Live from Las Vegas...

"Hey everyone! We're playing paintball tonight!" Zeke announced loudly in the locker room. He noted how Four avoided looking at him, the lingering awkwardness between them evident. "You are coming, right?"

Four kept his eyes on the laces of his ankle brace, pulling them tight, then loosening so as not to cut off circulation. "Maybe."

Shauna's freshly-made apple pie and a quarter of a bottle of liquor the day before had gone a long way towards smoothing things over between him and Zeke. There was even a full, overly-dramatic, begging-on-the-floor-for-a-laugh apology. But recalling the original problem with less alcohol in his bloodstream still left Four a little sore about the entire situation.

"You have to come. I know you're not working tomorrow, I already looked."

Four sighed. "When? I sort of made plans."

"What? With who?" Four didn't miss the accusation in Zeke's tone.

"Calm down. I told Christina to tell Tris that I'd help her train, and we'd do some shooting tonight if she wanted." He knew his cheeks were pink by the end of his sentence. He chose to retie his boots, ducking his head.

"Oh, that's good. You're getting past… whatever this latest thing was? Well, I'm sure Tris will play." Zeke had tried to pry the gossip out of Christina, Amar, Rafael, and even Tris herself, but everyone was frustratingly silent.

"I guess... so, what time?"

"Seven. Don't worry, you'll have time to do some training and even digest after dinner."

"Teams?"

"Yeah. You know how I like to play," Zeke said excitedly.

Four moaned a little. "Captains?"

"You, me, maybe Amar, maybe George?" Zeke shrugged. "We'll find at least enough for three, maybe four."

"It's not supposed to rain, is it?"

"Shut up, pansy. Pack better this time." Zeke clapped him on the shoulder. "So, what happened with Tris?"

"Nothing," Four dismissed. Too many people knew already, and despite all the groveling and the booze, he couldn't shake the residual feeling of annoyance when he was around Zeke.

"Fine," Zeke griped. He stood and continued calling out the plans to anyone within earshot.

Tris diligently ran laps around the training room floor, knowing Four had disappeared into the locker room and that he'd have to come out eventually. Regardless of how much he was trying to avoid her or put distance between them, she couldn't help but hope that his offer to help her with her shooting was proof that she had gotten him to understand that it was not his fault. She didn't blame him, she wasn't hurt, and she wasn't going anywhere. She knew she was probably being naїve, but his invitation to continue to train together felt like a good sign — that he would at least allow her to be his friend.

He stepped out, cracked his neck, and focused on stretching his legs before breaking into a fast jog to warm up. She liked running opposite him on the loop. His pace pushed her, propelled her faster, and he was less likely to notice her watching him as he moved. When her legs couldn't keep up and he gained ground on her, he slowed and took up her pace, eventually following her back to the punching bags. She slowed herself further to walk next to him. Being around him was her choice, and he enjoyed her blushing glance.

Tris couldn't help but smile when she noticed the ring was out of his lip, a small hole in its place. She hoped he had taken it out because of what she said. "Are you going tonight?" she asked, digging in the bin to find the smallest pair of gloves. Her ear was still ringing from Zeke's booming announcement right next to her head.

He wanted to say something cheesy, like 'only if you are', but even having the thought threatened to make him blush. Instead he responded, "Looks like it, you?" Four hoped it came out nonchalantly as he took the extra precaution of taping his right hand.

"I'd like to."

"Save your strength if you are. It's gonna suck enough tomorrow if you end up being out all night," he commented, handing her a matching glove. He fought the smile that threatened to crack across his face; being happy in front of members was bad for managing them in drills.

"Oh, wait. I don't have any dark clothes with me." She pointed at her faded yellow shirt. "I'd just give my team away."

He felt a surge of anxiety shoot through him; he wanted her to go, to be near him all night. Maybe they'd guard the flag together, and he would have a chance to talk some things through with her.

"I'm sure Christina has something you can borrow."

"She's on patrol already and I don't have my key on me. I'll just have to sit this one out."

"You can borrow a shirt from me. It'll be big, but you don't seem to mind that." He shrugged in what he hoped was a casual motion.

"Yeah, okay. But… then I'll have to work on my shooting tomorrow instead. Maybe I shouldn't go. I need to focus." She realized that choosing to come to the punching bags first had probably cost her the close proximity of the range.

"It's okay, we'll take a bit of extra ammo and practice longer. There's no reason for us to miss paintball," he offered, and her face brightened.

He held her bag while she worked on her punches, critiquing her stance when she started to tire. He smiled when he caught himself considering how relaxing this routine could be. They would go to work, fit in some training afterwards, and then they would go home together. He briefly indulged before allowing his inner monologue to dash his hopes with stark reality. Tris could still realize what it meant to be with someone like him, and then she'd be gone.

She had to use all of her body weight to steady the bag for him as he hammered out his emotions. The rhythmic pattern to his strikes was unwavering, and he only paused long enough to let her adjust her grip. His face was blank, his eyes focused only on the bag. Every thought that spurted through his head only seemed to insult him for his cowardice; he should have told her his decision already. But admitting it was more nerve-wracking than the first time around.

Tris started to get nervous; it felt like she was there more as a prop than out of preference. She needed to engage him, get him talking to her so she could try and tell where she stood, but holding a conversation while he worked his way through set after punishing set of punches wasn't practical. She waited outside the locker room while he rummaged for a few things he might need before they headed to the dining hall.

She looked a little more alive surrounded by others who were equally excited for paintball. She felt a little freer to laugh, and even got carried away exchanging some trash talk with the other members at their table. When Zeke threw her some compliments, it made the hair prickle on the back of Four's neck.

It was hard for Four to keep his glances casual and his comments somewhat impersonal. He felt protective of her, and guilty over being jealous at the same time. If he had already told her what was on his mind, he wouldn't be shy about making his feelings known. But they weren't strictly among friends, and being public about it didn't sit well with him.

While he watched her fit in on her own merits, separate from being with him, the confusing mixture of pride and uselessness made observing her more fascinating. Her oblivious responses to the mild flirting and advances from the others was somewhat comforting, even if he was growing more concerned about Zeke's intentions. More than anyone else at the table, Zeke was flirting with Tris in his obvious, braggadocio manner, the one which Four had seen most often reserved for Shauna. Even though Zeke had a tendency to flirt with all the girls, this was different. Zeke switched from animated conversation and compliments to plopping peas into her cup, making her laugh and squeal. Her retaliation — using her foot to find a bruise on Zeke's leg — was enough to force him off the fence.

When Zeke had settled and she'd calmed down, he reached his hand out, and rubbed slow circles on her lower back. Tris took in a sharp breath and sat up straighter when she felt his fingertips, and Four blushed a little when her eyes came up to meet his. Zeke winked at him the next time he glanced over: so much for privacy.

With twenty minutes until they were due to meet in the Pit, Four unlocked his door and sheepishly gave her the option to stay in the hall. Tris followed him in and awkwardly stood on the mat while Four combed the room, trying to recall where he'd stashed his older clothes.

Tris shadowed him across the room; Four collided with her when he quickly turned to consider the front closet. His lips lifted on one side in a smirk as he gripped her shoulders, his thumbs rubbing affectionately against her arm. To the other factions, Dauntless especially, touch was second nature. They didn't think twice about their bodies, about holding hands or grabbing arms or slapping backs during even the most mundane conversation. But the Abnegation never lost track of anything, especially their proximity to others. Even though Four was well integrated into his friend group, he still didn't do much more than smack at Zeke or stiffly hug Lauren. Even Tris had often found herself uncomfortable in the company of her friends. Four's conscious touch — first at dinner, then in the center of his apartment — meant more. Tris looked down at his right hand, his thumb still moving on the inside of her bicep, and watched it quickly spring open and retract.

She saw the hesitant expression take over his face, the mouthed apology that fell silent before the end. He stared at her, his eyes flitting between hers and her mouth. Awkwardness flooded her stomach, and she wondered if he was going to kiss her. Four's lips rolled together and he stepped back an inch, exhaling with an expression of relief.

"Shirt? Jacket?" her voice was barely audible.

He quickly stepped over to a stack of drawers as Tris looked around at the immaculate room. He ruffled through them with a mutter.

"Yeah, right here. You're in luck, I still have this." He passed her a smaller jacket and a long-sleeved shirt.

She recalled Amar's statements about Four as an initiate, but couldn't visualize him crammed into the miniature confines of the jacket. She lifted it, sizing it up in comparison to his frame, then examined the shirt. He was watching her intently, eyebrows arched in waiting. Even if he didn't want to kiss her, she knew he wouldn't turn down a glimpse.

"Turn around," she chastised, a small smile on her face.

He could tell from the reflection in the window that she'd put her back to him. Impulsively, he snuck a peek over his shoulder and was transfixed. Four dark spots marred the white skin across her taut back: two entry wounds on her left shoulder, one on her right ribs, and one on her right side. Every mark was proof that she had survived, and each one seemed like a miracle to him. The contrails of reconstruction were still pink, the source of so many of her reservations. Nausea swept through him seeing the deep purple bruises on her arms, each one a vivid hue not unlike grape jelly on white cotton. It made him question every assurance he'd been given. He jerked his head forward when the shirt slid down her back.

"It'll be like capture the flag in initiation, right?" She broke the silence between them as she pulled on the jacket, marveling at how it was still several sizes too big for her.

"There are similarities. It depends on how many people are playing, and if Zeke can get everyone to agree on the rules. The biggest difference? When you're shot, you're done. And you could be out all night if you're the one stuck babysitting the flag." He hesitated to turn back to her, afraid to get caught, until she cleared her throat loudly. His evaluation was quick and to the point, without lingering on any one place. "It fits you better than I thought it would. You should keep it."

Four was reluctant to touch her after the reminder of what he did, even as he told himself that she wasn't as breakable as her scars and the bruises might imply. He pushed her with just his fingers on her lower back. "Zeke won't wait for us, so we better move."

Zeke had gotten nearly a hundred people gathered, all of them excited and shouting while they waited in the Pit. There was a quick discussion about how many teams and how many per team. Zeke and Four argued briefly, but decide on four. Each team had a little set of identifying flags for everyone to wear, and one large one to hide and protect. It was decided that the game wouldn't end until one team had all four flags, or the sun came up. Tris was amused to see Four roll his eyes: that must have been the part he didn't like. She didn't expect him to have lost early, ever.

Four, Zeke, and George had their own teams, and Ro had the fourth. There was a small competition with each one striking each other's knuckles until someone flinched. George gave Four a hard crack with a little bit of a maniacal grin; Four recoiled and shook his hand frantically before forming a fist and preparing for the next shot. This time he flinched. It ended with Zeke picking first. When he selected Tris in the next breath, he shrugged off Four's sideways glance and the murmurs of the Pit.

"Uh, she's a first-ranked. And she's smart," Zeke defended as he smiled broadly, looping his arm around her shoulder. "I'll take good care of her."

It clarified in Four's mind the need for a discussion of boundaries. Tris shrugged Zeke off with a chuckle before she collected her flags, selected paintballs, and pulled a gun from the stack.

They continued to divvy up people before deciding the order for jumping off using another round of painful knuckle-cracking and flinches. Four was at a disadvantage: the injuries from the first round were exacerbated by his insistence on only having one hand cracked. He ended up bloodied and in third. Zeke lost to George, and Ro had fallen out quickly; it was his strategy to get off last.

Ro exchanged a few tips with Tris as they settled on the train. When bodies moved and Tris tipped forward, he steadied her and continued his advice with a laugh. Four was quick to slide closer to her, distracting her from the conversation with his hand on her lower back, receiving another exasperated sigh from Ro as they exchanged a challenging glare. When Tris continued her conversation with Ro, Four rolled his eyes at his triumphant smile. Dejected, Four shoved his right hand deep in his pocket and sucked at the wounds on his left knuckles. Tris kept tabs on his pouty, annoyed expression, and tried not to smirk in amusement.

When Four let out a wide yawn that brought his shoulders up around his ears, she put a sharp elbow in his side to jostle him awake. He swayed back into her with a slight smile.

"I might have to bail if it goes too late," she warned when Ro started rallying his team. "I have a meeting tomorrow morning at ten."

"That's why they invented caffeinated beverages." He was happy to finally have her attention, and his hand easily found hers.

"So, you guys going to go to the Pier?" she asked innocently, flexing her fingers between his and taking measured breaths.

"Oh, no. You're getting nothing from me, traitor. And keep your guard up with Zeke. That guy's been known to shoot first, ask later. Lots of friendly fire."

"Sure, but that wouldn't be an excuse or anything," she placated. She could feel her face heat up with every circle of his thumb.

George's team jumped from the first train car. Ro and some of his team watched them land. A few even craned out to see if they could tell where they were going.

"The park seems to have some advantages." Tris dropped his hand to check the action on the gun and to try and clear her thoughts.

Four shook his head, reclaiming his grip on her fingers and smiling at the surge of energy. "Nice try. I have no hints."

The next team started to gather their packs. Fearing a rebuff if she moved too fast, she resisted her urge to touch his arm or seek anything more from him than he was offering. A few touches to her back and hand holds in the dark didn't mean anything, not in the long run. A twinge in her chest pushed her to step forward and start lining up.

"Stay at Christina's, okay?" Four asked, stepping up with her.

"No key, remember." She shrugged. Immediately, she hoped he would shove his key into her hand and ask her to wait for him there. Nearly as quickly, she felt disgusted with the level of desperation that thought reflected.

"If she's not back yet, go to George and Amar's," he suggested. "Don't walk home alone."

"Couldn't if I wanted to. I'm not allowed, remember. Besides, I'm not going home until the sun comes up," she teased. She distracted herself from her doubts about everything that was happening by re-examining the wear on her gun.

"Uh-huh. Keep your eyes open, I'll be coming. And don't think I'll have mercy on you," he warned. He hesitated and flicked his glance around the train before he stacked some extra paintballs into her pocket. She took a breath and launched out, landing on the embankment and rolling to a painful stop at the bottom. Four leaned out as soon as the others had jumped, but he couldn't spot her in the crowd.

"Team blue!" Zeke called into the dark to bring them together around him. He pointed at her, "Okay. Strategy. Tris, go."

"What, me?"

"Yeah, you're the smart one." They all looked at her expectantly.

She sighed. "Four's going to be getting off third, Ro fourth. I bet Four stays close to us, not five minutes down the line. He's going to want to get to us first because he can control how close he is, but Ro's a wild card." She paused and looked down at the sandy gravel while she contemplated out loud, "We have two choices. We know where George got off, so we could all move that way. We'd be further than Four would assume, which could buy us some time to get George then come back for Four. Or, we can stay put and let both of them come to us, but risk Ro coming in the thick of it. Or maybe Ro just sits and waits for the last ones to come find him."

"Well, I guess let's go get George," Zeke decided. "Move out across the tracks to the north side and then west, double time from the turn. Quick and quiet."

She fell in line a few strides behind Zeke, but soon tired to the back. They moved in small groups of three between the buildings, checking around each corner, knowing that George's team could be moving directly towards them or circling around. Within the mandatory ten minutes, they found an old church and left a slim, three-person team with their flag inside the bell tower. The first splash of rain felt like someone spit on her cheek, but there wasn't anyone close enough.

"Okay, split out everyone. Go out at a radius of three buildings then back. If you encounter anyone, call it out. Mind your blindsides. If it starts raining any harder, Four's going to hole up with his flag, but that doesn't mean his team isn't coming."

Zeke tugged on her jacket and dragged her for a few steps. She knew she was with him because he said he'd keep her safe, or maybe because he thought she'd be helpful if they had to regroup. Another girl fell in beside Tris, but they didn't exchange names. Tris shuffled behind him in the shadowed side of the alleys, each time checking around the corner from her knee while Zeke covered from standing, the other girl taking the opposite direction before sprinting across the gap. Shuffle, turn, check, check. Shuffle, turn check, check. The pattern was getting boring.

Thwap! A paintball burst above her head and she pulled back out of the way.

"Blue!" Zeke called out his color.

"Red meets blue!" A member of George's team called.

Zeke returned fire. Tris turned to watch their backs while the other girl kept the front with Zeke. The rest of team blue quickly scurried out of alleys and buildings and into the fight.

"Hey, Zeke. Get me on top of the building," Tris suggested.

"What?" He crouched next to her, wiping the steadying rain out of his eyes.

"Come on, it's not that far." Tris looked up and pulled a bin over to help cover the last few feet. "Give me a leg up," she commanded.

"No. Four will kill me if you get hurt."

She challenged him with a grin. "Does he frighten you more than a paintball to the face? Come on, up."

Reluctantly, he boosted her up and onto the roof, catching her when her grip slipped on the roof's edge. He sent the other girl, too, just to be on the safe side, and huddled against the building to take aim. The red team fell quiet, and the shooting stopped. The girls had to pick their path carefully around the perimeter — parts of the roof had crumbled through in the center. Each one took a corner, quietly setting up above team red. Red was preparing for a small frontal assault with a flanking maneuver around the other side of the building. With the sound of the rain drowning out their steps, red was unaware until they were covered in paint from above.

Zeke and the remaining blue team came around the corner to finish the assault and try and extract their flag location. It was an interesting custom: Tris watched Zeke shoot each refusing member, at close range in the butt or leg, with her feet dangling over the edge of the roof. She hesitated before trusting him to catch her, letting the other girl go first before hopping down.

Tris shuffled out with her team as soon as she was safely back on the ground. Zeke selected three members specifically to find red's flag and sent them out. Zeke tugged her arm once again, pulling her along to set up a perimeter to wait for Four's team. The other girl had disappeared with the rest of the team, leaving the two of them alone. Soaked through, they found an open building with a good view of a broad cross street and sat in a third story window.

"I think Ro got him," Zeke commented, shaking out his jacket and pulling out a bottle of water.

"Maybe," Tris wasn't convinced.

"It's nice having your brain this time around." Zeke offered her a drink. "Adds a bit to the scenery, too."

"Uh-huh," she rebuffed before taking a sip and passing it back.

He tried again at softening her. "You know, I like Dauntless better with you in it. Puts those other girls on guard having you around. You're not very intimidating at first, but that fight with Lauren has left an impression."

"Mmhmm."

"Four's better with you, too."

"And I've been trying," she snapped, getting annoyed quickly.

"Four would be amazing with you in Dauntless. Can't stop talking about you," he layered.

"Zeke," she sighed, "I don't need more pressure. My shooting sucks. And you don't have to lie about Four. He doesn't talk about me."

"Okay, okay. He doesn't talk about much of anything, though. Just trying to be encouraging."

"Can't just snap our fingers and fix things, can we?" she mumbled.

"Shooting or Four?"

"Both."

"Easy, get more time in at the range. You're good on the wall and stuff, so we can switch the focus over. I can even work with you some more. And Four, well… forgive, forget already, and fast track to the make-up sex. I can't even imagine how good that's gonna be," he said, even though it was obvious he was doing exactly that. His eyes refocused and he gave his head a slight shake. "What's stopping you two?"

"He doesn't seem to like me as much as he did." It was an easier lie than explaining how afraid he was of hurting her.

"Oh, no. He likes you. He likes you a lot. In my opinion, my very humble opinion, I think he doesn't like himself very much. And that makes him think he isn't up to your standards," Zeke offered. Tris couldn't help but smile at Zeke's perceptive statement.

"Maybe, but there's not a whole lot being talked about even though we're getting along. Even if things were perfect between us, there's still his goddamned secrets."

"Four, secrets? No!" Zeke feigned scandal. "You mean like his actual name? Or that fucking mural on his back? Or his fake relationship with Lauren? Yeah, I know about that one," he said, tossing a glance at Tris who didn't seem phased by anything he said. "I wouldn't be surprised if you never get to the bottom of the secrets. Secrets on secrets on secrets… but at a certain point, you have to decide if knowing what they are adds or subtracts from him. You might need to let him have some of his secrets."

"Zeke, the philosopher. Mighty words of wisdom."

He dropped his eyes for a moment, smiling a sullen smile. "I have my moments. But I think I'm paraphrasing something he told me once." Zeke took a breath, steadying himself in a way that Tris had never seen before. "Uriah…" He paused, clearing the hoarseness from his throat. "Uriah used to just disappear for hours — days, once or twice — and we couldn't find him. And when we asked, he would lie. Bold-faced lies. Mom punished him so many times. I thought I would have to torture it out of him. I was trying to bribe Four to track him on the cameras, but he stepped in with his little nugget of wisdom, and he was right. Uriah wasn't out being a bad kid or causing trouble, because we would have heard about it. He was just out being Uriah. It didn't matter where he went or what he did, and knowing the specifics wouldn't change that he was a good kid. So I let him be."

"Did you ever find out?"

"Nope." He paused before a bit of excitement laced his tone. "It still drives me nuts. He just slipped out past the cameras, no note, no nothing. The little shit. It's stupid, but when things get hard, I still pretend that's the case. I guess I just make up a life for him now. Like, I pretend he's out fishing or romancing some chick. Like, I might catch him at some factionless brothel when I'm out on patrol. I like thinking he's out there, having a good time. Sneaking around, still."

Tris glanced down, trying to hide the tears forming in her eyes. She'd had bad days. She'd had whole months of bad days. "Does it help?"

"Yeah, most of the time. It's easier to think he's somewhere rather than nowhere. His birthday is next week. Or was next week. Is… was… whatever. We planned on patrolling together until he got ranked second. Little shit didn't end up so little, I guess." He smiled at her, his eyes a bit watery; her hand fell on his forearm and squeezed reassuringly. His eyes snapped from her fingers to the movement in his periphery while he cleared his throat, thankful for the distraction. He chuckled, then tapped the window sill and pointed: up the street, a team stalked in the shadows, barely visible.

"Can't see the colors," Tris murmured, wiping her eyes as she pushed herself closer to the window.

Zeke looked through the sights, then lowered his gun. "These things aren't accurate this far away, especially not wet." They waited, watched them make a turn into an alley, saving them from their view.

"Amar said you guys used to get into trouble a lot. He made it seem like you were the ringleader of a bunch of hooligans."

He laughed. "Oh, yeah. Kind of was."

"So, tell me about it?"

"Um, let's see. We were put on meal restrictions for three weeks for burning the word 'penis' into the Pit floor. Then we each got an extra week of drills for shooting out the lights in the training room, but that was just us being drunk. Oh! The best is definitely when Four got six weeks of kitchen duty when I broke his ribs," he bragged.

"How does that happen?"

"I punched him."

"No, him getting punished for you breaking his ribs."

Zeke chuckled. "Funny thing about Four and that temper. He used to be really bad about controlling it. Way worse than now, I don't care what he says. He started so many fights, he was on, like, triple probation with Max. One Friday night, I hooked him up with Lauren — their first date. Probably their only real date. We were at dinner and he said something to her, something sort of rude or demeaning, so she challenged him to spar in the training room. He hates fighting girls, so I stepped in and challenged him instead. And I broke his ribs."

"So you won?"

"No, the bastard broke my nose and gave me a concussion. Members can spar, but you're not supposed to go, like, full contact outside of drills. Normally, leadership overlooks it, but not that time. And since his track record was worse, he got the harsher punishment. He's probably the best potato peeler in Dauntless. Just gotta be the best at everything."

They laughed, trying to hush the sound before falling silent when they heard the creak of a board behind them. The pain spread out from her right shoulder across her back, where the welt would be forming; she laughed and moaned at the same time.

Tris flopped over on her back when Zeke dramatically fell against the wall, laughing. "Who are you?"

"Yellow meets blue." It was Four, standing on top of them. He was aiming down his barrel, rainwater dripping off his jacket. "Where's the flag?" he asked, pointing the gun squarely at Zeke, who promptly covered his crotch and declined to comment. Four shot him once in the leg.

"Tris, where's the flag?" he asked, pointing the gun at her. She thought for a second that he wouldn't shoot her, but paintball was serious. "Rules are rules," he stated, releasing two shots into her thigh.

"Ow! Two? You jerk," she moaned. He held out his hand; she let him pull her up. "I guess that means I can go to bed now."

Four glanced out the window at the downpour.

"Oh, knock it off, you pansy!" Zeke exclaimed.

Four looked at him and gave a huff.

"What?" Tris asked, picking her gun up off the floor and wiping the debris from her grimy hands onto her pants.

"Nothing."

"Four hates being stuck in the rain, like he's gonna melt or something. News flash! You're certainly not made of sugar." Zeke picked up his jacket and shook it again before putting it on. Four didn't follow when he started to move. "You can stay here if you want, but you're not gonna win sitting on your ass. Now if you'll excuse me, I'm gonna go get some sleep."

Four reluctantly walked her down the stairs to the main level, all the while scanning for more blue. He stopped in the doorway, watching as Zeke started to jog his way back to the train tracks. He caught her arm before she could follow.

"Did you and Zeke have fun?" he asked.

Tris didn't miss his emphasis on Zeke's name; she looked anxiously after him. "I have to go… If I'm by myself, they'll extend the tracking."

"I'll make sure you get back, just talk a while." She was reluctant to wait all night to go home, but felt rooted in place by his request. "Did you have fun?"

"Until you shot me." An odd feeling of being interrogated snuck into her shoulders.

"Rules are rules, no favoritism," he stated, relaxing his grip and sliding his hand down to hers.

"Favoritism? You're not my instructor anymore." She stared at their hands, at the way his thumb began its familiar, circular path.

"Okay, so I liked shooting you. I'd do it again." He nudged her with the barrel, the playfulness clear in tone, the smile that had crept onto his face.

She took a chance and let a round pop into his lower leg. "What's fair is fair," she snickered while he hopped to kill the sting.

"That was much closer range!"

"Maybe, but it wasn't two."

Four snatched her gun with a daring expression, raising his own slightly, towards her stomach. She kicked his and managed to snatch hers back out of his hand in his moment of surprise. She aligned it back just lower than his belt. They did a little side-to-side dance before Four rushed her and locked his arms, pinning her gun to her side and dropping his entirely.

His intentions were to just hold onto her, hug her, maybe tease her about losing. But her hands struggled up against him, and a momentary panic flooded through him. Afraid he was hurting her, he froze, but her clear and loud laugh reassured him. The smell of her, humid in his nose, easily changed his desires. He pressed his lips against hers, harder than he meant to, but relaxed into something sweet and comforting. She stopped struggling, and when he loosened his grip, one of her hands found his lower back. Four pulled away and rested his lips against her forehead, smiling with a vague sense of relief. He could make it work; he would make it work.

She pulled the trigger and let a round slam inches away from the welt forming on his lower leg.

"Dammit!"

"Even!" She kissed him quickly, only to have him catch her and hold her to something longer.

"And you think you need more range time? Shit, that hurts."

She cocked her head to the side. "Doesn't it?"

"Stay at Amar's, okay?" he asked, reiterating his earlier request as he tapped his toe on the ground to drive out the rest of the sting. "It's closer, and you'll get more sleep than if you get someone to take you home." He smoothed her hair back behind her ear.

"Yeah, okay. If I can even get back to the compound now. Zeke's long gone." She pushed the flat of her knuckles against his stomach, feeling the solid muscle underneath.

"It's okay, everyone meets up to walk back in groups. I'll show you." He held her hand as they moved from one building to the next, pausing in doorways and under overhangs to try and avoid the rain as they made their way towards the tracks.

When they made it to the last overhang, she pulled up and lifted their hands. "Can I see you tomorrow? I think we should talk. About all this."

"Yeah, we should," he nodded.

Ro and Zeke gave them a long glance while they talked, both obviously waiting for her. She gave Four's hand a squeeze before she jogged out, joining them in the walk back along the train tracks. Four watched Zeke get smacked in the arm for some comment before he turned and trotted back out to find flags.

Many thanks to my life coach Milner and the ever enviable, BK2U for the help.