AN: Here's a short chapter. The next will be longer, I promise!

Getting a moment to himself has been quite the task for Eric. He hasn't been locking himself away in his apartment, as it's one reminder of the status he once held in his faction. He's been relegated to a much smaller space, as if his former apartment has been condensed down to look similar but clearly different in importance, empty space. His old apartment was torn apart while finding evidence against him was proven to be futile the same time. He'd never been dumb enough to let anything related to Jeanine into his home—for one very obvious reason: he's always known he'd be caught. He had not been naive enough to believe Jeanine did not find him utterly replaceable.

Benning speaks of Jeanine and her followers more than Eric wants to hear. He knows—painfully so—just how much of an open book he will have to be now that the blackmailing has come to light. And now he knows he will see his mother and sister sitting in the courtroom when the new trial begins, his stomach has been in knots.

"It's going to be simpler Eric, with the whole truth," Benning sighs, throat dry and scratchy as Eric sits near the window, the fire escape taunting him. If he runs, he's a fugitive with very little options. Joshua is still very awkward with his client, a failure for the first time—unprepared to face the truth, he'd intended to manipulate the situation and it backfired. "You just have to be honest."

"I'll have no choice," Eric spits bitterly, gritting his teeth angrily. "You better be honest."

Joshua clears his throat, reaching for the glass of water Eric offered him when he first appeared at the door. "I can't do my job if you don't trust me."

Eric sends a harsh glare in his direction, pointing his fingers at him—still holding a cigarette. "You chose to keep information from me."

"You showed no interest in defending yourself," Joshua argues weakly; he knows it's an unfair ploy considering he hadn't been completely forthcoming once Elizabeth had come forward. It had been from his own pride that he believed he could win without the extra help. It was wrong and cost Eric his freedom.

Eric grunts in acknowledgment, laughing almost at the absurdity of his attorneys accusatory glare, and his haughty tone. "You didn't tell me there would be actual proof to back up anything anyone said. It was a waste of time."

"Let's not waste any more of the time you've been awarded," the Candor reaches for a common ground—they both want this to be over.

Eric considers him, flicking the butt of a cig out the window.

So he comes up to the roof, where the sound of the wind, the whistling against trees and buildings, is his only company. And there's no judgment. No forgiveness either. He just sits, with his box of cigs that he bought from the pit—ignoring the tentative glances he gets from Dauntless.

(The auxiliary high from the win in court wore off rather quickly. He's either regarded with tentative respect or overt un-comfortability. There's no in between and he despises both looks considering that underneath it all there's: pity.)

"Those are bad for you, ya know?" Tris mutters, finding Eric sitting on an abandoned rooftop. She knows the place well now after years of being in the faction. He smokes a cigarette—his third—the orangey flickers turning to grey ash after being ignited with another long puff.

"I know," he says, tossing the spent cigarette butt to the gravelled rooftop floor. He crunches his boots over it, the heavy ankle monitor gleams in the moonlight. "I quit… I am quitting."

"What are you doing up here, huh?" She asks, sidling up beside him. He shrugs and so she just remains quiet, not wanting to push.

The last couple days have gone by in a blur and she hasn't been as attentive as she has wanted to be. Though, she knows he's has to be happier with having time to adjust on his own.

"It's a little bit of freedom, being up here alone," he brushes a hand over his head—allowed to let his hair grow back, it's starting to feel like he's getting his own autonomy back too. Soon he'll go back to his undercut… maybe. Or something completely different. "No ones, staring at me, waiting for me to just fuckin' lose it." He looks up at her then, watching the unbridled shock his honesty has caused her. "I wish you wouldn't look at me like that—we talk, Tris."

"I just… I don't want to crowd you." She can't afford to be too close to him, not when he holds all the power to crush her heart in his hands. As much as she hates to admit it, Tori got to her a little bit.

"You've been avoiding me," Eric says, "I get it, I guess. I don't know—the last few times you came to see me… I was really trying."

She'd like to pretend she doesn't know what he's talking about. But she could tell he'd slowly let her creep her way into his life, world, heart. Hearing him acknowledge that there had been a marked difference makes her heart skip a beat. "I'm sorry," Tris breathes out. "I guess a part of me doesn't know how we're supposed to move forward now."

"You mean now that I'm not an inmate?" Eric chuckles drily. They're ridiculous. The whole situation is ridiculous. "Look, Tris, I get it. If getting me released was some kind of way for you to—"

"I care about you," Tris says, cutting him out. She looks up at him, unsure of what else she can say now.

There's silence then—after she lets out her initial squeak—and he hunches forward, annoyed at himself for letting his irritation confront her instead of a calm mind. He looks at her then, knowing she's going to shell up. "I'm sorry."

Tris reaches out, taking his hand and bringing herself closer to him, brings his hand to her mouth to kiss his palm, near his thumb. Eric watches her as her eyes close and she holds his hand near her face, warming his skin. He's been up here a long while, not even realizing how long. "I care," she reiterates.

Deep down, he's known that for months. There's no way she's dedicated months of her time fighting for his right to live, and to not care. "I wanted to be mad at you," he finds himself saying. And instead of looking wounded as she may have in the past, she just looks at him with wide eyes, waiting for him to continue. "For not letting me act as if I don't care about what happens with my life now. I just… I forget what it's like to just…" he growls at himself for being unable to put into words how he's feeling. There's no need for wit, or slyness, just honesty and acknowledgement. "I don't know what's going to happen. At least before I knew I was going to spend the rest of my life in there."

"I will help you figure it out," Tris squeezes his hand, "We'll get through this retrial, and then we'll go from there."

Eric can't help the quirk of his lips into a soft smile. He reaches up, cupping her flushed cheek, sliding his hand to her neck and pull her closer. Gentle lips press a firm kiss to her forehead and she sighs, eyes closed.