A/N: Thank you so much to everyone who reviewed the last chapter! This story finally broke the 300 review threshold on fanfiction, which means a lot to me. Thank you also to my wonderful beta reader, Rosalie!
As many of you know, I wrote the latter part of this chapter a long time ago. It was actually my first "Divergent" fanfiction. Now that the rest of the story has caught up to it, I had to rewrite it to fit the flow better. In the process, I ended up changing it more than I expected. Hopefully, the new version works well, but if I lost anyone's favorite line, please let me know, and I'll consider re-adding it...
"Divergent" Chapter 21 – Tris Is Attacked
The rest of the week goes by in a rush of fear after fear, each one tugging a little more at my soul. I start all of Tris' sessions with a thinly-veiled reminder that there's only one way to exit the simulation – to slow her breathing and heart rate. She clearly gets it, because she doesn't do any obvious manipulations again. Her times are still incredibly short, but that could be because she's truly that brave.
Uriah manages to look normal, too, much to my relief, especially when halfway through the week Eric begins randomly dropping in to observe simulations. He claims that he's just checking on things, but I know he's looking for signs of Divergence. Well, that and enjoying my slow deterioration as the cumulative fears get to me.
They invade every aspect of my life, particularly my sleeping hours. My nightmares have never been worse, despite the fact that Marcus hasn't been in them so far this week. At this point, I'd welcome him back – it would be much better than dreaming about Eric torturing Tris in a thousand different ways because he finds out what she is.
Just to top it all off, the Erudite release two more articles about Abnegation over the course of the week. The first I know is false, containing absurd accusations that my former faction withholds luxuries from everyone else in order to force their self-denial on the whole city. I don't waste any time being upset over it.
The second article bothers me considerably more. It asks why only one faction should hold all the power and calls for a return to elected officials. It's well worded and sounds far too reasonable, and I know it's an indication that the war is getting close. It doesn't help that I see Uriah playing cards with Tris afterwards, trying to comfort her. Marlene is there, too, but it still gets under my skin to see Uriah with the girl we both like while I have to keep my distance.
On the fifth day of simulations, Tris finally has a fear that includes her family, and for a sick moment I expect to find out that the article about Andrew was true. But to my enormous relief, there's no abuse whatsoever in it. Instead, she watches her family slowly bleed to death. It says something about the kind of week I'm having that I feel almost giddy seeing that, knowing that it's so much better than the alternatives I could be forced to watch.
By the final afternoon of simulations, I can barely focus on reality and am practically twitching with the desire to be done with this stage of initiation. It probably doesn't help that I'm operating on a total of maybe ten hours of sleep from the past four days.
I save Tris for last today, for utterly selfish reasons. When I feel the relief of being done with this week, I want it to be while I'm looking at her.
To my surprise, she faces the same fear as yesterday – being forced to shoot her family. It's very rare to repeat a simulation during stage two. To my knowledge, I'm the only one who's done that, and it was because I had just four fears for the computer to exploit. Tris must not have many, either.
She sits on the chair afterwards, her head in her hands while she breathes deeply. In some ways, I'm doing the same thing, feeling the simultaneous exhaustion and exhilaration of finishing this week.
Eventually, I disconnect myself from the computer for the last time this year and rise to my feet. Tris lifts her head and looks at me.
"I know the simulation isn't real," she says, her voice barely above a whisper, and I realize she's still feeling the misery of her fear, not the joy of getting through this stage. She's done extremely well, but I know that won't comfort her right now. This particular fear obviously digs deep.
"You don't have to explain it to me," I tell her as gently as I can. "You love your family. You don't want to shoot them. Not the most unreasonable thing in the world."
She nods a little, climbing wearily to her feet and making her way slowly to the back door, but she stops before actually leaving.
"In the simulation is the only time I get to see them," she admits. That statement surprises me. I've never loved someone enough to be willing to sit through a fear just to catch another glimpse of them.
She twists her fingers together, and I step towards her instinctively, wanting to take her hands in mine to keep her from hurting herself. I stop myself in time.
"I miss them," she continues. "You ever just…miss your family?"
There's no easy way to answer that, and I debate saying nothing, but she's opening up to me here.
"No," I finally answer, my eyes fixed on the floor. "I don't…. But that's unusual."
She's silent, and I eventually look up to find her staring at me. It's not a pitying look, or even a particularly questioning one, and I find myself staring back trying to figure it out. She doesn't look away, and neither do I. We just stand still, our eyes locked, even though we're way past the point of how long it's socially acceptable to do this.
Her eyes are so beautiful. Serious, and thoughtful, and powerful. It's as if she can see right through me – can see everything about me and how I feel. But I don't draw away from that closeness. I want it more than anything.
She finally turns and leaves the room without a word, and I stand there staring at the closed door, my hands shaking slightly. Maybe Zeke is right. Maybe, despite all odds, Tris likes me, just a little….
"What was with the staring contest?" Zeke asks me at dinner. Shauna looks up curiously, but I just shrug.
"It's been a long week," I answer, letting my weariness creep into my voice. "I probably forgot how to talk."
Zeke laughs, nudging me conspiratorially, and I let the corner of my mouth lift a little. There's only one stage of initiation left before I can say whatever I want to Tris…. Just one more week.
But as I look around the dining hall, something strikes me as wrong. Christina and Will sit together, looking more than a little annoyed, while Tris and Al are nowhere in sight. And Eric is looking at me with a smirk that bothers me deeply.
"What's going on with Eric?" I ask, an edge to my voice. Maybe Zeke saw something from the control room that will tell me what's happening.
Zeke glances that way and frowns thoughtfully. "I'm not sure. The only thing I saw him do was release the stage two rankings."
Ice runs through my veins. We don't normally announce the rankings at the end of stage two, since no one is cut then. Eric must have done it for a reason, and that reason probably has to do with Tris, since I'm sure she's ranked first now. With her simulation times, there's no way she wouldn't be.
Eric must either suspect that she's Divergent or that I care about her – or both….
"How did Lynn do?" Shauna asks conversationally, apparently oblivious to my worry.
"She and Uriah both kicked butt," Zeke says with a grin. He winks at me as he adds, "But the Stiff took first by a huge margin."
"Yeah," I say uncomfortably, glancing at Eric again. "She was really fast."
"Where are they, anyway?" Shauna asks, looking around the room. I follow her gaze, and slowly it dawns on me that Tris and Al aren't the only ones absent. Uriah, Lynn, and Marlene aren't here, either.
"They're probably out celebrating," Zeke says easily, taking another bite of his dinner. But his words don't cheer me up much. I don't like the thought of Tris and Uriah celebrating together, particularly if it involves alcohol. There's no way of knowing what Eric is planning next, and Tris will need to be alert to handle whatever it might be.
"Yeah, probably," I comment flatly. "I'll look for them after dinner, to make sure they don't do anything that'll get them kicked out of Dauntless."
Zeke nods, though I can tell from his expression that he thinks I'm worried about the idea of Tris and Uriah being together. He's not entirely wrong.
"I'll join you," he says. Glancing at Shauna, he adds, "In fact, why don't we all go?"
It would probably be fastest to go to the control room, but we decide to walk by Uriah's favorite places first rather than rushing up there, since it may be better not to draw attention to whatever they're doing. We don't have any luck with the first two locations we try, but as we near the training room, I hear an unusual type of gunfire.
"That sounds like a pellet gun," I comment, knowing that no one who is allowed to be in the shooting range after hours would use one of those.
"We both win!" a female voice sounds, faintly audible from the hallway.
"Gross!" someone else adds, and we all grin as we recognize Uriah's voice.
I push the door to the room open just in time to see Uriah fire a pellet gun at a target. The plastic bullet bounces off the bulls-eye and rolls along the ground.
"I thought I heard something in here," I comment loudly enough to catch the initiates' attention. I'm relieved to see they're all safely here: Uriah, Lynn, Marlene, and most of all, Tris. The only one missing is Al, but somehow I'm not surprised that he's not with this group. They're all too Dauntless for him.
"Turns out it's my idiot brother," Zeke says snidely. "You're not supposed to be in here after hours." His eyes twinkle a little as he adds, "Careful, or Four will tell Eric, and then you'll be as good as scalped."
The words are an uncomfortable reminder of why I came looking for Tris in the first place, but I don't respond. Uriah, of course, knows better than to take the comment seriously, and he wrinkles his nose at Zeke as he puts his pellet gun away and heads toward where I'm still standing by the door. Marlene crosses the room to join him, eating a muffin as she walks, and I step to the side to let them leave.
Lynn joins them, giving me a deeply suspicious look before saying uncertainly, "You wouldn't tell Eric." I'm not sure what I've ever done to make Lynn so wary of me, but I can reassure her about this.
"No, I wouldn't," I answer simply. Lynn nods in satisfaction and strides out of the room.
Tris starts to follow, and my hand moves on its own, resting on her back as if ushering her out of the room. A slight shiver that doesn't seem to be from fear runs through her, and suddenly I don't want to lose this moment.
"Wait a second," I say before I can think better of it. She turns back to me, her gaze appraising, and I manage a nervous smile. I don't know how to tell her that I'm afraid of what Eric might do, or why he might do it. But as I look at her, I realize something else. She seems to be upset, and it suddenly occurs to me that she's here without her transfer friends for a reason – they must have abandoned her because she outranked them. The thought disgusts me.
"You belong here, you know that?" I say abruptly. "You belong with us." She looks at me uncertainly, and I add, "It'll be over soon, so just hold on, okay?"
She stares, clearly unsure how to respond, and I look away, embarrassed, scratching behind my ear for lack of anything else to do with my right hand.
Time seems to stop for a moment, and then something totally unexpected happens. Tris steps closer and takes my left hand in her right. My fingers slide between hers instantly, as if they've been waiting a lifetime for this, and my eyes find hers. As we did earlier, we hold each other's gaze, just looking, except this time our hands are linked. The warmth seems to spread through my entire being.
I have no idea how long we stay like that, but I never want it to end. I could spend eternity here with Tris, with nothing but her touch and her incredible eyes to sustain me.
With a final, gentle squeeze, she pulls her hand away and heads after the others, leaving me standing alone in the hallway, grinning like an idiot.
My body falls onto the bed the moment I walk through my door, and I'm out instantly. My first dream is of Tris, and it's by far the best dream I've had all week – and maybe in my life. I've never noticed scents in a dream before, but in this one, I stand close to Tris, her fingers intertwined with mine as I breathe her alluring fragrance. Nothing more than that happens, but it feels absolutely incredible.
The next dream is just as extreme, but in the opposite direction. My ankles and wrists are chained to a dank wall in a prison of some kind, and I'm forced to watch as Eric tortures Tris slowly to death, taunting her about Divergence the entire time. I beg for him to kill me instead, and I offer him every piece of information I know, but he just keeps going. It's the single worst nightmare I've ever had.
When I finally wake up, I know there's no way I'll be able to fall asleep again, so I head to the control room, suddenly needing to see what Eric is doing.
Amy is on duty, half asleep at the controls as usual.
"What's up, Four?" she asks groggily.
"Too hyped up to sleep," I mutter, looking at the monitors. I don't want to admit that I'm trying to find Eric. "So I thought I'd check on the initiates."
She just shrugs, but I've already stopped paying attention to her. My eyes are fixed on a monitor that shows Eric talking…to Jeanine Matthews, the leader of Erudite. I knew he was up to more than his usual evil at the moment.
Unfortunately, that camera is on a rotation, and I can't force it to stop without alerting Amy, so all I catch are glimpses and words in between cycles.
"Well, you wouldn't have seen much of it yet," Jeanine says before I see a blank hallway from another camera. Two switches later, the image returns.
"…the reason I had Max appoint you," Jeanine continues. "Your first priority…" but then she's gone again. The next rotation has her saying, "Keep your personal feelings out of it."
The snatches continue, and while I can follow parts of the conversation, it's overall too broken up for me to learn anything new. I curse mentally, knowing I'll have to wait until my next shift before I can watch the footage in full – assuming no one deletes it by then.
After ten minutes or so, they part ways, walking off in separate directions. I watch Eric for another moment, not trusting that he's heading to bed, but the rational part of me knows that it's very late and that he's unlikely to do anything else tonight. So, I finally mutter a goodbye to Amy and leave. My nerves are still too raw to sleep, but I have to at least try. My level of exhaustion is getting dangerous.
I'm partway down the long path around the Pit when I hear a scream that reaches straight through me and yanks my heart to a stop. It's Tris, afraid for her life. Eric must have decided to act already.
My feet are pounding toward them before my mind has a chance to process what I'm doing. I have no plan – no idea what I'll do when I reach them – but I can't stop to figure that out. There's no choice but to react now. I have to save Tris.
I run faster than I've ever moved in my life, my feet beating into the narrow path and my heart racing – faster and faster and faster still as I wind my way to the floor of the Pit. God, please let me get there in time.
As I finally reach the floor, I see a figure running toward me. It will be one of Eric's followers, trying to stop me, and my mind automatically leaps into fighting mode. He's big, which means I shouldn't take him head-on. But if I can clip him just enough to knock him off balance, I should be able to swerve around him, and it will take him time to recover and chase me.
I'm aiming my strike when he veers away from me unexpectedly, lumbering in a different direction, and I recognize the motion. It's Al. The Sledgehammer. That makes no sense. Eric knows he isn't Dauntless material; he would never use him as a helper.
My mind churns through possibilities. Maybe Al was with Tris, and now he's running to save his own life? But I instinctively know that's wrong too. Eric wouldn't strike in front of witnesses, except perhaps a loyal few. And for all his failings, Al has shown strength in standing up to Eric to protect others. I also hear the whisper in the back of my mind that Al likes Tris, is attracted to her, and I know he wouldn't abandon her. I usually hate him for that affection, but right now it just makes things confusing.
But there's no time to dwell on it. I need to focus on the three figures I can see ahead, just visible through the darkness – two men attacking Tris. The tall one will be Eric, but I don't recognize the shorter, heavier man; he's cradling an injured arm and is swearing loudly, so he doesn't seem to be an immediate threat, but I can't dismiss the possibility that he has a weapon. He has his back to Tris, who's on the floor, struggling to remove a blindfold. At least she's clearly still alive.
Eric pulls his foot back and kicks her hard in the side, and a new surge of rage flares through me. It's difficult not to shout in fury, but I know I have to catch him off guard if at all possible. I can take him in an even fight, but right now he's probably armed, and he has help, so the less warning I give him, the better. And there's a chance that all the other noises – the water roaring in the chasm, the swearing still coming from Eric's helper, and Tris' screams – will cover the sound of my running as long as I don't do anything else to draw his attention.
Sure enough, the helper turns back around, obviously not noticing me, and both of them focus on Tris. She pulls herself to her feet, facing her attackers with that strength that is all hers, and I feel my heart twist again. I've never seen anyone as brave as she is – never seen anyone who comes so alive when she should be most afraid. I can't let Eric kill her for that.
He grabs her by the throat, lifting her in a choke hold above the chasm, and the anger and fear blaze through me stronger than ever. But again I keep myself from shouting. She's kicking and fighting back. I still have time.
And then suddenly I'm close enough to see in the dim lighting, and I realize it's not Eric at all. It's Peter. Peter and Drew. My mind reels, trying to make sense of this, before it finally occurs to me that they're attacking her because she's ranked first. It has nothing to do with Divergence, or Eric, or Dauntless leadership. They're trying to kill her out of jealousy.
Fury rushes through me, white hot, burning out the fear. I have never been angrier, not even when my father beat me until I couldn't move, not even when he beat my mother, which was far worse, not even when I fought Eric to keep him away from Shauna. I can barely see through the rage. A shout tears from my throat, and I'm dimly aware that Peter jumps and stares my way…and then drops Tris into the chasm as he turns to run.
My heart drops with her.
For a moment, there is nothing else – no passage of time, no movement except her falling, no one except her. I don't even exist. And then she throws her arms forward, catching herself on the railing by her armpits and hooking her elbows in place. She won't be able to stay like that for long, but she's safe for now.
Drew hits me on the mouth. I didn't even notice him approaching. Some distant, objective part of me thinks that he's braver than Peter, trying to face me while Peter runs. But it's not a good idea. I turn on him, grabbing, smashing, throwing, kicking. I don't even know what I do to him, just that nothing is enough punishment for this.
Her voice is what finally stops me. "Four." My gaze locks onto her immediately, and terror surges through me as I see her eyes close and her body sag. Lunging toward her, I grab her arms just in time, lifting her over the railing and pulling her against my chest. She makes no attempt to support her weight, and I know she's barely conscious.
Maybe it's just as well – I doubt I could let her go right now. My left arm slides under her legs as my right arm shifts under her shoulders, and I lift her fully into my arms. She presses her face against my shoulder, and her whole body goes limp, unconscious.
I lose track of time. I'm walking, carrying her, but I don't remember how we got here, and I don't really know where I'm going. It's too hard to think through the haze of adrenaline and fury and fear.
Tris needs help. I know that, but I don't know how much, and it seems to be impossible to stop long enough to evaluate her. Every time I try, the image of Peter dangling her over the chasm engulfs me, and all I can do is hold her closer.
Maybe I should take her to Erudite headquarters. A real doctor could take care of her there, and that would keep her away from this place, where monsters attack girls half their size three against one…. Because I know now that Al was one of the attackers. He would never have run if it had been him and Tris against Peter and Drew. He must have been one of them and then panicked. The betrayal is harsh. I never thought highly of Al, but I certainly didn't expect this.
My feet stop abruptly, and I realize we're outside my apartment. I must have walked here out of habit, but now that I'm here, it occurs to me that I can take care of Tris myself. If she's not too badly injured, she doesn't need the infirmary, and she'll be safer with me. And I won't have to let her out of my sight.
I bring her through the door, kicking it closed behind me, and carry her to my bed. But as I lean over it, I realize there's a small flaw in my plan. I can't seem to put her down. It's stupid, and I know it, but the sheer need to hold her is overpowering.
Get a grip. Breathe. Focus. I pull her close for one more moment and then force myself to set her down on the bed carefully, making sure to keep her neck steady. Then I stand there looking at her, trying to assess her injuries without disturbing her, and without touching her in ways she wouldn't appreciate.
Suddenly, I'm nervous. I don't know how to proceed, but my choices are limited – take her to the infirmary or do what I need to help her. And I don't want to leave her in the infirmary. So, I take a deep breath and begin checking for broken bones, my fingers moving gently on top of her clothing. To my relief, there are no breaks and no obvious gushes of blood.
The biggest risk left is a concussion. She's clearly been hit on the head more than once – there's a bruise starting on her cheek and a bump growing rapidly on the top of her head. But her pupils are even and reactive to the flashlight I grab. She's not conscious yet, so I can't be sure, but it looks like she somehow escaped with just bumps and bruises. They're nasty ones, yes, but it could have been so much worse….
Walking across the room, I retrieve an ice pack from the freezer and return to set it gently against the bump growing on her head. That's the one I need to watch the most. My fingers reach to trace it, wanting to magically erase its pain the way my mother seemed to be able to do with me so long ago, but I stop when I see my hands. They're covered in dried blood – mine and Drew's. I smeared some on Tris, too, but it doesn't show much on the dark clothes. I suppose that's one of the reasons Dauntless always wear black. It hides our sins.
For a moment, I just stare, remembering what I did to Drew. The details are still fuzzy, but I know there's no way he can get himself to the infirmary, and I doubt Peter or Al will help him. Tempting as it is, I can't really just leave him there. Besides, part of me wants to make sure he's hurt enough, to make sure he never does something like this again. That thought makes my feet move, back to the chasm and back to his bloody form lying slumped on the ground, whimpering.
He makes excuses as I haul him to the infirmary, saying that they only intended to scare Tris, not really hurt her. I only half listen. There is no justification for what they did.
I literally drop him on the infirmary floor. It's late, so Helena isn't on duty, but the night nurse doesn't even raise an eyebrow – he's clearly used to this. Fighting is part of Dauntless, and we all know it. He doesn't ask any questions, but I want to make sure he knows, so I make a point of saying, loudly so Drew will hear it, "I wouldn't take good care of him. He and two other big guys attacked an initiate, a girl much smaller than him. He's a coward."
The nurse's mouth sets in a hard line, and he eyes Drew like he's a pile of slime that fell off someone's shoe onto the floor. As I turn to go, I can't resist leaning over Drew and saying softly, "I expect to see you in training tomorrow. If I don't, you can consider yourself factionless." I can't really enforce that, but it feels good to say it anyway.
I take the long route back, telling myself that I need to walk off the excess energy and aggression so I can calm down. But I know I'm looking for Peter and Al. The need to hurt them is like a physical being, clinging to me and filling my veins. It's probably just as well I don't find them.
When I reach the dormitory door, I pause by it for several minutes, seriously considering hauling them out and beating them to a pulp. But it would give away too much. It would tell Eric that I like Tris, and he's already watching her far too closely. Hell, half an hour ago, I was sure he was trying to kill her – and that was without him knowing…without the added incentive of hurting me in the process. He would certainly go after her if he thought it would break me.
It would.
A/N: The next few chapters will be coming soon, since I wrote them a long time ago (they were part of the same fanfiction as the latter part of this chapter), and I just need to revise them to fit the flow better. In the meantime, please let me know what you thought of this chapter. I always appreciate your comments!
P.S. I'd like to plug a story I just found that I really, really like and that doesn't have nearly as many reviews as it deserves. If you're interested in a creative AU "Divergent" fic, check out "Bitter Cold" by mugglesarah.