TRIS POV
The baby seems to like the rumbling of the train traveling through the city. She stares up at me, alert, and kicks her legs playfully whenever there is a gentle sway. Maybe, in a different life, she would have been Dauntless.
Caleb sits down next to me after minutes of watching the Dauntless compound slide further and further from view. He looks relieved to be returning home. I wonder if he enjoyed living in Dauntless at all, or if the consistent action was too much for him. I suppose his view of us must be tainted since he hasn't seen the compound outside of wartime.
"Are you going to miss me at all?" I ask.
He flashes me a sorry grin. "Yes. I will have to visit sometime," he says. "Or you could come visit me, and that way you can see the child while you are here."
My stomach clenches in a familiar knot. I glance over at her, where her curious, hazel eyes watch me from the baby carrier. To take some of the dread away, I reach out and tickle her abdomen. I am rewarded with a gentle gurgle and a content smile that brightens her eyes and stretches her cheeks.
It makes matters worse.
"I don't think anyone will take her outright," I explain. "The Abnegation need to find someone suitable to take care of her, so she will probably be returning to Dauntless with me today."
He nods. He must see the reluctance in my eyes because he tells me, "You will be a great mother one day, Beatrice. This wasn't meant to be."
I bite my lip, try to convince myself of it. I nod, too fast, my eyes drifting to the armed Dauntless in the train with us for a distraction. Since Abnegation is a stone's throw away from the factionless, Tobias ordered soldiers to deliver food shipments themselves rather than the Amity, in case the factionless who escaped in the midst of battle tried to hijack them.
This isn't a safe world. The last thing I need is someone else to defend.
The remainder of the train ride is silent and filled with apprehension, for me only. The Dauntless soldiers in the car laugh at each other and fall into easy conversation. When the train screeches to a jerking stop in front of the identical gray community of my childhood, they straighten and pick up their rifles.
Caleb strides ahead of me, his head high. I balance the baby carrier on my arm and follow, receiving interested looks that dart away. There aren't many people out though; most of them are shut away in their houses, whether that be because of the war or the cold.
"Susan!" Caleb calls.
Susan lifts her eyes from the supplies she had just set down to Caleb. She smiles genuinely, rushing over to him. "Caleb!"
My brother surprises me by throwing his arms around her. Susan blushes at the embrace but reciprocates it, even though the Abnegation stare at the violation of unspoken faction rules.
"You're back!" she says. "Are you here for good?"
"Yes," he grins.
Her gaze shifts to me, and then to the baby. "Hello, Beatrice."
"Hi, Susan," I reply. And because I know she won't ask, I answer, "I have been taking care of this baby for a bit, but I need to find her a home. Do you know anyone I could talk to about that?"
She nods, glad to be helping out. "Of course."
I visit with them uncomfortably for a minute, but I know that the Dauntless will leave as soon as the Abnegation finish unloading food from the train. So I tell them goodbye after a short period and follow the directions Susan gave me.
The streets seem to be in better shape than when I last saw them, but several buildings still need repairing. I notice that the charity center that I step inside of has bullet nicks on the outside walls.
"Hello," a middle-aged woman with a welcoming smile greets me when I enter. She sets down the clothes she was folding and is stunned at the sight of me when she finally gets a good look. "Beatrice Prior."
Of course, it is inevitable that she recognizes me. My war fame that has carried on from the first war is nothing compared to my prominent status now, since I was a Dauntless leader. The Abnegation know my face because I rescued them.
"Eaton, actually," I correct. "And you are?"
"My name is Grace. I am the charity coordinator for Abnegation. It is a pleasure to meet you," she says.
She seems nice enough, but it doesn't lift the weight from my stomach.
"What can I do for you?" she asks kindly.
I clear my throat. "I was wondering if there was anyone who could help me find a home for this baby." Lifting the carrier, I set it on the counter so she can get a better look. "I have had her for a little over a week, and for obvious reasons, I can't raise her," I laugh halfheartedly.
She must know that I am referring to how young I am because she laughs it off. "That's definitely not your fault. Raising a child is intimidating to anyone, no matter the age," she states. "How did you meet this little one?"
My story is short and simple. Grace's face is pitiful when she hears it, and then she seems determined to help.
"I'm sure we can find someone to take her in. You must not want to have your hands full any longer."
There is a lump in my throat. She reaches into the carrier to playfully squeeze the baby's cheeks.
"I could even take her off your hands today if you would like. Why don't you tell me about her so I can know how to make her comfortable?"
That fast? I thought I would have time. Irrational alarm bubbles in my chest.
Maybe if I can remain emotionally detached, I will forget about my panic. When did this become so difficult?
"I, um..." The baby hears my voice, her eyes snapping over to me. I can't look away. "She wakes a lot during the night; I assume that is because she is in an unfamiliar setting. She drinks a special formula because she is underweight. Also, she likes to be held."
But that is not all that I know. I know that her favorite stuffed animal is a puppy that she clings to whenever it is in her reach. I know that if her feet are tickled, she kicks as hard as she can. I know that she is happiest in the mornings and won't hold still when she is being bathed.
I know all of these things, yet I claim that I barely know her. Somehow in the short time span I have taken care of her, during the crying that wakes me up repetitively when it is pitch black outside, during the diaper changes and the bottle feeding and the routines, I established a relationship with her.
This baby is not a stranger any longer. There is no amount of pretending that will change the fact that I care about her, more than I should care about a random child, a pain that fell into my lap.
Grace decides to hold her. I have an instinct to show her how to do it properly, though she must have years of experience on me, with graying hair and old eyes. So I smother it.
As she is picking her up, the baby searches for something, her head moving for the seconds that her back is to me. Then her face scrunches up, and the pacifier is lost when she starts crying.
"Oh, sweetie," the lady coos. She asks me jokingly, "Are you certain that she likes to be held?"
Yes, I am. But she is holding her wrong, not the way I do it. And the baby knows because her agonizing cries grow louder and I swear her arms stretch out in my direction.
I should not have any sort of attachment to this child I found on the street. But heat presses behind my eyes now that I am about to hand her off to someone else.
It is something about the way her tearful eyes plead with me. She knows me, is familiar with me, and she can tell that this person is a stranger. It yanks my heart from my chest to hear her suffer because she was separated from me for a single moment.
She was abandoned once. I won't allow her to be abandoned again, betrayed by the one person who has shown her kindness.
"You know what?" I blurt out. "I think I changed my mind."
My arms reach out, and Grace hands the baby back over to me with knowing eyes. She doesn't seem to need an explanation, by the way I relax as soon as I am cradling her again.
"Are you sure? This is a big responsibility, as I am sure you know. Nobody would blame you for giving her away to a safe life," she tells me.
The baby's fussing is curbed when I bounce her gently. Giving her away. Like she is an outdated item that nobody wants anymore. I know that was not what she meant, but I can't help but cringe at the wording.
I don't like the way she suggests that Dauntless can't be a decent place either. Do the Abnegation not understand that nowhere is safe, especially not their unsecured community?
This baby will be protected, but she will also know how to defend herself. She is coming home with me, and she will be Dauntless.
Or maybe she won't. Maybe I will grow tired of this in a week, and I will regret my choice, and I will come crawling back defeated. All I know is that I can't leave her here today.
I shake my head. "I know. But this is what I choose."
Somehow, the drastic choice is obvious, as if I had been thinking it all along and just now acting on it. I don't know when the motherly instincts arose within me. Maybe it was today or yesterday or for days of trying and failing at every challenge until I did something right. I expected them to come eventually though.
What I did not anticipate was the beginning affection of a mother to accompany the reflexes. It is a beautiful yet troubling revelation.
And as I retrace my footsteps back to the train, I do so with the baby held tight against me instead of in the carrier. She burrows into my chest, pink-cheeked and bundled to keep out the cold.
I admit it:
I am selfish. And I love her.
It may be a new kind of love and misunderstood, but it is there. I know how I feel about Tobias, my friends, my family, and this is an echo of that feeling, a hint that this baby is not nobody to me.
Nothing can change that. Not my age, my inexperience, the threats of every day. Not even Tobias.
God, what am I going to tell him? This wasn't supposed to be permanent, and I promised him I wouldn't force him into something he wasn't ready for. Now I am powerless to honor that vow, a slave to the innocent child who I ended up discovering as if it was fate.
My stomach turns itself over with newfound dread. I can't lose Tobias. Not after our breakup, our split, his death. Not after our wounds and tears and losses got us here.
This might be the issue that dismantles us.
The baby is fascinated with the Pit.
Since this is going to be more long term than I thought, I bought a new carrier, one that straps to me so that I can easily take her wherever I go. She seems to enjoy it since all she has to do is tip her head back and her eyes are transfixed on the glass that seems miles above us.
"You like looking up at the sky, huh?" I say. "I guess I should take you outside more often."
My one-sided conversations with her may lack the high voice that most people use when they talk to children. But she doesn't seem to mind when I talk normally, and I should be able to figure all this out on my own terms.
Her eyes shift to me, and she babbles something back up at me. Maybe I am doing it correctly.
"We're going to visit Uriah again. You seemed to find him hilarious last time, and Christina said he would be out of his bed for this visit. So I bet he will want to have a lot more fun with you this time," I tell her.
We enter the infirmary not long after. There is a waiting area where familiar faces are gathered, all around Uriah who rests in a wheelchair. Shauna and Zeke are here along with Christina.
For a second, I optimistically wonder if Tobias is here too since Zeke is, but I know that is unrealistic a moment later. He is likely locked away in his office, constantly working.
At this point I think it is an excuse to stay away from me.
"Tris!" Uriah calls.
"Hi," I say. "Look who I brought."
I lift the baby out of the sling attached to me. Then I set her in Uriah's lap. She hums and curls her fingers around one of his. The two are already inseparable.
Great. Another reason to keep her when I am trying to find every reason not to.
"Does she have a name?" he asks.
I shake my head, ready to explain that I was saving that right for her future parents. But then I wasn't able to surrender her, so I guess that isn't an applicable excuse anymore.
"That is a very cute baby," Shauna remarks. She waves at her sweetly, and Uriah makes a waving motion in return with the baby's hand.
"She is," I agree. Hesitating, I finally ask Zeke, "Have you seen Four today?"
He frowns slightly. "Briefly. He's been going nonstop. I think he even took a shift in the control room for a bit last night."
Well, that explains why I fell asleep without him again.
"I was just wondering," I say. I don't want it to sound like we are having issues, so I lie, "He asked me to stop by his office, and I must have missed him earlier."
Zeke replies, "I can help track him down if—"
"No, that's all right. He is probably busy." I offer a tight smile.
Zeke seems unconvinced that we are okay. It makes me wonder what Tobias has mentioned to him. Or maybe he just knows his best friend well enough to know that he is not himself.
Uriah makes exaggerated engine noises and wheels himself around the small spaces in between seating areas. Christina covers her mouth with her hand to stifle a laugh, and the baby makes happy sounds.
"Shauna! Let's make a train!" Uriah exclaims. Everyone is forced to laugh.
"Absolutely not," she says, backing her own wheelchair away from him.
"When did he start being...himself again?" I ask Zeke.
"A couple days ago. Apparently, the kid cracked his shell," he laughs. "Also, he will be getting his prosthetic soon. Hopefully he will be better once he is back on his feet."
I nod as I watch his brother goof off around the infirmary. One of the Erudite nurses from afar looks like she wants to intervene, while the Dauntless nurses pay him no attention.
Uriah may have lost a part of himself, but he has found ways to fill the void that his limb left. I can't help but compare him to Tobias, who is lost as well. They are vastly different people, the prime examples of optimism and pessimism.
The main difference between them, I think, is that Tobias's world has always been cruel to him.
I thought I knew how to make his world better. Now my mind is blank because he has changed over the last week. He seems like a different person, and I don't know how to help him when he isn't himself.
It is like he is my instructor again, mysterious and detached from everyone around him. Except this time, he isn't alluring to me. He is hurt.
And I don't know how to help him.
TOBIAS POV
Tris isn't awake when I settle into the bed. A thankful sigh escapes me for the promise of rest, my body becoming a part of the mattress. Sometimes it feels like I am so heavy that I might sink through it.
We don't touch each other much anymore when we sleep. It seems like a stupid thing to be upset about when I don't even see her on a day-to-day basis despite being married. It is all my fault too, so I can't be aggravated about it. But I am.
There wouldn't be anything wrong with rolling over and holding her against me, though we are so far away that I know it wouldn't be right. She would consider it strange that I am avoiding her in the day and hugging her at night.
I won't talk, and she can't ask, so now we both have to suffer.
My eyelids are heavy yet my mind is racing. The disparaging thoughts come in when I'm not burying my head under a pile of work that is too large for me alone. When I try to tire myself out—spending my breaks in the training room, staying late in the control room—I end up exhausted with a crowded head.
And I feel like this is Evelyn more than anything, continuing to offset my life even after her mind has been wiped clean.
I came from a vile family. I thought I could rise above them—I'm trying, so hard to be the man they didn't raise me to be. But I'm confused about what is moral, to forgive Evelyn or not?
How can I move on if I don't move past her? Is that depreciative of everyone she has tortured if I did come to peace with what she has done? Will she continue to influence my choices even if I do tell myself she is forgiven?
More importantly: how can I deserve a family when I can't forgive my old one?
I was wrong; Tris isn't asleep. And it is like she knows me that well to realize that I am alone at war with my own self in this moment, because she wraps her arm around my waist and presses up against my back.
My expression is pained in the dark. I miss her. Her forehead rests on the flames of the Dauntless tattoo just below my neck, her hand cool against my body. We share a mutual sigh of relief.
I want to flip around and kiss her until both of us forget. I want to pretend that we are the recently married couple that we are.
But that won't make it all go away.
Still, I want to communicate that I miss her, that I'm appreciative of her attempt. So I lay my hand over hers, intertwining our fingers. Behind me, her body relaxes, as if every muscle was coiled with tension.
That is also my fault. She is uneasy whenever we come into contact because I am withdrawn, and she is aware that I could be set off at a moment's notice. She will continue to try, and I will be guarded, and we will get nowhere until one of us fractures.
My thumb drags in slow circles over her hand. The repetitive motion and brief reprieve lull me into a heavy sleep.
Then the crying starts. During the first round of the night, I barely hear it in a dream, not significantly loud enough to fully wake me, but enough to annoy me. The initial calm is broken.
And of course, it happens again what seems like seconds later. This time, it is a sheer meltdown.
A low, irritated groan leaves my throat. I am tired. I have to get up and face factionless resistance again tomorrow. Why the hell does this baby that I didn't ask for have to cry five or more times every single night?
Tris gets up. I cover my ears with my pillow to force out the cries that manage to hit every one of my nerve endings.
"Hey! Shhh," I hear her murmur. "You're all right."
The baby continues to fuss even when the tears stop. I roll over with a loud sigh, trying to make a point.
"I'm trying," Tris snaps at me.
"You shouldn't have to be," I growl back. Before I change my mind, I stand and grab a pillow and quilt from the bed.
Even in the dark, her glare is piercing. "Well, I'm stuck here," she says. "This is what happened. Neither of us can change that."
But you still can, I want to convince her. Except even if she did, that wouldn't change what is transpiring between us.
She wipes tears from the baby's cheeks and hushes her again. I stride past them, depositing the pillow and blanket on the couch across the apartment as if it will block out the screams that are to return.
"You said you were going to find someone in Abnegation to take her," I remind her sharply. "When was that going to happen? It's already been over a week."
Tris bites her lip. "I promised to never lie to you again. So I won't."
"What's that supposed to mean?"
"I did go to Abnegation. And when I was giving her up, I realized that I couldn't."
The baby's eyes are wet despite her silence. They meet mine, intrigued, and I break the gaze with my heart pounding. Why am I so nervous around an infant?
"That's a pretty massive decision to make without me," I remark coldly.
"I didn't. I don't know what I'm doing. Maybe I just need time, I don't know..." Her voice is miserable and lost. "All I know is that I haven't had a panic attack since she came home with me. I have smiled and laughed so many times because of her that it is hard to believe that there was such a recent war. She still needs me...and I need her."
I don't know how to respond. A part of me wants to embrace this with her, and as I watch her bounce the baby in her arms like an expert, it is difficult to remember why I wouldn't want this. But that part of me is drowning beneath years of a conditioned mentality that I cannot completely snap out of.
"I'm glad you came to me to talk about this all week," I say, sarcasm evident in my voice. Maybe if we had discussed the possibilities of this child, both of us would lean differently.
"You don't want to talk, Tobias!" she snaps. "I have tried to support you. I have tried to listen, but you purposely don't come home on time, and when you do, you talk about anything other than yourself."
I scoff. "I'm sorry if my schedule isn't to your liking. Piecing a new city together isn't exactly a nine-to-five job."
But we both know that I could come home sooner if I chose to. She won't let me get away with that excuse.
"I'm not stupid. You're working late in the control room even though you are a leader just to avoid having the tough conversations with me."
How did she find out that that is where I have been stalling for time? I suppose it does not matter. Tris is perceptive enough to realize that something has happened that I have not let on—maybe she even knows that it is related to my severed relationship with Evelyn—so it is no surprise that she has figured that out too.
"I want to help you with the city," she tells me, adjusting the baby in her arms. "I want to help you with Evelyn." I flinch. "I want to help you with everything else, but I can't do anything if you won't talk to me."
Words pause on my lips. It feels dangerous to tell her anything now, with this brittle tension between us. But if I have learned anything from being in a relationship, it is that dishonesty is worse.
"How am I supposed to talk to you when you seem like a different person?" I finally say.
She is not the same, hasn't been in the last week. Tris isn't the type of person to tend to children and skip leadership meetings, missing the opportunity to give her input and trading it for baby conversations. Still, I guess I have not been around her enough for days to know if that has changed her whole persona.
That makes me a hypocrite to say it. War has shaped me in unimaginable ways, has manipulated me into even more of a masochistic defeatist, and she has accepted me for who I am.
"I'm not a different person," she assures me incredulously. "I am your wife."
"Then act like it."
"How am I not? Because I am trying to say what you won't hear?" she snaps.
She is right. I know she is. And I am also stubborn, a relentless boulder that she is too slight to push anymore. I don't want to hear from her that I am in the right with every decision I am making because that will justify every dead body that has been accounted for, as well as the ones that have not.
My instincts urge me to protect myself from expressing that, expressing anything, so I can only think of turning the argument back on her.
"Because you are putting unwarranted pressure on me when I have enough to deal with," I retort.
She emotionally exclaims, "I don't know what to do! I have tried to keep this baby away from you. I have not mentioned the subject at all. I'm trying to give you space, and it still isn't good enough!"
"How can it be?" I shout back. The baby startles slightly at the loud volume. "We both know how this is going to end. You get everything you set your mind on."
Like when she decides to throw herself onto the battlefield and straight into jeopardy and I am powerless to stop it—God knows that is a common occurrence. So why would she include my opinion on something as important as this?
"Oh excuse me for finally finding some sort of happiness when my life is one disaster after another," she says with a glower. Her hurt outweighs the anger in her voice.
Shaking my head, I say, "That isn't an excuse to drag me along with you into something I don't want."
"I'm not," she chokes, on the verge of tears. "I am confused about what to do, and I want you to talk to me about this so we can work through it."
I can see it in her eyes. So you can talk me out of it. Maybe she is as reluctant as I am, since it is a foolish choice to keep this child for an infinite amount of reasons. But I saw the way she looked at that baby earlier. Tris already loves her, and that is something I don't have a say in.
I knew this would happen. As soon as Tris suggested a temporary arrangement, I knew she would grow attached past the point of no return.
"Doesn't matter. Even if we did discuss it, that wouldn't change your stance. Since when have I talked you out of anything?" I bark at her.
"Would it be so bad to hear me out and have a rational conversation about this?" she asks frustratedly. "You don't know anything about her."
"All I know about her is that she has stolen all of your attention so that I don't see you anymore. She is just another problem of somebody else's that I have to put up with. She is the reason there is a massive wedge between us."
Tris's eyes finally flood over with tears. "No, Tobias," she says. "You are."
Shame hangs onto my shoulders and weighs them down. Yes, I am the coward who obstinately refuses to talk, to mend our issues. But I don't show my guilt because she has an equal part to play in this fight. If she weren't scaring the living hell out of me with this baby, then I would be able to approach her. About my mother, about the war, about all of it.
Or at least I tell myself that.
"If I am the problem, if this kid is this important to you..." I take a step back with my jaw clenched. "Then maybe you don't need me."
There it is, a dangerous ultimatum. I don't consider the repercussions until it is out of my mouth. What if we both really did walk away? The notion causes my heart to race with regret, like maybe if it catches up to my buzzing head, then it can prevent me from saying something else I don't mean.
Tris looks utterly betrayed.
"Don't do this, Tobias," she sobs. "Don't make me choose between her and you."
"Why?" I snarl. "Because you would choose her?" A baby she met so recently over her own husband?
She covers her mouth to muffle her cries, the baby cradled in her other arm. "No. Because I would choose you."
Relief makes my shoulders sag. For some reason, I doubted her answer. I think that says more about my insecurities than it does about her.
Somewhere in the back of my mind, it registers that my wife is crying. I should be crossing the room and trapping her in my arms until she stops. Instead, I am the one causing those wet stains on her cheeks and the misery in her eyes.
Because I am somehow afraid of accepting the baby staring up at her with concern.
"The Tobias I know wouldn't force me to change who I am," she remarks.
The momentary pause in the heated argument is forgotten. My eyebrows are narrowed as I reply sharply, "The Tris I know wouldn't force me into something I'm not prepared for."
"Let me ask you something," she says. Her tears are stemmed momentarily. "If it was our child, would you be prepared?"
"I—" I hesitate, stumped. No, I wouldn't be, but I would certainly find a way to make it work. In this case, there is no valid reason to force this piece into a puzzle it doesn't belong to. "That's different."
"Not really. This baby came into our lives at the worst possible time, and our own just as easily could have. If she was ours, would you toss her out onto the street?"
"No, because she would be ours."
Except the sentiment doesn't sound right when I voice it out loud. Tris and Zeke and Shauna and the rest of my short list of friends taught me that family is not always bound by blood.
And something tells me that I would not be able to face the prospect of having a child either way, not yet. I thought I would have time to convince myself into it. The idea still feels like a distant dream, an improbable vision that I am not worthy of. I cannot envision it when I live in a world where my own people shot me several days ago.
"Does she not deserve anyone's love then, because she is not ours?" Tris presses her lips together.
"Maybe not," I growl. "Maybe if nobody wanted that child, it was for good reason. Maybe that child isn't lovable. Maybe she is just another problem, will grow up to be just like the rest of the despicable inhabitants of this city."
As soon as the words are out of my mouth, I lock eyes with the kid. Suddenly, I don't know how I said that; I don't think I would have been able to had I been watching her as I did. It is easy to cast her aside as anything other than a person until she is blinking back at me with soulful eyes.
Tris worries her lip and says, "We're not talking about the baby anymore, are we?"
My muscles lock into place defensively. Was that statement actually aimed at myself? Is that how my conscience is on its way to forgiving Evelyn, by pinning the blame of her actions on myself?
That is the way it has always been. That is my default way of coping: turning the pain inward. Maybe if I had not burnt dinner, Dad would not have left so many lashes. Maybe if I had been a better son, Mom would not have left.
Now here I am, using the same, exhausted excuses. Maybe if I had treated her differently, let myself be her son, then she wouldn't have destroyed the city.
I am tired of being stuck in the mindset of a victim. And I won't allow Tris to catch me in it.
Fresh tears break through her and leave streaks in their wake. "You're not a problem, Tobias," she croaks. "None of this is your fault. I don't know what Evelyn has done or said to you, but—"
"Leave her out of this. That has nothing to do with this argument," I hiss.
"We both know that it has everything to do with this argument."
It does. Oh, it does. In fact, I think it has much more to do with this fight than the actual kid. Maybe the baby is a scapegoat for my inner dilemma, and if I took a step back to think this through, I would see that.
But I am clinging to my obstinance as if it is my lifeline. That is how I survived my childhood, my initiation: by holding my ground. Because if I fall and stay down, I am bound to get kicked. If I can hold onto something, even an opinion, I can remain upright.
"Don't change the subject. I don't want a child that isn't mine," I eventually reiterate. "I don't. So I guess this is up to you now."
"No, it's not!" she exclaims.
"Yes, it is! I'm not budging. So either get your shit together, or there will be consequences."
She scoffs, wiping her cheeks. "Another ultimatum. Wow, that's so like you, Four."
Maybe it is. I said something similar when Shauna was shot, but that was an entirely different scenario. That was when she was throwing herself headfirst into danger; this is because she is going somewhere I can't follow.
I set my jaw. "Don't call me that."
"That's who you're acting like! Talking down to me like I'm an initiate. Like I don't know what I'm getting myself into."
"You don't!"
"And you do?" she demands loudly.
I don't. But I know that it means losing her to someone else, like I already have.
Tris steps closer, reaches for my arm. "Tobias—"
I yank my arm away from her like I was just burnt by her touch. "Don't touch me," I snap.
Her sigh is sharp and forceful. "How else am I supposed to get your attention?"
"You don't deserve it!" At this point, is either one of us functioning rationally?
Her eyes are wet again when she begs with a broken yell, "Just talk to me!"
"I didn't want this!" I shout.
The escalated yells bounce off the walls of the apartment, and upon my last words, they are reverberating in my ears. In Tris's arms, the baby has begun wailing from the disruption, from the obvious distress in the room. It only invites in more guilt.
Tris lets out a sob and retreats to the bathroom, trying to calm the child in between her own cries. There is a lump in my throat so great that it restricts my breathing. When she slams the door between us, it sounds final.
I sit on the couch after that, my head in my hands, my heart heavy.
My problems were my own, and now they are hers. I just hurt her—I hurt both of them. God, what kind of monster has Evelyn turned me into?
No, not Evelyn. This is my doing. It does not matter if this topic is untouchable for me, because I handled this wrongly. And now I can't retract anything that happened tonight.
My anxiety twists my stomach in knots as I pretend to be asleep on the couch. The longer Tris stays in the bathroom, the more convinced I become that she is going to leave. I can still feel my pulse hammering away in my ears when I woke up to discover that she had turned herself into Erudite.
So I stay up until I hear her exit the bathroom and slide into bed. Even then I am not at ease, and my mind replays the argument fifteen times over before the exhaustion wins over the bitterness.
When I emerge from the bathroom showered and dressed the next morning, my head throbbing as if I am recovering from a hangover, Tris has not woken up yet. Good, because I don't know what I would have said.
The baby is next to her in the crib, swaddled up with her chest rising and falling at a different tempo from Tris's. I didn't hear her wake again last night, which is a miracle. Maybe Tris and I wore her out with our insolence.
I frown at the picture of the two of them so close, with my spot on the bed empty. It feels like I have already been replaced. Jealousy rushes over me briefly, and it makes me hate myself. How could I be in a competition with an innocent child that ended up here on accident?
It begs the question of why these emotions have arisen, why I could feel threatened by Tris dividing her attention to someone else. I suppose that is just more baggage I have lugged along with me from my wonderful childhood, that overwhelming loneliness of being abandoned.
She was abandoned too.
The baby shifts in her sleep, her mouth twitching. I freeze, terrified, but her eyelids remain closed.
Some part of me could stand here forever, watching them both like this is a dream. That is what it is—a dream that I am too war-hardened to comprehend.
Tris stirs next. Her eyelids are rimmed with red, her lips set in a natural frown. I could shake her awake, tell her I am sorry for at least most of it, let her go about her day knowing that I don't hate her and that we will have a civilized discussion soon.
But I think it is time we let space do the work for now, take care of ourselves before we can take care of each other.
I walk out, dreading another day of leadership, unsure if we can recover from this. Time cannot heal all wounds if they are deep enough.
TRIS POV
My eyes are heavy with last night's shed tears and lack of sleep. As I bounce the baby on my knee, it seems like I am doing it not just for her entertainment, but to keep myself awake as we wait for the doctor.
I feel numb.
All those threats Tobias dropped last night... I shake my head to rid them. Even the thought of his eyes clouded with empty rage when he broke up with me so long ago makes me physically sick.
Last night, his eyes were different. His thoughtful blue eyes were cold because they were frightened, lost. But sometimes it is impossible for even me to read him, and when his expression was twisted into a harsh scowl, I was convinced of his abhorrence of me.
Will he come home tonight? Will we talk any time in the next couple of days? He is unpredictable, has been since he kissed me during my first initiation and ignored me the following morning.
I bite into my cheek to ground myself to the present. It doesn't work very well. A tug on my hair does the trick, and I look down at the tiny fingers tangled up in it.
"You're trouble, you know that?" I murmur.
The baby hums around her pacifier to communicate. Just then, the doctor pulls back the curtain and steps inside.
"Hello," he says with a smile. It takes me a second to realize he is Erudite, void of piercings and tattoos. "The nurse told me you had concerns with your baby's sleeping schedule?"
The way he refers to her as mine brings out conflicting emotions in me. "I—yes," I answer. "I was given a schedule that said she should only wake up a few times at night if I followed it correctly. Which I have."
He begins performing a basic exam while she is still on my lap. "And how has that been going?"
I shake my head with a hysterical laugh. "Horribly."
Giving her time to adjust has not been the solution, if last night was any indication. Her crying is how the argument began in the first place. Besides my concern for her health, I feel like I would have a better chance of Tobias not hating me any more than he already does if I found a way to help her sleep.
So here I am.
"Tell me about it," the doctor says. He removes his stethoscope from around his neck.
"She wakes up six or more times at night," I sigh. "I gave her time because I thought that was what she needed, but it hasn't gotten any better."
I pause as he listens to her breathing. Then he backs up and says, "Go on."
"She's not...mine. I found her in an alley, and she almost died of hypothermia," I explain.
He nods at his clipboard. "It says that right here. I would expect some reactions to the changes in her lifestyle to be normal, but I understand how this can be cause for concern."
"Well, yeah," I agree. I don't know much about babies, but I don't think they should be waking up six times for no valid reason. "Is there something wrong with her?"
It makes me feel like a failure that she has been in my care and there might be a health issue with her already. But the doctor smiles reassuringly and tells me, "No. She seems to be doing well, and from what the nurse recorded today, she has gained some more weight. Definitely good news. Is she hungry when she wakes up?"
I let the baby grasp my finger and move it every which way. "Only about half the time."
"How do you get her back to sleep?"
I shrug. "I just hold her for a bit."
Insecurity seeps in. I am brand new to all of this, and I am worried that he might judge me for any mistakes I might be making, especially as an Erudite. Except he doesn't.
"You said she was abandoned..." He fidgets with his pen before writing something behind the clipboard.
"Yes."
"You know, there have been studies," he says, "that have shown that infants can remember traumatic events."
That sounds like bad news. Why should I want her to remember her own mother leaving her next to a dumpster? Still, my interest is piqued.
"Really?" I ask. "Do you think that's what this is?"
"I can't say for certain. From what was written in this report, her throat was temporarily damaged from at least a couple hours of crying. It is possible that she could remember being left alone for such a long period of time, and it is possible that she is having trouble sleeping because she has ongoing subconscious fears about it."
The statement breaks my heart. All this time I was desperate for her crying to cease during the night and annoyed by the interruption, while she was afraid that she was alone and left to die again. Suddenly I want to hold her close and apologize fifty consecutive times.
"Since there is nothing clinically wrong with her, I can't offer an exact solution. But considering she wakes up to be held, I would suggest approaching this issue like parents would approach separation anxiety, which tends to happen in older babies," he explains. "Let her sleep nearby for a night or two, and when I say nearby, I mean put the crib right next to your bed, and see if that makes a difference. Then start moving it a little further away every night."
I guess that explains why her crying had improved drastically last night after I moved her crib so close. For once I feel like I have breathed fresh air into my lungs. Maybe if I can get this menial routine corrected, then I can fix everything else.
"Thank you," I say. "I will give it a try."
The doctor tells me to return within a week if there is no improvement, and I leave relieved. That is, until I see the amount of Dauntless here for rehabilitation on my way out. It doesn't take long to be sobered in this faction.
In the carrier attached to my chest, the baby stares at the sights of the infirmary that we pass: the painfully bright lights, the consistent number of patients. Uriah is asleep in his room when I ask for him, so I decide not to bother him.
He will be walking soon. That is a silver lining that I can look forward to along with him.
Still, my heart is weighed down in my chest. Nothing will be enough to distract from last night's argument. Fighting with Tobias is like shooting a gun for the first time; I feel it everywhere when the shot happens, and the blast vibrates through my bones for long afterward.
At least a gun is predictable.
The Pit is lively with the news of an upcoming celebration. I slide my way through the crowd, my eyes drifting off to a friendly brawl that has broken out on the side. It is good to see that some of the faction members are attempting something close to normalcy. For the rest of us, it will take much more time, though what is normalcy anymore?
When we are free of the crowd, I walk into a nearby hallway that will lead to the apartment wing. The dimmed lighting must lull the baby because she yawns under the blue rays. I barely catch her pacifier in time.
"You're probably due for a nap," I say. Noting the downward pull of my eyelids, I add, "I might have to join you."
Her head rests back on my chest, just as I turn the corner and run into none other than Peter.
I freeze up automatically at the sight of him. He stares at me, uninterested, while my mind races for a way to process his presence quick enough to keep myself and the kid safe.
First and foremost, I should act unafraid. Normal. I clear my throat and greet him cordially with a firm, "Peter."
Suddenly it doesn't matter that he recently helped me interrogate Jeanine. It doesn't matter that he helped me escape Erudite once, and didn't turn me into the authorities when I was a fugitive after breaking back into Erudite with Tobias. The majority of me will always view him as the sinister boy who groped me with his friend's help and held me over the chasm by my throat.
I let a protective hand drift to the baby. My fingers twitch at my side, prepared to reach back for my gun at the first sign of danger.
He scoffs out a laugh. "What are you doing with a baby, Stiff?"
"None of your business," I state. "Excuse me."
Passing him swiftly, I hold my breath. But he lets me walk past him without another jeering comment or some sort of attack. Would he resort to violence unprovoked? He has before.
It is when I make it several steps down the hall that he calls, "Tris."
The words jerk me to a stop, and I turn to face him in blatant surprise. I don't know if he ever calls me by my name. It has always been "Stiff" or another disparaging term.
"I know you think I'm a terrible person, and I am. I always will be," he tells me. "But just know that I don't want to be."
I feel like this is some kind of trick, though I can't ignore how downtrodden he looks. He must have fought alongside everyone, whether he wanted to or not.
"You know when I was helping you get information from Jeanine? And you started freaking out down in that basement of prison cells?" He swallows, his hair shiny. "I know it wasn't because of me, but you did want me gone for a reason. I hated the way you looked at me."
I bite my cheek, wondering if he is being sincere. He must have figured that my panic attack was related to his assault on me when I lost it at the sight of him. It may not have been caused by him, like he said, but he definitely dwelled in my nightmares at some point. I panicked for a reason, and he seemed to pick up on that behind his bewildered expression.
Peter stares down at his feet when he admits, "I won't apologize for what I have done; I don't want your Stiff forgiveness. But I guess I should thank you. When you looked at me like that—like I was a monster—it made me more...aware."
A laugh threatens to bubble up in my throat. There I was, backed up into a wall and curled into myself pathetically, and Peter of all people didn't see it as a sign of weakness. He saw it as a wake-up call.
"I don't know what to say to that," I tell him.
"Don't say anything." He shakes his head. "Just know that I'm working on it."
Pressing my lips together, I offer him a tight nod before he walks away, utterly baffled. I don't expect him to ever fully change. Once someone makes the conscious decision to hurt another person in the ways he did to me, I can't depend on a shift in attitude.
But Dauntless did corrupt Al, and Justin, and all of us. Maybe it was an amplifier in that period of time for Peter's behavior, or maybe he was always that way and war took care of the mess. I couldn't say, though I know that Dauntless has some fault in this. Hopefully that is bound to be fixed.
Once Peter is out of sight, I finally turn and continue walking. Maybe I am correct in assuming human nature, or maybe I am being unfair.
Maybe people can change.
It's really hard to write Divergent fics when you are currently obsessed with Six of Crows and The Mandalorian, on top of being distracted by school again. But we all know this update probably would have taken this long regardless.
Small disclaimer: I know next to nothing about babies. I did my best with this last infirmary scene with the help of brief internet searches.
Thanks for reading guys! Make sure you catch the next chapter because trust me, you'll want to!