TOBIAS POV

I find Tris in the infirmary, looking as haggard as I feel. Judging by the stern expression sharpening her eyes and how assertively she walks over to me, she isn't injured. Aside from the bruise on her jaw and the burns around her wrists, that is.

"We need to talk," she says.

We certainly do. I lead her out of the infirmary, just realizing that she lost her jacket when I set my hand on her shoulder. Her Abnegation tattoo is ice to the touch.

The Pit is calmer now that the casualties have been processed into the infirmary. Even as massive as the infirmary is to accommodate the day-to-day Dauntless injuries, it couldn't hold all of the wounded, so some of them were transferred to Erudite.

Tris fidgets with the hem of her shirt. There are sunken bags underneath her eyes.

I don't know where to start.

"Did you hear about Uriah?" she croaks.

My hands are haunted with a slippery feeling. Shifting on my feet uncomfortably, I swallow past the ache and answer, "I saw it."

She nods. "He's alive for now. But that doesn't mean anything."

I pinch the bridge of my nose and shut my eyes. Uriah may have survived, but how will he cope with a missing limb? He is an outgoing person, a Dauntless soldier. Losing a leg threatens to ruin lives in a place like this; if he doesn't handle it like Shauna has, he could spiral into a place none of us can pull him up from.

"We'll help him through it," I try to convince myself. "All of us."

Tris runs her fingers over the raw ring on her wrist, wincing. "I didn't leave Dauntless of my own free will, if that's what you are thinking."

I shake my head. "I didn't." Her past should not automatically incriminate her, and I was right to trust her this time.

"Jessica helped a couple of the factionless traitors escape. They jumped Christina and I."

My eyebrows draw in as I place the name. "Initiate Jessica?"

"The one and only."

I look off into the Pit as if she will be there. "That is my first order of business tomorrow," I promise lowly. The Dauntless don't take betrayal lightly, so Jessica will get her due prison sentence.

"They took me to Evelyn," Tris sighs, crossing her arms. "She figured she could threaten me to get to you. So you would call the army off."

At the reminder of my mother, my rage is recalled. I thought her atrocities couldn't get worse, and now she kidnapped my wife.

"Doesn't surprise me. You wouldn't believe her other defenses," I scoff. "She used the suicide bombers again. She used children, Tris."

Her eyes soften with empathy when she hears the sting in my voice. I reach out and brush my fingers across her jaw.

"Did she do this to you?"

She nods, lowering her eyes.

"Even in her last moments of reign, she managed to make it about hurting me," I say resentfully. But how hypocritical of her to be the abuser; I am old enough to remember her with similar bruising.

With a hand on my chest, Tris frowns. "She wanted you to bend to her will, and nothing more," she says. "She wanted you as an accomplice to further her regime, not as a son. And she couldn't change the person you are no matter how brutally she treated you."

The gesture reminds me too much of when my mother—my real mother—gave me a glass statue, telling me that it seems useless but could stir something in my heart. That same glass that resembles falling water now weighs down my pocket. And I know I have to tell Tris.

"Is she still alive?" she asks, lowering her hand.

I don't respond to her question directly. "Every faction has its own serum. You know that, of course. Candor has its truth serum, Amity has its peace serum, and so on," I reiterate to her. "But Abnegation has a serum too. One that makes people quite literally forget themselves."

Tris covers her mouth, astonished, when she registers what I am telling her.

"Yeah," I confirm miserably.

"This is bad," she says. "She could avoid any and all punishment because of this."

My thoughts exactly. "This wasn't some last second, desperate decision. How do you convict someone who doesn't even remember what they did?"

"You don't," she answers hollowly. "Do you think she could be faking the memory loss?"

I shake my head in denial. "No, I saw the way she looked at me. There was nothing there," I explain tiredly. "I'm sure someone will do an evaluation on her anyway, but I can't even think that far ahead right now."

The exhaustion draining my vitality is immeasurable. We may have emerged from the gas as the victors, but the mere thought of how many soldiers we lost is crippling. I don't want to know. At least not tonight, or else this war will feel more like a defeat than it already does.

Tris bites her lip and glances across the Pit at the sleeping factionless traitors whom we have yet to untie. Her eyes suggest that something heavy is about to follow.

"We need to discuss something else. Something very important," she remarks.

I don't know what I expect her to say, but I certainly don't anticipate what she tells me.

"I found a baby when I was on my way back here. She was hypothermic and could barely cry any longer. She was left next to a dumpster in an alley to die."

Tris is visibly upset—bordering on murderous—as she recounts the events of tonight. Meanwhile, nothing surprises me anymore, and I don't know how to react to the news.

"Is she alive?" I ask carefully.

"Yes. The doctor told me there is a small chance she won't make it, but it seems like she is out of the woods for now," she explains.

There is an unspoken conflict hovering between us, and I am unaware of what the issue is.

"Tris?"

"They don't know what they're going to do with her once she recovers. She will probably be placed back on the streets with some factionless member that may or may not take care of her," she rambles emotionally. "She will probably end up back where she started. She's only three months old."

Furrowing my eyebrows, I inquire, "Why can't the Abnegation take her in?"

She gives me an incredulous look. "You know as well as I do that the Abnegation aren't as selfless and charitable as they pretend to be. Not in times like these."

Her point is valid, considering they weren't ever altruistic when it came to exposing their beloved leader for my sake. And no other person in this city is eager to get attached to someone they could lose in a heartbeat given the circumstances.

But the way her eyes silently plead with me indicates that that isn't the case.

"You want to keep her," I infer.

With a nervous gaze, Tris jumps to argue her position. "She has nobody," she defends. "She doesn't have a fighting chance of having a decent life with a factionless parent who actually loves her. She deserves better than the life she has been born into."

"Tris—" I try to interrupt.

"We can give her that. We have a home and we would love her and—"

I hold my hands up. "Tris, just stop."

Her convincing isn't enough; I am swayed away from the idea outright. After what I witnessed tonight, the last thing I want is to raise a child, have someone else to lose. And then all of the other barriers solidify my position.

Tris is quiet as she worries her lip. "You said you wanted kids—"

"Yes, I do. I want them with you," I tell her, though I have barely warmed up to the idea after being opposed to it most of my life. "I want our own kids. Years down the road. We're really young, Tris. You're what? Almost eighteen?" I guess. Nobody from Abnegation ever knows their exact birthday, after all.

Staring at some point down the Pit, she has a stubborn set to her jaw. "We may have time, but she doesn't."

My demeanor softens when I am reminded of an important aspect of this argument that has been left out until now. So I say, "Is this about you not being able to have kids? Tris, I told you, we will figure that out—"

"No!" she snaps. "This has nothing to do with that."

I sigh hotly, beginning to lose my patience. "What do you want me to say? I don't want somebody else's problem! I'm trying to figure out how to pull an entire city together after two opposing sides just mutilated each other!"

I need to lower my voice, I realize, when I notice the amount of prying eyes around us. Luckily, on a night like tonight, Tris and I arguing outside the infirmary is the least of their gossiping worries.

Tris glares at me darkly. "She is not someone else's problem; she is a person. That kind of mentality is the reason she was abandoned in the first place."

"You're right, she is a person," I correct. "A person we would be tasked with raising correctly and protecting and devoting our lives to. This isn't just a new hobby."

"You think I don't know that?" she scoffs.

"This is a life that we could potentially destroy. I don't know the first thing about parenting! I have never interacted with a baby, and the relationship I had with my own father involved a belt and a closet!"

She must not understand that. This mentality comes from years of abusive conditioning, and it cannot be simply unwound. It is easier for her to take on a responsibility like this when she knew nothing but love from her own parents.

When she doesn't respond, I add, "What makes you think we would be qualified for this, as young and broken as we are?"

Tris laughs softly to herself. "We are much more qualified than any of the factionless could be," she counters. "We have been through enough to make smart decisions. We are happily married—"

And I can't help but ask, "Are we?"

Under normal circumstances, I never would have suggested it. But what other defense do I have?

Her face betrays how equally hurt and indignant she feels by my comment. "Don't ever say something like that," she warns, her hands forming fists at her sides. "Not even to prove a point."

"Well are we?" I repeat. "How am I supposed to be comfortable in a marriage where my wife has already made a dramatic, life-changing choice without me?"

It is selfish of her to assume that I would accept this, to begin planning to adopt this child. And then to talk me into it, knowing that I do not want this.

"We're supposed to be a team," I say.

"We are," she insists. "I didn't make a decision! I'm still hesitant myself!"

But what I don't say aloud is that I am not stupid. When Tris sets her mind on something, she usually gets it.

Her eyes are wet as she quietly admits, "I haven't been able to save everyone around me in the last year and a half. At times, the losses have stacked up so high that I felt like I couldn't save anyone."

I am well aware of her hero complex—it has nearly gotten her killed in several instances. Sometimes I am guilty of the same necessity to protect any innocent person in my path, and I certainly empathize with at least part of her losses. But I don't understand the point she is trying to make until she expands on it.

"I am finally beginning to accept that I cannot defend everyone. But if I can drastically change a few of the lives around me..." She nods, brushing away a stray tear. "I can live with that, Tobias."

It is not an easy admission for her, given how much she has had to give up over the timespan of two wars. As appreciative as I am of her explaining her desire, I can't find it in me to bend my position for her. Not on this.

Neither of us speaks for a few moments. I run my hand down the side of my face as I try to loosely grasp this entire situation on no sleep and after a war-winning battle. The truth is, we shouldn't even be discussing this right now. How can we talk about taking in a baby when neither of us has a level head?

"We can talk about this later," I finally tell her. My temper is extinguished by my weariness. "When you have taken a shower and I don't have shrapnel in my arm."

She nods and meets my eyes again. "Maybe this doesn't even have to be permanent," she suggests. "Maybe I could find someone in Abnegation to take her in when things settle down."

I accept it, because that is an offer I can possibly meet her halfway on. "All right, we'll talk about it. Go home and rest."

The relenting nod she gives me is actually relieved. Before she leaves, she requests, "Can you just...stay with her until I get back? I don't want her to be alone again."

It seems like a simple task, but it causes dread to rise within me. "Sure," I give in, about to head back into the infirmary to do something about my aching arm.

"Tobias."

I look back at her, watch her straighten and narrow her eyes at me sharply.

"You know who you married."

TRIS POV

I close the apartment door behind me softly.

Silence.

The noiseless room is loud in its own way; my ears have grown so accustomed to the distant popping of gunshots that the calm quiet is deafening. I strain for something menacing to hear, but there is nothing.

Pressing my hands to my face and slumping against the door, I don't move until I remember how to breathe.

Using my memory, I blindly walk through the apartment until my fingers graze the bathroom doorway. I search for the shower and then the tap. Robotically, I take my time removing my filthy clothes, not bothering to turn on the light before I step into the shower.

The water begins to thaw my skin from hours of winter exposure. But stirring inside me are thousands of unique, negative emotions that cannot be warmed.

I try not to think as I let the water cascade down my back, yet the unwelcome thoughts invade.

Uriah. Evelyn. Tobias. The baby.

The first war taught me many lessons. One of the forefront messages it sent was that nobody really wins wars. Both sides suffer from unimaginable wounds that drive them onwards. They crave a victory they will never achieve, because even conquering the enemy is not conciliatory.

No, the real victory involves coming to peace with yourself and those around you in the aftermath.

I am in the stage of victory where the fallout is devastating enough to make me forget that the factionless uprising has met its end.

How am I supposed to feel any relief when possibly a thousand of our soldiers are either dead or hospitalized, when Uriah is among them? How am I supposed to celebrate when Evelyn is going to evade a prison sentence with a slap on the wrist? How am I supposed to pick up the pieces when I know that I can't let this baby be sent back to the factionless sector, and Tobias is vehemently opposed to my decision?

Just because all of us escaped with our lives doesn't mean that our futures are not grim.

The droplets on my back create a numb sensation. I close my eyes and fold my arms around my middle, fending myself from a panic episode.

Maybe Tobias was right. I am young and still somewhat naive, and my mind is scattered in a million different places; given the damage that has been done, I am not qualified to look after myself right now, let alone a three-month-old baby. Hell, the most experience I have had with babies involves observing Susan as she babysat for our Abnegation neighbors, since I wasn't the type to volunteer to serve others.

But to me, these excuses do not matter. My inconveniences do not trump her life, and I know what I have to do, even if it is only temporary.

The wetness on my cheeks could be the steady stream of water or tears. My conscience leads me to take the right, complicated action, but then there is Tobias...

I tell myself that he will come around. I know that his heart wouldn't allow him to abandon an innocent child either. He was raised in an environment that made him unprepared for this life, and he simply needs time to adjust.

However, the issue at hand is not only about us adapting to taking care of a child, but also to a new city, a new system, a new marriage, and a new way forward.

It can't be an easy change, switching from violent warfare to changing diapers. There is so much healing we have yet to do, and I don't know if a child would hinder that or accelerate it. All I know is that she is a victim of this society too, and I won't let her become another fatality. Maybe we could figure out how to mend ourselves together.

But I don't want to do this without Tobias.

Though I know how much weight will be settled on his shoulders in the weeks following this final battle. He will have to remedy a dismantled city, a wounded faction, and somehow keep his head above the water as he deals with Evelyn.

I have always believed in him, in his perseverance and his mental capacity. Except I can't help but be uncertain in his ability to hold himself up under this crushing feat.

And if he collapses, then so do I.

So I will give him time. I will be by his side as he repairs this city, and once he is able to take on another responsibility, we can work on the remainders. Ourselves, our marriage, and this baby, should we decide to keep her.

Except every time I blink the droplets away, I am reminded by the terrorizing images in my mind that we live in a world of bodies and serums and violent revenge, not healing. I am afraid that this battle has added fuel to the ever-growing fire that has been tearing this city to shreds.

I am fearful that when we line our casualties up for the funeral pyre, blind wrath will replace the goal of peace.

TOBIAS POV

The nurse does not bother to be gentle as she tears the shrapnel from my upper arm. With every tug under my skin, I am further convinced that I could have done a better job myself. Her speed probably has something to do with the injured Dauntless lined up against the wall of the infirmary as they wait to be attended to again.

"Busy night," I say.

She sighs. "You can say that again. You're my twentieth patient."

I watch absently as she wraps my arm in a bandage.

"Did you see an amputee come through here?" I ask.

"Leg or arm?"

It is sobering to realize that Uriah was not the only soldier to lose a limb tonight—though I don't think my state of mind was above the very bottom of misery tonight, so it couldn't have sobered me. I swallow hard and clarify, "Leg."

She nods and points. "That last room at the end," she says. "I think I saw the other Dauntless leader over there earlier."

As she is finishing up, she asks, "Need anything for the pain?"

The cuts in my arm are dull aches compared to the more pressing pains of tonight. "I'm fine. Thank you," I answer.

Picking up my blood-soaked jacket, I deposit it in the nearest garbage bin. Then I head over to the intensive care section of the infirmary, and to the room that Zeke is biting his nails in front of.

He doesn't speak when I stand beside him, both of us watching an Erudite and Dauntless doctor work together to position Uriah's IV solutions. I would say that he is looking much better than he was, except for the tube down his throat.

"He just got out of surgery," Zeke rasps. "They had to close up the end of his knee."

My breaths are shallow as I stare at the bandage that can't hide the obvious damage that has been done. "Is he going to live?" I ask.

Zeke answers in the affirmative, and I snap my gaze over to him when I hear him sniffing. "I don't want to see the look on his face when he finds out," he chokes. "I don't want to tell our mom—"

The inhuman sob he lets out makes me forget all about my normal objection to personal contact. I pull him into a hug, not minding in the slightest when he wets my shoulder with his tears. Zeke trembles over his younger brother's impairment as I stare at the doctors working over his shoulder.

"He has Tris and I. He has you and Shauna, and he has Christina and your mother behind him," I say, letting him go. "We will get him a prosthetic from Erudite, and he will walk again. This will not stop him from living his life, Zeke. We won't let that happen."

He tries to make himself believe my words as he rubs the tears off his face forcefully. "I just wanted a better life for the kid. After Marlene and Lynn..." He shakes his head.

Furrowing my eyebrows in the direction of Uriah, I tell him the awful truth. "None of us were going to get out of this unscathed."

Zeke closes his eyes in agreement, in defeat. My gaze slides past him, to the children's unit of the infirmary that I did not notice was so close by, and I remember what Tris requested of me.

"We'll figure it out. Come find me if you need anything," I offer.

With one last pat to his shoulder, I walk into the adjacent section. There are no injured children back here thankfully, and the nurses' attention is focused towards the soldiers out front. But there are two others who have stayed to look after whoever is behind the curtain.

"Can I..." I trail off, at a loss for words as I nod to the sectioned-off corner of the room.

"Yes, but make sure to wash your hands first," a nurse warns. "She is already in a fragile state, and an infection would worsen it."

I oblige, heading to the nearest sink to scrub the rest of the blood from earlier off of my hands, since the first wash didn't finish the job. I rub at my palms harshly, scrape under my nails, and rinse between my fingers until there is no trace of Uriah's blood left.

Then I step inside the curtain.

The baby is bathed in a light that is radiating warmth. She is smaller than I imagined she would be, curled up inside an incubator and hooked up to several monitors. Her size must be due to malnutrition, if I had to guess, though I can't say I know what the healthy size is supposed to be for her age.

Sitting in the chair next to the incubator, I stare at the wisps of blonde hair on her head, her passive face, her twitching feet. I don't know what to make of her—or any baby, for that matter—so I am transfixed for several minutes as she breathes small gulps of air into her lungs.

I understand Tris's point of view. If I was in her position, I would have just as easily carried this baby home with me. What I can't consider is taking on the responsibility of raising her, especially when there could be other options for her.

We aren't ready to be parents yet. Tris must know that too, beneath her obstinance.

The quiet is broken by a whimper. My eyes widen with dread as the baby begins to whine, signaling an incoming cry. This is exactly the moment I know I couldn't possibly handle this at home because I am extremely uncomfortable with this unfamiliar baby becoming upset.

Her face scrunches up as she continues with the frustrated noises. Maybe she is scared too, I realize. Something traumatic happened to her tonight, and she is in an unknown place. Maybe she just needs to know that she is not alone.

So I reach into the deliberate hole in the side of the incubator, my hand brushing hers. Her fingers immediately latch on to one of mine and tighten in a death grip that I am unwilling to break.

And the crisis is averted as her whimpering is cut short.

It infuriates me that this baby's mother abandoned her, next to a dumpster no less. As if my view of humanity could not be lower tonight. She clings to me as if I will leave next, and I don't understand why I am so empathetic towards her until the words leave my mouth:

"My mother left me too."

Evelyn may have abandoned me at a much older age, and she may not have meant for me to die, but the baby and I have similar stories regardless. Both left to fend for ourselves when we had no chance in our circumstances.

Yet here we are.

That makes it less awkward to sit here, holding a stranger's hand. I repetitively graze her tiny knuckles with my thumb and stare because I still don't know what to make of her. I do think that she has to have some bravery to have survived. Can someone so small have courage?

Considering she defied her fate by crying out long enough to live, I would say she did better at sticking it to her mother than I have.

The letter from Evelyn burns a hole in my pocket. It will take some time to gather the patience to read it. And although Tris and I are striving to have a transparent relationship, I know that I have to keep this note to myself for now, deal with it on my own personal terms.

What was it Tris had said, something about knowing who I married? I suppose she was right. Just as I am the person to lock myself inside as a defensive measure, she is the type of person to find a way to fix this baby's situation, no matter the cost to her own life.

Well, I have a city to fix. I do not have time to play house. But if Tris wants to hold onto her for the time being, I am sure that she will find the right home for her.

For the child's sake, I hope there is someone willing out there.

I extract my finger from the baby's loosening grip, grateful for the momentary distraction from death and anarchy. None of this is over yet. Tomorrow I will wake up from sleep I never got, receive an accurate casualty count, and sift through the rubble for something to unify five factions and the factionless. If I consider how much rebuilding we have yet to do on such unstable foundations, then I really will be up all night.

So I stay for a few minutes longer before I stand up to leave. As I am on my way out of the infirmary, Tris is making her way back to it, crossing through the Pit with her shoulders slumped and her mind distracted. By the time her eyes land on me, she is a mere ten feet away from me, and I have to confront the way we parted.

The last thing I want to do is fight with the one person on my side right now.

"You're right," I say. "I do know who I married. And you're brave. In all ways."

There is relief evident on her face as she steps close enough to hug me around my waist. I rest my head on top of hers and close my eyes, attempting to shut out the leftover ringing in my ears from explosions from hours earlier.

I did mean it. She is courageous not just in the simple ways that matter in day-to-day life, but also in the complicated, moral situations that not many people are fit to handle.

Unfortunately, I don't know if I can be brave too.

A bit of a shorter chapter since I needed to fill in the gap between the last one and the next one. As you can see though, none of this will be an easy resolution. :/