Hello again!

I know I'm going to disappoint a lot of you people with this chapter, but I promise, I promise, I promise: It will all work out in the next chapter. I'm not going to drag this out but I thought it might be interesting to play on Eric's insecurities for a bit, because let's face it: He's socially fucked up too and deserves to have a chapter of insecurities before they are all resolved.

Besides, it's all for the sake of the storyline, so if you hate me now, perhaps you'll thank me later.

Still, I hope you all enjoy anyway.

Lots of love and stay safe!


EPOV

"You what?!"

Eric was not happy.

For the past five days, he and Keena had been living in their own little bubble. He would postpone going to work whenever possible, and go home early in the evening, sometimes even late afternoon, just to spend some extra time with her, now they still had the chance and she didn't have a job of her own yet.

It had been pure bliss.

...Behind closed doors that is.

Flashback
Lunchtime, earlier that day

"Dude. You're staring again." Zeke's snapping fingers appeared in front of him, rendering him back to earth.

They were standing on the balcony in the Mass Hall. Eric was up here because – as a leader – it was his job to patrol social gatherings sometimes. And in all fairness, he enjoyed making the members squirm under his gaze. Zeke was here because he was being himself and Zeke being Zeke generally meant that he didn't give a fuck about anything. This included both the fact that Zeke wasn't even allowed to be up here, as well as the fact that Eric really wasn't in the mood for his friend's constant pestering.

But Zeke did as Zeke pleased, giving no fucks and doing it anyway.

"What do you care?" Eric snapped, stepping on and hoping to get away from his friend and his ridiculous remarks.

Zeke had been right, though. Eric really had been staring at Keena, but he would be damned before he'd ever admit it out loud. Nine out of ten times Zeke was merely trying to push his buttons without really seeing anything. Eric wouldn't admit to anything too quickly. It would bring his friend too much pleasure, and Eric not that much.

"I'm serious, Eric. You're staring a lot." Zeke walked after him. "And not in a good way. It's quite scary, really."

Rolling his eyes at his friend's dramatics, Eric took another few steps before coming to a halt. His hands were clasped together behind his back. His shoulders squared and muscles taut. He looked every bit the formidable leader he was. 'Scary' was just part of his repertoire. His eyes found Keena's in the crowd again and this time she looked up at him as well. A brief smile gracing her lips before she quickly turned her attention back on her friends.

"So, are you two..." Zeke wiggled his eyebrows, before furrowing them quickly after. "You know... I don't even know how to finish that sentence. Are you two 'together'? 'Back together'? 'Just fucking again'?" A pause. "'Open for interplay'?"

Eric turned to glare at his friend, not for the first time wondering why the fuck they were even friends.

"Ahh, so you're giving me the silent treatment then." Zeke concluded with a grin. "So mysterious. So brooding."

"Can you just stop?!"

"Only if you tell me what's going on between you and Keena."

Eric didn't respond.

"Not the one to kiss-and-tell anymore, are you? Have you finally met the woman who succeeded in making an honest man out of you?"

Eric stepped on.

"Oh, come on, mate!" Zeke prodded, walking along. "I've been shipping you two since the beginning! Throw me a bone here and who knows, I might give some spectacular advise. And when I say spectacular, I mean SPEC-TAC-U-LARE. I'm great at it, mind you. Especially in regards to sex."

Eric directed yet another glare at his friend, wondering when he would get the hint and leave him alone. "Sex advise? What, with your tiny balls? No thanks."

"Ahh! So you two do have sex again! Great. Then tell me. What's the problem."

Eric snorted at the sound of that word. Problem. He shouldn't be having any problems. Finally, the girl of his fucking dreams was in his bed – in his arms – every night again. Finally, she wanted to be together. And yet... Keeping this whole thing a secret was harder than he'd initially thought it would be. And they were only five days in...

Sure, Keena was –allegedly– having a hard time as well, but it was different for numerous reasons:
A. She was the only one that wanted and profited from this entire situation. She was the one deciding this, so she shouldn't be allowed to complain how fucking hard it was not to touch him in public, or even look at him. Like, make up your fucking mind then!
B. Eric was known for his violent brooding ways and most people stayed clear of him by implication, fearing his wrath, unpredictability or god-knows-what-else. That's the way he wanted it. That's what he had worked to accomplish. This did however mean she didn't have to deal with jealousy issues, like he did with her. Which brought him to point C:
C. As the newest top-ranked initiate, Keena was getting attention from all sides, everyone wanting to check out the new girl for themselves, and all Eric could do –or rather had to do– was pretend to be okay with that.

People coming over to say hi? Fine.
People trying to befriend her? Sure.
People trying to vilify her? Whatever, they were just jealous anyway.
But what he could not possibly ever deal with, was people hitting on her.

It had been hell.

How was he supposed to pretended not to see it when Natan (some gross 48-year-old dirtbag) was outrightly staring at his girl's chest? How was he supposed to pretend not to notice how Axel (21, just a loser) was developing some crazy obsession for his girl, and suddenly showed up everywhere Keena was, like some creepy stalker?! And how was he supposed to fuckingpretend he did not even care when Victor (29, slimy playboy) was trying to charm his girl into giving him her address for some midnight fun?!

And as if all of that wasn't enough to bother him, her newfound fame also gave way to another rather unfortunate side effect. You see, back when they had been fooling around during initiation, Eric had been able to push and pull her into every dark corner he could find whenever he found her wandering through the compound alone. But now... now she never was alone anymore. There was always someone nearby to pester her for her attention and he couldn't even fucking vouch for her attention because he wasn't supposed to be seen with her in public.

So problems? Noooo. Eric didn't have any problems. He had his girl and that should be enough. Nevermind that their entire relationship was a secret. Like a big scandal. Something to be ashamed of. Nevermind he couldn't smack the likes of Natan, Axel and Victor in their faces –hopefully cracking some bones– and deforming them for life. It all didn't matter. Because he was the only one that got to hold her in her sleep. He was the one she would show her real-self to. He was the one that got past the fake smiles and got her. All of her.

Except for the public part. The part everyone else saw. And it fucking hurt like it shouldn't. But he wasn't about to tell Zeke that.

"There is no problem." He grunted to his friend instead.

"Oh, come on, Eric. I know something is bothering you."

"There really isn't."

"You used to tell me everything –"

"I really didn't."

"– And these days I don't even get the relationship status."

"That's because there is none."

"No relationship or no status?" Zeke was fast to retort, hitting the nail on its head.

Ah, that's it! That was the reason for their friendship. Zeke could be rather intelligent when he wanted to, he just liked to hide behind his persona of feeble-mindedness... And sometimes that façade was so realistic, it truly slipped Eric's mind that it was all just an act.

"Both. I think." Eric sighed in surrender, his eyes once again finding the blonde at table 11. She was laughing at something that Jonah boy from Candor said. Whatever it was, Eric was sure it couldn't be that funny. "There's definitely something going on between us, but she wants to settle in at work first, before becoming publicly related to me."

"And how do you feel about that?"

Eric turned back to Zeke with averse look on his face. "What am I? A fucking housewife?"

"Jesus Christ, Eric. Stop being such a caveman and fucking humor me, will you?!"

Instead, Eric opted to continue his stride along the balcony. Naturally, Zeke followed suit. Albeit this time he did keep his mouth shut, knowing perfectly well how Eric needed to sort his thoughts first, before being able to formulate them into proper sentences. About ten minutes later, it was Eric who broke the silence.

"It sucks." He relented, his blood beginning to boil as he watched Gale poke Keena in her side. He supposed it was nothing too bad –per se– but ever since he knew she used to sleep in his shirt... He just didn't like the guy. He was just too clingy. Too annoying. Too fucking babyface. "I mean, I understand where she's coming from, but things would be so much more convenient for me if people knew she's mine."

"Because they would stay away from her?" Zeke looked troubled.

"Not like that, Zeke!" Eric rolled his eyes. "Jesus, I'm not a complete jealous fucker. I just don't want men to try and stare at her or feel her up! They wouldn't even think of doing that if they'd know she was with me."

"You don't think she will cheat on you, do you?"

"No." The response was immediate, surprising even himself with his answer. His eyes were quick to find her in the crowd again, talking amiably with her friends. Gale was still sitting too close for his liking. "I just wish I wouldn't have to watch boys try stupid ass shit with her and be forced to pretend I'm all peachy fine with it."

"Oh boy. You've got it bad." Zeke chuckled out loud, patting his friend on the back in what should be a comforting way. At the feel of his touch however, Eric whipped his head around, his stance turning to one of pure dominance. The look in his eyes as icy as it was authoritative.

"Are you stark raving mad?!" Eric hissed, grabbing his friend by the collar before hurling him on the floor. "You know what that would do to my reputation?! If anyone's see y–"

"Relax." Zeke grunted, not even offended by Eric's violence. If one wanted to be friends with Eric, one had to have a thick skin. Eric's violent streaks were a common occurrence, but stress usually made them more prominent. Especially for small things like this. "Nobody has seen a thing, alright? And even if they did, they won't suddenly jump to conclusions of you becoming weak, or soft, or whatever it is you think they'll think you've become, just because I've patted you on the shoulder." Zeke got up from his position on the floor and dusted off his pants, a grin on his face. "This is Dauntless, not Erudite, remember? Physical contact isn't actually viewed a sin here."

Eric relaxed and nodded his head, his eyes conveying the apology that wouldn't leave his lips. This entire situation with Keena was putting way too much stress on him... Just two more weeks and he'd be done. Just two more weeks and the truth would come out.

With all the trouble he got from it, one would almost believe he was a fucking Candor instead.

End of flashback

But yeah, other than that tiny factor of stress, life had been a bliss.

He and Keena hadn't talk much after that first afternoon, but that was fine. Most of their time was spend attached to one another anyway. You know... catching up with lost time and all that. They would make out like teenagers, fuck like rabbits and sleep like sloths and not always necessarily in that order either.

They still met up at his place too. He had been at her apartment once – for as far one could call her miniature dollhouse an apartment – but he'd been too tall for her tiny bed; his feet sticking out several inches when his head was pressed against the headboard. They had both agreed it would be better to sleep at his place for the time being. At least until she could buy herself a new bed. Or until she allowed him to buy one for her.

Not that he minded their current arrangements. He quite preferred having her in his home. Everything made more sense with her here. The kitchen in use. The space in his kingsized bed more filled. He even liked the look of the dirty dishes for two in his kitchen sink. Everything just seemed so much better in two's.

And she'd agreed with that, or so he thought. Eric had seen their silence on certain issues – like how often they would sleep together – as a sign that they had wanted the same things. That is was some unspoken given that they wouldn't sleep apart, ever again. Period. He had liked that. He liked waking up at night to find her curled into him, wild manes draping over his arm. He liked the way she would wake him in the morning, with her small cold fingers exploring his skin, or her soft lips kissing him softly. Her touch so lovingly. Like heaven. He also liked how she would prepare breakfast while he got ready for work and how the smell of eggs, pancakes or coffee would fill his nostrils as soon as he stepped out of the shower.

He'd loved all of that.
And he'd thought she did as well.
But this... this made him question all of that.

"I accepted the offer of the Special Forces." Keena repeated slowly, looking at him confused while she cut the mushroom in thin perfect slices. He wondered where she'd learned to do that. Being able to cut so precisely without having to look... But then again, she'd always been good with knives.

"Yes, I fucking heard you the first time!" Eric snapped, his blood boiling. "I just can't believe you would do something like that without consulting me first!"

"Why the hell should I?!" Keena asked, her own anger rising. "Jesus, Eric. I'm not twelve! I thought you'd be... I don't know. Happy. That I have an honorable job instead of being a lousy waitress somewhere." She roughly dumped the load of mushroom slices in the pan on the stove.

"Well I'm not!" Eric sneered. "I'd prefer you working at the fucking Fence over this!"

"Yes! Clearly." She retorted icily, her eyes cold and detached. "Don't worry, you've made that quite obvious." She reached for a bell pepper. Seemingly pouring all of her anger into chopping the poor thing.

Eric hated it.

He hated the feeling he got in his stomach of seeing her like this. That feeling of anguish. Agony. Guilt. Especially since she'd been so happy only minutes prior. She'd been so proud telling... and then his reaction had ruined it. He'd done this. He'd caused her mood to change from something cheerful in sad and the feeling left a bitter taste in his mouth.

He never used to care when his words soured someone's mood. Not with her, not with anyone. He liked pushing peoples buttons, including those of Keena, but where it was fun to watch other people get angry or upset, he didn't like it all that much on her. Not anymore.

He didn't want to be the person who caused her pain. He wanted to be the person who saved her from it, whether she asked him to or not. But that was the problem here. She hadn't asked him anything. She had fucking accepted the offer of the Special Forces, without ever even consulting him. Not that she had to – she was allowed to make her own choices, after all – but he just wished she had.

Because her decision affected him as well.

Working for the Special Forces really was quite the honorable job. She'd been right on that part. Only the very best got an invitation for an intake – never mind getting an actual offer on the table. Quite like the leadership positions, he supposed. But unlike the leadership positions, the Special Forces came with a lot of danger, for the sake of intel, but little authority. When leaders decided they wanted something shady done, that's where the Special Forces came into play.

There was no fame to be earned there, or applause to be had. No one outside of the Special Forces team itself and the Leadership Board were allowed in on it. Missions were kept secret. Intel heavily guarded. It was a way around the system. A way to play with the laws, without really breaking them. Something that had to be kept quiet at all costs. One wrong word, and you were gone. Usually dead.

So basically, a lot of action and a lot of thrill, but little gratification in the end.

Starting out there as a rookie was even worse. Eric could only imagine all the dirty jobs they would assign Keena to do. Jobs that nobody else wanted. She would have to spend a lot of time out of the compound, on missions in the city, either as a spy in other factions or gaining intel over the factionless. She could be gone for days and sometimes even weeks on end.

He knew it was selfish, but he hated the idea of her being away a lot. He didn't want to smother her, and he was proud for all she had accomplished, but at the same time he just wanted her here – with him – in his apartment. Spending their nights safely in each other's arms.

The past five nights were the most reassuring nights of his life. His mind had never been more at ease, more at rest. But now nights spend without her would become a whole new factor of stress for him. A time to worry about her safety. Safety he couldn't guarantee. Because she would be doing all sorts of dangerous shit out of his sight. Out of his reach. This job wasn't some training camp or initiation where he could cut in when necessary. This job would be her life. And she would be putting herself in danger for every single day of it.

So, no. He wasn't happy with this. Not one bit. But he also wasn't happy with her being mad at him.

"Keena." He rumbled in that particularly low voice he knew made her resentment fade. She stubbornly chopped on, making a point of not looking at him as he stepped closer. When he reached her, gently caressing her shoulders with both hands, she snapped and turn around. Knife pointing at his chest.

"I was ranked fucking first, Eric!" She hissed. Her voice was detached, icy, daunting. But he didn't step back. He wasn't afraid of her. Not even when she pressed the tip of her knife more prominent into his torso. "And you still see me as some weak little thing that can't make decisions for herself!"

Her voice dropped. As did her knife. A look of utter defeat on her face, saddening all of her features.

Is that what she thought? That he thought she wasn't strong enough to do it? Not smart enough to make it? God, who did she think he was? After all they'd been through and this is what she thought of him?!

She was so wrong it was almost ridiculous.
Almost.
But not enough to laugh about it.

He wished she was right. God, how he wished she was right. He fucking wished he didn't have faith in her. At least then he could still have hope she would get sacked or quit when things got too hard... But that wasn't the problem here. She had no idea. He was fucking sure she would succeed in her job, and that frightened him more than the possibility of her failure ever could. Because the better she would be at her job, the more she would be called away, the more dangerous the jobs became, and the more she'd get sucked into it. Once she would prove herself useful, there was no way out. And she would be called away all the fucking time.

That's what you signed up for by the Special Forces. And no one ever complained, because the dauntless who got asked to join were usually work addicts, without social lives anyway – or rookies like Keena, who still had to build their network of friends and colleagues. Besides, if there ever had been someone with a social life before joining, that person surely would've lost it within a year of working there. No one was allowed to know anything, so if they wanted to talk about their troubles or how they spend their days, they were relied upon their close-knitted group of colleagues.

For people working at Special Forces, the team was their family.
For outsiders looking in, they were like a cult.

Goddamnit! How could she do this? How could she choose for a life so far away from the compound? Away from her friends? Away from him?! Had he even known an offer had been on the table to begin with, he would've made damn sure it hadn't been there anymore once she'd come back with an answer.

Fuck.

How was he supposed to be with her, when she was spending half of her life at the other side of the bloody city?! How was he to hold her, comfort her and protect her when she wasn't even around?! How could she expect him to be okay with that?! How could she make that decision for the both of them? Without ever even consulting him?! The least she could've done was ask him about it. The least she could've done was check his opinion on the matter beforehand.

His anger was boiling again, and he could feel the features in his face change to a nasty sneer.

"You know what?! Do it." He snarled, daring her. "I don't care. Go and spend your fucking life out of the compound. That's what you fucking want, right? Well, have it your way. Do it. I hope it fucking pleases you! But don't expect me to open my fucking door for you when you finally do decide to show up at my doorstep."

Her face changed from one of defeat, to shock, to hopelessness, but he didn't care. She was keeping them a fucking secret now, and in three days time, she would spend so little of her her time in the compound at all, it would hardly matter who knew or didn't knew about them anyway.

She might want him for sex, or use him as a pillow at night, but she still wasn't ready to commit. Not truly. He should've known. He should've resisted even trying it when she'd acknowledged wanting them to remain a dirty little secret for a little time longer.

He could't do this.
Not anymore.

"I'm going out, and once I come back. I expect you gone."

He didn't wait for her response. Or at least, he didn't listening to any of the pleas she was yelling at him. Instead, he grabbed his jacket and stormed out the door. Slamming the door shut in her face on his way out.


KPOV

She tried to keep up with him, she really did, but he had stormed off with such determination. His long legs carrying him with steps that easily took two of her own. By the time she'd turned off the stove and opened the door, he'd already been rounding the corner at the end of the hallway.

She also had to be mindful of who saw her chasing him. One look upon her frantic face and desperate pleas and people were sure to figure things out. They were two lovers in a fight, and clearly looked the part. Or at least she did. Her heart was pounding in her chest, her movements frantic and for once, she didn't stop her face from showing. Although in all honesty, people finding out was the least of her worries right now.

God, she felt so stupid.

She had promised herself to be there for him. To try and understand him more clearly. His anger. The way he thought. All of it. And yet she'd made assumptions. Assumptions that had gotten her angry and clouded her mind. Her vision. Her judgement.

She shouldn't have gotten angry at him. Instead, she should've listened to what he had been trying to communicate. That's what she had promised to do. She should've tried harder to understand him. She should've kept her calm. She knew she should've... but it was just so damn hard not to be mad when he was mad at her too.

His anger was like electricity. It numbed all of her other senses, and she had the choice to either roast, crash and burn or to conduct it, firing it right back at him. It was a lousy excuse, she knew, but his anger was just so... so...

Keena stopped dead in her tracks as realization hit her. She had been looking at this the wrong way. She had been mystified because his mind worked so different from hers. And yet they were so comparable. It was so obvious now!

Under normal, neutral circumstances, they would both present themselves as calm and silent people, but where she would be warm and smiley, Eric would be chilly and gruff. They were polar opposites like that, and yet, somehow, they still ticked the same way.

"I just can't believe you would do something like that without consulting me first!"
"I'd prefer you working at the fucking Fence over this!"
"Go and spend your life out of the compound. That's what you fucking want, right?!"

His words came rushing back to her, making more and more sense the longer she thought about it. He had thought she'd taken a job outside of the compound. He'd thought she had been leaving him. After everything they'd been through...

He wasn't angry, he was hurting.

And she had mistakenly taken his anger for what it appeared to be, because of her own habits. Her own anger was preserved for her anger alone, but his... his was a front.

His anger was his decoy.
Jus like frostiness was hers.

They were polar opposites, that somehow still ticked the same way.

When she was hurting, she closed herself off. Emotionally distant. Detached. Unreachable. Kill. It was only logical he would become the contrary under those same circumstances.

His fire was her ice.
His oncoming, her back-off.

His anger served to protect him from the pain. Just like her icy personality would protect her.

Where she shut down, he'd wind up.
Where she grew breezy, he grew stormy.
And where she froze over, he'd lit up.

It was all so-so obvious now, she almost felt stupid for not realizing it sooner.

He was hurting. And all because of a stupid misunderstanding and because she hadn't been able to read his emotions sooner. All because she had failed to be there for him like she'd wanted to. Too damn bothered by his ruffling of her feathers. Too damn stubborn for her own good. Too damn proud to let his not-quite-anger slide.

"And you still see me as some weak little thing that can't make decisions for herself!"

Oh, God.

She wished she could take back those words. They hadn't been fair to him. Not after all the kindness he'd shown her these past couple of days. Not after he finally started trusting her enough to let his softer sides shine trough.

Oh, fuck.

Whatever walls had been crumbling down underneath her fingertips, would surely be put back up by now. God she felt guilty. And stupid. Keena had always found herself intelligent and perceptive. She'd always prided herself on her own fucking mind, but apparently she'd been too proud. Too arrogant. Too damn confident.

She had been blind to him. She'd fallen for all his decoys and got pulled along into in his rage. She shouldn't have. She should've said things differently. She should've insisted he heard her out. She should've told him exactly what her job entailed. That she wasn't leaving him – not even for a little bit.

She should've, she should've, she should've...

But the reality of things was that she'd lost him - lost him in this maze of a compound. God. Where would a socially inept Dauntless-man go, when angered and hurt by a woman he loved? A bar or fighting ring, obviously. But which one?

Keena sighed. This could prove a long night. But she wouldn't give up. Not until she'd found him. Not until this argument was resolved.


EPOV

Eric was downing his – Ninth? Twelfth? Twentieth? – glass of whiskey when he heard the bar crowd get rowdy. There was whistling and cat calls were being made. Things like blondie, sweet-pie and sugar. It didn't take a genius to guess who it was.

She'd found him. At last.

Too bad he didn't feel like talking.

Besides, she couldn't possibly talk to him here, surrounded by all these people. Imagine the disaster of people finding out about them! Not that there was anything to find out anymore. Eric chuckled bitterly into his empty glass. He needed another fill.

And then perhaps another one.
And another one.
And another one.

You get the picture.

As if on cue, his stomach rumbled again. After storming out of his apartment, skipping dinner, he had tried to fill his stomach with alcohol instead, but even now – three hours, and god knows how many drinks later – it still hadn't quite done the job.

Yeah, he would need another couple of refills.

He needed enough of them to enable him stepping into the ring and lose a fight... But it was crucial he was absolutely hammered for it. Losing a fight sober was not an option. Not without losing all of that respect and credibility his reputation was based upon. But if he were to lose when he was out of his mind drunk... now that would be redeemable – understandable even – and god help him, but he really needed someone to finish him off good. To a pulp, if they'd please. He really fucking needed someone to make his outside look the way he felt on the inside. And men, did he feel like a no-win at the moment.

"Eric?" Keena's trembling voice came from somewhere over his right shoulder. She sounded scared, as she ought. This wasn't a place for someone like her. She didn't like to be watched? Well too bad. Here she was sure to get everyone's attention. With her cute apple cheeks and soft shiny hair, he stood out like a sore thumb. Disgusting.

Or at least it should've been.
Instead, it just made him nostalgic.

Nostalgic to nights where he would just kiss those cheeks and stroke that hair. Nostalgic to nights where he would murmur against that skin, and smooth those locks behind her ear. Nostalgic to nights that weren't spend in this shady bar, full of men staring at his girl, but naked in bed instead, where only he could see her. Touch her. Have her.

But now he had to share. He had to share his woman that wasn't even his. That didn't want to be his. So now these vultures at this bar where just waiting for an opportunity, to take a bite themselves.

Why the fuck was she here?!

This bar was avoided by pretty much anyone with an speck of softness in them. Anyone with a heart would stay clear of this god forsaken shit hole. There were no other women here to take the attention away from her. This place was filled with scum. Men who wanted to be alone, or at the very least avoid female company. Men that wanted to drink in misery and perhaps have a fight if the opportunity presented itself (opportunities they would usually create themselves). This was not the type of bar guys went to for hunts. And somehow that's what made Keena's presence here all the more dangerous.

The men in here were drunk, angry and often lonely. They secluded themselves from 'polite society' because they could already imagine the damage they would cause before they had even taken a sip of alcohol. Having a girl looking as pure as Keena in front of them was sure to set them off. They would want a piece of her innocence, to even out their sins. They would want a piece of her kindness, to fill that hole of misery. They would want that womanly touch, just to forget about that loneliness. And most of all, they would take her piece of heaven, just because they could.

At least while she was with him, she'd be safe. He couldn't ignore her. Not in this bar.

"Eric?" She tried again and her small hand connected with his bicep, pulling at his sleeve slightly. "Eric can we talk?"

He shrugged her off violently, and the bartender started to chuckle as Keena stumbled back. Eric sneered at him in return.

"What the fuck are you looking at?!" He barked at him. "You've already got a miserable puny job. The least you can do is succeed in it." Eric was trying to sound authoritative, but his slurring made've altered the end result a bit – God, he was sloshed. Either way, it seemed to have the desirable effect and the barman quickly busied himself with refilling his glass. Yet again.

Deciding he could no longer ignore the girl behind him, he turned around to face her.

"What do you want, Amity?" He snarled meanly, fully aware of the people listening in on them.

"I'm Dauntless now." She backfired and he couldn't help the twitch of his lip. It was brief, and barely there, but there nonetheless. He wanted to blame it on the alcohol, he really did, but if she dared telling him off in a place like this, he couldn't help but be impressed. Plus, she'd sounded so fucking proud about it, it was almost cute.

The onlookers thought so as well and started to call out things to her along the lines of 'yeah, you are. You can be it over here', while pointing at their cocks. Keena looked as embarrassed as Eric felt angry. His blood was boiling and his knuckles white as they clamped around his whiskey glass with barely contained fury. He silenced the men with one of those sinister glares he was known for. Telling them there would be hell to pay if they didn't behave themselves in the way he wanted them to. They all listened, and Eric basked in that power.

This was the reason he liked being feared. You could have all the good opinions in the world, but it would be worthless the moment when you needed them to listen. Authority was not about being liked, it was about things getting done. Efficiently. Quickly. And with respect.

"Call it a force of habit, sweetie." Eric smirked, without looking at her, his eyes still busy shooting daggers at all the imbeciles currently looking her way. He wanted to kick them. He wanted to kick them all and then some more. Especially the ones gory enough to bluntly stare at her arse.

Not that he could really blame them. It did look exquisite in these jeans. Well, as long as they wouldn't try to touch it, he could live with it, he supposed.

"Alright. What do you want, soldier?" He relented as his eyes finally landed on her. There appeared a blush on her cheeks at the mention of the nickname. He pretended not to notice. When she didn't reply immediately, her gaze insecurely sweeping over the people in the bar instead, Eric decided to push her.

"Is something coming out of that pretty little mouth of yours, or can you leave me to it, you think? I'm rather busy here, you see..." He took a swig from his drink for good measure.

"Yes. I... I wanted to talk to you. About my job. You see, I've been offered this position –"

"And where do you get the impression I give a rat's ass about your offers?" His voice was frigid and aloof, warning her not to push her luck. He might care for her, but if she would try to make a fool out of him here – destroying his reputation in the process – she'd have another thing coming.

"Well, I..." She discretely glanced around. "I don't get any impression. I just wanted –"

"What you want means nothing to me."

He saw her swallow nervously, her eyes filling up with indignation at his words before the anger slipped away again. She was determined not to make a scene. Not in here. Not that he cared what she did or didn't want. All he wanted was to be left alone right now, and yet here she was, taking a breath and mustering up the courage to continue.

"Can we talk outside for a minute?" She asked bravely, surprising both Eric, as well as some bystanders who were pretending not to listen in, with her ballsy question. Keena seemed to realize how odd this must've looked as well and hurried to explain. Loud enough for others to hear. "I mean – that is – if you can spare the minute, I could really use your help. You're the only person I know who has also ranked first, so –"

"I didn't rank first." Eric retorted gruffly, lifting an eyebrow in challenge. He was carefully noting her reaction. The look of surprise on her face was laughable, if not somewhat troublesome. He'd never been ashamed of it – ranking second instead of first – and yet admitting it to her felt like a shortcoming on his part. Like he wasn't able to deliver what she'd longed from him.

Keena looked confused. "But I thought... You're a leader. I thought only the best –"

Well ouch.

"Sweetheart." He emphasized, using the term in the same very condescending way as he'd used the term sweetie earlier on. "You don't have to be ranked first to be the best. Fucking Four ranked first in my year, and see where that has brought him. Little fears, but if you don't know how to handle them, you're screwed anyway."

The ambiguity of his words wasn't lost on either of them.

"So, you are the best." Keena stated calmly, smiling up at him. "And that's why I want to talk to you."

"In retrospect. Four is the best." Eric sneered. A man to his left barked out a chuckle and when Eric didn't respond to him, others joined him softly. "Go ask him you lousy questions about jobs and the like if you please, but don't bother me with them."

But Keena didn't listen. Of course she didn't. She wouldn't take an order when it was shoved down her throat... Except for maybe...

"You see, the Special Forces –"

"Are not. To be. Discussed." Eric hissed threateningly through his teeth. Couldn't she tell, he didn't feel like talking about it right now? Not when he was drunk. Not when they were surrounded by fifteen other people. And certainly not when she had already taken the position anyway. She was pushing it now. On the very edge of overstepping. His last bit of restraint about to snap.

"That's why I want to talk to you in private!" Keena exclaimed with a certain degree of exhaustion lacing her words.

"Well, I don't care." Eric snapped, smirking wickedly as he raised his glass to his lips. "I'm busy." With those last parting words he wanted to turn back around but her next words stopped him death in his tracks.

"You're drinking!" She all but accused.

Oh no. She didn't.

The onlookers were holding their breaths, expecting the onslaught that was sure to come. Keena seemed to realize her mistake as well, stiffening as he spun back around.

Within the blink of an eye, he'd grabbed her forcefully by the throat and hurled her out of the bar. She was gasping and struggling for air in his hold, and wicked sense of him was enjoying it. He enjoyed seeing her as desperate as he felt on the inside. Let it teach her what she did to him every fucking day. And yet... another - perhaps even bigger - part of him felt sick and was begging him to stop.

But this wasn't his fault.
She should've fucking left him alone.
She should've fucking obeyed him in public.

"I'm too goddamn drunk to fight a little girl and not murder her in the process as well!" He barked in her face. "So take this as your only warning and leave, before I do kill you. Because honest to god, I fucking will!" He roughly threw her onto the stone floor then, watching her gasp for air for the tiniest of seconds – just to make sure she was okay – before turning around and heading back inside.

He heard the bouncer talk to her. Something along the lines of "C'mon, you've heard the boss. Get lost." as Eric pushed his way through the crowd, trying to make his way back to his drink.

He was met with appreciative glances from the onlookers. Some of them were simply happy he didn't murder a tiny little nobody girl that had literally just gotten into Dauntless, but most of them – miserable and sexist as they were – were just glad he'd thrown the girl out, restoring the balance of this all-male bar.

No girls equaled no drama. No whining. No headaches. No worries.

Or so they tried to kid themselves. Because the reality of things was, that these smelly bulky men were far from appealing company either. It was a miserable existence of mixed alcohol, sweat and blood. If you got lucky, a few loose teeth, cracked bones and a broken nose as well.

Eric pitied the men that frequented this bar.

He had never cared much for this place. Usually when he felt down he would head to the Basement, just to beat some losers to a pulp. But this time he'd wanted to be beaten. He had wanted to lose tonight. And he had stupidly hoped she would never find him here, as he drank himself into a near-coma, before his onslaught began.

But she had found him... and dug her own grave.

She would never forgive him now.

He had refused to take the bait; her challenge; her defiance. For Dauntless it was without a doubt the worst possible insult one could get. It was a matter of honor, you see. When provoked, dared or taunted in public, there were only two options. The first – and most commonly used – was to fight. One would take the bait and a fight for honor would partake until one of the two couldn't continue any longer. The second option was for the person being provoked to let it slide and pass it off as some funny inconvenience to their day.

This only happened in two instances: 1. When the provoked was too much of a deadbeat that already knew he was going to lose anyway, and didn't want to put in the effort. In this case refusing was an act of cowardice. Or 2. When the provoked had somuch more status, authority and/or respect, that he couldn't even be bothered with the effort of fighting the provoker, because in the eyes of the provoked, he was just a measly spineless, meek nobody, that didn't matter at all. Nothing the provoker could say would make provoked care enough, because he had no respect for him. It would be like an ant trying to fight a grizzly bear. The bear just didn't even notice.

Eric definitely had enough authority, status and respect to fall into the second category. So he had humiliated her. In public. He knew it. This bar knew it. And he hoped she did too.

But even if she hadn't understood just how loaded his denial of fighting her had been, in any case, she hadn't liked his words. He knew that much. Like a true Dauntless, she always preferred to fight and lose over not even trying at all. If it had been up to her, he would've beaten her into the hospital.

But it hadn't been up to her. She wasn't the only one with a reputation at stake. To save his own reputation it was either this or fighting her, and honestly, the thought of really truly fighting her made his stomach turn.

His words had been a lie. Physically speaking he could easily fight her without killing her. He had fought many times with at least the same amount of alcohol in his blood, but he didn't think he could bare the image of it – his fist drawing blood from her face until it was swollen and purple.

Yeah, hell no.

He was mad at her – so furious – but he still cared about her. At least enough to not want to beat her into a puddle of blood and bones.

He couldn't fight her.
He just couldn't.

Sure, he'd fought her many times before, but she'd been just an initiate. Regardless of what she might think or want to believe, he hadn't actually done his best work on her (or worst, depending how one looked at it). These people inside this bar would surely notice when he was holding back. If he fought her now, he would have to really fight. And that was something he just couldn't stomach. Couldn't bare.

So, instead, he'd taken the easy way out. Her reputation might take a hit, but it had been worth it. For outsiders, he'd still been typical mean Eric, just the way they knew him to be, rejecting to fight someone he didn't care about. Nothing seemed amiss. He had saved his reputation without having to make her bleed. At least in the more literal sense of the word.

It was her own fault really. She shouldn't have come here, insisting to talk - and for what?! And then she also tried to make a fool out of him by putting on her big mouth? Jesus Christ... Perhaps he should've strangled her. She definitely deserved it. If any other person had done what she'd just done, they would be lying in the fucking hospital right now.

Eric finally reached his seat at the bar, finding his glass extra full. It appeared the barman knew how to do his job after all. Gulping it down in one swallow, Eric looked up to find said barman already watching him with an odd glint in his eyes. Lifting his brow, Eric held his gaze arrogantly, challenging him while pointing his finger at his now-empty-again glass. The bartender quickly obeyed. Like he ought.

Watching how the amber liquid flowed into the crystal glass, Jeanine's words suddenly popped into his mind, playing on his insecurities at the worst of times.

To care is to suffer.

Those words had haunted him when he'd first started to care about Keena all those months ago. One would think he would be over them by now... and yet, here they were again. Haunting him. Taunting him. Mocking him.

Perhaps Jeanine had been right all along. Perhaps nothing good ever lasted when emotions were involved. His relationship with Keen wouldn't have either. Whether they'd break things off now, or he would drag it out another year (of which most of her time would be spend outside of the faction anyway), it hardly mattered. Best to get it over with as soon as possible.

Two big gulps and his glass was empty again. And soon another few had followed. All he cared about was getting wasted, so he could hopefully drown his sorrows along with his sobriety.

"You know she fancies you, right?" The bartender spoke as he refilled his glass yet again. It must've been what? His seventh or eight glass after he'd thrown Keena out? And that had been barely ten minutes ago. "The pretty blonde that was just here."

"Yeah, well." Eric snorted, looking at him rather unimpressed. "She can get in line."

Honestly, this nosy bartender couldn't be much further from the truth. If Keena fancied him, she wouldn't have chosen a job that would take her as far away from him as possible. If she fancied him, she wouldn't want him to be her fucking secret. If she fancied him, she wouldn't have... she wouldn't have... She would have fucking consulted him, seeing how her decisions would affect him too. That's what normal people did when they wanted to share a future together. But clearly she didn't!

"Hmm." The man mused. "Or perhaps she can skip the line."

Eric's eyes narrowed down at him, watching the tall man from over the rim of his glass.

"What the fuck are you insinuating?!" Eric hissed, when the barmen held his stare and casually leaned back against the counter behind him – the one with all the alcohol on display. "I don't care if you've got nothing better to do with your life. You keep your nose out of mine."

The bartender swallowed, but other than that kept his cool and held his gaze. His brown eyes were watching Eric with the same amount of intrigue as Eric currently bestowed on him. There was a certain perceptiveness in this man's eyes Eric didn't particularly appreciate, and yet he felt a grain of respect. This man – whatever his name was – was smart, tall, reasonably strong – albeit nothing extreme – and seemed to have enough guts to hold the faction's most fear leader in a staring contest. This was a man that could've easily had a much –much– more important and exciting job and yet, here he was... Bartending.

What a waist.

"This was my father's bar." The man spoke, as if privy to his thoughts. "My mother died when I was ten and from there on, my entire youth was pretty much spend in this shit-hole of a bar."

"Be quiet!" Eric interrupted with a sneer. He was here to drown his depressing thoughts, not to hear those of another. "You're giving me a headache with your boring story."

The barman merely raised his hands in the air, as if he was being the innocent party here. Yeah right. This man knew exactly what he was doing. As did Eric.

"All I'm trying to say is that I've seen my fair share of tough men." The lanky man shrugged, picking up a random glass from the counter. "And no matter how tough they all pretend to be, we all need someone."

He started to dry the glass with a kitchen towel, which on its own was a ridiculous occurrence already. Eric had been in many bars before, and never had he seen the bar personnel dry glasses. No, He concluded. This man was just busying himself with useless shit to do, just to look busy while he talked to him. Perhaps he figured it would look less creepy that way, bringing down his guard, or perhaps he really had nothing better to do with his life.

Whatever it was, Eric was in no mood.

He stood up abruptly, the barstool scraping over the floor with a loud high pitched noise, and was behind the bar within seconds. The second throat of tonight gasping for air. A sinister grin graced Eric's lips. It was oddly comforting that someone so ballsy two seconds ago, could be so frightful only moments later. All because of him.

"What what that?!" Eric hissed, his face close to the now wide eyed man. The bar between them had given this man a false sense of security. Well, he wouldn't make that mistake again any time soon. "Did you just call me a pretender?" Eric asked, tightening his hold on his throat. "Do I look like a damn fake to you?! Am I a fucking joke?!"

The man struggled against the hold on his throat, desperate to shake his head 'no', but Eric wouldn't let him move in his grip. His fingers dug deeper and he watched the air escape the gasping mouth. There was no way this man would be stupid enough to fight him. Not if he didn't wanted the entire bar to break out in fights as well. This bartender would end unconscious and have his bar trashed. Bottles of alcohol stolen too.

This was a coward. This was a man who didn't take the bait because he would lose and couldn't be bothered with the trouble. Too bad he only took a warning when it was shoved down his throat.

When the man was about to lose consciousness, Eric let go of him, letting him fall on the floor with a loud thud. The predator loomed over the prey. Squared shoulders. Severe stare. And the once-so-brave bartender was now shaking in fear, hands touching his neck to somehow reassure himself it was still there.

"My drinks are on you, bar-boy." Eric ordered, raising his glass and chugging it back for good measure.

Releasing a loud hiss at the burning sensation of alcohol in his throat, Eric threw his glass against the cabinet - right next to the lanky's man head - where it broke into a thousand pieces, splashing multiple cuts in this man's face.

Without another word, but with some loud, drunk chuckling, Eric left the bar.

It would be a long night yet.
All alone in his kingsized bed.


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