Originally, I was going to tackle Tris's issues with guns earlier in the story and with a much different approach. But it didn't quite fit where I had planned it. And then it didn't fit at all. So I used bits and pieces but in the end CH31 was very different.


Training with Four was a lot different than being trained by Four. He said it would be harder, that she believed, but she was searching for the nicer side of him he promised. She'd change in the member's locker room, thankful for the privacy she missed in initiation. Then ran four laps around the training room by herself because running with him was too much, too fast. Then they'd meet in the middle.

She felt a strangling constriction in her throat the first time he put a handgun in front of her. The smell of the range and the POP! POP! POP! of other members pinching rounds quickened her pulse and made her sweat.

"Just hold it." He suggested, checking the chamber and pulling the clip. "It's not even loaded."

She put both hands out and he placed it on her palms. Her pulse picked up, he watched her eyes focus in and her nostrils narrow.

"Hold it right." He had the edge of the instructor, and she turned it in her palm. "Now hold it out in front of you."

He stood to her side, she took a deep breath and raised it up.

"Breath in. One, two, three." He counted. "Out, two, three. Breath in and on three, squeeze." He saw her finger twitch, but it didn't compress. "It's okay, out, and in, and squeeze." She pulled and the action clicked. She let it fall heavy in her hand down to her thighs.

Tris dove to the side and vomited mostly dry heaves and acid. He scurried to get the gun out of her hands and uneasily rubbed her back. He monitored her, wide-eyed and concerned, waiting for her to lash out at him, to give him what he deserves for pushing her. It seemed like a good idea, helping her to face her fears. But with each convulsion of her stomach, he started to have his doubts. The glare in her eyes was deepened by the petechiae splotching around her sockets and the red rimmed lids washed with tears. He pushed her to the locker room muttering his concerns and waited, leaving it up to her to decide if she was done or just freshening up.

He leans up against the wall waiting, wondering if she'll talk to him. Zeke offers him a bit of a protein bar, he initially waves it off, but he insists.

"Come on, thin-fuck." He pushes it back on him. "Protein, calories, tasty..."

"Don't call me that." he warns, taking the bar and reluctantly chewing.

"Eat up and I won't have to. Where's Tris?"

"In there." He points.

"Oh, well, you should invite her over Friday." He shrugged, then moved along, like his only mission was to feed him.

Tris appeared leaning with a humph against the door, still in her workout gear, now dampened by water dribbling off her hair and face. She smiled weakly and dropped his eye contact with embarrassment. That same feeling rushed over him, wanting to wake her up, push her and steadies his resolve.

"Next time, you have to clean up after yourself." He warned with a playful nudge, putting his arm around her. "I think that went well." She glared at him, not realizing until she was standing at the table that he'd brought her back to the gun range.

"Are you serious?"

"Absolutely." He pushed it towards her holding his face tight. "Take a breath and pick it up."

"No." She narrowed her eyes at him, balking away.

"It's not negotiable." He eyed her, her face struck in disgust until she reached out and curled her hands around the gun then her expression relaxed into contemplation. "Point it down the range." Her hands shook. "Breath and squeeze." And she did. Relaxing, "Again." And she did. "Again." He played out his compulsion for repetition on her until her arms didn't go slack between.

"Ready?" He asked, loading a second weapon and handing it to her.

"No." Her voice was small. He moved around behind her and put his arms on the outside of hers.

"Breath in, two, three, out: two, three; in, two, three, squeeze." He pulled her finger back with his and the gun went off. His lips quickly found her temple, the first kindness she could feel in the whole process. "Amazing. Now again."

He held her as they waited for the train, his arms wrapped around her's. Both their hands smelling like gun powder and her was mind blank, tired. They didn't even look at the target when she was finished, a bullseye wasn't his goal.

"You did well." But there was more content in his sigh than his words. His breath and his squeeze calmly assured her she was okay. "I'll see you Friday. Zeke's invited us over, if you want to." She shrugged in agreement before stretching onto her tip toes for a quick kiss and ran to jump. Four watched her swing herself into the opening, disappearing at speed back to the city.

The training regime he'd designed for himself, with her parts included, ensured they only had a dozen minutes to stand and relax. Just a dozen minutes where he tried to calm down, lose the rage that built up after a full day of frustration and enjoy her rather than hate her. But tonight was different, he didn't feel angry, stiffled, or lacking; he felt proud - of her and his being able to help her.