Three
Ten minutes after Number Boy walks out of the room, Eric caves in to the urge that had been plaguing him since the brat on the bed had raised an eyebrow at him. He drags a chair up to the side of her hospital bed, hides her small hand in his one large one, and buries his head in the tangled mess of silver beside her head. To anyone walking past, he would look like a worried lover, desperate to be close to his better half. The casual observer would not hear the harshly wispered threats he hissed into her ear.
"I don't know where you came from kid, but you're in Dauntless now. This is not a love and cuddles institution. It's rough and dangerous. And the longer you play possum, the worse it'll be for you. We have a code here. We believe in facing our fear no matter what the cost to our comfort, our happiness, or even to our sanity. We believe that pain and death are better than cowardice and inaction because we believe in action. We do not believe in living comfortable lives. ~We do not believe that silence is useful.~ We do not believe in good manners. We do not believe in empty heads, empty mouths, or empty hands. We do not believe that any other virtue is more important than bravery."
By the time Eric had finished his abridged version of the Dauntless mission statement, he was squeezing her hand so hard that he thought he might break it. She hadn't so much as flinched.
"Now, I've got no doubt in my mind that you could fit in here. You're a metric fuck tonne tougher than you look, and I doubt you'd fit into any of the other factions. But the longer we play this game, the harder you're going to find it. I'm a Dauntless Leader, I can make or break you. No one does anything here without my say so."
While he was hissing, Eric had unconsciously moved his other arm around to the other side of her head, where his hand was now tangled into the fine hair at the nape of her neck. He squeezed as he snarled out his frustration in her ear, his frustration finding another level when the baffling woman in his arms refused to move an inch.
"Listen here you little freak, I know you can fucking hear me and I know you understand the fucking language. You're gonna knock this bullshit off before I decide you're a threat to the city and put a bullet in your fucking brain. You got that? Answer me before I have to mess up that pretty head of yours"
A derisive snort erupts from the freak in question, and Eric's head snaps up so fast it leaves him dizzy. His eyes are wide with suprise as they meet hers. Her half smile is almost lazy, promising mischief and mayhem. She arches an eyebrow at him as he struggles to gain control of his faculties, and her lazy half smile becomes a full on cheeky grin.
"She's awake, it's a miracle." Eric deadpans, reverting to sarcasm in times of crisis being something he's done from a young age. "And what have you got to say for yourself?"
The cheeky grin on her face fades slowly as Eric holds his breath for the umpteenth time that day. She gives a small, sad, little shake of her head. Eric realises that he's still got a tight grip on her hair. He releases it quickly and snorts
"Seriously, you've nothing to say?"
Another small shake of her head is her only response.
"For fuck's sake kid! You're the first person we've seen from outside the fence in three hundred years, and you've got absolutely nothing to say? I want to know what the hell is out there! Where you came from! Where in Christ's name you think you're going! How many others there are out there..." He trailed off as he took in the look on her face. Her features where contorting before him, trying to stem the fountain of tears that Eric suspected where crowding behind her reddening eyes.
"Hey, hey. It's ok, breath. You're safe here, it's ok, it's fine. Breath, kid, breath! You good? Of course you are, you're fine, see, you're fine." Eric found himself in a position he'd never been in before, a source of comfort. It was not something that came naturally. He tightened his grip on her hair again, lowering his head until his forehead leant against hers. He watched her internal struggle for a moment or two while she regained control of her emotions. It took much less time than he expected for her face to relax and her breathing to return to normal.
"See, you're completely fine" he quietly intoned. He sighed then, more at himself than her. He buried his head back into her hair and brought his mouth back against her ear. "I'm sorry kid, I won't push, I promise." He breathed "But you're gonna have to give me something to work with here. Jeannine is probably already having kittens because I insisted on bringing you here instead of taking you to the Erudite facility. Trust me, the last thing anyone needs is Jeannine sticking her nose in. So you've gotta give me something. Talk to me, pretty lady"
A gentle hand on his cheek made Eric raise his eyes to hers. She mimed writing with the hand that wasn't still trapped within Eric's.
"You're mute" he whispers softly. Her answering soft, sad smile just about breaks what's left of the arrogant leader's cold heart. He squeezes her hand gently, releasing her to scrabble around in his jacket for a pen and paper. She takes it from him when he finds it, supporting herself on an elbow as she quickly scratches out a note. She then pushes the worn notepad toward him as she sinks down on the bed and shuts her eyes. To the rest of the world she may look defeated, but not to Eric. He saw a warrior, resting while she could, calmly anticipating the battle to come. He looked down at her scribbled note.
"My name is Kella Esarosa. I was a soldier once, in a great war. I died, and then I woke up alone."
oOoOo
Eric was alone with his thoughts. Kella was sleeping. Actually sleeping this time, not just pretending to be comatose. Not long after he had read the note, all hell had broken loose. Doctors and nurses had come running in from all directions. They had swarmed about her bed, attempted to push Eric out of the room, and had just generally made nuisances of themselves. He had watched for a short while as the little brat played them. She'd been the perfect picture of helplessness as she mucked about with her heart rate, it was a stellar performance. His roar of "ENOUGH!" had put a stop to that though. The little freak had opened her eyes and rolled them, before she'd sat up, grinning like a maniac at the looks on the doctor's faces.
He sighed, coming back to the present. His fingers tightened around hers as he watched her snuffle a little in her sleep, a small line of drool pooling under her cheek. What the fuck was wrong with him? He should be treating her like an initiate already, even with another nine months to go before the next crop of transfers showed up. He definitely shouldn't be wrapped around her while she sleeps. It's unprofessional, and not to mention, highly irregular.
He has no doubt in his mind of where she'll end up. She's a soldier, only one place for her. He knew she was a soldier when he saw her on the screen in the control room. It wasn't the way she was dressed, or the gear she carried. It was the walk. The calm, determined, ground eating walk of a seasoned warrior. She walked with purpose, even if she didn't actually know where she was going. She would do well in Dauntless, but not if he didn't detach himself from her. He just didn't seem to be able to help himself. As soon as he'd touched her, he'd had the seemingly irresistible urge to hang onto her. He didn't comprehend it in the slightest.
But far worse than his sudden obsession with touching the weirdo from outside the fence, was his urge to be... nice. Pleasant... supportive even. He'd suffered these urges occasionally in the past, they'd always been pretty easy to ignore. This time, however, there just seemed to be no escaping the gut crushing sensation he'd felt as he watched the foreign beauty's face squash up in grief. It was unbearable. He was definitely going to have to do something about this situation.