Reunited

by shadowthorn12039

Tris was shot at the Bureau of Genetic Welfare, but instead of dying, she went into a coma. And everyone still thinks that she died. Two years later, a very distraught Tobias finally decides to explore the Dauntless Compound, where hundreds of memory's haunt it's hallways. While he's there, he finds a note from a certain someone... and that note changes his life.

3. Chapter 3

Chapter 3

Tris POV.

The wind blows my hair into my face as I stand outside the glass building above the Dauntless Compound. I can't believe I just did that. After all this time of not telling him, not interacting with him, I decide to tell him now? He must be confused, and skeptical, and he probably doesn't even believe that it's me. It would have just been better off if I didn't tell him at all.

But then I see him, running, his face full of energy, out the front door of the glass building. I pull up my hood just as he looks in my direction. He doesn't notice. He runs past me, so close I could touch him, but then he's gone. I sigh. What would have happened if he saw me before I was even ready? I know exactly where he is going. His apartment, to pace his living room, to try to figure out what just happened. He does that every time he is troubled about something.

I don't even know why I am alive. Everything that happened with David in the weapons room still happened, but when he shot me, I didn't die.

I still have the scars.

I was in a coma, everyone thought I was dead. For some reason, they decided to make it look like I actually did, replaced my body with a fake one. That was the one they burned. That was the one who's ashes he scattered from the zipline.

He went through one of his greatest fears, heights, because he wanted to honor my death, because he felt like it would respect me, that it would help him to move on, but I've seen him. He hasn't moved on. In fact, he has gotten much, much worse.

That is one of the reasons I am telling him.

When I woke from the coma, I was fully healed, and in an apartment that I did not recognize. There was a computer, and someone that messaged me from it, telling me everything that I had missed, how everyone thought that I was dead. I never saw their face, and the only thing they did was bring me up to date.

I was in that coma for eight months.

The people—or person—that kept me alive paid for my apartment that I now own, that is coincidentally in the building next to where Tobias lives. I can see through his window when I look out mine.

It just makes it all worse.

The way that he breaks down randomly, the way that he wakes every morning hours before his alarm, the way that he doesn't sleep for hours every night, and the fact that I can't resist the urge to look through his window to see him every day, and that he can never see me back.

I told him in the note that he has to meet me alone, at 11:30, the time that he told me that the Erudite were planning a war, at the top of the Hub, that is the tallest building in the sector, which makes it the closest thing to his first fear in his fear landscape, heights. I hope he figured out what the note means.

I should not be doing this, they told me not to tell anyone, not even Tobias. But I am going to anyway. The time apart from him has become unbearable. I need to see him, not through a window, not by following him in the streets, but in person. I need to talk to him. I need to tell him. He needs to know. I don't care about the consequences.

I make my way to my own apartment and look through the window into his living room. He is pacing, and I can hear the sound of someone yelling from the other side of the door from here. It must be Zeke, I can tell by the voice. My note lays crumpled on the coffee table.

I've never seen him with so much hope in his eyes, but I've also never seen him so nervous. He sits down on the couch and uncrumples the paper and reads it again, turning it over and putting his fingertips to the three ravens that I drew on the back. His eyes are so filled with hope, that I can tell he is trying to suppress. I have learned from watching him for this long, what it means when he does certain things. When he taps his toes to the floor, he is impatient, and when he taps his heels on the floor, he is nervous. When he bites his nails, he is anticipating something. When his hands shake, that's when things are serious, like when he's having trouble with his friends, or his mother, Evelyn, does something that he doesn't approve of.

I stare at him as he crumples the paper again and delicately places it on the coffee table.

I press my hand to the glass and whisper, "I'll see you soon."