A/N: Thank you for the response to the last chapter! I hope you enjoy this one ;)

Disclaimer: I don't own Divergent, just Cain and her story

I had a bad habit of wandering round the place and bumping into people I shouldn't. Although in this case it was Four, so it wasn't all bad. I hadn't seen him since the incident with the shower, but somehow the whole thing seemed to have thawed him out a little.

"Nice look, Cain. You headed somewhere?"

I knew I wasn't technically allowed to keep going to the training room after hours, especially this late, but I found I didn't want to lie to him.

"I was thinking of heading to the training room, getting ready for next week, if that's alright."

We were in a corridor near the Pit, a few people mingling about as if they were waiting for something. Four seemed to think a thought over in his mind, and from his sigh I guess he caved in to whatever it was.

"I know you go and train when you're not meant to," he said, looking up towards the blinking red light shining at us. "You guys seem to forget there's always cameras. That's how I found out what was happening with Paul, and I know how much you've been doing outside of training."

His eyes seemed to gaze into my soul, but not in an unkind way like with Eric. Like he could see the sadness there and empathised with it.

"I'm sorry, I know we're not meant to. I just," I stopped, feeling my voice crack. "I don't want to be factionless. I want to be here, to be Dauntless. It's... everything," I said breathlessly. He nodded as if he understood exactly what I was feeling.

"Look, I'm going to take you someplace. It might seem crazy, and a little intimidating at first, but you're a good candidate for Dauntless. You're smart, you watch the others when they're not looking. If they gave out medals for best effort, I'm sure you'd win."

I almost didn't realise he had made a joke.

"This place, it's not for everyone, and I mean that." His hand fell to my shoulder, just like Tori's had done, only his hand fit the mould so-to-speak. "You can't tell anyone what I'm doing. You'll get cut, and I'll get demoted. But you're the smallest in the class, and I'm sure if she wanted it enough, even Emmie could get you on the floor."

I rolled my eyes. "Gee, thanks coach." It was comfortable here with him, but not in any other way than trainer and trainee, or even as friends. Four seemed to know my way of thinking, how I was feeling, and helped me through it like he had done with my training. He squinted his eyes at me slightly, like he was chastising me for my sarcasm.

"I mean it Cain," his voice dropped. "Don't tell a soul."

I promised him I wouldn't mention anything, on Sarah's life, and he nodded in response and dragged me along with the sparse crowd that were headed down a concealed flight of stairs. There was hardly any light, and I drew my hoodie closer to me as the air grew colder. I hadn't paid all that much attention to the temperature in Dauntless, pretty much being always on the move, asleep or in a hot shower, but this was unlike anything else. I swore I could see my breath, and vaguely wondered if Eric had put Four up to killing me for existing.

"Oh wow."

The grunts and slaps came before I understood what I was watching. We were in another cavernous room, only this truly resembled a cavern. There were a few lights, travelling up the rock-hewn walls; I thought I could see water trickling from them. It smelled of damp, but also of sweat and blood, the tangy taste on my tongue. The room wasn't big, but it felt like it once you took notice of the boxing ring that had been set up in the middle. Crowds of rowdy and some drunken men were lined around the ring, watching and jeering as two Dauntless guys went at it with each other.

"It's called The Basement," Four's voice came, very close to my ear. I assumed he had moved closer to me so that I could hear him, and so I didn't lose him in the crowd. "It's for people who like to fight, and don't want a sparring match in the Pit and don't want to play by the rules."

"Do you fight?" I tried my best to make sure he heard me. Over the din of the crowd and the fighters, I saw Four nod gravely. "Only a few times, in the early days. Eric was much more of a dick back then, when he thought he had something to prove."

"He acts like he still does," I said without thinking. Four didn't reprimand me, but his mouth thinned into a single line; his shining eyes said different.

"Why did you bring me here? To fight?"

"No, Initiates aren't allowed to fight in these games," he replied. "But you're always watching the others when we spar. I thought it might do you some good to get some better ideas for your fights."

"What, and watching the others is bad?" I raised an eyebrow at my trainer. He shrugged. "Yes and no. I know you guys know what to do, but unless you're ruthless or smart, you'll all mostly do the same moves. Happens every year. Maybe I just want to see something more interesting this year." I could have sworn Four was smiling AND joking at the same time. Maybe Paul had knocked me out and I was dreaming this. The knock from some drunk guy swinging around in the crowd told me otherwise. I stayed close to Four's side, watching five or six fights in a row. I marvelled at the strength of the fighters, how even the big guys were agile and played up their opponents' weaknesses. It's how I found myself still out of bed, hours after I should've realistically gone to sleep, trying my best to practice a few moves I had seen that night. So far my kicks were alright, my punches better, but any of the fancy moves I tried were weak and uncoordinated.

"Out of bed again, Initiate?"

I was already frustrated by the time Eric found me, my face blotchy and my body covered in sweat. The lack of hair on my head definitely felt better, but now the sweat mixed in with any hair that was left over from my haircut felt itchy and uncomfortable.

"Sorry sir, I'm just practicing for the fights. I'll go if you want." I didn't want to look in Eric's face, still angry at him despite the fact he seriously hadn't done me any wrong other than be a smug, evil prick.

"You know, there's punishments here for disobeying orders. I'm pretty certain you've been coming here every night, despite the fact I told you not to."

It was then I fully looked up at him from my sitting position on the ground, where I had tumbled down to before he had walked in. I looked up into his eyes and for once, didn't see any fury or anger towards me. I couldn't tell what he was thinking, I never could, but for once it was nice not to see someone angry at me for just being there.

"Surely there's some rules that are meant to be broken," I panted. I think it had been my more relaxed night with Four that had given me some bravery, or else I wasn't sure what had happened to me to be so comfortable in bantering with Eric. He huffed, his arms over his defined chest, and I swore I saw a muscle flex in his bicep.

I pushed myself up off the floor, not wanting to give Eric any more ammo to come at me with, still reeling from the interactions I'd had with him earlier. But he stopped me before I could go anywhere, literally stepping in front of me to the point I almost headbutted his chest. I tilted my head up, ignoring the crick in my neck as I looked up at him.

"I'm surprised," he said finally. "I had thought someone like you wouldn't survive someone like Paul." His eyes met mine, and they hardened into cement. He uncrossed his arms so he could lean into me, taking up whatever space was left over between us. "I don't like surprises," his voice dropped low, hitting me in my spine, and in my legs. I swallowed, feeling a lump in my throat, but never taking my eyes off his. The motion in my neck drew his gaze, and I felt something hot take over me. He met my eyes again.

"Next time someone tries to surprise you," he growled, "you show no mercy."

I nodded, feeling breathless, my chest heaving against his. His tongue peeked out to lick his lips for a fleeting, strange moment and I felt gravitated towards the action, like it meant everything to me to see it. All you could hear in the room were my sharp breaths, the room hotting up like the shower room had done earlier that day. I felt small under his gaze, but not like I had done before, with my father or with him. Not like I was under a microscope, being watched and dissected for weaknesses to be used against me. I felt small but gazing up at this man, I felt protected, like I could hide next to him and be safe from the world. Eric lifted a large hand up, slowly as if to not startle me, and a deft finger slid across my cheek against the marks Paul had left there, moving until it ended over my ear, where the divide between hair and shaven head met.

The moment was gone in a blink of an eye; Eric snatched his hand away, storming quickly out of the room. He stopped by the door, a quick glance back with a smirk on his face.

"See you in the morning Cain."

I slid into the cool sheets on my bed, making sure Sarah hadn't woken up to find me slipping into bed, training without her. I knew they all knew I was doing it, but I didn't want to say anything to them in case I hurt their feelings for not wanting to be with them, or to admit the fact I was scared I wouldn't make the cut. I remembered the way Eric's hand felt on my cheek.

I had to stay; to be Dauntless, to be fearless, and to stay far away from the distraction slash enigma that was Eric.

I woke up late the next morning, Sarah's bed empty which meant that she had gone for a run without me. I skipped a shower, feeling awkward and wary without my friend by my side, and instead got changed for the day in a black t-shirt, tracksuit bottoms and slipped a thin jacket around my waist. Slipping into the mess hall, I looked around for my friends and saw them all sitting together at a far away table. Johnny waved me down, pointing to a spot that they had saved for me. I nodded, getting into line to grab a couple things to eat before training started. I felt a tap on my arm, looked up and noticed Four watching me.

"Rough night?" he asked. I shook my head; actually, even with everything that had happened the previous day, I had slept fine. Four seemed glad that I had started sleeping better, not having nightmares every night and ending the training day as dead as a zombie.

"We're continuing with our skills training today. Think you'll handle it?"

He gave me a pointed look, and knew what he was thinking. Though I was doing well in both shooting and knife throwing, I was still the slowest. I couldn't stop flinching, and when I did, it would take me upwards of five minutes to brave myself to pull the trigger or throw the knife.

"I think so. It's just a bit hard," I said, dropping my voice. Four had never asked me any questions about myself, why I had such trouble with simple skills and anything that had been mentioned during the incident in the showers. He always made me feel calm, like I could trust him.

"As long as you keep doing what you're doing, hopefully the fights will help with your score. And if you make it through the first stage," again, he gave me a serious look, "maybe the second stage will help you figure things out."

He left me then to go to his own table, and I walked to mine with my breakfast in hand thinking over his words. Four kept reminding me how well he thought I was going to do in this first stage. I didn't know how he could be so confident when he'd only seen me spar against Sarah, and we barely did any fighting. Even with the changes in myself, both outside and in, I wasn't that confident.

After some stretches and a few laps around the training room, we walked up to the roof to go over shooting once again. I was definitely the fastest still in taking the gun apart and putting it back together; I quite liked it actually, which was a weird thought. Our targets were different today; we had a few targets dotted around on buildings opposite us, making us have to shoot targets from different distances and heights. I enjoyed the brief moment I had in thinking how best to deal with each one, and how well I think I would do. I was standing next to Matthew, one of the best shooters in the class which had taken us all by surprise. Gone was the shy Abnegation boy; he wore a tank top to show the muscles he had slowly been building, though he had been right in that he was the leanest out of everyone thanks to his former faction. I watched him as he kept firing off shots, the closeness of the sound making me jump out of my skin.

I thought back to what Four said; I might make up my ranking, enough to make the cut, but would I be happy with just averaging out a decent score? Eric's voice popped into my mind - no, I wanted the best. For once, it wasn't a bad thing to hear someone wanting me to be better. Not like how it was with my parents, ashamed of their daughter for not being Erudite enough. I wanted to be Dauntless, and only the best deserved it.

Did I?

I shook out my arms, hauling the gun up and into position. In a few days time, any time I picked up the gun would be properly scored and affect my ranking, affect my life. This might be the last time I had to prove to myself that I had what it took to survive stage one of initiation.

I took a deep breathe in, and exhaled just as slow. I imagined a strong, warm hand on my shoulder, just where my tattoo was on the left, and felt it ground me. I put the gun into position, my eyes flicking between the five different targets I had yet to hit. I tried to imagine it, as methodical as possible, and felt a single tear slip down my cheek, stinging the broken skin as it slid past the marks Paul had left. I imagined it was the fear literally pouring out of me.

I held my breath as I hit one, two, three, four, five targets in a row. I tried to stop the shakes that wanted to desperately to slither up my arms and affect me. My aim wasn't bad; I had hit three centres out of five, with only Chris and Matthew doing marginally better. Tony, who had been sending me death glares all morning, did as well as I had.

Matthew nudged me gently with his elbow, watching me cautiously. "Keep going," he whispered, he had obviously seen me struggle with trying to shoot more than one target at a time like I would normally. I nodded, taking more deep breaths to push down the feeling of being sick. I squared my shoulders and held another breath; I shot each of the different targets a few more times, and eventually after the fifth time, felt more calm and sure of myself than I had done. My shots were making their marks now. Four came walking down, watching each of us. He saw the bullet holes in my targets and gave me a small nod and walked off; it was the first time in eleven days that he hadn't given me some kind of pep talk or piece of advice, and I couldn't help the grin on my face. I was getting better, and it was showing. I couldn't help but feel so confident.

Maybe I could make it through stage one just fine.

I spent that night back at The Basement, no one batting an eye at the small girl who was pushing through the crowd to get a better view of the fights. I watched with a sharp eye at the movements of the fighters, trying to commit each interesting and powerful move to memory. I didn't dare go to the training room tonight, trying my best to stick to my promise of hating Eric and keeping myself away from him. I dreamt that night, but it wasn't a nightmare; it was a dream of me, fighting like those warriors I had seen in The Basement, beating a faceless person and being crowned a true Dauntless. It was the best sleep I had had since moving to my new home.