I promise you, I'm working my absolute hardest on finishing this off in the next few months... I say that and you can probably add some months on to that since nothing has gone as I've planned. This chapter looked pretty different during Round 1. So thanks to the diligence and over 400 suggested changes by Ms. Milner. And never to be forgotten, BK2U, the ever steady beta-ready fandom editor.

While I have your attention, may I make a reading suggestion: Timebound by Rysa Walker. I really love this story and I think I love book 2 even better. Time travel is one of my favorite scify topics.

"I see your panties are still on and your hair's not a mess." Christina raised an eyebrow as she walked into the relative calm of the locker room after watching Tris and Four come into the training room single file and silent.

"We just talked." Tris rolled her eyes.

"And?"

"And I don't know, we got interrupted. But maybe we can spend more time together."

"Naked?"

"No. To finish the conversation. Anyways, he was pretty clear that's not going to happen, at least not when he's sober. But, I think that maybe we can be friends. Maybe we can at least talk and train together. Maybe, I dunno."

"Did he say he didn't want to be more?"

"He said he won't sleep with me again. And what kind of relationship is that besides friends?" Tris paraphrased his statements while she fought the swing of emotions with measured breaths, holding as firm as she could after seeing the pity reflected in Christina's expression.

"Sudden restraint?" Christina scoffed.

"Um, it's him being stupid, really. He had that nightmare and woke up a little rough and it scared him that he might hurt me worse if it happened again. So, he said— "

"He hurt you? You didn't say he hurt you." Tris's stomach flipped, wanting to reel her statement back in. Her feet shuffled toward the training room as if she could escape.

"No!" Christina's shrill gasp echoed around the room. She grabbed Tris's wrist in a panic. "Show me what he did."

"He didn't mean to. He was still in his dream. He thought I was someone else," she blabbered, trying to pull away.

"Show me." Christina pulled her into a toilet stall, the other girls growing quiet and turning to gawk. She had practically pushed Tris into harm's way by encouraging them to spend time together, to talk and figure things out. She'd never thought Four would hurt her. She'd never read someone so wrong.

Tris slipped one arm out of her sleeve, pulling her shirt up over her shoulder. "It's just a bruise. It'll heal."

"You let him do this to you?" Christina asked, examining the wide band of bruises that circled her arm.

"No, I didn't let him! I was asleep, too," she snarled, jerking her shirt down. "By the time I realized what was happening, he was already off of me and in the bathroom."

"Tris, you can't date a guy that does this shit to you."

"He didn't mean to."

"You're making excuses for him. People don't do this in their sleep! What happened? Did he get mad at you? Were you arguing? Did he hit you? Are you hurt anywhere else?" Christina started to pull on Tris's shirt, frantic to prove to herself that the damage was limited.

Tris looked at her, confused and slighted. "I'm not making it up. He was sleeping. He would never hurt me on purpose."

"Tris…" Christina tried to think of some way to reason with her, but Tris pushed past her and out into the training room.

Christina watched Tris start warm-up laps, fighting her instinct to push her to see Janice. As she followed her with her eyes, Christina started to focus on the other members that loitered in the space between them. Her scanning gaze analyzed each tall member before falling back onto Tris. A laugh she recognized cackled through the open side door, and barely visible in the contrasting light, her scrutiny settled on Four.

He was rocking side to side on the soles of his feet, the stones crunching against each other with each sway. Four was staring down Rafael in the harsh afternoon sunlight. If Tris was too dumb to realize what was happening, she would take care of it herself.

The closer she got the more distress she could read in Four's knitted brow. His face was in sharp contrast to Rafael's happy and teasing expression. The more Rafael laughed, the angrier she became. Four's posture was all wrong for his usual cocky persona, but all she saw was someone she'd trusted not to hurt her friend. The way one arm clutched around his stomach emphasized his thin torso and made him look small. His other hand covered his mouth as he stroked his thumb against the stubble on his chin. His head was lowered, and bobbed as Rafael talked to him. Then Rafael grabbed his shoulder and said something, the corners of his lips perking up, and Four dropped his arms to his side with a long exhale and a nod.

"You!" Christina pointed at Four as she charged through the door. He turned to face her with an exasperated sigh, his arms clutching back around himself in defense.

"Christina, not a good time." Rafael stepped between them. "He feels bad enough."

"We should be reporting him, arresting him," Christina half-shouted. "Did you see what he did?"

"He didn't mean to."

"Yeah, that's always how it starts… 'I didn't mean to' or 'I didn't know she was behind the door' or 'she slipped' or 'I had a dream'," Christina accused, turning her attention to Four, "She say no? Try to get answers? What set you off this time?"

"Back off, he had a night terror." Rafael stepped into her, pushing her back with his body.

"She's right, maybe this is how it starts," Four mumbled, turning to walk along the wall to the train yard. "I have to leave."

"Shut up. Shut up and stay right there." Rafael pointed at him, then corralled Christina with his outstretched arms and backed her away, lowering his voice. "Christina, you're not helping here."

"Someone has to hold him accountable." Four avoided her piercing glare.

"He's got nothing to account for, it was a night terror." Christina's eyes rolled when she turned her focus back to Rafael. "Seriously, the guy gets nightmares, a lot of nightmares. But a lot of the time, he gets the worst kind. Lauren gets them, too, they're called night terrors. They can't remember them, they move around, say shit they don't know they've said. And I know that sometimes he looks like he's woken up but he really hasn't. It's happened a dozen times since I met him. And he'll thrash around, or grab you, or yell crazy shit. And when he comes out of it, he doesn't remember doing any of it. He just knows he had a nightmare." He paused, quickly turning back towards Four who, although leaning against the rock wall, was staring at the exit. "This is probably my fault. I didn't tell him it was happening. I assumed he knew."

"You didn't tell him he's a violent nutter? For fuck's sake. She's like a quarter his size. He could have killed her!"

"Well, he knows now. And I'm trying to keep him from bailing out and going back to Milwaukee. If he stays here, he can get help. If he goes back to Milwaukee, well, he's gonna die. He'll find someone to do it, or he'll starve himself to nothing, or he'll get sick, again."

"He won't leave. He's too selfish for that."

"He's had a bag packed for weeks. I found it under his bed when I was collecting my things. He's got clothes, knives, and guns with ammunition. Look at his new boots, those aren't Dauntless, they're for construction. Why would he buy construction boots? He even has winter gear. He's got everything to go back to the camps."

"He didn't mean to?" She challenged Rafael to look away, to show her that he was lying.

"He didn't know he was doing it." His eyes held steady before he turned back to Four, who had squatted down, picking at the stones between his feet.

"You're not leaving," Rafael stated, pulling Four up to his feet.

"It's safer for her, safer for everyone," Four mumbled.

"You haven't even tried to get help. Lauren's doing so much better after that break at Amity, and the suggestion came from one of those Candor counselors. Maybe you just need something to take your mind off of things, put your focus on something else. Or, you know, talk to that counselor about it."

It was the same advice that Zeke had shouted at him at almost the exact same spot outside the training room when he lost his cool with George. But it wasn't for his own sake that he latched onto it this time. If he told Melissa, she'd have to report him. She would put an end to the nonsense. If Rafael knew that she'd have to turn him in, he wouldn't have suggested it. So, Four kept quiet.

"Me, in Amity? Tried that once, wasn't easy. And I'm pretty sure they wouldn't welcome me back," he dismissed, leading Rafael back inside the training room.

"So, then talk to that counselor and see what she can do for you. You know, actually fix things. Leaving isn't gonna take your mind off of Tris. I could tell from that first day we went to her office, you're stuck on her." Rafael paused, noticing Tris running at a steady pace around the room. "And I'm pretty sure she's stuck on you."

Locating Tris in the room was easy, it was like his subconscious was drawn to her. Four's eyes tracked her as she ran. She caught him staring, her pace slowing as she tentatively approached. "So… I talk to the counselor, what if there's nothing I can do? Then what?"

"That's a question for you and Tris to figure out. If she's not giving up on you, then you shouldn't, either. Ever try just relaxing and enjoying her for a second? Hell, enjoying anything without over-thinking it? You're a fucking head case." His comment made Four chuckle a little. Rafael approached Tris with a half smile.

"Is he still mopey?" Tris sighed.

"Christina was stirring the pot for a second, but I think I have him calmed back down. You know, he's the neediest badass I know. I mean, he can outrun, outfight, outshoot anyone here, but he can't seem to think straight."

"He doesn't think he belongs here," Tris offered.

Rafael raised an eyebrow. "Then I guess we all gotta convince him we can't make it without him. You know, we can't give up on him."

"Yeah, I know. I'm trying. He's not making it easy," she huffed.

"You're doing alright. You just can't let him get too distant. Don't let him push you away. Maybe give him something a little extra to keep his focus, bring him in close. Guys like the little incentives just as much as girls."

"Incentives?" Tris cocked her head to the side.

"I think you know what I mean." Rafael wiggled his eyebrows. Tris started to blush at the suggestion. When Four peeked up to meet her eyes, she turned bright red and had to look away.

Four was always on guard, stiff and cranky when they started their sessions. And all that was true, but he was also on edge and even a little jumpy when she took out her notebook and flipped to a fresh page. He glanced at her, then back down at the wrung out and white-knuckled fingers in his lap. She opened her mouth to start, but was cut off when he stood up and paced. The movement was an effort to soothe the increasing nausea.

"So, Four… something on your mind?" Melissa asked, his anxiety making her nervous.

"I got lots of stuff on my mind." He circled the couch. "I hurt her. I finally did it…" He wanted to kick something, throw something, but circling the couch was the closest he could come to the release he craved.

She stared back at him, shocked. Melissa's assessment had always been that Four was more afraid than he was capable in regards to harming Tris. "Tell me what you did, and how it happened." He didn't miss the sadness in her tone. "And please know, as an immediate threat to Tris, I will have to report you."

"You should, no one else will." He nodded, more resolute than ever. "I get these nightmares, real horrible nightmares. And, I guess sometimes I wake up only I don't wake up, not all the way…. I crushed her. I grabbed her and I crushed her." He was tearing up as he said it, his hands clenched out in front of him. "She's got these bruises on her arms. She won't show me, but they're bad. I can tell they're bad. I could have killed her." His hands were shaking bad enough that he began wringing his fingers in front of him.

"Four, please, sit." She stood and guided him back to the couch, confused by his account. She settled on the cushion next to him, her arms reluctant to leave his shoulders in case he jumped up again. She smoothed his shirt with calming strokes before retracting. "Now, you said you had a nightmare and you hurt her in your nightmare?"

"I woke up, only kind of, and I didn't know it was her, but it was and I hurt her." He spoke fast, his eyes urging her to reprimand him, to help him save Tris and everyone else around him.

"Stop, take a breath, you're confusing me. You had a nightmare and you attacked Tris as part of your nightmare? Or, you physically grabbed her because of what was happening in the dream?"

"Yeah, that. I actually grabbed her, but I didn't know it was her. I guess it was my dream, I don't know. I can't remember them. I can never remember them. I just wake up and I know I had one."

"Four, this sounds like a night terror, or a dissociative episode. We've talked a little before about PTSD and some of the aspects of that condition which are having an effect on you. I'm curious why you didn't mention the nightmares," she stated.

"Everyone has nightmares. And it's not like that's new. I can't even tell you about them. I never remember my dreams. But Tris... you're going to lock me up, right?"

He started with the hard facts of what he did to Tris, to speed them towards his punishment. He expected her to report his abuse, to protect his victim, to confirm him as an imminent threat. But Melissa looked back at him with a kind smile and, with sympathy, explained that his nightmares were a normal symptom of PTSD. She handed him a notebook and told him to write down what he remembered every time he woke up: dreams, nightmares, thoughts, how he felt if he couldn't remember the details. How often he woke up. If he woke up and thought he might have had one the night before. The prescription for sleeping aids said to take as needed, no more than three days in succession.

"You shouldn't be taking these every night. They can disrupt a normal sleep pattern pretty quickly and it may become harder and harder to wake up in the morning. It's like a compounding grogginess. But if you've had a few nights without much sleep, or if you have someone over, these will increase the release of chemicals that aid in the paralysis function of your sleep cycle. It'll keep you from moving around without being conscious."

"So if I have someone over, this will keep me from killing her?" He hadn't shaken his shameful expression yet, despite her explanations.

"This will ensure your body doesn't act out anything in your dreams, yes." She paused before asking, "What was Tris's reaction?"

He tightened his grip on the little bottle, his lifeline to normalcy. "She keeps insisting that I didn't hurt her. That since it wasn't on purpose it's like it never happened."

"And do you accept that?"

"I could have killed her. It wouldn't take more than a couple seconds to do it."

"But do you accept her reasoning?"

"No, not really. I shouldn't be so weak in the first place."

"Four, you went through several significant, traumatic situations over a sustained period of time. It isn't weakness, it's an injury. It's like breaking a bone. You have to set it, and cast it, and let it heal, and then you have to rehab your muscles back to being useful. And sometimes, you break it too badly to ever get it back to where it was, but that doesn't mean you cut off the limb."

The analogy made sense to him, more so than Tris's insistences or Rafael's encouragements. And he did feel better hearing it put into the context of an injury. It made facing Tris's kind smile and persistent presence feel more like therapy than a guilty indulgence. He always felt better, more whole when he was with her.

"Have you always had trouble remembering your nightmares?"

"Yes. But I did remember more of them before. I only remember things occasionally now."

"And what were your nightmares about before all the fighting?"

Four paused, looked down at his knees and wrapped his arms around himself. "Him, mostly. Sometimes other fears from my landscape."

"And the way you've been waking up, with these night terrors, is that how you've always woken up?"

"Mostly. Obviously, I remembered some of them." He swallowed hard. "But, I used to have to change my sheets almost every day. Marcus thought I was wetting the bed, so I'd wake up early, really early, to try and get them through the wash and back on the mattress before he woke up."

"And he'd hurt you if you didn't?"

He let out a scoffing breath. "If I got caught, it would take me longer to scrub out the blood."

Melissa blinked a few times. "Four, it's possible you've been living with the effects of PTSD since your abuse as a child."

"Great," he huffed. "So, she'll never be safe with me… No one will ever be safe with me."

"Negative thoughts…" Melissa reminded him, then opened her notebook. "Choices make the man, not dreams. Just to be sure, I need to know more. How did you feel when you woke up?"

"Scared as fuck."

She winced at his curse. "Scared of dying? Scared of being hurt?"

"Just dread, like something horrible was about to happen. Helpless. Like I couldn't do anything to stop it." His eyes closed, his breaths labored as he recalled the chill of his sweat cooling his body and the constricting effects of adrenaline in his system.

"What else? Did Tris mention anything she witnessed? Something you said? A motion you made?"

"Tris said I called out for a friend of mine to run. When I was…" He measured the length of his exhale and tried to match it to the time it took to fill his lungs. He looked up and waited for her next question.

"Come on, Four, you know I'm going to ask you to tell me all about it. What happened with you and your friend?" she sighed, and he cupped his face before swallowing.

"We worked together. We went out together. Sometimes we got in fights for fun, other times because we had to. I guess I know, or at least I'm pretty sure my dream was about one time when I was walking back to the camps from the bar with Steven. It was dark and there were guys up in the shadows, all lined up. I could tell they were going to jump us, so I tried crossing the road, and Steven was getting nervous, and I was already injured; my ankle was bad. I couldn't outrun them, but I thought maybe I could hold them off and Steven could get back to the camps and get help, or at least come back for my body." He laughed a little. Saying things like that out loud didn't even sound believable to him; it was so far removed from any common experience in Chicago. "Well, Steven took off. I tried, but there were too many of them. They held me down and they cut off my finger, kicked me a few times and left me in the gutter."

Melissa winced and sat up straight. "Did you know them?"

"Not personally."

"But you knew them? Was this a personal attack?" His silence came from trying to hold in the bile, not his reluctance to answer. "Four, how did you know them?"

He took a series of deep breaths and swallows, uneasy to his core with what he was about to admit. "I had an affair with one of their wives." Melissa nodded, accepting. Four felt relief draining the nervousness out of him and filling him with a sudden urge to be rid of it all, to give it to someone else. "…And she got pregnant. I don't know if it was actually mine, but I gave her the money to... take care of it. She got caught sometime after that. I assume it was her husband and his friends."

"Did this woman have the procedure?" Melissa chose her words carefully.

"I don't know." He shook his head. "I never found out. Never went looking for her. I didn't want the guy to finish me off."

"And how do you feel about the… um… situation?"

"Horrible. It keeps me up more than anything else."

"What about it do you find is harder than other situations?"

Four contemplated for a bit, gnawing at the healing hole in his lip. "Well, he took off my finger and he didn't even know me. What did he do to her? Did he hurt her or kill her because of me? Or, what if she's pregnant and on the street right now, starving to death? And if she has it… God, I fucked up." The hopelessness swept back in and settled between his shoulders, cramping his muscles.

Melissa could tell his mind was racing with possibilities as he winced and struggled to get his composure. "… At least my dad never walked away. I never had to live on the streets. I am worse than him." Four hung his head.

"If you knew what happened, do you think it would make a difference? If you knew for sure what happened to her, what would you do?" Melissa asked. Four shrugged for both questions.

"I offered to take care of her when she told me, but she wouldn't let me. I guess I'd offer again, make sure she was okay. Make sure the kid was okay."

"And, assuming she's pregnant, what if the baby isn't yours?"

"Doesn't matter. If she's on the street, it's still my fault."

"Do you think all of it was your fault, or do you think she should carry some of that burden?"

"I shouldn't have been using her to make myself feel better. It's not how I was raised. It's unforgivable what I did, not even checking, leaving her like that," he insisted.

"She was a married woman. Do you think she forgot she had a husband?" Melissa challenged, but Four kept his eyes down. "What are some ways you could find out what happened?"

"I know some people still in Milwaukee, I could ask them to look into it. Or, I could just go back, see what happened for myself. Tris would be safer, everyone would be safer."

"I'm going to recommend that you not leave the city, not when we have so much work to do," Melissa admonished. "What's stopped you from reaching out to your contacts?"

"I don't exactly have their full names. I don't even know if they're alive."

Talk, talk, talk was Melissa's declaration over and over for every situation. That advice set Four on a collision course late in the evening to Lauren's apartment. It wasn't often that he and Zeke fought, or argued over anything substantial. Most of the time they had painfully slow discussions as Zeke pulled information out of him and then delivered advice well beyond his years. But this was different. This was about Tris and her sudden insecurities with the newfound knowledge that he'd recently been with other girls. If things were over with Tris, he needed to ensure that she didn't get hit by the rumor mill if he ever had another moment of weakness. If things weren't over, and they stayed together, he certainly didn't want his indiscretions becoming constant reminders.

He tapped on Lauren's door before trying the handle and gaining entry into the apartment. It was the usual crowd that he expected: George, Lauren, Zeke and Rafael, all playing cards around the kitchen table. They looked up with broad, welcoming smiles and called him over to join.

"I can't, not tonight. I just need a second with Zeke."

"Sit for five, I'm on a streak," Zeke smiled.

"I just need five and you can be back at it."

"We're in the middle of a hand." Four's usually stern affect muddled the urgency of his request.

"Zeke, the fucking game can wait," Four spat with a harshness that dropped the smiles off all the faces, and Zeke stood up slowly, following him out into the hallway.

"What's up?" Four could smell the alcohol on his breath with each word.

"You told her?"

"About what? Who?" Zeke squinted, watching Four pinch the bridge of his nose in irritation.

"You know." The last thing he wanted to do was recite his actions in the middle of the hallway.

"No, man. What? Lauren?"

"Tris. You told Tris," he accused again.

"About?" Zeke raised an eyebrow. Four wasn't sure if he was that drunk or if he was playing dumb.

"About me." He eyed George in the doorway and waited until he disappeared before he dropped his volume and continued, "Me at the fence."

"Well, you didn't. You said you would, but you didn't," Zeke challenged with a shrug.

"It's none of her business what I did when we weren't together."

"Look, you flew off the deep end. She should know the effect she has on you. She needs to take it seriously."

"So tell her I was distraught, don't air my laundry out for her to see."

"It was the right thing to do." Zeke stepped into Four. "She needs to know who she's dealing with."

"And who is that?" Four stepped closer, just inches separating them. Their voices had gotten louder; George peeked out again, concerned.

"Kids…" George warned; Zeke waved him off.

"A girl like her, all she wants is a little loyalty and a little effort. Two things you've hardly given." Four's hands pushed Zeke hard into the wall curling into fists. His arm cocked tight against his shoulder, ready to strike. George stepped out immediately to separate them. "And that! She doesn't need that!"

"All you did is make her compare herself to every other girl here. She can't imagine why I'd be interested, let alone anyone else. That's what you did. How's that good for anyone?" Four shouted over George's shoulder.

"Go cool off." George pushed Four down the hall, walking with him and keeping his hands on him.

"I'm good." He adjusted his jacket and flexed his hands before turning to watch Zeke disappear back into Lauren's apartment. "Said what I needed to."

Seeing him used to be the highlight of her day, but knowing where he finally stood made their proximity uncomfortable. She waffled back and forth with the need to be near him and the conscious concern that he didn't want her there, or that somehow it was harder for him than her. It hurt worse than she expected when he placed his hand on her back and steadied her while she held the heavy Berretta and aimed. Even worse were the tentative touches that sought to soothe her but ended up sending bullets astray instead. His demeanor towards her resembled him as an instructor, only he spoke instead of barked and was more patient with her; it stung like salt in a wound. When he dismissed her with a curt nod and a subtle smile, Tris was relieved and eager to sulk in the relative privacy of the locker room.

She made brief eye contact with Christina when she came in to change; nowhere was private. Tris tossed her things into her locker and turned towards the door, sidestepping to pass Christina, but she wouldn't let her.

"Tris, I'm sorry. Okay? I was wrong to approach him."

"S'ok. Not like it matters anyways." Tris smiled politely, stepping over a bench to pass her.

"What do you mean?"

"He's done. It's done, so it doesn't matter what happened. It'll never happen again, so you don't have to worry." Christina's heart broke a little watching Tris slip out the door.

Christina changed and followed, but Tris was already lost amongst the crowd. Four was standing nearby, talking to a few members that she didn't know; she leaned against the wall and waited for them to finish. Four deflated when he saw her, arms crossed and waiting. He approached slowly, reluctant to get another tongue lashing, but on another level, he knew he deserved it.

"I haven't done anything. I haven't even really talked to her. Once she's done with drills, I'll leave her alone. I swear."

"You're still here." Christina took a few measured breaths, trying to put together what she wanted to say.

"Yeah."

"Does that mean you're not running away?"

"Looks like you'll have to find another excuse to throw a party, for now." He paused, waited for her to speak up. "Is that it? You just wanted to check my plans?" He chewed his lip a little.

She shook her head. "Do you really think you two could be friends?"

"I'll try to avoid it, I promise." He didn't wait for her response before walking past her towards the exit.

"Four, that's not what I meant." She reached out and stopped him. "You shouldn't listen to us, you know?" He responded by staring blankly, politeness holding him still. "We're trying to be good friends, but it's your life. In the end, you know better than us what's right."

"Ah, the rare Candor almost-apology," he smirked.

"Sort of, I guess. It's the truth, though. You should do what feels right."

"Yeah. Okay." He rolled his eyes.

"Maybe you should listen to her instead. You two can figure this out." Four was surprised by the sudden turn in opinion. For a moment he wondered if it was a joke, but she seemed genuinely sincere.

He'd dismissed her suggestion immediately. But with hours in front of the computer screen to contemplate, he let his eyes relax and scan the screens while he ran scenarios in his head. It wasn't so much the validity of the advice he'd been given that was holding his interest, it was more the idea that he and Tris knew what was best for them and that he should trust in that. While he knew he was dangerous, and there was a chance he'd hurt her again, she knew it as well. Tris was more aware than anyone what he was capable of doing to her. The question that remained was whether or not he trusted her to make her own decisions. He even contemplated the hypocrisy of withholding her choices when he'd been so upset that she'd once taken away his.

A knock on the door drew his attention; he hit pause and turned. The quirked eyebrow and evaluative expression told him all he needed to know.

"Who told you?" Four waited for the disappointment to show.

"Rafael. Honestly? I've kind of wondered why you didn't." Amar settled carefully into the chair next to him, his arms crossed. "So what happened?"

"I mean, he already told you."

"And?"

"And what?"

"What are you going to do about it?" Amar persisted.

"My shrink gave me some pills, instructions, more appointments."

"And Tris? She looks like she got kicked in the gut."

Four sighed. "I don't know. I was just thinking about that."

"Maybe for once you should stop thinking."

"Moth, flame, remember?"

"If you don't think your wings are already on fire, you're one dumb moth."

Four frowned. "Maybe I'm burnt to a crisp."

Amar studied the creases in his face for a moment. "That's not because of the fire. I'll admit, I didn't think she was the best match for you. So much has happened, and you were so angry. I didn't want to see you get hurt." Four glared at him. "Hey, I'm allowed to play favorites, you know. I didn't think she was stubborn enough to keep pace with you, but she's proven me wrong."

"Yeah, maybe." Four shrugged.

"It's been months, and she's out there just as hung up on you as she was back at the Bureau. And I know you're spending most your time thinking about her, too. It's really made you a shit soldier." Amar laughed as he said it.

"Gee, thanks." Four rolled his eyes.

"I'm just saying. Forget about the moth and the flame for a minute. Do you think Tris is intelligent?"

"Well, yeah."

"And is she weak?"

"No."

"Is she Dauntless?"

"Yeah."

"Then maybe you should stop treating her like some common girl from Abnegation. If you pulled this shit on any other Dauntless woman, you'd get your ass kicked in a heartbeat. Respect her. Show her that you trust her and stop getting in the way."

"You're not the first one to say that today."

"Oh?"

Four nodded. "I know you all mean well and that there's some truth somewhere in all of it, but I need to think this through. I'm actually dangerous, Amar. I've done this before to Rafael. It's just…"

"What did your shrink say?"

"I told you, she gave me pills."

"Exactly. She didn't lock you up. She didn't report you. And she certainly didn't tell you to run away to fucking Milwaukee." Amar's voice grew louder with each statement, his anger getting slightly out of control.

Four cringed. "She didn't. And I'm not leaving, not right away."

"You jumped into Dauntless even though you knew you were Abnegation. You defied the leadership and took a job well below your rank. You fell for a girl and together you shut down the simulation. You led a revolution. You went past the fence before anyone else. You have been braver than anyone I have ever known. I can't fathom the idea of you running away now." Amar leveled him with a hard look. "Besides, you can't run away from yourself."

Four wished Amar wouldn't stare at him. The truth behind him leaving would be the assurance of a shortened lifespan. He knew Amar's view on suicide wasn't something he shared with the old Dauntless. No matter how practiced he was at holding his expressions, he couldn't keep Amar from sensing the truth.

"Hey, while I've got your attention. I need someone to come look at the health room. Janice asked me to submit a work request, but if you have a second?"

Four didn't want to head back through the training room. He wanted time alone. "Naw, just put the request in. Someone will pick it up in the next day or so."

"Really, come with me," Amar insisted, his hand wrapping tightly around Four's forearm.

"No." He jerked back. "I'm already in therapy, I don't need Janice spying on me, too."

"Four."

"I just need some time to think. I'm not going to do anything stupid," he sighed. "I swear."

"Okay. I'm trusting you. But if I find you dead tonight, tomorrow, three weeks from now, I don't think I could live with it."

Four had consciously refused to let Amar's prior admission of attraction color their relationship. But the look he saw in Amar's eyes as he begged him not to be rash clearly came from someplace deeper than he'd anticipated.

"I swear, Amar. I wouldn't do that to you." Tobias gripped Amar's shoulder for a second before turning back to the screens. Amar sat for a minute before sighing and leaving quietly.

After his shift, when only a few people were up to meander around the compound, he wandered down to the rocks above the water. He wasn't sure how long he was down there, but his ass hurt in a way that could only mean hours. And the small splash of water had wicked up his pants and soaked him nearly to the knee. He might have even fallen asleep.

Four thought about what it meant to live, what it meant to be deserving. He wasn't even contemplating whether or not he deserved Tris; he was pretty sure he knew that answer. What was bothering him was if he didn't deserve Tris, how did he deserve Amar, or Lauren, or Rafael, or Zeke, or any of the other people who counseled him, put up with him, laughed with him? And why didn't he feel compelled to push them all away like he did Tris? Why shouldn't they also save themselves?

The answer was the same for each one of them: he trusted them to do what was right for them. He trusted them to know him and to judge him and to leave him when they needed to. It wasn't so much that he thought he'd have them forever; he knew he wouldn't. They'd figure out when they were done with him on their own. He didn't want Tris to figure that out. He didn't want to be around when she made that decision.

Still, he thought about Hana and her husband, together until he died; and Janice and her wife, together for over a decade with no sign of stopping. Even George and Amar had worked through George's grief and the transition back to Dauntless together. He admitted to himself that he really wanted something like that: the long relationships, the marriages that were kind and lasted. Those were the promises of Abnegation. That's what they could have had. And if he was going to get anything close to that in his life, he knew it would require a different kind of bravery from now on.

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