Thanks for the patience between updates. Also, thanks to Milner and BK2U for their assistance in cleaning everything up. Please direct your responses, questions, comments, etc. to the box below.


"Four, come in," Johanna commanded as the rest of the Council filed out.

"Therese said I should come see you." He entered, politely tucking his hands behind his back, but he couldn't keep from nervously playing with the ring in his lip.

"I figured you would come back to work as soon as you could. Your presence has been missed. They're in shambles and frankly, they are driving everyone nuts." She smiled, offering him a seat on a pillow on the floor.

"Yeah, it didn't sit well with me that I had to disappear on them."

"The consequences were discussed openly, but the actions that lead you to be punished were not." He nodded with a thankful smile. "I was repulsed by what you did," she stated bluntly. Four tucked his chin to his chest, unwilling to watch the disappointment on her face. "I see so much potential when I look at you. You're smart, you see things logically enough to make good, sound decisions. You're a leader. But there are parts of you I can't even begin to understand. Violence is not a solution, especially not here."

"Understood."

"I need assurances."

"I promise —"

"No, not words. I need to see actions to make sure that everyone is safe when they work with you. I have made an appointment for you for an initial session, with a minimum of three required, or more at the counselor's discretion. And I'll get progress reports, so don't think you can shirk out of it. If you take it seriously, you can earn the privilege of coming back to work. If you don't, then not only will you not be welcome here, but I will deeply regret being unable to help you." She extended a card with a mix of text and handwriting.

"What do you mean, counselor?" He took the card from her, reading out the name and credentials, the location, the time. "A therapist? Really?"

"You have issues managing your temper and she can help. Members of Amity have benefited greatly over the years from this type of support. You need to take care of what's between your ears just as much as the rest of you. And I have to put the safety of the people in this building above whatever affection I have towards you."

Four had to concentrate on the deep breath entering his lungs to avoid lashing out, realizing immediately the truth in her statement. "Okay, I'll do it. Whatever it takes, I guess."

"Good. I'm glad." She smiled warmly. "Until I hear from Melissa, please refrain from coming to the building."

"Johanna…"

"Please, Four. For everyone's peace of mind, and for yourself," she firmly insisted.


The way the couch squeaked as he sat down emphasized his anxiety in the slightly cluttered room. He was reminded of the school counselor's office, which was also run by a Candor therapist. He recalled the times when he had to turn his face down to his knees and lie for his father when his bruises showed too much. By the sixth time he was in that room, he'd hoped they would finally pick up on it, maybe rescue him, but they never did.

Melissa smiled broadly, her jovial and pleasant greeting striking him as fake, suspicious. She tried the normal introductions, explaining about herself and asking about him. He kept his answers short, matching what he assumed was in his public file. Four established from the start that he was not going to reveal everything and that she had no right to ask him to. She continued with a sigh and looked at him like he was a puzzle, trying to figure out how to get him to let her in.

"What type of behaviors, in your opinion, require a physical correction?"

Four grumbled as he rolled his eyes, fixating his stare on the multi-colored tufts that made up the rug on the floor. This was not unlike playing a game: she stared at him while he stared at nothing. Melissa refused to talk when her first question lingered unanswered, holding the sheet of paper that would become his first progress report. It was the only card that could be played and it was in her hand, being shaken a little as a reminder, a threat. He knew it was stupid to be so stubborn, but it didn't mean he would easily budge.

Four finally gave his head an exaggerated shake and made eye contact. He was too mentally exhausted from fighting with Tris, thinking over Zeke's supporting arguments, and sitting through the Pedrad family drama to exercise much patience.

"Is it that hard of a question to answer?" She broke with a jab.

"You should probably repeat it. Dauntless don't think so good," he sneered.

It was her turn to roll her eyes, unable to keep the professional façade. She changed her question instead. "What problems have you solved with physical altercations?"

"I'm a soldier, we just had a war. What do you think?"

"Outside of the war? How many of your life problems have been centered around violence?"

"Life in Dauntless is violence." It was the first time he'd ever applied the stereotype.

"Isn't it also a place of loyalty, and friendship, and family, and community?" she challenged.

He shrugged. "Can be."

"Do you have those things in Dauntless?"

"Even I've got friends."

"How do you settle differences with your friends?"

"The usual way."

"With violence?"

"No."

"Never? You've never been violent towards your friends?"

"I mean, we've had fights and stuff, but that's just part of drills and training and stuff."

"Have any of your fights ever escalated? Have you ever lost control?"

He dropped his eyes and felt a throb where his pinky use to be, where he was still sore from beating Matthew: he wasn't convinced he'd gotten away without a fracture. But he wasn't really thinking about Matthew then, he was thinking about Eric in initiation. Eric was never really a friend and they never saw eye to eye, but he wasn't an enemy until he chose Erudite over Dauntless. And then there was Zeke. In both of their fights he'd gone further than he would have liked. Then there was a distinct memory when he sucker-punched Anxo in the hallway for bumping into him. And another when he threw Rayna off his back and onto the couch — she'd thought he was joking and took it with a laugh, but she didn't know how close he had been to hurting her.

"Tobias? Have you ever lost control?"

"Yes," he mumbled. "Please call me Four."

"When was the last time?"

"I put a guy in the hospital." He chose to talk about Matthew because it was surely in his file.

"If I'm not mistaken, that person was not a friend. When was the last time with a friend?" she pressed.

He let out a long sigh. "A friend and I were sparring. It started friendly, but I sort of lost it. Another friend pulled me off before I hurt him, though."

"Do you recall what sent you over the edge?"

Four swallowed while he carefully rubbed his hand. "He um… He played on one of my weaknesses to try and win. And I don't really remember the rest until after I got pulled off."

Melissa knit her eyebrows together. "You blacked out?"

"Yeah, I guess. One minute I was annoyed, the next minute Zeke was on the ground and I was being pushed backwards."

"How did you feel seeing your friend on the ground like that?"

"Shocked."

"And?"

He mulled it over, hating to admit anything to her. But her insistent expression and the crinkle of the sheet as she tapped it dragged it out of him. "Sorry. I felt sorry for it."

"You felt remorse?""Have you blacked out any other times?"

"Yeah, a couple times." Four shifted uncomfortably.

"More than once?" He shrugged, looking at his hands. Melissa sighed a little and then prodded, "Will you give an example?"

"I lost it with a guy during initiation."

"What happened?" Melissa observed him intently.

"We were the only two undefeated initiates left, so we got matched up to fight. I was losing… badly enough to think it was over. He started taunting me. It made me angry. I lost it. I'm not sure what happened, it's a blur. But, I won the fight and gave him a pretty bad beating."

"Did you regret harming him?"

Four looked away, remembering the fear he had felt afterward at what he was, or what he was becoming. "No. I didn't. He deserved it, and besides, initiation is designed to weed out the weak. I guess I did sort of realize I had to get my temper under control after that."

"So you felt remorse when you realized you'd gone a bit too far with your friend, but not with your fellow initiate?" He nodded, sighing. "When was the last time you acted with violence and didn't feel remorse?"

"Oh, six weeks ago." He chuckled a little and smiled. She froze him with an admonishing stare that nearly had him apologizing.

"And before that?"

"When I was in Milwaukee."

When he'd first pressed on Rud's windpipe he had felt conflicted, and he expected to have it eat away at him, but he never felt remorse. In fact, of all his nightmares, when he saw Rud's eyes turning red and his lips gaping, the surge of pride and righteousness in that moment was what scared him into a panic. The idea that killing someone made him feel powerful also made him feel sick. In the long run, he did regret it, if only for his broken nights of sleep, but he didn't feel remorse over it.

"What is Milwaukee?" she reacted, then corrected her curiosity. "Never mind, just tell me what happened."

"Despite what you think, I'm not stupid. You'll turn me in."

"I'm only required to report something if there's imminent danger to yourself or someone else, or if you identify a victim of abuse."

"Uh-huh. And if I tell you I robbed someone?"

"Confidential." She smiled warmly.

"If I assaulted someone?"

"Confidential." Her smile dipped as she shrugged.

"If I murdered someone?"

"Confidential," she said slowly, pinching her eyebrows closer together as she registered the truth in his expression.

"You can't report me?"

"No, absolutely not. I mean, I'll have questions, lots of questions, but I can't report you." She swallowed hard.

"And that notebook of yours?"

"Only if I'm ordered by the court to share do I have to share."

"So if you don't report me, but someone else does, your notes are evidence?"

"They could be, but only if they're related to the crime."

"And that progress report for Johanna, what goes in there?"

"Results of my evaluations. If I think you're a hazard in the workplace or general statements on your progress, no actual information about what we talk about in our sessions."

He nodded and looked around the little room, knowing full well there was a camera in the top right corner. The model told him that there was no sound, and he tried to remember if the quality would be good enough to pick up the writing in her book.

"So, Milwinni?" she mispronounced with as kind of a smile as she could bear.

"Milwaukee," he corrected. "It's a city on the outside. I went there looking for work, and while I was there I killed a man." He was still looking around when he said it. When he turned back to her, she had pulled back.

When Melissa sensed the truth in their back and forth, she felt uncomfortable, anxious. His distracted glances had hardened his delivery, making him sound unaffected. Plainly stating what should have been a difficult concept with clear enunciation, and without blinking or fidgeting outside of his wandering glance, sent a chill over her body, a dryness claiming her throat.

"How did it happen?" she managed to whisper, clearing her throat to bolster her courage.

Four held out his hands in front of him, watching how his fingers steadily hovered in relation to each other. The white raised scar across his forearm claimed his attention while he recalled the struggle between them. He imagined the feel of the bar, rough and heavy in his hand. How cold it was against his sore fingers already aching from the pull-ups. How raw his fingers felt the day after, and the sting of the cuts as they healed without stitches.

"How did it happen?" she asked again, bringing his eyes up to hers.

"He came at me with a knife behind the work house. I got him on the ground and I used a bar to crush his throat. I held him down until he stopped moving."

"Was this someone you knew?"

"Yes."

"And what lead to this altercation?"

"I knew he was a thief and he knew that I could have turned him in at any time. So, he tried to kill me before I did."

She let the tension fall out of her shoulders. "Self-defense. That's not exactly the same as murder."

"Maybe, but I still killed him. I could have stopped. Even thought about it. But I decided to kill him."

"Why did you feel he should die?"

"Knew he'd try again, and again. And if it wasn't me, then he'd have gone after someone else." He shrugged, folding his arms over each other and gripping his elbows.

"What did you feel afterward?"

"I didn't want to get caught."

"Did you feel remorse?"

"No."

"But when you've hurt your friends, you do?"

"Yes."

"For how long?"

"I don't know. I think about things I've done from time to time — months, years."

She let out a deep breath, her nerves calming as she realized he wasn't a sociopath. "So, how do you feel about …" Melissa paused as she pulled a list from the folder in front of her, "Putting a hole through the wall with your fist, throwing a binder at a faction leader during a meeting, and throwing items in meetings during 'violent tirades'?"

Four hung his head with a sigh, glad Dauntless wasn't smart enough to punish him with therapy like Johanna had. Three sessions would surely be more torture than four weeks walking.


"You said you would." Zeke nudged him out of the stairwell and down the right fork of the hall.

"What's the point?" Four's exasperated sigh echoed down the hall.

"You listen first, and then you can make decisions," Zeke assured him.

"Does it have to be now?"

"Stop whining."

"It's a waste of time. We could be shooting right now."

"Yeah, like you need to burn more ammo." Zeke rolled his eyes.

"I just finished another rebuild. I need to try it out."

Zeke didn't respond, taking him instead all the way to the end of the hallway and stopping outside Christina's door. "So, Christina and I will be in the apartment. If it escalates, we'll step in before anyone gets too out of control. If it goes well, then you guys talk it out and then we can quietly and calmly leave. And I promise you, we can go get shit-faced while you think it over."

"Yeah, let's just skip to shit-faced."

"Focus. From this point forward no snide comments, alright? And no eye rolling, no pounding tables, no shouting, no interrupting, and no name-calling either. And just don't break anything. You sit and you listen. Then you maybe talk or something, and then you can go. Agreed?"

"Yeah, okay." Four nodded, took a breath, and followed through the door.

Four could hear the tail end of a slightly different pep-talk in one of the rooms beyond the kitchen. He looked around at the generous living space, the upgraded appliances, and the couch with throw pillows and blankets. "Who do I have to blow to get an upgrade?" Four received a smack in the stomach and a warning glance.

Tris didn't meet his eyes when she came out and leaned back against the counter. It felt good to see her looking ashamed and hesitant. Christina ushered Zeke down the hallway, back into the room beyond his line of sight. Four pulled a chair out from the table and turned it around, sitting so he could drape his arms over the back.

"So?" he prompted, sternly.

"So… umm, thanks for coming," she mumbled. He tried not to look at her, to keep his focus on being silent and not reactive. "Did you read my note?"

"Yeah."

"And?"

"It was a bit rambling," he snarked. She sighed and he corrected himself. "You've been sick, you weren't feeling well, and I surprised you. Yeah, I read it."

"So?"

"I've been instructed that I'm supposed to just listen."

"Okay…"

He was about to leave if the pause dragged out any longer – there was no point in listening to the ventilation system. She looked scattered for a few moments, her lips moving with some thought going through her head, her hands rubbing up and down her thighs. He let out an exhausted sigh and shifted, getting ready to leave.

"I'm seeing a therapist," she stated softly, "And she says I should just tell you everything, but it's harder than I thought." She took three long, deep breaths before continuing. "I wasn't feeling well when I saw you on the train. I was tired and my head was killing me, and when you were there I just couldn't control myself. And that's because I'm an addict." She let out a shaky breath, swallowed, and examined his face for judgment or any reaction. But he held still and stern. "I'm an addict and I was going through, am still kind of going through, withdrawal. I'm in a program now, it's part of the 104 protocol…" She paused again to look up and check if he recognized the depth of that admission, but his face was unreadable, like stone, his gaze focused somewhere to her right.

"There's these steps I have to take to get better and stay better, and step one is admitting that I'm an addict. And there's all these ones about finding God and finding yourself, and then one about admitting when we've hurt people and to make up for it, in some way. So I want you to know that I know what I've done to you." Tris pulled out a wrinkled piece of paper.

"I hurt you, Tobias. I said things last summer that brought us closer together – truthful things – and then I turned around and lied to you. I'm sorry I didn't trust you then, and that I didn't talk to you. And I'm sorry I wasn't more compassionate about your mother or about Erudite. I shouldn't have left after promising you I wouldn't. And I'm sorry I went behind your back and went to Erudite, again, with Marcus. I'm sorry that I wasn't honest with you about Will when it happened. I'm sorry I broke my promise to you and went into that room, and also that I thought you were starting something with Nita. I'm sorry I wasn't there for you when Uriah died. I'm even more sorry that I didn't wait to talk through how I felt after I woke up. I'm sorry I called you names at work, and that I pestered you for weeks about a second chance that I didn't deserve. I'm sorry I said those things on the train, I didn't mean them. And I'm sorry I keep inflicting myself on you like this. It's the last time, I swear."

"Is that all?" he mumbled, realizing his gaze had dropped to the table as she'd spoken.

"I'm supposed to make it up to you somehow. The only way I probably can is to just give you space. Forever, if you want. Or, you know, whatever you think could make it up. I'll quit Dauntless, if it makes it easier on you."

Four looked up at her. The tears she'd been crying had come out silently and she was clutching a tissue, wringing it between her fingers. When her hand went to her face, he saw a flashing light on a bracelet. No, a tracking monitor. The ones Dauntless used for several protocols: habitual rule breakers like him and Zeke a few years back, and suicidal people on prevention protocol 104. The protocol he'd rarely seen in use but had to read about as part of his instructor training. The one he had dismissed so easily since he couldn't remember it for the last few weeks.

"104?" he asked. He needed to confirm it, again, hear her say it. She nodded, looking ashamed, judged, humiliated. "When?"

"Right after you left. When I realized what I said and what I ruined, again. But I was too afraid of it hurting, or surviving, so I didn't get very far. Guess it's good to be a coward sometimes," she murmured, then added, "It's also a symptom of the pills I was coming off of. But, you know, when things compounded…"

His chest seized at the thought that he could have come back and she could have been gone, just like he'd hoped for a brief moment on the train. For all the bad things she'd said and the hurt he'd felt, the idea of the initiate that came alive when things got tough being turned into a pile of ash like she'd never existed was crippling to his ability to process.

"So… I should leave, right? Dauntless doesn't need a coward and you don't need a mess like me hanging around every corner. I'd be a bad memory that just won't fade." Tris bit her nails, fidgeting.

"Don't do anything." Four stood up. "I don't know, Tris. I just, I don't know. Zeke! I'm out," he called as he passed through the door and stood in the hallway.

"Well?" Zeke asked as Four took off. He badgered him every few doors with comments like, "No thoughts?" and "Don't hold this in, it's not healthy."

But Four picked a silent path back to his apartment, and once inside, he sat at his table hunkered over little bits of metal and springs from a broken gun.

"Okay… Do I need to get the liquor?"

"No. I just...I can't think," Four snapped, picking up the barrel and running a cleaning cloth through it.

"Can't or won't?"

"How did she get caught? You know, for the 104?"

Zeke hesitated before sitting. "At the chasm. I found her on the edge leaning against a post. She didn't even move when I called her name. Freaked me out."

"And since?"

"We all split our time, keep track of her."

"We all who?"

"Christina, Caleb, Amar sometimes. The infirmary has staff that escorts her when we can't. And the tracking system is there if all else fails."

"And you?"

Zeke shrugged at the raised eyebrow. "Yeah, me, too. She needs friends, I need friends. There's not a lot of us left, if you recall. So I train with her, talk to her, I invite her to things and get her out and meeting more people."

"So, if I call it all off, she gonna jump?" Four continued polishing.

"No. I don't think so. She's doing better. So, you're done with her, then?"

"I don't know, maybe." He started to thread the pieces back together. "I'm no good for her, that's for sure. And she hasn't exactly been that great for me."

Zeke shrugged. "You make her want to do better. That's not so bad."

"Yeah? And how long until I lose it and she's trying to hide bruises and broken bones?"

"You wouldn't."

"I almost did. I got so angry seeing you two that I went at her."

"But you didn't do anything."

"But I could have. And when I do, she doesn't stand a chance."

"She's stronger than she looks. You know she's an alright fighter."

"Alright isn't good enough." He pulled back the action and set the reassembled gun down.

Zeke studied him for a moment. "Maybe just take a break, then. You work on you, she works on her…"

"Therapist was bad enough. Don't you start, too."

"The therapist that Tris is with has helped her a lot. I mean, you have to do these sessions, right? Might as well try to get something out of it."


"So Tris, it's been a while since we last met. I was very concerned when you rescheduled our appointment," Melissa carefully chastised.

"I'm sorry. I just, I had it under control, and I needed to go out to Amity for an overnight trip. So I had to push it back a little."

"Coming off medications is supposed to be monitored. There can be side effects and difficulties. How have you been feeling since we last spoke?"

"Better, I think. Better." She shrugged. "I mean, I actually feel more things now, which is good, right?"

"What types of feelings do you have?"

"I don't know." She got a quirked eyebrow in response and relented. "Hopeful, sad, lost, joyful, excited. You know, more than just angry and sad."

"What about thoughts related to hurting yourself? Have you had any of those?"

"Once or twice," she admitted. "But not like urges, just thoughts." She smiled hopefully. "That's better, right?"

"It does sound better." Melissa paused, "What type of thoughts?"

"I thought about falling off a building. Which I know sounds like hurting myself, but I didn't think about it to hurt myself."

"Falling or jumping?"

"Falling. I was sitting on the roof of my apartment…" The shift in Melissa's posture put her on the defensive. "I was just watching the sunset, it's not like I wanted to jump or anything. I was sitting, and when the wind blew, I thought, for a second, about that freedom when you fall off a tall building. That time between having something solid beneath you and the compression of my body crushing into the ground."

"Do you imagine this sensation a lot?" Melissa was making notes, concern knitting her brow into crevassed wrinkles.

"I didn't imagine it, I remembered it. I did it, once, in Dauntless. I went through, umm, someone's landscape and it involved falling off a building."

"So this sensation or thought, how does it make you feel?"

"Well, excited," she admitted.

"Not morose or sad?"

"No."

"Where was your brother when you were on the roof?"

"Oh, yeah. He was with me. He goes up with me and we talk up there sometimes."

"Okay, good. What else since we last discussed?"

"My…ex-" It was harder to say than to think, but she struggled it out. "My ex-boyfriend came back to town."

Melissa sat back in her chair, opening up her posture. "Is this the same ex who went outside the fence last winter? And then was just at the fence for punishment?"

"Yeah," she admitted.

Melissa was quiet for just a moment. "Tris, is his name Tobias Eaton?"

"Yes…"

"I should have put it together sooner. I have to disclose, to both of you. He was assigned to me as well."

"What? He's in therapy?"

"I can't discuss the specifics of his situation with you or yours with him. But I have to get one of you reassigned. It's a conflict of interest to be in the middle of a couple."

"Oh, I um… Which one?"

"Well, I don't know. I have to say, his situation is more my area of expertise, but we have an established relationship."

"We're not together. We'll be like strangers, eventually," Tris offered with a shrug.

"Would you reconcile?"

"I doubt it."

"But if given the chance, Tris, would you?"

"Yes," she mumbled. "But I don't think he would."

"I'll talk to my supervisor and see what we should do. In the meantime, we should avoid discussing aspects of your therapy that are related to him, if possible. Let's focus on your 12-step progress. Have you shared at a meeting yet?"

"Oh, no." She responded slowly, her attention stuck on why someone like Tobias — untrusting, independent, strong — would ever see a therapist.


Comments in the box below... PMs if you need more room. I know it seems like you have to wait forever for updates, but this story is not going to be abandoned, I promise. So thanks for sticking with me.