"Last night I dreamt I died alone, through all my talk of self-defeat, a fearful bomb ticks underneath, last night I dreamt I died, from now I'll curb the cynical speaking, it seems that dream has sent the biggest chill through me," - Last Night I Dreamt, The Wombats
"You're insane - no way was that nasty soda stuff anywhere near as good as the double chocolate muffins from Dauntless!" Tris cried over their meal, a hastily baked dish that involved noodles and chicken doused in alfredo sauce - it wasn't terrible. He'd paired it with wine and that seemed to be a good choice, the pair of them were thin and shared a terrible tolerance for alcohol.
"What's it with you women and chocolate? I mean you're all about it being sexy and delicious and like, I dunno, the cure for world fucking peace. I'll take a lemon soda any day." He cackled, watching the way her face naturally reddened even at the word 'sexy'. Interesting.
"Ugh. You're so weird, did you know?" She mumbled, four cups into the second bottle he'd opened. He'd honestly been surprised to find that she even had alcohol in her house - she had admitted to buying a few bottles out of curiosity, but never found a reason to open them- so he'd popped the first one and they'd toasted to repaying debts. He finished his plate and leaned back, tipping the glass of strong red liquid up until its contents were emptied completely.
"I actually did. You're weird, too, though. What kind of eighteen year old sits inside and reads textbooks about anatomy instead of going out with her friends?" He cocked his brow, looking at her seriously - or as seriously as he could manage with the fuzzy feeling that made his lips tingle, anyway. She seemed to sober a bit and stared at her plate. Whoops. This girl had become a minefield of sensitive topics in their time apart. Or maybe she'd always been that way - he wouldn't have known, they didn't talk often before.
"I..I don't really-it's..hard to go out with my legs," That felt like an excuse and he crossed his arms with what he hoped was a disapproving I-can-see-right-through-those-lies-you're-telling expression.
"You can't lie to me - Candor, remember?" She flinched and he smiled, trying to soften the blow of him calling her out. Tris chose to push around the last bits of noodle on her plate rather than look at him. The silence was drawn out and he felt a little guilty for pushing her - this wasn't what he'd intended. They were enjoying themselves and he'd gone and fucked it up. Great.
"I don't..I mean, I don't really..have anyone to hang out with," He was almost positive his eyebrows were well past his hairline. No one? That had to be a lie - she'd always made friends easily. He had to think hard, checking off the list in his head as he went. Will - dead; Uriah - dead; Marlene - dead; Al - dead; Lynn - who fucking knew?; Christina - she hadn't talked about her yet, which he was suddenly finding odd - and Four was someone she was fervently not mentioning, either. He frowned and poured them both another glass. Instead of saying something snarky or sarcastic he just tilted his head and motioned for her to continue. The blonde took a long gulp of her wine before she started talking again. "I..I told you, I couldn't-..I can't face my fear." Suddenly their conversation at the diner felt more important than he'd originally given it credit for. Was it more than just dealing with his insults? Shit.
"I mean - you don't just..bounce back from watching everyone you love die little by little - you don't just suddenly recover from being betrayed and lied to and..and fucking ignored. The world doesn't just shift to clear skies. It doesn't.." She flinched and covered her face with her hands, taking in a deep, shaky breath before starting again, "At first it was just..I couldn't handle the physical pain - from the gunshot wounds, you know? Everything was all messed up from my stomach down. So..we just..waited. Then it was..I don't know, the pain was still there but it wasn't unbearable - it wasn't unmanageable. I just, when it came down to it..I couldn't do it." Peter was beginning to see where this was going and it filled him with apprehension..and rage. "He said he'd wait - however long it took - he would wait, that I was worth waiting for," Her voice was wet with unshed tears; Peter felt a burning in his chest. He wanted to punch someone, something, to channel his rage. That son of a bitch. Instead he listened, reaching across the table to put a hand over hers without intending to. It just seemed appropriate. Apparently touching her was second nature for him, now. That spelled danger. She choked on her words and buried her face in her shoulder for a moment, hunched in on herself, and he assumed she was trying to calm down. Why had he asked about this? Why had he pushed?
"But one day I guess..he got better and I didn't. He was solid and whole and I was this mess, I still am. I couldn't -can't- move forward - I've accepted death twice, Peter, do you know what that does to a person? And he.." The tears fell, then. He couldn't remember ever being as angry as he was in that moment. His feet moved without his permission, the legs of the chair scraping across the floor as he rounded her small kitchen table and dropped to a knee, his arms encircling her small frame. It wasn't often that he could describe her as small, not in the sense of weakness, but this was one of those times. She let out a choked sob and buried her face in his shoulder, her fingers gripping the front of his shirt like a lifeline. "I..I guess she..she was f-fixed and I wasn't and-and.." The noises that came from her made his world shatter, the warbling sobs and hysterical breaths made him squeeze her tighter, his fingers threatening to leave bruises. His lips grazed over her hair, it tickled the freshly shaved skin. "I loved them both and they-they fucking left me, they're supp-pposed to b-be my..my best friends," She whimpered into his collar and he felt himself breaking. "Chris-tina..and Tob..Tobias, they, they..-"
"Stop. Don't..don't do this to yourself." He finally leaned back and cupped her chin, his mouth set in a hard line. "Don't talk like this was your fault, don't you dare." If someone had told him even a few hours ago he'd be running the pad of his thumb under her eyes, catching the tears and staring into her stormy eyes, that he'd be shushing her, crooning her, holding her - he'd have laughed at them. She pulled away from his hand to tuck her face against his neck - her lips brushed the skin there and he shivered. His collar was soaked with her tears and his senses were full of her smell - he instinctively rubbed circles on her back and made soft noises in her ear. "God damn it, I'm so sorry, Tris.." he whispered - she was having difficulty breathing, each intake hitched and her body shook with the effort of it. She wasn't talking anymore, just making desperate wailing noises into the cloth of his shirt. The words spilled without his permission. "You're too good for this, you're..fuck. You're just..I'm such a piece of shit for how I treated you and I am never going to stop being sorry.." He felt her wrench away from him and was worried she was angry. The look on her face was incredulous and his breath was gone - even with her lashes soaked and clinging together from the tears, with her eyes bloodshot and leaking and her nose bright red..it was impossible to deny the truth.
She was beautiful.
They sat for a while, just looking at one another, her choking back sobs as she tried to calm herself and him holding her hip now that she was leaned back, drawing the same comforting circles there. He could still feel the warmth from her face on his neck. Her teeth latched themselves into the soft flesh over her lower lip in a weak attempt to stop it from trembling and he was struck by how strong the woman in front of him was, even at her weakest point, she was coursing with power. He nervously reached up and placed his palms on either side of her face, his thumbs stretching to wipe at the tears - she wasn't crying any longer but her cheeks were soaked, he didn't mean for this to happen - and he was struck by the contrast of her soft, red skin and his scarred, tattered fingers. It almost made him pull away - until her smaller hands rested over top of one of his, one on the back and the other resting against the part of his palm not touching her face, cradling it. She leaned her head into his hand and closed her eyes with another soft sob.
"I can't keep going, Peter..I'm trying, but I can't do it. I don't..What's the point?" She swallowed hard and opened her eyes - the look there was enough to make him sick. He recognized it easily, it was a feeling he'd experienced before - alongside vertigo upon looking down from the top of a roof in a city he didn't know the name of, weighing the value of his own life. He moved one hand away from her face and pressed it to the back of her neck, his fingers resting just behind her ear.
"Listen to me - carefully. You can. You will. Fuck, Tris, you're..you're so goddamn strong - you're not going to let those fuckers win." Where were these words coming from? Where did this compassion crawl out of? He'd never cared before, when he tried to shatter her, when he'd tried to kill her for being better than him. When did he suddenly decide to give a shit about whether she lived or died? His chest hurt from looking at her like this, fighting with himself. It was impossible not to blur the lines between his perfect categorization of tallied points, of an eye for an eye, and the burning, bubbling feelings that threatened to blow him away. What had she done to him?
Something changed in her eyes and she managed to smile at him, it wasn't very convincing, but it was something. Tris sniffled and nodded, letting out a choked sort of laugh. That seemed to be as good of an indication as any that she was okay enough for him to release her. When his grip on her neck loosened and he started to pull away, he saw her expression shift - she looked determined, now. Quick as lightning she gripped the front of his shirt once more, her fingers twisting in the material, and pulled him forward. Peter nearly lost his balance, surprised at the force she put behind it, and worried that she might stretch and ruin his brand new shirt. Just because they'd shared a few tender moments of kindness didn't mean he would forgive her for ruining his nice things - he didn't exactly have many of them to be protective over.
However, he wasn't given a lot of time to stew over his concerns before he saw her face looming closer to his. She hesitated for a breath of a moment, allowing him to experience the charge of electricity in that small gap of space - his breath caught in his throat as a tingle rolled down his spine - and then he was weakened. Her soft, bitten lips were crashing into his and the world ceased to exist, to matter. Her mouth tasted like wine and tears, but it was the best flavor he'd ever known. For the first time in his life, Peter didn't care about checks and balances, he didn't care about who was the one in power and what he needed to do to get the upper hand - he didn't worry about what he'd done - his thoughts were the smell of soap and the feel of her tears smearing across his cheeks, of her bony knuckles digging into his collarbone. He gripped the back of her neck again and kissed her back with more desperation than he thought himself capable of feeling. His entire existence was rewritten, comprised of the small blonde in the chair in front of him and her damning lips. With one kiss she had undone all he was and left him shredded and raw, kneeling in her kitchen floor, worshipping all that she was and would be.
Their teeth clashed and their lips moved roughly - there was no tenderness to be found between them - it was exactly what he might have expected a first kiss to be from the hurricane in his arms. He bit her lower lip, just a little harder than necessary, and rejoiced when her mouth opened - his head was reeling and all he could think was more. The moment his tongue found hers, a moan was captured within their kiss - whether it was his or hers, he wasn't entirely certain - and he frantically moved his hand - one buried itself within her hair and the other cupped the side of her face. She surprised him by suckling at his tongue, which filled him with fire and need and an unbearable ache - one he hadn't felt in months. The sweet, agonizing pressure of his new shorts threatened to destroy him as they devoured one another with nothing more than kisses.
Finally, Peter had to pull away, to resurface for air - but his lips set to work almost immediately, leaving a trail of open mouthed kisses along her jaw and down to the base of her neck. He drew his teeth out and bit her, then rolled his tongue along the raw spots to ease the sharp pain. Her intakes of breath were enough to tell him he was doing something right. It was almost good enough, listening to her mewl, for him to ignore the niggling voice in his head that repeated her words like a mantra. I can't face my fear. Suddenly the taste of her was torture on his lips and he stopped, which elicited a whimper from Tris - one of her arms had looked itself around his back and the other hand was on his shoulder - her fingers dug in as she tried to pull him closer. I can't face my fear. He ripped away from Tris as though burned, which seemed to startle her - she stared up at him and the image was enough to shatter him. Her eyes were half lidded and glassy, her lips red and parted - she was breathing heavily and her hands hung uselessly at her sides as though she was unsure what to do with herself. He felt himself agreeing wholeheartedly, every fiber of his being was screaming for him to grab her up and crash her mouth into his, to discover every hidden scar and inch of flesh - but her words were a constant reminder. I'm a prude.
"Peter?" She sounded wounded.
"I won't.." He breathed out, surprised at the way his voice shook, his lips were tingling with the memory of her kiss, "I won't be the one..to push you - you're..you wouldn't..do this if you weren't drinking," He started talking too fast - he knew he was panicked, afraid, if he ruined everything he'd have nowhere to go but the streets again. What would happen if he didn't secure that job and she hated him? He'd have no one, nothing, be back where she found him with his fingers numb and raw. He'd be beating strangers for survival. No. "Tris this is-God! This is so..we just established that you-!" His hands flew up, gesturing wildly before resting atop his head where he pulled at his hair, pacing now. She kissed him, he had to remind himself, she initiated it - but he was the one that left red marks down her flesh and was thinking of all the ways he could make her squeal. His eyes were incapable of reaching hers - he stained her, just like he had been afraid of doing since she showed up in his life out of nowhere this morning. Damn it.
"Peter.." She whimpered, biting her lower lip - she didn't look like she was about to cry now, he noticed - and rising to her feet. Somehow, no matter how many times he watched her, he would always be surprised at her strength. Despite her crutches not being within reach, despite the pain that flashed over her face, she stood on her own two legs and forced herself to walk forward, flinching with each step. His insides twisted and churned in an agonizing pull - he was doing this to her. He could help her. Instead he stayed put and watched her walk, counting the steps and silently praising her, unable to bring himself to say the words on his mind. One. You're so much better than I am. Two. You're powerful. Three. You're stubborn. Four. You're unbreakable. Five. You're-beautiful. And then her hands were resting on his shoulders, her entire body was trembling and she was paler than before, but she was there in front of him and she'd done it on her own. He hadn't forced her to be right here, looking into his eyes with that fucking expression that somehow managed to take all the walls he built and smash them to pieces.
She left him raw and bleeding and he loved her for it.
"Tris..come on let's..you should sit down, I-"
"No, Peter." He was stunned at the ferocity in her tone, going silent. "No. I'm so tired of being weak, of being afraid and a burden - I'm sick to death of letting my weakness own me." He was breathless, speechless - what could he say to that kind of bravery? "Please..please, help me - I..y-you owe me," She choked on a sound that was somewhere between a laugh and a sob and his insides turned to slush, hardened to ice - he was burning and freezing and it was all her fault. "Just..help me be strong again." He swallowed hard at that and considered her for a long moment - considered himself and his system of carefully placed rules - of his entire life lived by favors and payment, and recoiled at the misery that lay in wait for him.
"I'm..sick of owing people - I'm sick of people doing things solely because they owe me - you said..people can do things for one another, do it because they..because they love you." The words that tumbled past his lips surprised him - he wanted to take them back, but she was smiling and there were tears in her eyes and if he were being honest with himself he was pretty pleased with the response. "I don't..know that I necessarily love you, Stiff, but..don't think I'm doing this because I feel like I owe you," His voice was a whisper and he felt spread too thin, it was scary to shed his way of life like that - to just drop his guard and let her get a good look at the weak version of himself that lived behind it all. His hands drifted up to cradle her head, his thumb trailing the line of her lips and he was struck by the way she looked at him, by the fact that he was standing here, not Four. Him. The grin that pulled at his lips was possibly the first in his life that was tinged with actual joy rather than sarcasm.
"I think..that's the kind of garbage delusional Stiffs say, if I'm not mistaken." She mumbled with a soft laugh, she'd stopped trembling but he couldn't imagine it felt very good to be standing. The words take him back to the joy and fear he felt, carrying her down brightly lit corridors as they rushed away from their deaths. He couldn't have imagined then, let alone this morning, that he'd end up standing in her kitchen with the taste of her on his lips, cradling her tenderly like this - that his face would be aching from the smile that refused to be wiped away. He was surprised to find he wouldn't trade anything to be somewhere else - to be with anyone else. That was something he'd have to deal with in due time. Tris looked away from him after a long moment, he could just see her tongue pressing against the inside of her cheek, and laughed quietly. He raised his brows, waiting to hear whatever it was that was suddenly so funny.
"..Hey, Peter?"
Please keep saying my name.
"Yes?" Her big blue-grey eyes found his and bared down into his soul with a mix of emotions.
"I forgive you."
If he never heard another word in his life, that would be okay - hearing those three made years of anxiety melt from his shoulders. If he were a weaker man, he might have cried with relief, but he wasn't. Regardless of the softness of the moment he was still not the kind of person that allowed themselves to come to tears. Instead he leaned down and pressed his lips to her forehead, suddenly aware that he was shaking nearly as much as she was. Somehow standing together turned into her arms around his torso and his around her shoulders - to them squeezing one another too tightly. The embrace was full of rough knuckles pressed too harshly into backs and the smell of wine and soap. She buried her face in his neck and his nose rested in the messy bun on her head - then her knees buckled and he just barely managed to loop his arms beneath hers to hold her upright - and a yelp escaped her lips. He grunted from the effort of lifting her, but it wasn't any harder than moving a punching bag. He'd moved plenty of unconscious bodies that weighed more than this.
"Thank you, fuck, Tris that means more than you know - now, let me take care of you, okay?" She nodded into his shoulder and he easily scooped her up into his arms, chuckling under his breath with more emotion than he'd originally intended. "This feels familiar," He snorted, not considering that the memories he'd been pulling on for some of the only marginally positive interaction they'd ever had might not have been as pleasant for her - if he shuddered at the thought of watching her slowly accept death with open arms and lose her mind he could only imagine what it was like to actually experience it. She chuckled into his shoulder, but it was a sad noise, one full of memories best left alone. Was she remembering the torture - or Four? That soured him momentarily.
"Try not to hit my head on the doorway.." She almost whispered, clinging close to him and adding -even quieter than before - her tone just a little more playful, "Don't say I never took you anywhere nice," Peter wouldn't have stopped the bark of laughter from escaping his lips even if he wanted to. He carefully shouldered her weight so that he could reach from beneath her knees to open her bedroom door, shaking his head all the while. He was very careful not to hit her head, letting it rest comfortably against his chest as he twisted and side stepped into the room.
"Wouldn't dream of it, Stiff," He hummed, earning a soft punch to the chest. He gently eased her into a sitting position, her legs hanging over the edge of the bed. Any arousal had given way to something softer - more emotional than physical - and it scared the hell out of him. He walked around her room, taking it all in - she had a large bed with more pillows than any one person could ever need, plush and velvet, just like the blankets. Her floor was the same soft black carpet from the den and her dressers were made from a deeply stained wood. There were no mirrors. There were no pictures. Just books and pens, pieces of paper with scribbled notes, her Erudite was definitely showing. "Do you..need me to get you something to change into..?" Her laugh was musical in his ears, followed by the sound of cloth rustling, and he turned back to see that she'd crawled beneath the covers - her shoulders were bare now. Interesting.
"No, I..I think I'm alright.." Her mouth was a distraction, with her tongue darting out to wet her lips slowly, but he managed to tear his gaze from them and look her in the eye. To stare into the heart of the storm that had been brewing all night. She smiled at him sheepishly, patting the bed next to her before tearing her eyes away and turning a stunning shade of pink. "I'm not..I can't..do that, not right now - but..would you stay with me tonight?" Part of him flinched at the prospect - of the tenderness that was required of him. He couldn't just turn into the tender person she was expecting him to be like that, but the fact that he wanted to was a good sign that he was capable of it, right? He took a deep breath, nodded, and nervously tugged the new t-shirt over his head, emboldened by the soft intake of breath that came from her direction. For a moment his senses were filled with the smell of a department warehouse, which only made the smell of her that much more of a contrast once the cloth was gone.
"Yeah, I don't..see why not. Beats sleeping on the couch."
Just cuddling sounded a lot more difficult, now that he thought about it. He learned quickly that there was no dignified, cool way to kick out of his shorts and felt his face heat up at her giggles when he nearly tripped over himself, but after a few minutes of struggling his clothes were folded on her dresser and he was down to the soft black boxers she'd so kindly bought for him. For a moment he felt ashamed of himself - he had more scars than ever and his bones poked out under his skin in places that used to be hardened by muscle - but when his eyes found hers, saw the look in them, he was given the impression that she didn't mind in the least. His stomach felt like he'd swallowed a handful of butterflies - which was something he had no idea how to deal with, so he opted to ignore it - and he walked slowly, nervously to the bed. Rather than climb in he rested his hands on the covers, peering at his battered and worn fingers and at the clean, probably fairly new material beneath them. You'll get it dirty. You'll ruin it. You'll ruin her.
"I..m-maybe I should..-" Her hands found his, fingers lacing through the empty spaces and filling him with warmth, "D-don't..you'll.." You'll get dirty. He started, choking on the words - there wasn't any dirt to rub off on her, but it was deeper than that. Peter found it difficult to look at anything but their fingers - he saw that hers were scarred, rough from initiation and the harsh battles they'd fought since that point, and it comforted him a little. She was touched by destruction, too. He could bet she had fresh scars on her body, if he were allowed to look. Rather than repulsion, he felt a stirring of arousal at the prospect and swallowed hard. Cuddling was going to be very, very difficult if he kept this up.
"I'm damaged, too, Peter. Don't treat me like I'm made of glass..please. Get in bed."
So he took a deep breath.
Counted to three.
And crawled beneath the covers.
The world didn't end - she didn't shatter, he didn't ruin anything - they kept breathing and he was fine. He just wrapped his arms around her bare waist and felt her curl into him; allowed himself to be absorbed into her and closed his eyes, trying to slow the rapid breaths ripping through him. Panic was a familiar foe, but the warmth of her skin and the smell of her soap was doing wonders. Normally Peter had a hard time sleeping with others in a room - something that had come from the fear of being attacked..like he'd done to Edward - but it was almost impossible to keep his eyes open once her head was nestled under his chin and her arm was draped over his stomach, and so, for the first time in a long time, he gave in. He conceded. And he slept easier than he could remember having done since leaving Candor, what felt like a lifetime ago. For the first time in recent memory he was happy.
The memory serum didn't taunt his dreams that night.
I had so much fun writing this chapter, seriously. I like the idea that some of Peter's few redeeming memories are the ones in which he saved Tris, so I wanted that to have a part to play in his reasoning for throwing his philosophy to the wind in this. He's not going to make any miraculous recoveries into pure kindness, but it's a start. Not sure how many more chapters this will have, but I can't imagine it'll be many more.
