A/N: Sorry this post is a couple of days late - thank you all for your patience, and for your kind reviews from the last chapter! Thank you also to my wonderful beta reader, Rosalie, who fought a difficult work schedule and a last-minute power failure to get this chapter reviewed.
"Divergent" Chapter 25 – Four's Fear Landscape
I spend the rest of the day wandering the Dauntless compound, lost in thought. Planning out the rest of initiation. Debating whether any of the others are likely to do what Al did and what I can do to stop them. Thinking about what Zeke saw and if there's any way to help him deal with it. And mostly, daydreaming about Tris.
After her statement today, I feel like there's less danger of Will or Uriah snatching her up before the end of initiation, and I know that means I should wait to tell her how I feel. But I can't help thinking about it anyway. And with that, I spend hours contemplating all the ways we could hide a relationship and how I would handle the rest of training if that were to occur.
It's certainly not the first time I've thought about that subject. It's been creeping into my thoughts in between fear simulations all week, but it feels different today. Like I'm ready to take action – I just need to figure out how.
Unfortunately, that part is difficult. I've never had a conversation like that before – with anyone, let alone with an initiate I'm training – and it makes me far more nervous than I care to admit. Besides, there's more than just nerves involved; there's also a question of fairness. I can't tell Tris during initiation unless I know she returns my feelings. Otherwise, I could end up pressuring her into something she doesn't want, and I refuse to do that to her.
But I can take the first step now. I can tell her who I really am – where I came from, what my name is, and why I transferred here. None of that is easy to relay, but I have to do it up front. Tris has to know all of that, and I have to see her reaction to it, before we could possibly start a relationship.
So, I walk the streets around our headquarters, trying to plan out how to get Tris away from her friends and begin a conversation like that. It seems like an impossible task. But the longer my feet pound the pavement, the more an idea works its slow way into my consciousness. At first, I reject it, feeling that it would make me look weak, like the scared little boy I know is still deep inside me. But it keeps returning, and the more it does, the more I become convinced it's what I need to do.
By the time I head to dinner, I know it's right. I have no idea how I'll manage to actually do it, but one way or another, I need to show Tris my fear landscape.
Zeke doesn't show up for dinner, and it's obvious that Shauna is worried about him.
"He said he's not hungry," she mutters, shaking her head a little, and I know why. I can't remember a time when Zeke didn't want to eat.
"It's that damned initiate. I know it is," she adds bitterly, glaring at me like it's my fault. "Zeke says he's okay, but you can see it in his eyes…. He's wondering if he could have done something different and stopped it."
I nod, understanding how he feels – and for that matter, how Shauna feels. She isn't entirely wrong to blame me.
She sighs deeply, staring at her plate as she pushes food around with her fork. "I'm thinking of taking him zip-lining. Maybe it will help him clear his mind." The suggestion makes me stiffen and sends a wave of nausea through my stomach, but I don't say anything. If this is what Zeke needs, I'll find a way to handle it. He's been too good a friend to deserve less.
She pushes her food around a little more before finally looking at me again. "No offense," she says, "but I'd like to take him alone. I can…distract him better when it's just the two of us."
I can't help the relief that goes through me, but I force myself to think past it to evaluate if she's right. But of course she is. My presence would just remind Zeke of the initiates, and that's without even considering that I'd essentially be a third wheel. It's better if he focuses on her.
"I agree," I tell her evenly.
She nods a little, twirling her fork in her potatoes before slowly adding, "We won't be doing anything about Peter, you know. At least not for a while. I can't ask that of Zeke right now."
Something deep inside me deflates, and I can feel my entire body sagging in defeat. Peter should not be getting away with what he did…particularly not because one of his co‑conspirators felt guilty when he didn't. But I can't let him harm anyone else I care about, and for now, that means I have to let this go.
"Yeah," I finally say, tasting the full bitterness of the word. "I understand." Shauna nods again, and I can see the moisture in her eyes before she clearly gives up on the meal and rises to leave.
"See you later, Four."
I stare at my food a little longer, my appetite gone too, before I head out as well. My half-shift in the control room starts soon, after all, and I don't want to be late. Maybe I'll at least get a chance to watch the footage of Eric and Jeanine….
But as it turns out, that's been deleted. It's hardly surprising, but it still adds to the day's frustrations.
So, instead I end up watching the attack on Tris, torturing myself by reviewing it from every angle, trying to see exactly what Peter did to her. Perhaps it's just as well that the area is so dark at night – I'm unable to determine the details that I know would just haunt me if I saw them.
Ironically, the same darkness hides me. There's no way to tell that I'm the one who rescued Tris, and apparently I instinctively avoided the cameras after that, the way I usually do, because there's nothing tell-tale showing that I took her to my apartment. Good. That's one less piece of evidence to let Eric know I like her.
The rest of the shift is uneventful, and I alternate between fantasizing about all the ways I could take revenge on Peter and all the ways to talk to Tris about seeing my fear landscape. But I don't make any progress on either concept, and by the time I drop into my bed, exhausted, I'm not convinced that I'll ever succeed with either goal.
Ultimately, I decide to leave it up to her. After two days of struggling to come up with a way to invite Tris into my fear landscape, it's a relief to come to that conclusion. There's just no good way to start that conversation. Every approach I've thought of would lead to awkward questions from her, or from the other initiates, or worst of all, from Eric. Instead, I'll make sure she notices me going there, and then it will be her decision whether or not to follow. I don't know which possibility makes me more nervous.
I spend my half-shift in the control room watching her. She spends it with Christina and Will, getting tattoos and later throwing papers into the chasm. I'm curious about that one, but I can't tell what the papers are from the limited camera angles available. I do notice what Tris mentioned, though, as Will and Christina exchange frequent touches. Good. That definitely works for me.
When I finish my shift, I make my way to the floor of the Pit, hanging around as casually as I can while keeping an eye on Tris. She and her friends are still tossing papers, so I wait. It's getting late, though, and the Pit is gradually emptying of people, which means my presence will become more obvious over time. So, I finally take a deep breath and force myself to start.
I begin walking slowly, smoothly from the floor of the Pit up the winding path toward the Pire. I take my time, giving Tris plenty of opportunity to notice me, while watching out of the corner of my eye to see if she does. When I'm half-way up, she moves away from her friends and heads after me. She's made her choice, and apparently I'm it. The thought makes my heart pound harder.
As I get higher off the ground, the anxiety combines with my fear of heights, increasing both and making me doubt my decision. I know this is what I wanted, but that doesn't necessarily mean it's smart. In fact, the longer I climb, the more convinced I become that this is an idiotic idea. Soon, she'll know that I left Abnegation because I'm a coward. She'll look at me with scorn, or even worse, pity. I can't do this….
But I make myself continue at the same pace anyway, reminding myself over and over that she deserves to know who I am. And maybe somehow honesty will work as well this time as it did at Al's service. I focus on the feel of her arms around me then, with my lips on her forehead and her warm body pressed against me, and the memory gives me strength. That's why I'm doing this.
When I finally reach the Pire, I cross the glass floor and go into the monitoring room, programming the computer for my fear landscape. It's a quick process, despite the slight shaking in my hands. It's not going to be easy to share my secrets.
I take one syringe out of the black box I'm carrying and stand, facing the door to the landscape, and I wait. For a moment, there's no sound, and I think maybe she's changed her mind and turned back. Maybe I'll have another night to decide if I really want this. Then I hear her footsteps at the top of the metal stairs, and I know it's time. I don't turn around.
"Since you're here," I say as evenly as I can, "you might as well go in with me." It's one of the hardest things I've ever said.
Her voice is hesitant when she responds. "Into your fear landscape?"
"Yes."
She walks toward me, saying, "I can do that?"
"The serum connects you to the program." It's easier to be calm when I'm explaining technical details. "But the program determines whose landscape you go through. And right now, it's set to put us through mine."
"You would let me see that?" she asks softly. She sounds almost awed.
It's difficult to get myself to answer, and my voice is as quiet as hers when I finally succeed. "Why else do you think I'm going in? There are some things I want to show you."
Finally lifting my eyes enough to see her, I extend my hand and offer her the syringe. But I don't meet her gaze yet. I'm not that brave right now.
She watches me for a moment before tilting her head to the side, exposing her neck. Accepting my invitation. I try not to think as I insert the needle and push the contents in. It's too late to turn back now.
My gaze finally rises to her face, and I offer her the black box. She examines the other syringe cautiously.
"I've never done this before," she says quietly. It's clear she wants me to give myself the shot, and I certainly could. I've done it dozens of times, but somehow I need her to do this. I'll be exposing so much of myself tonight – it seems right to start by exposing my throat to her, and trusting it to her hands.
I press my fingernail to my neck and say, "Right here."
She stands on tiptoes to reach. I know I should at least lean over to make it easier for her, but I can't seem to move. So, I just stand there and make her stretch. Her hands shake a little as she inserts the needle, but she does it right, as she usually does with everything. Please handle this whole simulation right….
My hands shake too as I put the syringes away in the box and set it by the door. For a moment, I close my eyes, drawing strength from deep inside, and then I turn to her and extend my empty hand. It's not a conscious act, really – I just want her hand in mine to get me through this. She immediately interlaces our fingers, holding on firmly as I open the door, and we enter the dark room.
"See if you can figure out why they call me Four," I murmur as the door clicks shut behind us, leaving us in utter blackness. I feel her move closer to my side – feel the electricity as her arm presses against mine.
"What's your real name?" she asks.
"See if you can figure that out too."
Then, the simulation begins. We're on top of the building, far, far above the ground. The building gets taller every time I come in here, every time I get a little better at handling this fear. That's the nature of the simulation, after all.
The sun glares overhead, and the wind begins, so powerful that I'm sure it's going to blow us right over the edge. Tris leans against me, and I release her hand, placing my arm around her shoulders instead and pulling us together. We're stronger against the wind that way. I'm stronger when we're like this.
The fear has taken full hold now, and it's difficult to breathe. My head spins with vertigo, and I know I'm going to faint, going to lose my balance, going to fall…. I try to force air in and out through my mouth. It would be easier if I could unclench my teeth.
"We have to jump off, right?" she asks, yelling over the wind. No, I think fiercely, I don't want to do that, but I nod.
"On three, okay?" she continues. I'm not ready yet. The fear is still too strong. My heart is still pounding too fast. The computer won't register it, and I'll fall forever. I'll die on the street so far below me. But again I nod. Some distant, objective part of my brain knows that she's right and that I should just get this over with.
"One…two…three!" she yells, and she begins running toward the edge, pulling me with her. For a moment, panic holds my limbs locked tight, but then I'm running with her, trusting her to lead me. We race off the edge together, hurtling toward the ground in free fall. My heart hammers against my ribs, and I close my eyes tight, thinking over and over, this is a simulation, it isn't real, it isn't real.
Finally, the computer registers that I faced my fear, and the first part of the simulation ends. I'm on the floor, gasping to pull air into my starving lungs. I press a hand to my chest, trying to push away the pain and slow my heartbeat back to normal.
It takes a moment to remember that I'm not alone, before I look over and see Tris crouched on the floor, grinning wildly. Seriously? I know she loves heights, but my fear landscape isn't supposed to be fun.
Still, it's impossible to be annoyed at the sight of her smile, and the life blazing from her eyes. They take my thoughts to better places.
She stands up and helps me to my feet. "What's next?" she asks.
"It's—" but I barely start my answer before the first wall appears, smashing into Tris from behind. It pushes her against me, ramming her head into my collarbone. For a split second, I notice the pain, but then my mind is lost in the walls closing around us.
Tight, so tight. I pull my arms against me, squeezing into myself so I can fit into the tiny space. As the ceiling drops down, I crouch automatically, knowing I won't fit otherwise. I've been in here enough times to know. Already it feels like I've been in here forever.
"Confinement," Tris says.
My only response is some type of grunting sound. It's impossible to think about anything except the walls and the tightness. There isn't enough room, isn't enough light, isn't enough air. I gasp for breath, feeling panic seize me like physical pain.
"Hey," Tris says softly, soothingly. "It's okay. Here—"
She takes my stiff arms and wraps them around her, inviting me to draw from her strength. I grasp at the opportunity, holding tightly and pressing my cheek to hers. My eyes are squeezed shut, and my breath is coming in ragged gasps as every muscle in my body goes rigid, locked in a fear I can't escape.
"This is the first time I'm happy I'm so small," Tris says with a laugh, but the comment barely registers. All I can notice are the walls.
"Mmhmm," I squeeze out through my tight throat. I don't know how much longer I can stay in here. I need to get out somehow, need to force my way through the walls. I remember finding a crowbar my first time in here. I could try that again now, but I also remember how the ceiling dropped with me that time, and I barely had room to escape. I don't want to do that again.
"We can't break out of here," she says, reading my thoughts. "It's easier to face the fear head on, right? So what you need to do is make the space smaller. Make it worse so it gets better. Right?"
No, I think again. I can't do that. As bad as it is now, I can't make it worse. But I know she's right.
"Yes," I manage to say.
"Okay. We'll have to crouch, then," she says. "Ready?" Not even remotely…. But her hands are on my waist, squeezing as she works her way to the floor, pulling me down with her. There can't possibly be enough room to do this, but she twists her body around, forms it into a tight ball with her back against my chest, and somehow we fit. She's sitting on one of my ankles, and my knees are stuck at strange angles, but all I notice is how the ceiling drops down after us, trapping us into an even tighter space than before.
I'm gasping for air again, my face pressed near hers. "Ah," I say, "this is worse. This is definitely…." But she interrupts me.
"Shh. Arms around me."
Okay. Even in my panic, I don't hesitate to accept that invitation. I slide my arms around her waist, clutching her to me to help us fit into this miniscule space.
"The simulation measures your fear response," she tells me quietly. I try to focus on her voice. "So if you can calm your heartbeat down, it will move on to the next one. Remember? So try to forget that we're here." Right, sure thing. There aren't walls pressing on every part of me, and a ceiling shutting out all the light and air….
"Yeah?" I breathe harshly against her ear. "That easy, huh?"
"You know," she says almost playfully, as if we're just sitting around somewhere relaxing, "most boys would enjoy being trapped in close quarters with a girl."
A new type of panic mixes in with the fear I'm already fighting. Does she think I'm not interested, just because I'm afraid? I can't let her think that.
I answer a bit too desperately. "Not claustrophobic people, Tris!"
"Okay, okay," she says with a mix of humor and reassurance. God, Tris, don't play with me here…. She takes my hand and places it over her heart, pressing it to her so I can feel her heart beat hard and fast against my palm.
"Feel my heartbeat," she instructs me. "Can you feel it?" I can't miss it. It's racing almost as fast as my own. I don't know why, since she's obviously not afraid.
"Yes," I say, confusion mixing in with the fear.
"Feel how steady it is?"
"It's fast," I answer.
"Yes, well," she says quickly, "that has nothing to do with the box." A slight jolt runs through her body as she finishes the statement, as if she's wishing she could retract her words.
That catches my attention through everything else, and I try to focus on what she said. Nothing to do with the box? What does it have to do with, then? Me? She's not afraid of me, is she? I'm not like my father, I think fiercely. You don't need to be afraid of me.
"Every time you feel me breathe, you breathe," she tells me. "Focus on that."
"Okay," I say, determined to try.
She breathes deeply, slowly, again and again, and I make myself breathe with her. It does help a little, though my mind is still flipping wildly through what she said. I need to know what she meant.
After a little while, she speaks again in a calm voice. "Why don't you tell me where this fear comes from. Maybe talking about it will help us…somehow."
I hesitate. This isn't a secret I want to reveal. Of course, I don't want to share any of my secrets, but the whole point of bringing her in here was to do that, to open up the first layer anyway.
"Um…okay," I finally say, breathing with her again, trying to gather the strength to continue. I push the next words out through the fear constricting my chest. "This one is from my fantastic childhood. Childhood punishments. The tiny closet upstairs." Just saying it makes my heart race even faster, makes the memories rush back, makes me feel the walls more than ever.
Tris is silent for a long time while my panic grows. I can feel her muscles clenching a little, but I don't know what to make of that. Finally, she says, "My mother kept our winter coats in our closet." I really don't know what to make of that. Is she trying to joke while I sit here agonizing? Or is she pitying me now and can't think of anything else to say? My breathing is getting rapid again, and I realize this is definitely not helping.
"I don't…" I say, gasping, "I don't really want to talk about it anymore."
"Okay," she answers quickly. "Then…I can talk. Ask me something."
A shaky laugh comes out of me. "Okay," I say, and I ask the first thing that comes to mind. "Why is your heart racing, Tris?"
She cringes. I can feel it through her whole body. "Well, I…" she says slowly, clearly searching for words. "I barely know you," she finally adds, and I realize she isn't just searching for words, she's searching for an excuse. She doesn't want to answer this question.
"I barely know you and I'm crammed up against you in a box, Four, what do you think?" she finally stammers. But that's not right. She already said it had nothing to do with the box. So, it has to do with being crammed up against me? In what way? I can think of two possibilities, and I know which I hope it is….
"If we were in your fear landscape," I ask, "would I be in it?" Would you invite me to see it, like I invited you? Or would I be in it in a different way – with Peter and Drew, trying to hurt you, or like I was in your simulations, smirking as you drowned? Or maybe, just maybe, would you be revealing your feelings to me, afraid of how I might respond?
"I'm not afraid of you," she replies. Her voice is clear and confident, and I believe her.
"Of course you're not," I say, "but that's not what I meant." Well, not entirely. I'm sure my answer doesn't make sense to her, but it doesn't matter. Suddenly, I'm certain, absolutely positive, that her heart is pounding for the same reason mine would be if we were pressed together somewhere else. She likes me. She feels at least a little of what I do.
For a moment, I forget where we are, forget the walls around me, forget to be afraid. I laugh with joy, and the walls break apart, falling away and disappearing. We're sitting in a circle of light in the empty landscape, between fears.
I don't want to let go of her now, but I don't have an excuse to hold on, so I sigh and release her. She scrambles to her feet too quickly, brushing herself off as if she somehow became covered in dirt while sitting there. She's covering.
I climb slowly to my own feet, grinning as I watch her. When she finally looks at me again, nervous energy is written all over her face.
"Maybe you were cut out for Candor," I say, almost laughing, "because you're a terrible liar."
"I think my aptitude test ruled that one out pretty well," she answers, grasping at the chance to change the subject. I almost don't let her, but then I shake my head and respond automatically.
"The aptitude test tells you nothing." Not when you're Divergent, anyway.
She narrows her eyes suspiciously and says, "What are you trying to tell me? Your test isn't the reason you ended up Dauntless?" She looks excited.
"Not exactly, no." I pause. I understand why she's asking. She's Divergent, and she probably suspects I am too. She's right, of course, but that secret is definitely not in my first layer. It's not one I'm willing to reveal today. Still, I suppose I can tell her that my result wasn't Dauntless. She'll know that soon enough anyway.
I begin, "I…." But then the next fear starts, and I remember where we are.
The woman I have to shoot, the one I always have to shoot, is standing there with her gun trained on me. She looks as she always does, her body still and her features plain. I used to wonder why she was so plain, as if she wasn't supposed to be memorable, yet she was the same person every time. Eventually, I realized it's because she's more human to me that way, more like the Abnegation women I saw while growing up.
Abruptly, it occurs to me that maybe that's part of why I find Tris so attractive. She carries all the beauty of Abnegation. But no, it's more than that. I don't associate my previous faction with eyes likes hers, or lips like those….
My gaze shifts to her with that thought, and I see her staring at the woman and at the table with the gun and the single bullet. And I remember that I'm still in my fear landscape.
"You have to kill her," Tris says softly, clearly already understanding this obstacle. She really is frighteningly smart.
"Every single time," I reply.
"She isn't real," Tris whispers.
"She looks real," I answer honestly, biting my lip. "It feels real." Every time I do this, I feel a little more cruel, a little more like a murderer, a little more like my father. It isn't real, but what it does to me is.
"If she was real, she would have killed you already," Tris reassures me. She's right, of course, but logic doesn't play a big role in fear landscapes. Still, I need to face the fear, and I know from experience that it won't get easier if I delay.
"It's okay," I say, nodding. "I'll just…do it. This one's not…not so bad. Not as much panic involved." No, panic isn't really the word for this one. Dread is. This is a soul-damaging fear.
I pick up the gun, open the chamber, and load the bullet. My movements are mechanical, separate from what I'm about to do. The bullet clicks into place, and I take my pose, standing like I do in target practice with my feet apart and both hands holding the gun in front of me. I aim, closing one eye automatically, and breathe, trying to believe that I'm just aiming at a target, not a person.
As I exhale, my finger squeezes the trigger, and then I immediately close my eyes. I don't want to see her fall again. Instead, I listen, hearing the body hit the floor and then letting the gun drop from my hand. My eyes open again, and I stare at the simulated blood. That gets me every time.
"C'mon," Tris says abruptly, pulling my arm. "Let's go. Keep moving." She tugs, and I follow her blindly again, trusting her to lead me away. Somehow, she's still here with me, helping me through this. She's seen three of my worst fears, and she hasn't turned away from me yet. But I know what's next.
Ahead, I see my father's shadow begin to creep around the circle of light. Panic grips me fiercely, and I'm seized by the sudden desire to run out of the fear landscape, to force it to end before Tris sees this. But this is why we're here, so I take a deep breath instead and whisper, "Here we go."
My father emerges into the light, tall and slim, his hair cut Abnegation short. His hands are behind his back, hiding the belt – making him look innocent I suppose, to those who don't know better.
Tris whispers, "Marcus," and I hear the confusion in her voice.
"Here's the part," I say shakily, "where you figure out my name."
My father advances, and I back away slowly. I can't help it. It doesn't seem to matter how strong I am outside of this place, or how much I plan for when I'm here. When I face Marcus, all thoughts leave my head, and I'm a frightened child again, cowering in the face of a certain beating. And this time Tris will see it….
She's looking back and forth between us, putting it all together. My heart sinks even more at the thought, until there's nothing left in me but despair.
"Is he…" she begins, and then it must click for her, because she looks at me and whispers, "Tobias." It's the first time I've heard my name in two years. Coming from her lips, it goes all the way through me and connects to my core. For a moment, the despair lifts just a little.
Then Marcus moves his hands in front of him and begins unwinding the belt from his fist as he watches me predatorily. "This is for your own good," he says viciously, as he always does. His voice echoes, surrounding me in a fear that roots my feet in place. The terror multiplies him, and suddenly there are a dozen versions of him surrounding me, preparing their belts to slice into me.
The hands whip back, ready to strike, and I'm a child again, helpless in the face of my father's wrath. I cower, throwing my arms up to protect my face. The pain is already there, the pain of a hundred, a thousand remembered injuries. I can't breathe.
I hear the belt whistle through the air, hear the crack as it hits, and I cringe from the pain. But there isn't any pain. It didn't hit me. I look up in confusion and see Tris standing between me and Marcus. Her face is fierce and fearless and angry. The belt is wrapped around her wrist, where it struck her when she intervened.
A wave of shock goes through me, making it impossible to think, to even know what I feel. She's facing him, for me.
Tris yanks on the belt savagely, ripping it away from my father's hand. How can she be stronger than him? She unwinds it from her arm, grasps the buckle, and turns it on him, striking him fast and hard. He yells in fury and lunges at her, his fingers like claws reaching for her. The sight unlocks my muscles all at once, and then I'm between them.
For the first time in my life, I face my father, standing up to him as I push Tris behind me. You don't get to hit her again. You never get to hurt her again. A tremendous mix of emotion floods me, none of it fear, and abruptly Marcus disappears. The simulation ends, and we're standing in the fear landscape room again, the flickering fluorescents overhead.
I breathe hard, trying to think, but all that comes to mind, over and over, is I did it. We did it. For the first time, I truly faced my greatest fear, and it was because of Tris. I stare at her in awe. How did she do that? How did she get me to do that?
A memory flits through me, and with it comes a realization. I told Tris that Al hurt her because her strength made him feel weak, and abruptly I know that my father hit me so many times for that same reason. He needed to make me weaker so that he'd feel strong. But it's the opposite for me. Tris' strength makes me stronger. I almost laugh with relief. In at least this one crucial way, I'm not like my father. And maybe that means it's safe for me to be with Tris.
I turn back to her, suddenly anxious to see her reaction to what just happened. She's looking around in confusion, apparently trying to figure out when the next obstacle will emerge. Finally, she says, "That's it? Those were your worst fears? Why do you only have four…."
"Oh," she says, getting it. "That's why they call you—" but she stops as she turns around and looks at me. The expression on my face must stop her. Given the full range of emotions going through me right now, I have no idea what I'm showing, but whatever it is causes her to look startled and confused. But only that – there's no pity in her eyes.
A second surge of relief rushes through me, mixing with the awe and incredulity, and I'm filled with a sudden desire to pull Tris into my arms and kiss her, just kiss her, forever. But this isn't the place.
Still, I can't resist touching her. The emotional turmoil has left me shaky, so I keep my feet planted and reach out a hand instead. My fingers wrap around her elbow, and I tug her gently toward me. Leaning down, I kiss her cheek, slowly, enjoying the feel of her soft skin against my lips. Then, I bury my face in her neck, hugging her, breathing against her, feeling her energy recharge me….
For a moment, her muscles remain stiff, and then she relaxes and wraps her arms around me. She sighs, and we stand there holding each other.
"Hey," she says softly. "We got through it." As if it was a joint effort. She doesn't have any idea what she's done, or what she's helped me to do. She doesn't have any idea how incredible she is.
I raise my head and look at her, trying to express some portion of what I'm thinking, but no words come. My fingers brush through her silky hair, tucking it behind her ear so I can see her face better. I really do like her face, especially those eyes, and those lips – I've been looking at those lips a lot, and thinking about them even more.
The words still won't come, and I find myself twining her hair around a finger, just looking at her. Finally, I make the understatement of the year. "You got me through it."
"Well," she says a bit nervously, "it's easy to be brave when they're not my fears." There's some truth to that, but it doesn't matter. What she did is still amazing. It seems like forever ago that I was worried about bringing her in here. Now, I'm so glad I did.
Tris drops her hands, brushing them against her pant legs and looking away. And I know it's time for us to go somewhere else – somewhere not associated with fear, or my father, or initiation, or anything else except us. My private spot by the river comes to mind, and I take her hand, twining my fingers with hers.
"Come on," I say. "I have something else to show you."
A/N: Whew, that was a very long chapter. I hope it was enjoyable. I know many of you were looking forward to seeing Zeke and Shauna get revenge on Peter, and I know that Roth included a scene like that in her latest "Four" stories. But the problem is I find that contradictory with "Insurgent." Peter has to get away with his attack on Tris so that he feels like they're even after she later shoots him. Then, when she saves his life in Amity, he feels like he owes her. If he doesn't get away with the attack up front, his whole motivation in "Insurgent" would be off, so as much as I'd love to have Zeke and Shauna go after him, I just can't...
Anyway, please let me know what you thought of this chapter. The next few should be coming pretty quickly together, since I wrote them a while ago and just need to edit them to fit the flow of the rest of the story. There's only one major time gap left to fill in at this point before I'm done with "Divergent." I'm still undecided whether or not to go into "Insurgent." I don't plan to write that entire book from Tobias' POV, since as I've said before, I really like Wee Kraken's "Killing Four" story for that, but I might write the first ten chapters until her story kicks in. If you have an opinion about that, please let me know.
Thanks again for all the reviews! Those motivate me so much to keep going.