Chapter 12: Life is Short

"Tris, c'mon. Tris, look at me. Eyes on me. It's okay. Everything is going to be fine. I promise. No, don't shut your eyes! Tris, keep 'em open!" I cry. "Beatrice, you cannot give up on me. Be brave."

My bloody hand squeezes hers as we run down the hallway. The gurney rattles, shaking her body. She groans, barely able to even do that. All of her energy is used grasping my hand and keeping her eyes open.

"One entry wound, patient unstable. Prep IVs and room. We need to get her into surgery now. Let the OR know I've got a GSW coming in," the doctor commands toward a nurse.

The doctor shines a light in her eyes, and she flutters her lids.

"Tobias," she faintly whispers.

"Yes, Tris, I'm right here. Everything—"

"Sir, you can't come past this point."

The doctors rip her gurney and hand away from my grasp, and I almost cry out. "Não, você não entende! eu preciso—" I tell her in my best Portuguese. No, you don't understand! I need…

"We will let you know as soon as possible what is going on. For now, you need to stay here, sir. Thank you," she says with a thick accent, and then rushes to the operating room.

I squeeze my eyes shut, tight as possible, just standing still.

How could I let this happen to her?

I stand there, simply blank when her gurney is out of sight. Somehow, I keep it together as I walk to the bathroom. My hands are bloody and my hair is a mess along with my mind. I stare in the mirror as the pink water circles its way down the drain. I can't concentrate on anything but her.

Only Tris.

"Tobias!" she laughs. "What on Earth?"

"Get in the stall," I command, chuckling. She does, and so I say, "Give me your shirt."

Silence. Then she clears her throat with a shy laugh. "I'm sorry?"

I roll my eyes. "Trust me."

She hands me her shirt over the stall. I grab my knife, then cut the sleeves on the shirt, making it into a tank top. "Jeans," I request.

Tris groans and takes them off as I throw the shirt back over.

She squeals. "Tobias! I'm going to look like a hobo!"

I shake my head and keep cutting the jeans into shorts, trying my best to keep them even.

I throw them back over when I'm finished.

"Oh, you did not," she begins. "You… I can't believe you!"

I chuckle, and then she comes out and looks in the mirror. "I look—" she begins to complain. "Not bad," Tris finished with a laugh.

"That's not all I've got in store. Just one more thing." I grab her shoulders and face her toward the mirror as I stand behind her. Her hair is up in a cute, messy bun, so, naturally, I take it down. When down, her golden locks are much curlier due to the fact that it was up. It looks messy and sexy. It can't get much better than that. Since it's in her face and hot on the dance floor I tie it up into my best half-bun.

She shrugs. "Not bad."

I frown and groan a noise of complaint. "Let's go objectify your body."

She shrugs again. "It's fine. I'll do whatever I have to in order to complete the mission." Then, even worse, she adds, "I'm used to it."

I shake my head. "You shouldn't have to be."

Tris tries to give a smile as she grabs my hand. "Let's go par-tay, bay-bay." She drags me out onto the dance floor, and people clear the way.

After that, it's not long before the first shot rings through the club.

"Love's what I got, don't start a riot, you feel it when the dance gets hot… cause lovin' is what I—"

I groan. "Tobias Eaton," I answer, pressing the green button on my phone.

"Eaton, I have a board meeting in 30 minutes and I do not have a report from you yet. I better be getting it right now. I don't care if you have to give it to me over the phone—"

"Max," I interrupt. "Tris get shot."

All I hear is crackling on the line.

"Why didn't you tell me?"

"I don't know, Max, I was little busy holding her hand through the hallways all the way to the operating room and washing my bloody hands off when I was told I had to sit in the goddamn lobby."

He again does not say anything.

"She's in surgery right now, and I'm not going anywhere. I don't even know if she'll be making it out alive. So if you think I'm leaving and coming back to the states, that's bullshit."

"Tobias—"

"Sorry. That's bullshit, sir," I retort sarcastically.

Max breathes out. "Okay, Eaton. You can stay. But you need to give me updates as soon as you know anything. Got it?"

"Got it."

"Alright. I'm going to make a department-wide announcement letting everyone know what's going on."

I nod. "Okay. Just… tell them not to call me. Please. I can't deal with that while my best friend's life hangs in the balance. The only people I'm okay with hearing from are Christina, Uriah, and Zeke. Pull them aside and let them know everything before the announcement."

Max tells me solemnly, "Of course. I'll talk to you later."

"Max?" I ask quietly. "What if she's not okay?"

He breathes out in distress. "She will be."

I shake my head. "How do you know?"

"Because I have hope. That's all I need."

"Nobody moves!" Anderson yells. "Nobody leaves. Not until someone steps up and tells me which one of you is CIA."

Tris and I look at each other as we crouch on the ground. "How does he know?" I mouth.

She looks around calmly. "I don't know."

"Is it you two?" Anderson asks, holding a gun up to a couple. They screech and shrill hysterical screams.

"No!" they yell, crying. "We're just visiting Ponta Delgada."

Anderson presses the trigger, and the bullet flies into the ceiling. Next, he nudges the barrel of the gun into their heads and leaves them alone, moving onto the next person to terrorize.

"We have to do something," Tris whispers to me. "We can't just sit here."

"What was that?" Anderson asks, turning to Tris. "You got somethin' to say, Blondie?"

She looks at me and then at Anderson, and says to him, "Yeah. I do," she mumbles to herself.

No, Tris, don't do it, I think to myself. Don't. Don't say anything.

She shakes her head and stands. "We're all just visiting. No CIA."

"Oh, really? So all of you are just fuckin' visiting? Who the fuck is CIA?"

And a shot goes off.

"Tris!" I scream. She falls to the ground, clutching her torso. Blood runs down the sides of her body, and it seeps through her fingertips. "No, no, no," I repeat.

"Tobias," she says softly. "I…"

"It's going to be fine. Everything's going to be fine," I tell her. I replace her hand with mine; pressing against her wound to the stop the bleeding.

"Tobias," she groans weakly. "If I die—"

"No," I interrupt, "you will not die."

She takes a deep breath. "If I die tonight," she whispers, coughing, "know that you are the best thing that ever happened to me."

I nod. "Alright. Good to know. But you're not going to die."

She closes her eyes.

"No," I tell her. "Don't close your eyes. Tris." She opens them. "I love you." And she closes them.

The screams and shouts around me fade, and the minutes feel like hours. I faintly hear sirens in distance, and minutes after that, I hear more gunshots. I look up, and there they are. The policemen. I think they shot… the guy—the man who shot my Tris.

I can't think.

I can't think.

Why can't I think?

Coffee. I need coffee.

People give me strange looks as I walk to the elevator. I glance at my reflection in the shiny elevator walls, and it's not pretty. My hair is flying every direction possible and my pants have bloodstains on them. My eyes are baggy due to lack of sleep on the plane and the fact that it's two in the morning here in the Azores Islands.

The ding! of the elevator reminds me to step off. I look up, and a sign pointing to the left tells me that the vending machines are that way. I saunter up to the machine that serves less-than-average coffee. I put in two dollars from my wallet, praying it accepts American dollars instead of euros. My prayers have been answered, so I press the button. I slide the cup over and put in my two creams and one sugar packet, even though I typically like it black.

Tris likes three creams and three sugars.

I shake my head and walk back to the elevator. When I arrive back in the waiting room, it's empty, so I pace uncontrollably for hours on end. Three coffees and two crying sessions later, there's still no news. By six in the morning, I'm getting anxious.

"Love is what I got, don't start a riot, you feel it when the dance gets hot. Cause lovin' is what I got."

"This is Eaton," I answer.

"Hey," Zeke responds solemnly. "How is she?"

I shake my head, tears in my eyes. I place myself in a chair, realizing how tired I am. "She's… Um," I begin, but give up on trying to talk. I wipe the tear from my cheek. "She's in surgery."

Zeke stays silent, and then I hear Uriah's voice. "Hasn't it been, like, four hours?"

I nod, even though they can't see me. "Yeah. Typical surgeries… they take, um, about 5-7 hours… So it could be a while depending on where the bullet… The doctors never said if she'd be okay." Multiple tears stream down my face. "I don't know what I'm going to do if she's not okay," I tell them, and they probably know I'm crying at this point. "She has to be okay," I say hysterically.

I hear a high-pitched voice say something next. "She will be."

"Christina?" I ask.

"Yeah, Four."

I don't waste any time getting to the point with Christina. "I love her. Do you know that? I am completely and entirely in love with her, and the fact that she could be ripped away from me at any moment is terrifying. The only person I can say I love could die, and there isn't a damn thing I can do. I should've…" I whisper. "Goddammit, I should've told her I loved her before it was too late… And now she might never know. The second we get back to DC, I have to tell her."

Christina responds right away. "Do it."

"You mean…"

She nods, and then laughs with a cry. "You need to do it. It doesn't even have to be anything fancy. Just… Promise me you'll do it."

I nod. "I promise."

"We better be the first to know about what happens," Zeke says. "Okay?"

"Okay. I'll talk to you guys later."

"Oh, and, Four?" Christina adds. "Take care of yourself."