Beta services by Milner and grammar assistance from BK2U.
I'm just gonna say... hang with me here.
Tris eyed the blank sheet with the official Candor seal at the top, and the ominous title 'Chicago v. Tobias Eaton'. She had three more hours to fill it out and file it before the deadline, but every time she looked at the guide that Tobias's lawyer had provided, she couldn't bring herself to write the words to answer the first prompt: Instigating event or series of events.
She knew the label they wanted; it was the same one Christina and Melissa and Amar had all used. The same one that condemned the victim disguised as 'Member of the Bureau' in the case description, the same one that she couldn't quite apply herself. The truth was that she didn't fight him. She didn't do anything to make him stop; she didn't use any of her training. She was the top ranked initiate, the first jumper, and she let it happen, so how was it all his fault? How did he deserve what he got?
She thought about crumpling it up, tossing it in the waste bin. Four was the one who made the decision to be impulsive, to be violent and take out his misplaced anger on someone else. Maybe he should face the consequences. But she stopped short; he could have killed Matthew, and depending on how close he came, there was a chance he could be put to death. In comparison, humiliating herself in front of her faction leaders seemed like a sacrifice worth making.
She put her pen to paper and summarized how her first night with Matthew went all wrong in the little space provided. Then she focused on the next prompt, asking why there was no alternative available to seek justice. That one was at least easier: the Bureau was remote, and getting there required planning. Besides, how would anyone in Chicago ever bring charges against a 'Member of the Bureau'?
The last prompt –whether she saw Tobias's actions as justified– was another one that took thought. If he knocked Matthew out, maybe that was justified. If Matthew ended up with some bruises, maybe that, too, was justified. If Four had used all the tools and strength at his disposal, Matthew could be on life support.
She slid the paper into her bag and made her apologies to her boss. She found her way into the belly of Candor's justice system, getting the sideways glances and raised eyebrows as they judged her mismatched outfit. She got lost; all the hallways were uniform and she struggled with the directions she was given, but eventually, she found the office of Tobias's Candor lawyer.
"I need to know the condition of this 'Bureau Member' before I can respond to the last prompt," she stated, taking a seat opposite a cross-looking woman.
"You know, Dauntless is the only faction that has a category called 'justified' in their legal codes?" she grumbled, pulling out a case file. "I don't see it surviving the next revision given all that happened," she groused, flipping through the pages until she found the medical description.
"Victim: Matthew Dekker, aged 31, male, five-foot nine inches and one hundred and seventy pounds. Assailant — allegedly—," she added, glancing over her glasses, "Tobias Eaton, aged 19, male, six-foot three inches and one hundred and ninety pounds. Injuries sustained: broken nasal bone; fractured occipital bone — that's the back of the skull; fractured lower mandible, in two places; fractured right zygomatic — cheekbone; fracture to the right clavicle — collarbone; defensive bruising to the forearms; concussion; and two teeth dislodged during the incident." She flipped the pages back over and looked at her without expression. "So says the medical report, anyways. How do you rate that on your scale of justice?"
Tris swallowed hard, looking down at her partially finished paperwork. "Let me finish my statement, I'll have it to you in a moment." She stepped into the hallway and put the paper against the wall before scrawling her agreement that the injuries were justified, from her perspective. She couldn't make eye contact as she set the sheet on the desk and left.
She lied because she loved him, because he could die for what he did. And because deep down she believed, or at least hoped, that he only did those things because he loved her back, too, and not because of what he lost when he found out the extent of her relationship.
"Well, this seems to be clear-cut." The Candor judge shrugged, glancing at Harrison and Fiona, who were agreeing by his side. All the councilors nodded emphatically in approving anticipation, while Johanna shrugged indifferently from the side gallery; she was just there to appease the Bureau representatives.
The judge continued, "The sentencing guidelines dictate a minimum of two weeks, maximum of four. Considering the pressure from the outside, um, 'government', the severity of the beating, and the defenseless nature of the victim, I'm inclined to recommend the max. But let me confirm with the governing faction leaders."
Four had to contain the groan that started in his throat when they all, again, nodded in agreement, outside of his Candor-appointed lawyer. She jumped to her feet, arguing swiftly that the likelihood of recurrence was low and access was limited. But the Bureau goon at the other table was equally quick to bark over his Candor representative to describe the devastation and the utter inability of Matthew to defend himself. The broken jaw, the smashed nose, the missing teeth and fractured collarbone were all displayed in a garish collage of photos and x-rays in the corner, as if they could forget.
Fiona solemnly nodded as she whispered back and forth with Harrison; he was slightly more animated, and an occasional word or phrase was audible. A cross, sideways glance and an admonishing tone from the judge had Harrison and Fiona turning to each other and discussing, their confidence visibly shaken by the reprimand. Four didn't like the look they exchanged — Harrison looked pleadingly at Fiona, who only looked sternly back. They both glanced at Johanna who kept her eyes on the photos.
Fiona gave Harrison one more uneasy glance before turning back to the judge who nodded, and motioned for her to speak. "Generally, we Dauntless lock people up in the pen for this, but given the current circumstances of our faction, we can't really afford that. As a compromise, you've been overheard over the years repeatedly stating a disdain for one of our faction's primary roles: patrolling the fence. It seems only fitting that we take advantage of this fact as a way to both punish you and also allow you to continue to serve the faction. Four weeks of fence patrol, you leave on the four o'clock train this afternoon. Until you leave, Amar will be responsible for you."
At this, the Bureau councilor was back on his feet, bickering about complicity and escape risk, but was quickly silenced by the bang of Fiona's fist on the table. Amar was collected from the hallway where he'd been waiting since his questioning about the simulation. Four contemplated, limply: four weeks of walking in circles, and a four-week delay in fixing things with Tris.
"So, what'd you get?" Amar's hand landed on his shoulder.
"Four weeks on the fence." He crinkled his nose.
Amar's wide grin brought a smile to Four's face. "That's not so bad. When do you leave?"
"This afternoon. You're my babysitter."
"Well, the food out there is lacking, so let's start with that last meal."
"The food down there was lacking," he countered.
"If you think that was bad, you're in for a real treat out there," Amar said as he cut a path through the meandering crowd clogging the hallway.
Four looked around at all the waiting faces that had come to gawk and spread gossip, his still bandaged hands drawing attention. He scanned their faces intently. "Did Tris...you know?"
"Hmm?" Amar shrugged.
"Is she?" Four chopped, dreading that saying his thought out loud might make it a reality.
"Use your big boy words," Amar huffed, pulling him up to walk alongside him so he didn't have to crane his neck.
"Is Tris still training, or did she quit?" Four held his breath.
"She stopped for the first week, but she's been here every day this week. Christina convinced her to keep going," Amar assured, and he let out a breath. The lunch line trailed out into the hallway, pressed up against the wall by the steady stream of traffic.
"Will she be here today?" Four shoved his hands in his pockets and kept his face turned down, avoiding the glances as people passed.
"I think so." Amar squinted his eyes and groaned. "They want you on the four, that's… she's been coming on that one, or the five-fifteen."
"Right, yeah. Harrison would think of that," he groused. "But you'll send updates, right? How she's doing?"
"Sure, sure. As much as I can. I don't always keep track of the shifts well enough to catch someone. But when George goes up and Zeke, I'll make sure they update you."
Zeke caught up with them on their way back to Four's apartment. He didn't even wait for them to get through the hallway before he was spilling out updates that he'd been bottling up just for him. Four had to take a deep breath and remind himself to be patient, that he'd eventually get to ask his questions.
"You didn't tell anyone why, right? I mean, I don't think she'd want everyone to know."
"No, no. All I've been saying is that I didn't know, just that you must have had a good reason," Zeke assured.
"Okay, good." Four nodded briskly, slipping his key into the door.
Zeke burst past him, clapping his hands and ready to help. "Alright, rule number one: you can never have enough socks," Zeke announced, helping himself to shuffling through Four's chest of drawers. He pulled out the box of condoms Rafael had stashed and wiggled his eyebrows. "You might want these, too."
Four snatched them from him and threw them back in the drawer, shutting it quickly. "I think I can pick out my own socks," he huffed, opening the second drawer down. The last thing he wanted was to face the fact that the next person he might sleep with wouldn't be Tris, and given that, it wouldn't be anytime soon. The simple joke soured his mood to a nearly uncomfortable level.
When they had packed what they insisted he needed and they'd given him all the advice they had to give, Zeke heaved him up onto his feet and pulled him out into the hallway. Four had lost what little was left of his patience somewhere around the argument about boxers, blister tape and something about ticks. He was ready to get back into solitary confinement.
"What's your deal?" Four shoved Zeke, hard enough that he could tell it wasn't a joke.
"You're going to miss the train," Zeke insisted returning a playful, but still rough shove.
"I have twenty minutes." He pushed again and they jostled back and forth, Zeke playful and light, and Four with increasing aggravation.
"Seriously, if you want to see Tris you have to get to the last stop. Five minutes would be better than nothing, right?"
"Yeah. Yeah! It would." Four straightened his gait and walked a little faster, then slowed a step. "She doesn't want to see me. I'm the last person she'll want near her."
"She wants to see you. She asked me about you yesterday," Zeke insisted, but it would take more than simple assurances to erase his doubts.
"She gave that statement," Amar offered as further proof. But given Tris's nature, if the choice was to help or to withhold, he knew she'd help every time.
The train was coming into the station just as they got there. Amar took the pack from Four, freeing him up to fight through the small group of factionless that claimed the surrounding part of town.
She only looked small when he had time to think about it. It crossed his mind once, in initiation, that she was projecting how she felt, how she saw herself; or maybe he was projecting onto her how he thought she should feel. In either case, she looked fragile, worn out, and thinner sitting on the bench. Her skin lacked its usual vibrance and luster, and her hair was tatted and hastily pulled back.
She came alive when she took in the black pants and his un-Dauntless boots as they settled into her fixed stare.
"Hey, Tris. I'm really glad you're on this train." He smiled at her, letting his shoulders relax when the corner of her mouth tugged up into a grin before he nervously said, "I've missed you these last few weeks."
Tris's initial pleasure soured in a snap of emotions. "You've missed me?" she spat. "It's your fault."
"What?" He shook his head, trying to reconcile her reddening face.
"I cannot believe you! You almost killed him!"
"I was just defending you."
"I don't need defending. I had to lie to a Candor lawyer. A Candor lawyer, of all people, so that they wouldn't kill you for what you did."
"He got what he deserved."
"You bashed his head in. You broke his jaw in two places!"
Four took a deep breath and stepped closer to her. She lurched up, chest out and challenging. The train started moving exactly when she stood, causing her to collide with him. They were a falling, jostling mess on the floor. Her hands wrapped around him as he unsuccessfully tried to keep his head from hitting the floor. His friends stymied their laughs in cuffed fists and tried not to stare, backing away into the far corner and corralling the gaping faction members.
Tris recoiled, pushing his shoulders and smacking his hands off of her. "Don't touch me! Don't ever touch me!" She stood quickly. "I thought you wanted to be different. I thought you wanted to be more than just a meathead Dauntless guard! But you're some kind of monster! You're just like him!"
Four gaped at her, crinkling his fists and trying to stay still.
"What? Did I get it wrong? Am I next?" She glanced at his white knuckles. Four loosened his fists, cowing.
"Tris," Amar and Zeke interjected at the same time.
"Don't Tris me." She lined herself up at the door.
"Tris," Zeke came to her side quietly, watching Four pull himself up to his feet, livid and biting his tongue. "He's gonna be at the fence for a month. Don't leave things like this."
She glanced at him and jumped as soon as the ground was level.
Zeke shook Four's hand quickly, stammering about how she didn't mean it and that she was just upset, adding that he'd see him in about a week. Amar briskly repeated the same motions, slapping him on the back.
All of them were in the air and landing as Dauntless fell behind. Four fell back onto the bench in the now empty train car. He clenched his fists to stop the shaking, but eventually took out his frustrations by launching his pack across the train car.
Four was immediately assaulted with vulgar expressions of surprise. A chair warmer like him rarely saw the inner workings of Dauntless's most ubiquitous profession. Throw in that they all know he's a Stiff and he had tortured them through drills for a couple of years and it was getting hard to bite his tongue against the abuse. He figured it would wear off when his being there wasn't so novel, every week bringing in a fresh rotation.
The first evening he was met with a barrage of jeers when he walked from the rotation office to the mess hall, and even more between the bunkhouses where a crowd had gathered to taunt him. A groaning unrest came from two guys when the assignment of who else would be walking with him came out over the loudspeaker, ending with a little bit of positivity from the crowd when they added that he'd be taking up a rotation slot for four weeks straight. Still, he was pretty sure he'd have to fuck somebody up to get them to stop pestering him long enough to get some sleep.
His first team was at least familiar to him. But, they were content to keep to themselves the first day. Their silence suited him fine as he rolled Tris's words over and over in his head. Replaying the spit that slipped off her lips when she yelled, the way her pupils narrowed and her nostrils flared when she said he was a monster. It was like she was seeing the real him for the first time. He was used to taking the blame, absorbing criticism being a defect in his character, but not this time. He had expected the self-loathing to set in, but was caught off-guard by an intense feeling of indignation and injustice.
He had defended her. He took care of her. He made sure Matthew would think twice before ever touching a girl like that again. He did a public service, and she called him a monster. If she never wanted him to touch her, fine, maybe he never should have cared in the first place. Four sent a stick flying to punctuate his conclusion. The rest of his day, he listed every negative thing that had happened to him since she came to initiation, setting the score in his head for how bad she had been for him since the beginning.
By the second day, his walking partners were more inquisitive – eventually, he worked out that they'd had their memories erased. Two of the more promising wipes that seemed to retain something from before, who'd passed through Amar's retraining program and were reintegrating. Their questions and conversations proved to be a relieving distraction to his oscillating thoughts.
One thing they seemingly didn't forget was how to hold a poker face. When they entered the long, hot trail between posts one and two, they started to make wagers between themselves. Then between each other and Four. And once they had let him win a few and the stakes were being pushed higher and higher, they doubled up on him. The bet was if they didn't see a rabbit between there and the next post, they'd carry Four's pack the rest of the lap and make dinners. If they did, he'd have to get two piercings –each one getting to pick a location– and a haircut to fit in with the faction, just like they were told to.
It was a stupid bet. He knew nothing about the southern fence or the guys he was with, but it seemed like a safe one to take: they hadn't seen a rabbit in miles, until they couldn't go ten feet without tripping over one skittering across the path.
Four grimaced as his hair fell in patches and the straight razor came out. At least the chill of the exposed skin on the sides of his head felt refreshing, a feeling that didn't last as he watched the needle be sterilized. His hesitation about looking Dauntless had always been based in not belonging, and now they were making him one of them.
He accepted his fate with the same attitude as he approached tattoos. The sting would refocus him, remind him that the clenching pain that overtook his breaths would recede, dissipate, become nothing more than a memory. Piercings had the added benefit that the modifications were temporary, removable; a fitting metaphor for closing out his relationship with Tris.
He felt almost flippant about the trivial pain of one hole, until Greg approached with a heavy gauge needle and a bar, punching two larger holes in the cartilage of his right ear to slide a bar straight through them. More than one on-looker was astonished at how he took a single sharp breath and slowly let it out, not letting any other indication cross his face.
"Not even human," Greg commented, unnerved. He turned and asked the second wipe, "Where's the next one going?"
"Penis," he said with a jut of his eyebrow and a slim smile.
"No!" Four snapped, sitting up straighter, his thighs clamping together involuntarily. The crowd laughed.
"Fine…" Greg was directed to slip a much smaller ring through Four's lower lip, slightly off center to the right. The terms of the bet were that he'd keep them in the whole time he was at the fence.
He nodded with an eye roll, teasing the new wound with the tip of his tongue. He got a few handshakes and slaps on the back, and more than a dozen hands rubbed his still moist head as the entire crowd sprouted up in exuberant cheers. The tingling burn of the fresh holes gave him a little distraction at the top of the wall, but his mind still mulled over whether Tris liked piercings, and then quickly, how it didn't really matter if she did.
{}
With one lap completed, he got one day to rest – to stand on the top of the fence in the sun and try not to fall asleep. But the lack of movement, the lack of purpose, led his mind to wander to Tris and how she shoved him on the train. How she must wake up from her nightmares with his face stuck in her mind. How she thought he was worse than his father, or perhaps it was Matthew she was comparing him to. He stood, toes at the edge, hoping his anxiety over the height would distract him.
Without Tris, all he had left was Dauntless. He spent that night playing soccer in the field outside of the barracks. He traded taunts and jabs, embracing the life and forgetting everything for a few hours. He smiled and laughed. He got invited to play poker, and tromped back into the barracks confronted by a crowd closed around a bed and the unmistakable sounds of sex. Watching the two people, sweating and moaning felt like too much, over the line. He hit the showers and came back after everyone had dissipated.
He was up early and in front of the office as the sun broke over the other side of the fence. The cold coffee cooked late on the prior day was his only comfort so early. The first woman that stepped up from around the corner was tall and slim; tan, with dark green hair. Her arms were defined and tattoos etched up under her tank top. She had her bag tightly packed: it was small, filled with only the bare essentials. She looked sleepy, but smiled when she saw him.
"So, what you do to get this gig?"
"Broke some rules," he admitted. The downside of being the drill instructor was that everyone knew him and no one introduced themselves. He debated about asking, admitting that he'd never committed this girl to memory.
A second woman came trotting around the corner, disheveled and trying to stuff something into her bag, catching his attention and diverting his debate. She looked so similar, she could have been her sister, and he assumed she was. She was a little smaller, a little rounder in the face and hips, and her hair was bright red.
"Sorry, sorry," she stammered, stepping right past them and onto the trail. "My watch is off."
The first girl rolled her eyes. "I set it for you last night."
"Shut up."
At first, he was amused by their back and forth, not exactly used to hearing unfiltered girl talk. But a few side statements and some grab ass down the first hill and Four was out of his element. It was clear they were not sisters. If he stayed in front of them, he didn't have to watch their continuous flirtations, and ignoring them behind him was less uncomfortable.
The sleeping arrangements were problematic, especially when it started raining, and would continue for the next four days of their shift around the fence. The outposts only had one room and he couldn't sleep in the rain, though he briefly considered it when the springs squeaked as they joined each other on the bed, only inches from him. It was tough to suppress his base instincts to jerk himself off to their eager giggles and hushed whispers, or the slippery sounds of friction.
Instead he watched, frozen in place as their remaining articles of clothing were discarded, the slick sounds melding with pleasurable ones as they kissed each other, their hands roaming and disappearing from his view. His eyes went wider, his jeans becoming uncomfortably tight as the one with green hair buried her head between the other's thighs. Watching their movements and listening to their moans, he carefully tugged open his button, hoping neither would hear his clothes shuffle as he gave into his urges. The springs of his cot squeaked; he froze. They stopped almost immediately and he heard a whisper, then a giggle, and then an agreement.
It was nearly impossible to think when the girl with the red hair reached out, moaning as she traced the seam of his pants, then his length, quickly opening his fly and assuring him that they wouldn't say a word that no one would ever know.
He didn't stop her when she extracted him. She pulled on him roughly, prompting him to move closer to her, standing beside her cot. She held him firmly in her grip and flexed his foreskin up over his head and back down his shaft in a rhythmic motion he couldn't have devised himself. A moan escaped on a constrained breath, and he clamped his mouth shut to hold in any more. Her pace picked up, trying to coerce more out of him. He failed to stifle a whine when she stopped, releasing him only strokes away from spilling. He wasn't fast enough to take over and preserve her progress, too enthralled with watching her shiver from her own pleasure.
They switched places, the girl with the green hair pulling on the waist of his pants, urging him up onto the mattress by her head, giving him a much better view of the red-haired girl's movements in between her thighs. She started slow, settling into a similar pace with the unmistakable addition of the flick of her tongue on his tip; he wondered if it was the same movement she had used only moments before. He closed his eyes and felt her occasionally take his head in her mouth, the vibrations of her moans persuading him to come. When she became too erratic, too overcome by her own pleasure, he took over and finished himself off, unable to tell which limb belonged to which woman, or where he was aiming.
He sat back on the edge of the mattress and watched as they finished. Seeing them collapse into each other afterward, the red-haired girl snuggling her face into her partner's chest and kissing her in a way he'd only been kissed once, sent a sharp pang through him.
His assumptions about the warm embrace of one or both of them for the night slipped out of his mind as the red-haired girl caught him staring, shoving him off the cot. "What are you gaping at? Get some sleep, pervert. Show's over."
"Be nice," the green-haired girl said, yawning as she spoke.
Four zipped himself up and stretched out on his bed, the slight breeze through the cracks in the windows chilling him. Part of him knew he should get used to it, that Dauntless was going to be nothing more than a string of hook-ups, and that none of them would come with the softer side of a relationship.
Oh, Morris Albert, Four's theme song... picture it: Four standing on the wall at dusk, seeing the city off in the distance. The lights come on just as he's realizing there's no one else around...Zeke takes up the serenade from the base of the ladder... hoarsely carrying an off-pitch tune...
Feelings, nothing more than feelings... Trying to forget my feelings of love...
I wish I've never met you, girl...You'll never come again
Feelings, feelings like I've never lost you
And feelings like I'll never have you again in my heart
Feelings, for all my life I'll feel it...I wish I've never met you, girl; you'll never come again
Let me know your thoughts in the comments.