A/N: Thank you to everyone who has taken the time to review, favorite, and/or follow this story! Your support means a lot to me and always inspires me to write more. Thank you also to my wonderful beta reader, Rosalie!
"Insurgent" Chapter 4 – Conflict Resolution
I wake up early but still barely take the time to get dressed before heading to the kitchen. Per our agreement with the Amity, I have to work the breakfast shift there today. It seemed like one of the easier duties to undertake, since I spent plenty of time cooking and cleaning while growing up in Abnegation. And honestly, I'm a little curious to see how this faction's food is made, given how satisfying every meal here is.
My mood darkens considerably when I see who else is there: a handful of others from my first faction, including my father.
He gives me that small, false smile that he always manages when we're in public, and it sends a twist of nausea through my insides. I scowl back before turning toward the person who seems to be in charge. She's a short woman with dark skin and even darker hair, her white teeth forming a blinding contrast as she beams at all of us.
"Good morning," she states in far too chipper a tone. "My name is Melanie, and I'm going to be guiding you through the joyful process of helping to feed this faction." The cheeriness is too much for this early in the day, and I try to suppress my groan. Fortunately, I'm not the only one; even Marcus is barely keeping the frown off his face.
"First, we'll need to divide into small groups so that we can do all of the important work this kitchen needs." She looks around. "Who would like to make bread?"
Several people immediately volunteer, and she continues to the other duties one by one. It's a slow process, and it doesn't help that I'm hesitant to pick anything, wanting my father to select an activity first so I can avoid him. But he doesn't, and I find myself gritting my teeth more and more the longer I wait. I have a bad feeling that he's going to try to follow me into whatever I choose so he can force me to talk with him.
Eventually, Melanie says, "I need two people to get things on and off the high shelves. Who is willing to do that?"
Cold fury goes through me when Marcus responds. "My son and I can do that. Right, Tobias?" His tone leaves no room for refusal, but I cross my arms, glaring at him anyway.
"I'd rather do something else."
"Come now, Tobias." His tone has a far-too-familiar edge to it. "We're the tallest people here. Surely we can help where we're needed most?"
"Surely you can learn to speak for only yourself," I growl back, "and leave me out of it."
The others stare for several long seconds before Melanie intervenes. "Everyone should pick a job that they are comfortable with." Her voice is soft and lilting, and for a moment I think she's on my side. "But your height would definitely be an advantage, so it would be very kind of you to undertake this task, Tobias."
"It's Four," I snap back, more than a little aggravated that my father has essentially forced me into this. "That's my name."
My response doesn't go over well, causing everyone in the room to stand stiffly, looking at me – or away from me, in some cases – uncomfortably. Johanna's words pass through my mind again, and I know that my current attitude won't count as cooperating. With a long sigh, I mutter, "Fine. I'll do it."
Fortunately, my father and I are separated most of the time, each being asked to help in different parts of the room at any given time. But he still takes every possible opportunity to try to start a conversation.
"I was surprised to see that you are dating Beatrice Prior," he begins when we're briefly stuck near each other. Every nerve in my body goes on full alert.
Before I can stop myself, I growl, "Stay away from her." It's stupid to say anything, since it just gives him ammunition to use against me, but it's impossible not to do it anyway. I can't stand the thought of him being anywhere near her ever again.
"Relax, Tobias," he tells me softly, sounding reassuring to anyone who doesn't know better. "I merely meant that you both seem to have some Abnegation in you after all. Perhaps you were wrong to transfer."
"If we hadn't transferred, you'd be dead now," I snap back angrily. It's better than admitting why I left around other people. But when he raises a knowing eyebrow, I can't resist adding, "Besides, I like the company better there."
"Which part of it, exactly?" His tone is almost a whisper now, making sure he's not overheard. "The ones who were weak enough to be mind-controlled, or the ones who sought to murder their fellow citizens?"
It's not as if I love everything about Dauntless, but it's infuriating to have him hold himself above Zeke and Shauna and people like them in such an insulting way. For a long few seconds, I stare at him with my hands clenched into fists, debating how much trouble I'd actually be in if I decked him. It's probably a good thing that I'm called away to another task.
But he doesn't have the sense to leave me alone, and by the time I've spent two hours moving in and out of his speaking range, my fuse is extremely short.
It's unfortunate that the Amity notice.
"It is very unhealthy to hold onto so much anger," Melanie tells me soothingly as she places a gentle hand on my arm. She seems surprised when I shake it off as if it's a dangerous animal. "I think that you and Marcus need to spend a few minutes talking, to get past your differences and learn to work together."
"That is not going to happen," I snarl at her, trying to turn back to my current task of hauling a large bag of flour from its storage spot to the baking group.
"I would be happy to mediate," Melanie offers, undeterred by my flat refusal.
"Which part of NO do you not understand?" The words clearly take her aback, and I feel a small twinge of guilt. It's not her fault that my father is a monster.
"You are spreading negativity," she tries, reaching out to touch my arm again. When I shy away, she sighs. "I cannot have you working here with that attitude, and if you do not participate in this faction, then you violate the agreement that allows you to stay here."
At this moment, I miss my second faction badly. It would be so nice to be able to deal with this overly-cheery idiot the Dauntless way. But instead, I take several deep breaths, doing my best to calm down. It's obvious that we won't be able to stay in Amity for long, but I can't be the one who gets us kicked out. I won't do that to Tris.
"Look," I say in as reasonable a tone as I can manage, "I'm doing my best here, but I can't be around him."
She purses her lips. "That is exactly why you need to talk to him." She makes it sound like it's the most obvious thing in the world, and I wrack my brain for an argument that she might be willing to hear.
"I can't deal with him on an empty stomach," I finally mutter. It's a bizarre excuse, but I've noticed that the Amity seem to equate meals with peace, presumably because they spend the entire time talking to each other. Perhaps I can play off that.
And it seems to work. Her face lights up a little, and she murmurs, "Ah, no wonder. One can never make good decisions when one is hungry."
She tries yet again to rest a comforting hand on my arm, and this time I grit my teeth and put up with the gesture. Hopefully, it will show that I'm cooperating. She smiles in response.
"You have done enough work for now," she reassures me. "Please go and have breakfast. I'm sure it will be easier to talk after that."
I have to draw on my entire experience from Abnegation to give her a polite smile and to say a few words of thanks before leaving. My body language is stiff, I'm sure, as I make my way out of the kitchen and into the cafeteria, but at least no one stops me from going.
The cafeteria is full, but less so than usual since it's nearing the end of the mealtime. Fortunately, though, Tris is there, sitting near the windows with a couple of Abnegation across from her and another group of them at the other end of the table. After everything that's happened in the last two hours, it's good to see her.
My expression must still be radiating annoyance, however, because she furrows her eyebrows when she sees me. "What happened?" she asks as I drop into the seat to her right.
Across from her, an Abnegation man gives me a quizzical look. It takes me a second to realize that it's her brother, Caleb. Since I last saw him, he's cut his hair short and has abandoned the glasses that he was wearing.
"In their enthusiasm for conflict resolution," I answer my girlfriend, "the Amity have apparently forgotten that meddling creates more conflict. If we stay here much longer, I am going to punch someone, and it's not going to be pretty."
Across from me, Tris' friend, Susan, raises her eyebrows, and a few of the Amity at a nearby table stop talking and stare at me.
"You heard me," I snap at them, feeling satisfied when they quickly look away.
It seems to amuse Tris. Covering her mouth to hide her smile, she repeats, "As I said, what happened?"
But I'm not willing to reveal this here, with Susan watching me the way the Abnegation always do – with the absolute assurance that Marcus is perfect and that I'm a loose cannon. "I'll tell you later," I mutter.
Tris looks as if she wants to question me further, but she seems to think better of it, glancing at the other Abnegation down the table before nodding silently to me.
Gratefully, I reach for her fingers under the table, but I freeze before I get there, abruptly aware of his presence approaching us. He stands behind Tris and sets his hand on her right shoulder almost possessively, as if claiming her back into his faction. It sends a shiver through me, particularly given our recent conversation.
It has a somewhat stronger effect on Tris, causing an unmistakable look of pain to cross her face. It's an instant reminder of what she's been through.
"She got shot in that shoulder," I snap.
Marcus' eyes narrow, and I know he's angry that he was caught displaying thoughtlessness. "My apologies," he states coldly. Lifting his hand, he sits carefully by Tris' other side. "Hello."
"What do you want?" Tris asks fiercely.
"Beatrice," Susan corrects her immediately, "there's no need to –"
But whatever she was about to add is lost when Caleb speaks. "Susan, please." His voice is soft, but it stops her, and she looks away as she presses her lips together tightly. It's reassuring that Caleb, at least, now believes me over my father.
Tris frowns at Marcus. "I asked you a question."
"I would like to discuss something with you," he replies, doing his best to sound reasonable. A lifetime of reading him makes the anger in his tone obvious to me, but I'm sure the rest of the table misses it. "The other Abnegation and myself have discussed it and decided that we should not stay here. We believe that, given the inevitability of further conflict in our city, it would be selfish of us to stay here while what remains of our faction is inside that fence. We would like to request that you escort us."
I grit my teeth, knowing that he came to Tris with this idea rather than me, just to show that he's not afraid of me. That he's ignoring my earlier warning to stay away from her. And I can't even really argue, because we're not the only ones affected. The rest of my former faction is still in danger, and they need us to help them.
For a few seconds, Tris watches him, debating, and I decide to wait for her response. She's the one who stopped the simulation, after all – she deserves to make this decision.
Eventually, though, she turns her focus to me. "What do you think?" she asks softly.
There's no way to feel good about the answer that I need to give, and I stare at the table as I try to summon the courage for it. "I think we should leave the day after tomorrow." I do my best to keep my voice firm and even, but truthfully everything inside me is shaking at the prospect of spending even more time with my father, and with a group of people who have always followed him unquestioningly. The concept brings up too many horrible memories.
"Okay," Marcus states. "Thank you." To my relief, he gets up then, moving to the other end of the table to join the rest of the Abnegation. Tris inches closer to me, grabbing my hand under the table, and I squeeze it hard. I hate that she just saw me looking weak, but I love that she's here for me despite it.
As I finish eating, Tris tells me that she's going for a walk, giving me a quick kiss and heading out before I have a chance to join her. Clearly, she wants to be alone for a bit. The slight rebuff stings, but I know that she's still grieving for her parents, and she probably doesn't want anyone to see that process.
So, I force myself to stay seated, killing off the last bit of my food while my eyes roam around the cafeteria, ignoring Caleb and Susan as they sit a little too close together and murmur to each other.
It's strange to think that if Uriah had chosen differently, following his second aptitude, he'd be sitting here with me. Instead, he and Zeke are both in the middle of who knows what, if they're even still alive. It's a disturbing train of thought.
It also seems to lead my gaze to the only other Dauntless in the room: Peter. He's barely recognizable in a yellow shirt, his arm in a sling and his face looking worn as he slouches over his plate. It strikes me that he's sitting by himself at the most remote table available. Clearly, he wants nothing to do with the Amity despite trying to dress the part.
For a long moment, I watch him, debating, and then I get up and make my way over to him. I need to start planning for when we leave here, and that means that I need to decide whether or not to bring him with us. Besides, he's the only source of information currently available on what Erudite will do next.
He gives me an inscrutable look when I take the seat next to him. "What's the matter, Four? Miss your faction so much you're willing to talk to even me?" It's closer to the truth than I want to admit, but I just make a skeptical, huffing sound. It doesn't faze him at all.
"I'm surprised you're still here," I tell him, cocking my head a little as I evaluate him. "I expected you to have run back to your buddies by now."
He lifts a shoulder a bit too casually. "They're not my buddies." His gaze meets mine with the same false innocence that my father always maintained, and it instinctively makes me think that he's lying. Of course, I'm always inclined to think that with him anyway, ever since he attacked Tris.
Glancing around to make sure we're not overheard, I mutter, "Well, then, if Eric and the other traitors weren't your friends, why did you help them?"
He has the grace to look slightly uncomfortable. "It was either that or be mind-controlled," he admits reluctantly, "and no one gets inside my head that way." It's an interesting statement from someone who grew up in Candor and then spent weeks inside simulations – with me and eventually the Dauntless leaders watching him.
"Really." I raise a doubtful eyebrow. "And what exactly did they tell you that won you over?"
He opens his mouth to respond, this close to giving me the information I need, but then I see comprehension glint behind his eyes as he figures out why I'm asking. He smirks instead, clearly enjoying the sense of having power over me.
"If you want me to tell you what I know about their plans, Four, just ask." His tone makes it obvious that he won't answer me no matter how I ask, but there's nowhere else to get information right now, and I have to at least try.
"Fine," I spit. "What do you know about their plans?"
He cocks his head, pursing his lips with some type of sick amusement. "Please?" he mocks.
I lean very close to him, infusing my entire body with my most intimidating instructor presence. "Listen, you little turd. I don't know how you think all of this is going to play out, but you're in as much danger as we are. And we're your best shot at getting out of it. So, I suggest you start cooperating."
He just stares back, showing no sign of fear – or any other emotion. After a moment, he shrugs. "Sorry, but I don't know anything."
He's probably lying, and it's more than a little tempting to wring his rotten neck until he talks. But that wouldn't exactly be a good thing to do around the Amity. So, instead, I remember the words that Amar drilled into us during my initiation: a wise person knows when to give up. There's clearly nothing to be gained from Peter under these circumstances.
"Your choice," I tell him as I rise. "But don't expect any favors from us."
I don't bother to look back as I leave the cafeteria, but I do make a decision. Unless he changes his attitude in a big way very soon, he won't be leaving this faction with us.
A/N: Please take a moment to let me know what you thought of this chapter. Reviews motivate me more than anything else, and I could use some motivation right now, since I seem to be coming down with something... :-(