A/N: Thank you to everyone who has reviewed, favorited, and/or followed this story! Thank you also to BK2U, who has been doing a wonderful job of beta-reading this story for me.
This chapter takes a darker turn. Some of you might want to wait and read it with the next one, which will be posted tomorrow.
Chapter 8: Argument
They've both been on short fuses lately, between trying to figure out what to do about Tobias' mother and the worry that Peter might have gotten their address before the newspaper removed it and will come after Tris. The tension has caused more than one minor issue to turn into a full-out battle, so it's not a shock when they find themselves all but shouting at each other, snarling and gesticulating and trying to prove themselves right, over something they wouldn't have even bothered complaining about a few weeks ago.
Today, though, proves to be different. It happens when Tobias steps closer to her, running his hands through his hair in frustration and then gesturing wildly as he begins his next point. He's completely unprepared for Tris' reaction.
Her eyes flash panic, and she steps back quickly, raising her hands defensively as a subconscious whimper emerges from deep inside her.
For a moment, he just freezes, his anger dissipating instantly at the all-too-familiar expression on her face. It's the way his mother always looked when his father attacked. Seeing it on Tris, directed at him, rips him apart.
"I'm not going to hurt you, Tris," he says desperately, feeling as if all the air has been sucked from his lungs. If she hears him, there's no indication of it. She moves farther away, her breathing rapid and her hands up and her eyes unfocused, and he knows she's in the middle of a full-fledged panic attack. One he caused.
"Tris, I swear, I won't hurt you." His voice breaks on the words. He wants nothing more than to take the last few minutes back and remove this fear from the woman he loves. He never wanted to remind her of the bastard who hit her, or to feel like his own father, and yet he's just done both within a remarkably short period of time. It digs all the way through him.
"Tris…." He edges a bit nearer, torn between the deep need to comfort her and the knowledge that his closeness is likely to make things worse.
"No." Her voice is simultaneously fierce and terrified, and it makes his feet root in place again. "Stay back." She's panting now, her body curling in on itself as some type of high-pitched squealing sound emerges between her gasps for air.
"Tris, please let me help," he whispers.
She shakes her head rapidly. "Just go," she insists. "Leave me alone." Their eyes meet for a brief flicker before she shouts it. "GO!"
He does, stumbling out the door without even pausing to grab his coat. Sagging against the wall of the hallway, he stares at their doorknob. Every part of him desperately wants to turn it, to enter their life again and make this right. Hope flares through him when he sees it jiggle, but then he hears the unmistakable sound of the deadbolt locking, and cold sinks through his entire being.
She doesn't want him right now, and there's no way of knowing when she will. The abandoned child inside him can't help feeling like she never will.
He walks through the brisk evening air for hours after that, not caring how much the chill works its way through his bones. He loses track of how many texts he sends to her, apologizing for the fight and reassuring her that he's not like them and that it never would have escalated beyond words. Mostly, he pleads for her to tell him that she's okay. He needs to know that.
But she doesn't answer. He knows that she's probably turned her phone off and hasn't even seen his messages, but that doesn't ease the rejection.
Eventually, he finds his way to a bar in whatever part of town he's in. He's thoroughly lost by now, so it's hardly a surprise that he doesn't recognize the place. It's probably just as well – he certainly doesn't want to talk to anyone he knows at the moment, except of course for Tris.
He drinks in silence, slumped on a stool at the empty end of the bar. It's a weeknight, and the customers slowly filter out as it gets later, until the bartender is moving just between him and a few others left behind. She's probably around his age, with blond hair that looks like it might be bleached and a build not too dissimilar from Tris', though she's taller. Virtually everyone is, really.
"You look like you're having an awful day," she says sympathetically as she serves his latest refill. He's not at all sure how many he's had.
Whatever the number, it's apparently enough to get him to talk, because he actually answers.
"The worst." He takes a swallow, fighting back the unexpected desire to let loose and cry. He never does that, particularly not in public.
"You want to tell me about it?" Her voice is gentle and understanding – the perfect bartender tone.
"No." He doesn't say it viciously, just as a statement of fact. His surly habits may be deep-rooted, but he's already upset too many people for one night.
She nods, not prying. "I've had some rough ones, too." Leaning against the bar, she watches him for a moment before adding, "I'm Lauren."
He almost doesn't respond, but it's usually a bad idea to piss off the person who's serving you liquor, so he finally mutters, "I go by Four." He's not inclined to tell this stranger his real name. Right now, that feels like something just for Tris.
"Unusual nickname." She cocks her head, evaluating him. "But it kind of works for you." He doesn't answer, and she gives him a small smile before returning to another customer.
"So, Four," she says when she comes back to check on him some ten minutes later, "I'm guessing girl trouble?"
She has a soothing voice, and by now, Tobias has drunk enough to have lost his usual verbal filters, so he finds himself responding.
"My fiancée kicked me out." It's a harsh admission, and Lauren gives a low whistle, shaking her head a little.
"Why?"
It's not something Tobias is prepared to answer, but he's spent hours now bottling up his reaction, and it ends up spilling out before he can stop himself.
"She thinks I'm like her ex…." He swallows hard, staring at the countertop. "We were arguing, and she thought I was going to hit her like he did." The words taste bitter in his mouth.
Lauren's expression is serious, and her tone is firmer when she asks, "Does she have a reason to think that?"
"No." It's almost a snarl. "I would never do that." He takes another swig from his glass. "I've been on the receiving end of that shit. I sure as hell wouldn't dish it out on her."
Lauren nods slowly, her mouth flat in some mix of emotions that's hard to read. "Well, I kind of know where she's coming from," she finally says. "I had a friend who went through that, and it took her years to stop having flashbacks." She sighs. "It killed a couple of good relationships in the meantime."
There's no way to deny how much that statement frightens Tobias. He can't lose Tris – particularly not for something he didn't even do.
The bartender must see that on his face, because she adds, "I'm sure that won't happen with you." It's obvious to him that she isn't sure at all.
It adds to the pain that no amount of liquor can dull, and he finds himself voicing that thought, too. "It just hurts, you know? The way she looked at me…."
There's a sadness behind Lauren's eyes, and she gives his arm a few comforting pats. He shies away instinctively, though not as much as he usually does with anyone not-Tris.
She sighs. "It will be all right, Four. Just give it time."
When she takes his next empty glass away, she gives him another evaluating look. "You're going to need to give me your keys if you want anything else to drink," she concludes. "Bar policy."
"I walked here," he states flatly. "So, I couldn't drive even if I wanted to."
She purses her lips before accepting that. "Fair enough. But you'd better give me your phone, anyway."
The request startles him, and he glares at her suspiciously. "Why?"
Her chuckle is low. "Well, for two reasons. First, if you get to the point where I don't think you can leave on your own, it will allow me to call a friend to get you instead of the police. And second, sooner or later, it's going to sound like a great idea to call your fiancée, and trust me, that's really never a good choice."
He opens his mouth to argue, but part of him knows that she's right. Tris told him once that Peter used to hit her when he was drunk, so calling her in his current state would be a huge mistake. Besides, if she hasn't answered his texts yet, she clearly doesn't want to talk to him tonight.
His eyes flicker over his phone briefly as he takes it out, hoping against hope that there's a message from Tris that he somehow missed, but of course there isn't. So, he sighs and looks up Zeke's contact information.
There's a photo of his and Shauna's wedding by the name, and Tobias' eyes cloud a little at the memory of that day, and of his own plans to marry Tris soon. But he swallows hard, handing the phone over before he can dwell on the thought.
"If you need to call someone," he says resignedly, "call Zeke."
"Okay," Lauren says as she takes the phone, setting it on a shelf behind her. "Don't worry, Four. I'll take good care of you."
The throbbing in his head wakes him up gradually, mixing with the unsettled feeling in his stomach until he has no choice but to sit up. The world spins around him when he does, impossibly bright light piercing his eyes painfully as he tries to get his bearings.
He has no idea where he is.
It's a bedroom – that much is obvious – but it's not one he recognizes. Looking around it doesn't help, either. Instead, his confusion turns to discomfort as he realizes that the room contains entirely too much pink, and that he has no memory whatsoever of what happened last night or of how he got here.
The discomfort turns to outright terror as his gaze takes in the rumpled sheets on the bed, and the clothing strewn across the floor, and his own barely dressed state. He's wearing nothing but his boxers.
What the hell did he do?
Stumbling to his feet, he begins retrieving his clothes, his body working on autopilot as he tries to shut out his thoughts long enough to get out of here. But he can't keep his mind from racing through comparisons to every time he's ever awoken in a state like this. It's not like he made a habit of having one-night stands, but they certainly looked like this afterwards.
It's not a concept he can grasp. There's no way he ever would have cheated on Tris. Would he?
The hope sinks when he sees a woman's thong lying near his own pants, and he freezes for a solid few seconds as fierce, blinding panic tears through him. No no no no no. Fuck no. How could he have done this?
To make it worse, he doesn't even carry condoms with him anymore, because he doesn't need them with Tris. What has he exposed himself to? Exposed Tris to? This can't be happening….
Somehow, he manages to get his clothes on before staggering out of the bedroom, desperate to escape from here and go somewhere he can think. He has to find a way to fix this, no matter how impossible that seems right now.
"Oh good, you're up." The voice is young and unmistakably female, and his eyes shoot to her with a kind of resigned horror as he takes in her blond hair and petite stature. God, in his drunken state, did he think she was Tris?
"I was wondering if I'd have to douse you in cold water," she adds, laughing a little. But for him, the sight of her is too much. It brings all the turmoil inside him to a raging peak, causing the nausea and vertigo and pounding headache to churn together into an urgent need to get everything out of his system now.
He barely makes it to the bathroom before he's heaving into the toilet, emptying his insides the way he wishes he could remove the entire night from his life. He has never regretted anything so much, and he has absolutely no idea how he can ever hope to recover from this.
Please don't kill me...
