat unwilling to ask me for anything. She must need something, because her lips twist up reluctantly. "We had to throw out our water bottles at security," she starts, and I nod in understanding. "I only have a few dollars on me,but-"

I wave the offer off. "My treat," I say kindly. She is all alone with two young kids stuck waiting for a delayed flight. It's no big deal whereas for her, it spares her having to lug around the kids and their luggage. "Could you keep an eye on my things?"

"Of course," she says happily.

I find a bathroom first before finding a little store that sells food, drinks, and souvenirs, and I buy a few bottles of water and some assorted snacks, having forgot to pack some for the flight. Honestly, though, it's more an excuse to have plenty of variety so I can offer them to the little family. They might not have eaten in hours.

When I get back, I'm greeted by grateful smiles. They accept the water gratefully, and when the little girl sees the package of gummy worms, she turns a pleading eye to her mother, begging her to accept my offer to take some of the snacks as well. I'm relieved when she nods, so that the little girl eagerly grabs the package and hugs it to her chest happily.

"Mommy, can I have some now?" she asks hopefully.

"Okay, Cleo, but just a couple." She turns to me again and thanks me before I head back to my things.

As I'm settling myself, I feel the back of my neck warm up, as if someone may be watching me. Glancing around, I find the eyes of the young woman from the security line on me.

She's watching me, with a curious and somewhat confused expression. The heat from my neck creeps to my ears, but I don't look away. Neither does she, but she does smile shyly.

And I can't help returning it.

AN: Thank you for reading Chapter One of Remember Me! This is my first Divergent fanfic, so I'm pretty excited! I'm not sure how long it's going to be, but seeing as I have the first four chapters already completed and edited, and knowing how far it's gotten into the plot, I'm guessing at least twenty chapters. I anticipate posting Chapter Two sometime this week, Prior to Monday. (Ha ha, see what I did there?) Then, the plan is to update every Monday.

I want to give a special shout out to two of my friends, MJ and CP, who have read every chapter so far, helped me with developing a kick-ass plot and bringing this vision to life. They've encouraged me in all of my writing (not just with fanfiction, but with my original works and my poetry), and without them, I'd probably never even pursued this story. I'm so glad I have, because it's been a lot of fun. Oh, and did I mention that I'm really excited for this story?! All I can say now is don't jump to any conclusions! There's quite a few surprises planned!

-Willow