AN: I'm still here. This story is still my baby. Hopefully you still care to read it!
"I never thought I'd see you down here slumming it as security," Chris barely keeps her disdain out of her voice—unlocking the garage-style door of the tattoo shop. She's been wanting to confront him since his return to the faction—since he's had no choice but to start working again to support himself. Eric has been circling the pit casually, but anyone who knows even the least bit about him, knows he's prepared to strike any second. He pauses at the sight of her, the short, caramel-skinned girl with a flare for irritating him, leaning in the entrance of the shop. "It's not exactly leadership, is it? Making sure Dependents don't try to steal just for the sake of it…"
"No," Eric answers easily enough—voice raised to combat just how far apart they are before finally stopping a few paces away, where he can still get a view of the entire pit. The white stone cavern glistens under the bright lights rigged into the walls. His head tilts in her direction, "Not exactly leadership."
He's surprised she's speaking to him. She's seemed more than content with ignoring his presence back in the faction. But with Tris set on being involved with him—there's not much to be done other than accept she'll be seeing him around. And if yesterday's meal is to be repeated, they'll be expected to at least be civil. Tris hasn't said as much, but they both know it.
"You've still got the tattoo," Christina shrugs, "make a ruckus and get your job back."
"If it were that simple, I'd have done it," Eric rolls his eyes at her and the smirk she has painted on her face now. "A year here and you still don't know how the faction works."
"I thought I did," Chris challenges, "Turns out… no one knew anything."
"Touché," Eric acquiesces. Christina beams, winning the posturing between them seems to lighten her mood. She just gives a quirk of the lips but it's enough to make Eric scoff. "I'll be getting back to work now…" he gives his back, set to go back to lurking in his now comfortable position, when she calls after him.
"What do you want with Tris?" She asks, arms folded. Luckily, no one else is around, or he'd glare at her as hard as possible.
"What?" He'd heard her perfectly well, though he's thoroughly enjoying the exasperated look on her face. She started this confrontation, after all.
"You heard me," she says instead.
He lifts and drops his brows, folding his arms as he steps closer to her again. "As much as it pains me to say it—I don't know what you mean."
"You know exactly what I mean. Don't add more lyingto the already long list of reasons you shouldn't be trusted." Christina rolls her eyes at the mock offense on his already expressive face. The muscle around his piercing rolls as he furrows his brows. Good, he's insulted.
"I don't want anything from Tris. I take what she gives," Eric finally says. "And I don't think she'd appreciate it if she knew you were attempting to grill me right now."
"I'm not," Chris shrugs. "Just warning you. If you screw her over, I'm coming after you. And you're gonna wish your sorry ass was left in a cage."
His brows rise in surprise, but he smirks instead. Her courage has always been something to be admired. But she'd never been so bold. He supposes her time here in Dauntless has been enough to embolden that about her. He chuckles. "I'm quaking…"
"I'm not joking. Tris has been through enough, without you using her as your get out of jail free card." Chris snaps at him, mouth tensed with a look of anger. "Don't you already have what you want? You'll be fine now."
"I'm not going to dignify your accusations with an actual response. But I will remind you that it's none of your business."
"Tris is my business. She needs someone to actually be in her corner, not for gain." Christina keeps the same accusatory tone, glaring at him. "And if no one else is gonna say it, I will. Everything you touch, turns to ruin. And I refuse to let you do that to her. She cares about you, for whatever reason, but I don't. Not even a little. And I'll ruin you if you hurt her."
Eric snorts. "Has anyone ever told you that you're a—"
"A bitch?" Chris finishes the question before he can. "Sure. Among other things. I don't care about them. I care about Tris. And I refuse to lose any more friends over your schemes. So leave her alone before you inevitably do what you do."
Eric scoffs, but her words do sting—whether he lets her see or not—and he knows that she is already aware of it just from the look of peace that settles in her delicate features. He notices then, just how much she wears her emotions on her face. He can tell she means every word she's said. She believes he's bad for Tris. Little does she seem to know… he thinks the same way.
It's the last day of the retrial; closing arguments are today, and Eric wakes that morning with a bitterly cold feeling in the pit of his gut. He can't tell what it is, until Tris is standing in his apartment doorway, looking positively hopeful. She holds two cups, "I brought coffee."
"I already had some," he says, standing in her way. "What are you doing here?"
She frowns, brows furrowed as she looks at him. "We're going to Candor together, like we have been. C'mon, get your tie." She sees it on the chair at his kitchen counter.
"I don't think we should," he says, though he's relenting in letting her into the apartment. She gives him an absolutely puzzled look as she sets their coffee on the counter, and he swallows thickly. "I don't think you should come." He doesn't want her there when the jury ultimately comes back with a guilty verdict. The same as the last time. And he won't be able to handle the heart broken look on her face once it comes down that way. Benning seems satisfied this time around. But he can't shake the horrible feeling that he shouldn't get his hopes up.
The letter opened up boatloads worth of information—background that had never been asked about because it was off topic. It required he admit all the things he let happen because he didn't know how to face an entire regime by himself. There had been outlets, he could have found someone to turn to, start a resistance...something. And he hadn't done a single thing—crippled by the fear of what could have happened to the remainder of his family.
The letter opened up the past, pulled back the curtain on just how sinister the buildup to the attack on Abnegation had been; how little he really knew. He'd been a foot soldier in the war, just like the rest of the Dauntless had been. He'd been so stupid to think he'd ever been more than a pawn. He can't quantity how much regret he has now.
The look on his mother's face when he admitted to doing so many things—even if his hand had been forced.
"So, you knew they weren't just people committing suicide, but being murdered?" Mia Gregory asks, inconspicuously tucking some loose strands of her hair behind her ear. She folds her arms then, holding a folder of pictures; pictures of victims.
Eric swallows thickly, "I knew I wasn't pushing them. It was easier to compartmentalize...than to be the cause of my family's deaths." It was the truth. And he had to admit it. "I know no one wants to hear it. But I had no choice. No one would have believed—"
"You stood by knowing people were dying!"
"You wouldn't have believed it! Who would have believed there was a conspiracy to kill hundreds of teenagers? Coming from me? And I would have ended up dead myself." He couldn't have spoken out against his mentor, he didn't see all that was wrong until it was too late.
The guilt and pity had reached a fever pitch then. Tris is looking at him the same way when he flinches at the feel of her hand. "Where is this coming from?" She asks him, blue eyes peering up at him with concern. He can see that her confidence is suddenly a slippery slope—his answer has the power to break her.
He reaches to push the wispy front of her hair back, fingers scratching lightly to soothe the sting of his original coldness. She has a way of softening his heart. Her doe eyes peer into a deeper part of his soul, and she does it without even trying. "I know you really want this to work out for me. But...I'm—"
"You're scared," Tris says softly. She sighs.
Eric opens and closes his mouth after catching his first instincts to deny it. "I can handle a lot of things. But if this doesn't pan out, if they find me guilty again—I don't think I can handle seeing you, my mom, Steph having to hear it."
"You're not going back to that prison," Tris says firmly. "I know you're not. They understand the situation you were in."
"You don't know that," Eric argues.
"I'm going," Tris says stubbornly. She fixes his tie too. "I'm not going to let you push me away, Eric. Not after all this." They stare at each other for what seems like a long while, before they forget the notion of personal space. He wraps her in his arms, pressing a kiss to her temple. He allows himself to hear her, to feel her. The disgraced leader curses Christina for targeting his doubt. He has tried to deny that she'd gotten to him, pushing the buttons of doubt. But he hadn't been able to shake it until now, when Tris is in his arms. She smells like vanilla, and the feel of her warms and calms his jarring bouts of anxiety.
If he could snap his fingers and make all of his mistakes go away, he'd probably only be left with the clothes on his back, and Tris. He nearly laughs at the humorless thought. Clearly, he needs to catch up on his sleep. But he hasn't known true peace or easy sleep in years.
"I don't know how I would have made it this far without you," He finally admits it, knowing he should have told her just how much he values her time and effort.
Tris looks up at him with watery eyes, touched emotionally in ways she's never thought Eric Coulter would ever be responsible for. Cupping his stubbly cheek, she smiles. There's so much to say. "C'mon, we can't be late." She takes his hand, forgetting their coffee cups on the counter.