A/N: Thank you so much to those lovely people who reviewed the last chapter! I really, really appreciate the support. Thank you also to my wonderful beta reader, Rosalie, who always does such a good job with a super-fast turnaround time.
"Divergent" Chapter 10 – Peter Versus Tris
Eric is in the training room before me the next morning, and it's obvious from his sour expression that Max has already talked to him. I wish he'd agreed to do more, instead of making it clear that Eric is in charge as long as he doesn't kill anyone. But at least he said he'd draw the line on acceptable punishments.
Unfortunately, it quickly becomes clear that Eric has found a way to get his revenge. He's written today's pairs on the board, and he has Tris fighting Peter. A sick feeling washes through me. She's half his size, and there's no way she's developed enough skill to counter that yet.
For a moment, I just look at the board, trying to figure out how to approach this. In many ways, I know it's a mistake to say anything. I do. But I can't leave her to that fate without at least making an effort to change it.
"Peter versus Tris?" I ask mockingly, my voice implying that Eric is acting like an idiot. "Exactly how does that further either of their training?"
"We only want the best in Dauntless," Eric says, the vicious smile on his face showing how much he's enjoying this. "So the sooner we knock that scrawny little Stiff out of here, the better."
"That scrawny little Stiff," I respond as evenly as I can, "jumped first. So, clearly she has some potential. And the purpose of training is supposed to be giving everyone a chance to–" But Eric cuts me off.
"The purpose of training is to give Dauntless the best new members it can! And we already have too many Stiffs around here as it is." His smirk makes it abundantly clear that this is all about me, not Tris.
At least that gives me an excuse…. I step closer to him, letting my anger show as I prepare for the fight he obviously wants. He may be a leader, but Dauntless never frowns on responding violently to an insult. I won't get in much trouble for this.
We're only a foot away from each other, our hands fisted and our muscles tensed, when the first initiates walk through the door. I almost groan in response. It would be a very bad idea to let this go any further in front of the transfers. Besides, there's no way Eric will change the pairings now – not after people have already seen them. I've lost this battle.
I take a deep breath, shooting Eric one last look before turning away and walking to a spot near the wall. Maybe Peter will knock her out quickly, without causing too much harm. It's the best I can hope for.
The first fight is quick. Edward flattens Molly thoroughly, leaving her barely able to peel herself off the floor, dazed and unable to stand without help. Even Eric has to admit she can't continue, despite the fact that she's technically still conscious.
Really, though, I think he's just anxious to get to the main event. Tris and Peter are next.
Her face is determined as she enters the ring, and I know immediately that even if the rules allowed her to concede, she never would. She'll fight with everything in her, no matter how unlikely it is that she'll win. I have to admire that.
"You okay there, Stiff?" Peter taunts her, and I cross my arms over my chest to hide how my hands have balled into fists.
"You look like you're about to cry," he adds. "I might go easy on you if you cry."
Eric moves closer to me – probably so he can watch my reaction better – and he begins tapping his foot rapidly. I know he's trying to be as obnoxious as possible.
"Come on, Stiff," Peter continues, making me even angrier. "Just one little tear. Maybe some begging."
Tris is clearly furious, too, and she aims a kick at Peter's side. It's too slow, though, and he catches it, using it to yank her forward and then knock her onto her back. For a second, I allow myself to hope that the fight will be over that fast, but then she scrambles up again before he can follow her to the floor.
Eric snaps, "Stop playing with her. I don't have all day." And my hands clench so hard I'm probably digging cuts into my palms, despite how short my fingernails are. Be quick. Please be quick.
But it's obvious that Peter enjoys torture as much as Eric does. He catches Tris in the jaw with a quick jab and then watches as she lurches to the side, moving as far away from him as she can. He smirks and then darts in front of her again, kicking her hard in the stomach. It's not good technique, but she doesn't have the experience to block it or get out of the way, and she falls hard, gasping for breath. As I did before, I mentally nudge Peter forward to finish this, but he waits, and Tris gets up again.
This time, he grabs her hair and punches her in the nose. It's a cruel move – one designed to inflict pain without much damage, to keep her awake while he continues his blows. It's the kind of thing my father did, and I do not want to watch this happen to Tris.
She slaps at his arms, trying to push him away, and he responds by punching her viciously in the ribs before shoving her to the floor again. Just pretend to pass out from the pain, I plead silently, but she won't. Instead, she coughs and drags herself sluggishly to her feet again. She can barely stand, let alone fight, and any decent human being would stop the fight at this point. Unfortunately, decent human beings aren't in charge right now.
Eric watches as if he can't get enough of the fight, as if it's food and he hasn't eaten in years. And Peter has almost the same look on his face. It's clear they both intend to draw this out as long as possible.
For a moment, I consider going after one or the other of them – delivering the same type of punishing blows to see how they enjoy it when they're the ones receiving it. But Max's words ring through my head, and I know that would just get me kicked out of my position, and that certainly wouldn't help Tris, or Uriah, or any of the others.
Peter strikes her on the side of the head as she sways in front of him, but somehow she manages to stay on her feet. She even punches back, drawing strength from who knows where to land a blow against his stomach. But she's far too disoriented to make it work, even if she had enough muscle mass to do damage that way.
He barely groans before smacking her ear with the flat of his palm, laughing under his breath. And suddenly I can't watch this anymore. If this is what Dauntless has become – watching a bully beat up someone far braver than himself – then maybe it's better if Tris becomes factionless. She deserves better than this place.
I shove the door open and walk out without a word. I don't even care how Eric interprets my exit.
But I don't go far. I remember Tris' eyes from yesterday, the accusation in them that I left the initiates alone with Eric, and I know I can't do that to her. So, I walk partway down the hallway, to an area the cameras don't monitor, and I crouch with my back against the wall. My breathing is heavy, and my heart is pounding, and I so badly want to punch something. Hard. This is tearing me apart, and I don't entirely know why.
Tris screams. The sounds rips through me, yanking me to my feet again before I even realize I've moved. She didn't scream at all with everything Peter did to her before. What has he done to elicit that now?
I march back into the room, my eyes taking in the sight of Tris on the floor with Peter over her, still hitting her. She's no longer moving to resist.
"Enough!" I shout, and Peter stops, reluctance clear in his expression. But I just turn to Eric. "If you kill one of them, you're out of here, remember?" I snarl at him.
He looks at me with some strange mixture of hatred and amusement, but he doesn't say anything. Instead, he simply turns to the board, moving to circle Peter's name, and I cross the room quickly to where Tris lies in a pool of blood on the floor.
My fingers tremble almost imperceptibly as I check her neck and back to make sure nothing's broken so badly that it wouldn't be safe to move her. Fortunately, she avoided that level of damage, and she's still breathing. It should be okay to carry her.
I glance at the other initiates, realizing that the only ones big enough are Al, who is fighting next, and Peter, who will never touch her again as far as I'm concerned.
"Clean up the blood so you don't slip on it," I warn Al as I gather Tris into my arms and head for the infirmary. I glare levelly at Eric as I pass him, badly wanting to wipe that smirk off his face.
I don't notice much of the walk. Tris feels so light in my arms, it's as if she's not really in her body anymore, and that scares me far more than I care to admit. After two years of being in this faction, I finally meet an interesting girl – one I could like if the circumstances were different – and Eric might have killed her. There are so many reasons for me to hate him, but this is the one I'll never forgive him for.
Helena is with another patient when I reach the infirmary, but I shout her name as I carry Tris toward her, and she looks up, startled. It only takes her a second to rush over, and then we're laying Tris on a bed and working together to staunch her bleeding while Helena checks for worse injuries.
I'm not sure how much time passes before we get Tris stable. The injuries were mostly on the surface, Helena reassures me, but all I can see is the blood. And the empty eyes as Helena checks them for signs of a concussion. I hadn't realized how much of Tris' presence is based on the life in her eyes, but she looks so small without that fierce energy.
Eventually, Helena returns to the other patient in the room, and I sit next to Tris, feeling exhausted by the last hour. It's still early in the day, but it feels like an eternity has passed since I woke up this morning.
I should go back to the training room, I realize slowly, but I don't want to. I don't want to have to look at Eric anymore, or Peter for that matter, and I don't particularly want to watch the other fights. Those pairings were far more even than Tris', anyway, so they'll take time, and after Eric's demonstration yesterday, no one will try anything too stupid. It should be safe to leave them for now, or as safe as possible with Eric involved.
And I don't want to leave Tris until I'm sure she's okay. Or at least until she's conscious.
I reach out and trace my fingers lightly over the injury at the corner of her mouth. The motion feels so natural, I don't quite realize I'm doing it at first. When I do, I freeze, my hand stopping an inch above her face.
What the hell am I doing? She's an initiate, and I'm her instructor. I have to get a handle on these feelings.
I pull my hand back, looking at Tris as I force myself to evaluate the situation. There's no point in telling myself I don't like her. Obviously, I do. But the question is how much – and what am I going to do about it? And does she feel the same way?
Maybe it doesn't even matter. Once initiation is finished, I plan to join the factionless. If Tris fails, I suppose there's a chance we could get together out there someday. But despite how badly Peter beat her, I just don't see her failing. She's too determined. Too Dauntless.
And I'm not. That's really what it comes down to. This faction is no longer my home, and I don't know if I could stay here just because I finally found someone I like.
But as I watch her, fighting the urge to brush my fingers along her face again, I have to admit I'd consider it.
By the time I return to the training room, Drew has beaten Al, and Will and Christina are just finishing their fight. I watch as he lands a good blow on her jaw, knocking her to the floor and leaving her only semi-conscious – definitely too dazed to continue. I call the fight, circling Will's name before Eric can say anything, and I realize that was the last match of the day.
Eric tells the initiates that we'll be going to the fence tomorrow for a field trip, and then he dismisses them for lunch. He's the first one out the door, looking back at me with a smirk that makes it clear he's leaving me to clean up the room by myself – simply because he can. But it doesn't matter. The Abnegation in me would rather clean this place alone than go eat with my friends at the moment.
So, I do, cleaning up the remainder of Tris' blood before straightening everything up and finally heading out. By the time I get to lunch, the dining hall is almost empty, and my friends have long since gone. That's okay. I'm not really in a conversational mood anyway.
I sit in the same seat I did when the initiates first got here, when I sat next to Tris, and I eat simple food – Abnegation food – as I let my thoughts drift again to my fellow Stiff. I don't come to any conclusions about what to do, except for one. No matter what does or doesn't happen, I have to make very sure that Eric doesn't figure out how I feel about her.
A/N: Please take a moment to review this chapter. Your reviews help me know what's working and what isn't, and they motivate me to keep writing.
Also, I could use some feedback on what to do for the knife-throwing scene, which is coming up soon. This fic is consistent with "Free Four: Tobias Tells the Divergent Knife-Throwing Scene," but that was written as a stand-alone story, so it doesn't entirely fit into the flow of the other chapters here. I could either write the chapter from Tobias' POV, knowing it will be similar to that short story, or write the scene from Al's POV. Please let me know which you prefer.
Thanks!
