Beta-proofing provided by Milner.

The bus ride to the Bureau seemed longer than the trip to Milwaukee, even though it was nearly six hours shorter since the roads were improved out a hundred miles over the winter by their own hands. They flew down the path until they met the crew, many waving as they rocked back and forth past. Keeping with his nature, Rafael continued to jabber about the things he was looking forward to. Almost all of it was exclusively food related: Cake, jam on toast, apples.

Four interjected the obvious- a hot shower, the tepid water of the camps long unwelcome. He wanted the soft cotton of a new shirt, jeans without holes in the patches of his knees, the silence of his own room.

All of Rafael's reminiscing about the dishes and objects he recalled as being essential to the experiences that were beyond his reach made Four regret wiping his memories. At the same time, the rhythm to his excitement made it easy to let the jabbering fade into the background while he selfishly ran through his own list. Each mile passed adding an ounce of nervous anxiety into his already uncomfortable body. Sleep was impossible when each session resulted in a memory overload.

They unloaded in front of the Bureau doors like scared cattle coming into the feed lot- one at a time to be processed by a guard at the front. The facility was teeming with bodies, organized according to the check boxes on the incoming inspection, a total contrast from the fractured silence just after the wipe. Four eyed his paper: his short name, place and approximate date of birth, anticipated end location- undecided. It had taken him a second to process the question leading to the handwritten statement by other. He sighed in relief when his line shuffled through the doors and he got to stand for nearly a minute beneath the hot stream of air just at the threshold.

Nose down, eyes on a chart, Christina breezed past by chance. Four didn't even process how quickly or naturally he called her name, pulling her attention before grabbing her arm and wrapping her up in a hug so tight that it surprised even him. It felt like pressing a piece of home into a void in a puzzle.

Unfortunately, it was before she could recognize him and even if she had, she'd second guessed. He received a swift knock to his side, accompanied by a jab he blocked with his arm. "Christina, it's me, Four," he coughed, protecting his bandaged hand.

"Four!" she exclaimed, gripping him as he doubled over. "You scared the crap out of me. I didn't recognize you. You look even worse in person. You didn't say you were coming," she bubbled enthusiastically, eyeing him over. "Jesus, you look fringe," she commented, putting a fingertip through a hole in his jacket and considering the patches in his jeans.

"Good to see you, too," he laughed, giving a controlled squeeze to her shoulder and recovering some composure over his impulses. Her hands went directly to the long beard and pulled. "Yeah, yeah." He rolled his eyes at her and she ruffled his hair that was splayed out in wisps down to his shoulders.

"I've seen fringe people that look better than you. I thought you said they had indoor plumbing at this camp." She put the back of her hand to his forehead. "You're burning up." Then she noticed the bandage on his hand, protectively positioned behind his hip. "What did you do?" she asked.

"Just another reason to call me Four." He tried the joke for the first time, holding up his hand with a bit of a blush. He knew there would be attention, and that made his skin crawl, but with her it was a little easier than he expected. It felt good to see someone familiar smiling back at him, even if it was full of concern. "This place is more...alive then the last time I was here," he deflected.

"What did you do?" She didn't take the bait, grabbing his hand so she could look closer. "Oh my God! Where is your finger?"

"Up your ass if you don't stop squeezing," he warned, pulling his hand back. "Just an accident." Rafael cast him a questioning glance as he joined him.

"This is Rafael," he introduced. "Christina."

"Why hello." Rafael wiggled his eyebrows a little. "Very nice to meet you."

"This guy found a barber," she deadpanned, comparing the two.

"Yeah, yeah, he had lice," Four teased. Rafael subtly rolled his eyes. "So this place is busier than the ghost town I left."

"Yeah, there's a lot of back and forth right now. People going in to settle, people coming out to explore. It's been crazy to see all the travelers hubbing around." She took up his small ruck sack. "Come on, you need to get through the doctors before we let you into the general population." She snatched his paper, looking through the check list. "I'll have to have a word with the inspectors, fevers are supposed to get diverted." She recorded the name at the bottom.

"I couldn't get treatment out in Milwaukee, it's why I'm here." He felt like he had to explain, given her curious glances over her shoulder while she lead him through the hallways.

"When did it happen?" It didn't take a Candor to note the agitation in her tone.

"Two weeks ago." He instantly regretted saying it.

"And you didn't write, you didn't call?" She punched him roughly and squarely in his chest, then stiffened. This boisterousness hadn't been part of their relationship and she obviously thought she crossed a line. But he just laughed when she rationalized, "Or I guess you couldn't write?"

"I didn't think it mattered. I mean, I lost a finger. That's why you get ten," he suggested, but she stayed stern. Then she remembered.

"When you wanted Cara's number? Was that what that was?"

"Yeah," he admitted. "I needed some advice. Not that it saved me this trip."

"Thought that was a dream," she mused.

"A frantic man calls you in the middle of the night and you think it's a dream?" he teased, testing the waters just a little.

"They usually knock on the door," she sassed back.

"Hey, guys?" Rafael interrupted, watching a group of girls walking the other way, "As much as I'd like to make sure that finger gets professionally cleaned up, I think you've got this handled. So I'll catch up with you later." Four nodded as he departed like he was let loose on the hunt.

"So, Rafael? What's his story?" Four wondered if she didn't notice why he left in a hurry, then figured that she might not care.

"If you can find some records, I think he'd appreciate it." He paused, weighing the line between precaution and his assured embarrassment before continuing. "And if you do, um... use protection. Lice might not be the only thing he caught," he warned, turning a little pink.

"I'll keep that in mind." He could have sworn she also blushed a little, turning around to watch him down the hall. "But he's a good guy?"

"Yeah, seems to be. Works hard, doesn't complain, likes to be around people." He smiled. "He's been a good friend." Then he smirked, seeing the smile on her face while she watched Rafael disappear around a corner. "You break his heart, I'll break your legs," he teased.

"Oh, that's how it is? You've known him a hot minute and you're on his team?" She laughed back. It felt good to trade jokes and be light. "So, you here to stay or what?"

"I think Chicago- that was the plan. I guess I haven't really decided yet," he admitted. "It's different up there. But it's different here too, right?"

"Yeah, tons different. I mean I only get second hand from Amar about Chicago, but it seems they're making a lot of changes very quickly."

"Amar is really back in Chicago, like for good?"

"Seriously. You realize being friends with people requires effort right?" He shrugged, so she continued. "He and George went back to Dauntless around the time Tris and Caleb left." He winced when she said her name, just enough for a Candor to see.

"Still? It's been months." He rolled his eyes and changed the topic.

"What are my options if I stay here or if I go to Chicago?"

"Well, there's a lot of stuff here. Mainly for working with Chicago and the leadership there to frame the future, set it all up. Obviously you could work in security or something. Amar said you were good with computers, equipment?"

"Yeah."

"Well, we could use your help around here. Most of the techies have gone into the labs in Chicago or didn't retain it after the wipe. Not many people are left that can run a facility. I mean, that's what you use to do, the control room, right?"

"Yeah. I mean the Dauntless control room was all second hand from Erudite. Probably decades behind what they have here. What about Chicago?"

"Would you go back to Dauntless?" He considered this for a second.

"I don't know. I never really belonged there."

"Bullshit," she corrected. "Four fears? Amar says you're the best fighter he's ever seen. Best shot, best trainer."

"Yeah, but I'm not that kid he knew anymore." He held up his hand. "Damaged goods now." He meant it in more ways than one.

"You could go to the former-factionless- that's what the factionless are calling themselves now."

"I could just go factionless, like I planned," he contemplated. "Not much for large groups."

"Friends take effort," she reminded. "Obviously more effort than you want to put in. It might be easier if you actually lived near a few of them."

"Yeah." He furrowed his brow together, then decided to say what was on his mind.

"Where is everyone? Like where did Zeke and Shauna go?"

"Dauntless."

"Tris?" he asked cautiously.

"She's living with Caleb in a building near Erudite," she said softly, watching him closely. "She works for the government. I don't think that necessarily excludes her from any faction, but she isn't really in one either."

They were at the opening to the hospital, people in coats are milling around and travelers waiting just inside. She peeled off to the side so they could finish their conversation, her clipboard tucked under an arm.

"So how'd it really happen?"

"An accident," he stated again, trying to hold his face as still as possible. "That's all."

"Mmm-hmm." She didn't look convinced. It was her turn to look hesitant and pause, making a decision whether to share.

"Tris is here, too, right now. Pretty sure you didn't want an awkward, accidental encounter." He wasn't ready for that. He was content to think he could avoid her forever. "She had another surgery, last week. She's going back on Friday, but I'd avoid the Library if you want to avoid her," she warned.

"She's still hurt?" he asked, that sense of concern replacing his pretend indifference.

"There's been quite a few surgeries. They have to pace them out. You know, reconstruction and stuff. Can't fix Rome in a day! At least that's what she says. Read it in some book. She just had a bullet fragment removed and they rebuilt her shoulder." She stuttered the start before finally asking, "Do you want to talk to her?"

"Does she ever mention me?" Her silence was the no he was dreading. Christina's face changed when she realized he was not remotely alright with the situation.

"I don't know exactly what happened between you, but it's not just you. She's not who she used to be."

"What do you mean? What's wrong with her?" he muttered, folding his arms and feeling defensive. Full of resentment too, but also a little satisfied.

"The same thing that's wrong with all of us. Too many memories." She cast her eyes down. "She's been pretty depressed. It's like all the fight's been beat out of her. But she seems better this time. Not like the last surgery, but she's still very quiet, not handling the trauma well." Then she paused. "I mean, that's really why you're coming back, right? To check in on her?"

"Yeah, I cut off my finger so I'd have a good excuse," he stated dryly. "Honestly, I couldn't steal antibiotics in Milwaukee." She raised an eyebrow. "Seriously, that's all."

"Are you going to at least try to talk?"

"Wasn't planning on it." The idea brought up the familiar irritation of the last few months. "Do you think I should even bother?"

"Holding it in never helped anyone." She didn't even try to suppress the wisdom of her old faction.

"I'm not holding anything in," he lied, feeling more annoyed with each breath. "You can tell her I'm back. You know, that I'm not trying to get in her way."

"Don't think like that."

"She made her choice. I have to respect that."

"It's the wrong choice," Christina muttered.

"Life's full of wrong choices, but what's done is done." He had started using that statement to cope.

"She's usually in the library, reading all afternoon. If I were you, I'd try to talk there. I don't think she'd like getting too upset in public. I'd also clean up. You're unrecognizable." She turned to walk away.

"I'm not going talk to her," he called after her with a huff, feeling embarrassed when he realized how infantile he sounded. She looked like she would let it drop for a second as she walked further away, but then she paused and turned back.

"Four, she made that choice when she was the weakest I'd ever seen her, the most messed up. She might be ready to make a different one now, okay?" He just pursed his lips, not sure how to respond. "I have to get back to work. I'll find you later."

He walked into the clinic, ready to get the throbbing pain out of his body. The immediate assessment put him in a bed with an IV drip of antibiotics. A surgeon was called to see if anything further should be done to address the amputation.

Before the consult could come, his secondary reaction to the medication raised his fever and swelled his arm from the IV to his hand. An older man with a graying beard looked at the him, wide-eyed and fatigued.

"You fringe folk are just a mess," he muttered. "If it's not syphilis it's mange. Not mange it's mangled limbs." Four was writhing in discomfort as the skilled but inconsiderate hands squeezed and moved his metacarpals. "I need x-rays and switch the IV to Keflex; get a resident in here to drain it. If the infection doesn't kill him by tomorrow and his fever comes down below a hundred, I'll operate at three."

Four questioned, "Is that a joke?" He wasn't certain if it was dry humor.

"You have blood poisoning and an infection in your bone. The idea that you're alive right now is pretty surreal." He patted him on the shoulder. "Hope you make it," he said, and left.

Outside of the pulsing pain that was running up his arm -which was greatly diminishing from the pain medication- he felt fine. He had to admit that he'd had a headache and muscle aches for the last four days, but that wasn't unusual given his meager rations and hard labor. And the fever that set in the day of and never broke, maybe that should have been a sign. But he couldn't accept it. He felt fine.

A pimple-faced girl with beady eyes hidden behind thick glasses and thin fingers cut into the side of his hand releasing a stream of putrid puss. The release of pressure was the nearest to ecstasy he could imagine in a hospital bed. He sighed in relief at the release of pressure. She gagged at the smell and he felt equally repulsed. His head took off down the swoosh of pain medication, leaving his body behind for sleep to take over.

{}

He was barely awake and simply enjoying the numbness in his hand. It was the first relief he'd felt in the two weeks since he'd been attacked. He let his eyes alternate between open and closed, and he was about to let them shut for another nap when Amar tapped lightly on the door. Three other patients shared his room- two were sleeping and the third stared off out the window. It felt a hundred more times private than the work camp.

"You thin-fuck of a stiff," he greeted with a broad smile. "Hear I should call you stumpy."

"Asshole. Thought you were in Chicago." He pushed himself up in bed.

"I'm up getting some equipment and caught Christina in the hallway. You look like hell." He folded his arms in front of him. "I've seen people fatter in the fringe."

"Milwaukee's not the easiest of places."

"Or maybe you just don't know how to take it easy?" he asked. Always making him question himself, always asking for him to think. At that moment there wasn't a more annoying trait.

"What do you want?" He couldn't stop himself to make it sound nicer than he felt.

"Came to see what kept you from dinner. Find out you have blood poisoning." He picked up his chart. "And lice," he adds.

"I don't have lice." He rolled his eyes. "I don't think the nurse knows what lice looks like." Amar smiled. "How have you been?"

"You know, a little warning next time you're going to wipe my friends, okay?" It was his turn to look annoyed. "I spent the first six weeks cleaning up after your mess. Trying to get everyone back to work and back to being productive." He sighed. "There were no less than four riots in the fringe and two attacks on the compound."

"Sorry, but you would have stopped us."

"Damn right," he spat. Then his face softened. "I was skeptical about the results, but I'll admit, things overall seem to be going okay."

"How's George?"

"On the fence. I'm wondering if you'll take the couch in our apartment. Hate to see a friend out in cot-city."

"I've got a friend with me, met on the way up to Milwaukee. We're kind of in this together. "

Amar raised his eyebrow. "What's her name?"

"Rafael, and no, we're not together. Not like that," he corrected quickly. "He was wiped."

"Meet any nice girls up there?" Amar took a seat in the visitor's chair and put his feet up on the bed.

"Nothing worth talking about," he said quietly.

"Still ending dates with getting slapped, eh?" He didn't answer. "Alright, what's the game plan with Tris?"

"Steer clear of her," he huffed. "I've had enough of women for a while."

"She's not the same-"

"Yeah, yeah, poor Tris," he placated, the medication removing any notion of filtering. "Full of demons. Join the fucking club."

"She's not the same as when you left," he corrected. "I don't think she's proud of what she did to you."

Four closed his eyes.

"Chicago's getting bigger every day, but it might not be big enough to avoid her forever." Amar sighed and stood. "You coming back to Dauntless? We'll make you dinner and you can stay with us. Might even have room for your friend."

"Yeah, if you can take both of us. I'm assuming my apartment's gone?"

"May not be, haven't checked. Not everyone came back, you know, but it was a pretty sweet apartment," he suggested sarcastically.

Four settled in for another stint of drug-induced sleep that fluttered just on the line of consciousness. The bed felt strange, soft throughout without the poke of springs. The room was foreign, too warm and dry. It smelled of cleaning sprays, not mildew, and the sound of three people sleeping was unsettling compared to dozens. He was mostly awake when they came to deliver him to the surgeon for a formal amputation of his complete digit.

The lights in the hospital never quite shut off, but between the doses and the rude disruptions from the nurses, he was not present enough in the world to notice how many days passed.

There was a haziness to his concept of dreams as they blended into nightmares and melded into reality without interruption. This made him unbelieving when the reflection of the bulb looked like moonlight in her blue irises. Eyes that took him back to a different night that was slightly windy and exciting; she didn't seem real then or now. But unlike then, she lacked the self-assured look of determination. She didn't look powerful or strong. She was slight and hesitant. Her arm in a sling and her other hand in her pocket.

"Tobias." She smiled meekly. When his first thought was to touch her, his months of inner monologue crushed him. He knew that she didn't want him; he knew that he meant nothing. He also knew this was a lie- another lie coming from a liar. Least of all was the bile that crept up his throat along with the anger for the throbbing pulse in his hand that would not exist if it weren't for her.

"Leave," he whispered through his clenched jaws. "Get out!" he half shouted, quickly. She stepped back like she'd received a punch to the stomach, propelling her out the door.

It took him hours and a quick but thorough lecture from the morning nurse addressing his behavior as 'pissy' to finally let the tension seep out out so the anger could subside.

"Hey charming," Christina smiled. "Heard you're developing a loyal following among the care-staff here." He felt ashamed for his behavior. "Seems they support an early release, begged the doctor and everything. I hear they even made him cookies." Now he felt guilty.

She wrestled a stack of clothes from his ruck sack, ignoring his groans at the lack of respect for his privacy. "You need soap to make it clean," she muttered, glancing at him while stacking each item on the edge of his bed. She leaned in the doorway with her arms crossed. He paused and looked at her, waiting for her to leave.

"Oh no, I want the show," she insisted. "Strip, instructor, strip!" He couldn't help but chuckle. She turned her back and whistled a song he didn't recognize while he carefully dressed with the gown on until he needed to replace it with a shirt, in case she did peek.

The beady eyed resident gave him his wound care instructions with fresh supplies and antibiotics. Christina carried his bag for him down to the breakfast line. The smell of warm, cooked food was intense. He'd never wanted it more; he could have started a riot if he was denied. He filled his plate with sausage and eggs, proteins he hadn't seen in months.

"So, what's the damage?" she asked, as they sat down. "You're like half the man you use to be."

"It's not that bad." He didn't want to be the object of attention anymore, but he had some questions to get out of the way.

"Tell me about the job front. How do I get situated when I get back into the city?"

"Still going in? I'd hoped I had convinced you to stay out here."

"I mean, I'll check on what Rafael wants to do, but we planned on going in," he explained. "You know, build it up."

"I hope you don't mind, but I was told if you ever came back to make a couple of phone calls." He started to get worried. "Johanna wants you to consider coming to work with her. She's one of the leaders of the city now."

"Yeah, who else is?" He wholly expected her to say his mother's name, but she didn't.

"Amita, Candor and Therese, you know, factionless." She quickly continued, "They actually seem to balance things out."

"And my mother?"

"Left, still gone. Haven't heard form her. Not that she'd contact me." She cleared her throat. "There's an office that collects mail and stuff for people that can't be found. You should check. Could be she sent you a letter and they couldn't get it to you in Milwaukee."

"Yeah, I'll have to do that." He would like to know she was alive, reachable. Maybe he'd check before he left.

"Hey, you should come by later on. I know you're all wounded and stuff, but do you think you can help me move a refrigerator? It's just a little more than I can manage."

"I can try." He nodded, finishing his food and finding his way to the blue room to catch up with Rafael and claim a cot.