AN: Im here again... I always come back to this fandom. I'm going to finish this story.
Tris breathes hard as she punches the bag in the training facility. She's sweaty from exertion and her knuckles are sore from striking. She really should tell Four what Caleb told her—she needs to acknowledge that his mother's concern was possible—but there's fear in her heart of what will happen if she does say it out loud.
(Seeing Caleb is a whole other can of worms to be opened between she and her boyfriend. And God, she really needs to decide what she's going to do about this relationship between her and Four. She's been avoiding it for weeks.)
She and Tobias are in a tough spot in their relationship and she admitted to herself a long time ago that it's not what it once was—and more importantly, she latched on to him and was afraid to let go for fear of being alone in a new faction it was selfish. But that's the truth she's acknowledged. She just hasn't figured out how to tell him. She fears he won't take no for an answer. He believes they're meant to be together forever. The idea of them being soulmates was a thought she'd had once, that they should be together forever, but it was a naive pipe dream. There was no uncertainty on her part, she and Four have been done for a long while.
She still cares about him, he's her first love and he deserves some decency in the way she'll end it. But she's never been all that nurturing—though, always a person who believed in fairness. Part of her feels too immature to give him that courtesy and now, she's not sure how she feels about that admittance or how it makes her look.
"You missed dinner…" Four's voice breaks through through the monotonous sounds of her fists punching the heavy bag. He's quite good at just showing up places; she has a sneaking suspicion that he can tell when she's been thinking of him.
Tris breathes hard, eyes closing as she realizes they were supposed to meet over dinner in the mess hall and discuss the progress the faction has been making. She combs the fringe of her shortly cut hair, exposing her sweaty forehand. "I'm sorry… genuinely," she adds as a clear, distinct apology.
It's rare she actually says that she's sorry without meaning it and so he gives a thin smile and she feels slight relief—the bickering they've been doing is unbecoming of them both.
He hums, a nod accompanying the noncommittal sound, staring at her for a moment. "You've been in here, this whole time?"
"Lost track of how long…" she says, uncertain of what to really say because professional courtesy aside, she doesn't feel all that torn up about it. She doesn't want the job. Besides that, she apologized and if they dwell, they'll argue.
"Now's as good a time as any." Tobias takes up leaning on the wall behind where she's been practicing her strikes. He folds his arms and hikes a foot up the wall. It seems unnatural to her, watching him try and appear not to care that she can let activities involving him slip from her mind so easily.
"Okay." She grabs her towel from the floor and wipes her face, and tries not to wince as she dabs her knuckles. He glances down, but says nothing—she hasn't let him help her in what feels like ages and he knows better than to offer today when they are tense with one another.
Tris sits and folds her legs, her back against the wall. He looks down and her, noting the space between them. "I didn't mean here."
"Now implies that you meant right here…" she says, voice even but not as flat as her tone can be. He rolls his eyes and slides down the wall, mirroring the way she's sitting, but in addition folds his arms and crosses his ankles.
"We need to talk about what my mother said, the factionless are falling ill."
"I know…" she replies, a gentle lilt in her tone so she doesn't come off as combative.
"Beatrice…" he sighs, not meaning to fight, but realizes he's going to start a fight if he's uncareful. Calling her by her birth name… it just never works to the effect he hopes.
"I was there… I know what's happening." She defends, not taking the bait he's thrown.
Four continues, "There aren't any recent logs showing that the factionless have been getting vaccinated." He did some digging, strong arming a response from some of the Erudite medical clerks.
She looks down into her lap, muttering, "She didn't mention anyone going—"
"We haven't taken a vote one what practices we'll keep." He shrugs,talking over her, "No one is going to volunteer to go vaccinate the factionless."
Tris sighs, massaging her knuckles. She knows he's right. Everyone is being cautious—intent is easily skewed when emotions are high.
He glances at her, causing her to pause and quirk her brow at him. "You'll choke on that comment you're holding back… spit it out."
"We've been spending all our time discussing Eric."
Tris's mouth flattens as she stares at Four, slightly spurned, but she nods and exhales a breath meant to be calming. "Okay." She's not going to give him the argument he wants; Not when he's come here looking to have a productive conversation—He claimed it as such, so she finds his attitude exhausting. Though, she can't deny that she hasn't been making it easy for him to talk to her. She's just so tired of the pressure. "Give me a solution… a proposal, something. You've clearly been thinking about this."
He sighs heavily, unsure of how to proceed now that she's let the possible spat over Eric drop. "We need to bring something to the council or nothing will get done."
"Evelyn is going to bring it up anyway, you heard her," Tris reminds him. He regards her with a steely gaze, and she looks away muttering, "Which you've thought of already."
"Yes, and we need to be ahead of this unless we want it all to go to shit." He hunches, forearms on his knees. "Maybe you should talk to Caleb…" She bites her lip, and he looks at her with his normal skepticism but goes on with his original thought, "ask him to check the medical records in the system again."
"If it wasn't there before, when you thought to ask…" she looks away and heavily debates whether or not to tell him the truth of the matter—Caleb didn't do much to quell her reservations and concerns about the sudden rise in factionless sickness.
"What?" Four asks, instead forcing the topic at hand. She could never lie to him, not successfully anyway. "What aren't you saying?"
"I talked to Caleb already," she admits. "I couldn't drop it without asking him. But unfortunately… it's possible to weaponize an illness. It's difficult to get the means to do it. But it's not impossible."
He looks at her for a longer while than she expects. She knows he wants to ask her since when have she and Caleb been back on speaking terms but it's not the pressing matter at the moment. "Well, that doesn't sound good."
"It's not what Evelyn will want to hear, no," Tris adds, "But i think being honest about it is better than having no answer at all. She'd be able to sniff out a lie anyway."
He nods then, and it's not lost on her that this is the first civilized conversation between them in days. And they're discussing his mother no less. "We tell them what we know next week at the meeting. Until then, I'll keep an eye on things."
"I can get Caleb to put together a group to go down to the sector—a show of support." She shrugs when he glances at her. "They need help."
Tris couldn't sleep, tossing and turning until she ultimately gave up and threw on some clothes. She's in an oversized windbreaker and her normal leather leggings. She looks the part of a half sleepy dauntless leader—even if she doesn't quite go by the title in her own head.
The drive to the prison on the outskirts of the city is faster than normal with not many people out and about at 2 in the morning. She flashes her credentials at the entrance and the sleepy receptionist—a brunette named Lara—has her press her palm to a tablet before she sweeps by towards Eric's cell. Instead of Doug, a slightly younger, burlier, Jacob paces the hallway, keeping watch of a very alert Eric doing pushes up in his cell.
"You're earlier," Jacob muses, greeting her at the end of the hall, "Something change with the prisoners sentence?"
"No," Tris replies evenly, "I need to speak with him."
The tan-skinned man nods slowly, "Right, well, he's awake." He nods over his shoulder, motioning for her to pass him.
"Thanks," she smiles at him, tight lipped and tense. She can feel his wariness for her appearance at the maximum security prison whenever she feels like it. The older man isn't as comfortable with it as Doug is. The other guard is more than used to her—considering there's nothing anyone can do about it. "Open up 1, will ya Sam?" She hears him talking into his comm, she rolls her eyes at his annoyed sigh but says nothing as the first door begins to slide open.
Eric looks at her as she enters the room outside of his cell, sitting back on his knees on the floor. She smiles at him and he can see that she's exhausted. "That face means trouble." He stands, greeting her with a palm to the glass, lifting his shirt from the floor to wipe away the sweat from his brow. She lifts her hand to the glass, the bothersome glass between their palms. "Bad news?" He asks, but sounds resolute to whatever it is.
"Not about you, no," she offers a smile, "Your stay still stands."
"Okay," He drones, chin dropping marginally. His green orbs search her blue ones, hoping for some clue. "Alright then, spit it out."
"Two days ago, Four and I went to the factionless sector to speak to Evelyn. She wanted to show us that a lot of them had been getting sick… and quickly." She breathes in a deep breath as she's speaking faster than normal, "She's accusing someone of purposely getting them sick to dwindle their numbers."
He quirks a brow at that, crossing his arms. "Ridiculous," he simply says.
"I asked Caleb about it the next day… I couldn't let it go," she says, letting his comment go until she could finish. "He says it's possible. That someone with the means, could do it. Four wants us to talk about it—why is it ridiculous?"
"They're homeless people Tris," Eric shrugs, "They get sick… and they die." He notes her wince at the harshness of his words, but that doesn't dampen the truth of what he said. "They're exposed to the elements, they're undoubtedly malnourished out there—even if abnegation is providing some warm meals, it can't be enough to keep the hundreds of them from starving. There's much easier ways to dwindle their numbers—just sitting back and watching the cruel reality of their situation would do the trick."
"I never thought of that… it never even occurred to me," Tris admits. "Evelyn is certain so I didn't ever consider it just being something that is happening." She slinks down to her knees, hands to her thighs as she looks away and thinks. "She convinced us both just by bringing it up."
Eric had never met Four's mother, and he couldn't make a judgment from nothing at all, but he could say it sounded as if the woman wants something foul to be afoot. "It's hard to keep a clear head in a situation like hers I guess."
"She speaks for the faction." Tris replies as he sits on the cold floor. She watches as he leans back on his palms. "We're going to discuss it at the next meeting." He chuckles, making a defiant smile quirk at her lips and she looks to his face. "What?"
"Factionless faction…" he snorts at the irony and she can't help her roll of the eyes. He folds his arms soberly, "Is she convinced there's foul play?"
"Mostly," Tris acquiesces. "Yeah, she's pretty convinced. Though, on the ride here, I thought about it. We don't do much for them other than the abnegation meals they get."
"I've been taking up three weeks worth of meetings," he realizes. And mostly, he feels guilty.
"Yeah," she replies solemnly. "I don't blame her for her frustrations, not really. But now that you've said it, it does sound far fetched."
He sighs, rubbing his recropped hair, "Far-fetched, sure… but I guess not impossible. There's been worse things. I just think it's an inefficient and unpredictable way of taking out one specific group like her accusations are suggesting." He offers and she looks at him confused. He chuckles at her expression. "It's a dangerous, chaotic attack. Say Evelyn gets sick, and it spreads to someone on the council, that's another group encountering the sickness."
"Whoever is responsible would have to know that…" Tris mutters.
"It's probably a problem easily fixed by a vaccine, Tris," Eric says, exhaling a centered breath. "Of course, that's vaccines spent on the factionless. Even before the war… that wasn't a regularity."
"No one has been visiting their sector," Tris replies, sighing heavily.
"Well, there you go…not so complicated a plan from whoever is doing this…the hypothetical person responsible."
"You think they're just getting sick," she concludes, deciding he was most likely right. Exposure was catching up to the squatters, and unfortunately death could be on the way.
"If someone were to waste time doing this right now… insane." Eric says, "They're insane."
"What would you do?" She asks, mouth quirking.
"I'd have to see resources and what can be spared."
"There's more to offer," Tris replies, "Big chuck of the city's population, gone."
"So, you come up with a plan, something that pleases everyone, and gets Evelyn to back off."
"And what about the sick factionless… she's not going to be happy if I have no solution for that."
Eric folds his arms, tapping his fingers on his biceps, "Send them to what's left of Erudite, run some tests. See what it is… what it isn't? At least it will feel like something rather then letting them die."
"I feel like she'll still fight it." Tris sighs heavily, pressing her palm to her forehead.
He quirks a brow, "You really think she wants this situation to be suspect..."
T"I don't think she's against that being the case." Tris admits and Eric's expression barely changes. "It's in her head already. She nearly bit our heads off for suggesting they try and return to their factions of origin."
"That can't be helped," Eric answers evenly. "Offer a solution and see what she says to it."
"I can't just accuse."
"No, you can't." He's solemn. "That never ends well."