A/N: Does this need an author's note? Nah. Honestly, I had a lot of it typed up but I was procrastinating :)

CarBarrier - Your positivity keeps me going, honestly! Thanks so much :D

Till next time,

D.L.D

*I do not own Divergent or any of its character and plot work. That all belongs to Veronica Roth! This is simply an adaption*

Chapter Two: Conflict

I open my eyes, terrified, my hands stiff as they clutched at the sheets. But I am not running through the empty streets of Abnegation, nor am I running through the maze-like corridors of the Dauntless compound. I am in a bed, in Amity headquarters, tense and scared and inhaling the heavy scent of earth and sawdust filling the air. I am far away from the city, I am surrounded by farmland, and yet I still feel scared. My heart still races.

I shift and wince as something digs harshly into my spine. I reach behind me and my fingers wrap around the cool of metal of the gun. My gun.

For a moment, I see King standing there before me, both our guns held between us - his hand, I could have shot his hand, why didn't I? Why didn't I? - and I almost scream his name out of anguish. I almost yell it like a screeching siren, wishing that I was wise enough to choose a different path, to save him from his fate in that cramped and lonely alley. My eyes flicker to meet his, dull and amber and lifeless; mine are wide and full of fear, full of life. My heartstrings tug.

Then, he's gone.

Getting out of bed, I let out a heavy breath as I lift the mattress with one hand and prop it up with my knee. I then shove the gun underneath it, letting the mattress fall on top of it, burying it. Once it is out of sight and no longer pressed against my skin, I feel better. My head is clearer. I feel deep breaths return to me, I feel my heart thumping at a steady pace within my chest. I am now somewhat fine. Not completely ok, not broken. I am somewhat fine.

Now that the adrenaline rush from yesterday has faded, and whatever made me sleep has worn off, the deep ache and shooting pains of my shoulder are intense. I also feel extremely gross because I am wearing the same clothes as yesterday.

The corner of the hard drive peeks out from beneath my pillow, where I shoved it last night before completely blacking out. On it is the simulation data that controlled the Dauntless, as well as the record of what the Erudite did. It feels too important for me to even touch, but I can't leave it here, so I grab it and wedge it between the dresser and wall. Part of me thinks that it would be a good idea to destroy it completely, to burn it, smash it or bury it, but I know that it contains the only record of my family being dead, so I'll settle for keeping it hidden.

Someone knocks on the door. Trying to look calm and presentable, I sit on the edge of the bed and try to smooth my hair down. No-one needs to see me like this; no-one needs to know that I am a nervous, breaking wreck inside.

"Come in," I say, surprised at how sleep-laced my voice sounds.

The door opens and Meliodas steps halfway in, the door dividing his body in half. He wears the same jeans as yesterday, but the bright red of a different t-shirt replaces his old black one, probably borrowed from one of the Amity. It's a strange colour on him, almost too bright, but when he leans back against the door frame, I see that it makes the green in his eyes stand out more. Pop. They are complementary.

"The Amity are meeting in half an hour," He quirks his brows and adds with a grin and a bit of melodrama, "To decide our fate."

I shake my head. "I never thought our fate would be in the hands of a bunch of Amity."

"Me either. Oh, I brought you something," As if suddenly remembering his true purpose for coming, he unscrews the cap of a small bottle and holds out a dropper filled with clear liquid. "Pain medicine. Take a full dropper every six hours."

"Thanks," I squeeze the dropper into the back of my throat. Bitter and faint, the medicine tastes like old lemon. The sour taste spreads along my tongue, tang and tart, but I stomach it because I know the pain will kill me otherwise.

Smiling, Meliodas hooks a thumb into one of his belt loops and says, "How are you feeling, Elizabeth?"

"Did you just call me Elizabeth?"

Laughter threatens to burst from me at the look on his face as well as the fact that he did just indeed call me Elizabeth. I don't think he ever has before this. I've always been Stiff or Tris or something else not as vital before. I've always been someone who didn't have enough importance to be called Elizabeth before. Now was different. Now I was important enough to be called Elizabeth. And now I was familiar enough with him to laugh at the fact that he had.

"Thought I would give it a try. You get to say my name all the time," Meliodas shrugs, not at all phased by my giggling. "Not good?"

"Maybe on special occasions only. Initiation days, Choosing Days..." I pause, the tips of my ears burning. I was about to rattle off more holidays, but only the Abnegation celebrate those. The Dauntless have holidays of their own, celebrations of their own. Well, I assume they do, but I don't really know. And anyway, the idea that we would celebrate anything right now was so ludicrous that I had to stop. I couldn't continue on like it was normal.

"It's a deal," Meliodas' grins before his smile fades. "How are you, Liz?"

After what we've been through, it's not a strange question to ask. After surviving an attack on my childhood faction, witnessing many avoidable deaths and nearly dying at Meliodas' hand, it is only normal to ask me if I am feeling ok. However, I tense up as he does, worried that he'll somehow see into my mind and uncover all of the bad things I have done. I haven't told Meliodas about King yet. I want to, but I don't know how yet. Just the thought of saying the words out loud, actually admitting that I did it, makes me feel so heavy that I could break through the wooden floorboards.

"I'm..." My voice shakes. I shake my head a few times, blinking away burning tears. "I don't know, Dragon. I'm awake. I..." I am still shaking my head. Silent tears are racing down my face and I know I am losing control. Meliodas slides his hand over my cheek, one finger anchored behind my ear. Then he tilts his head down and kisses me, sending a warm ache through my body. I wrap my hands around his arm, keeping him there for as long as I can. When he touches me, the hollowed-out feeling in my chest and stomach is not as noticeable.

I don't have to tell him. I can just try to forget - he can help me forget.

"I know," He says. "Sorry. I shouldn't have asked."

For a moment, all I think is how could you possibly know? But something about his expression reminds me that Meliodas does know something about loss. He lost his mother and sister when he was younger. I don't remember how they died, I don't really remember how they looked or anything, but I just remember that they died. I remember the whole faction flooding their attention toward the King household and Damon and his boys.

Suddenly, I remember him, clutching the curtains in his living room, about nine years old, wearing grey, his green eyes shut. A little hand reaches out to him, stopped by a bigger hand that scolds it to stay put. To not draw attention. The image is fleeting and it could be my imagination, not a true memory, but I see it nonetheless.

He releases me, "I'll let you get ready."

Conveniently, the women's bathroom is two doors down from the room I'm staying in - a short commute in comparison to some other's. The floor is dark brown tile - most likely clay - and each shower stall has wooden walls and a plastic curtain separating it from the central aisle. Earthly scents invade this area too, but instead through soaps and shampoo. One particularly invading scent was barely. A sign also hung at the back, saying Remember: to conserve resources, showers run for only five minutes.

The stream of water is cold, so I wouldn't want the extra minutes even if I could have them. A bar of barley soap had been given to me by a silent Abnegation, the only washing resource I'd been gifted, so I made do. I wash quickly with my left hand, allowing my right to hang limply at my side. The pain medicine Meliodas gave me worked fast - the pain in my shoulder had already faded into a dull throb - but it was still present.

When I get out of the shower, a stack of clothes wait for me on my bed. It contains some bright yellows and reds, from the Amity, and some grey, from the Abnegation, colours I rarely see side by side. If I had to guess, I would say that one of the Abnegation had put the stack out for me. It's something they would think to do. They are always striving to be helpful; I was once - still am - like them in that regard.

I pull on a pair of dark red denim jeans - so big that I have to roll them up three times and adjust the waistband - and a grey Abnegation shirt that hugs my chest a little too closely. The sleeves just reach my wrists, so I roll them up to my forearms, trying to make it look like it fits better than it does. It hurts to move my right hand, so I keep its movement to a minimum, focusing on small and slow movements.

Someone knocks on the door. "Elizabeth?" The soft voice is Ellate's.

I open the door for her. She carries a tray with food, which she gracefully sets down on the bed. I search her face for what she has lost - her father, an Abnegation leader, didn't survive the attack - but I only see the placid determination characteristic of my faction. They never show grief, even when they are gripped entirely by it. Even when they are feeling their worst, they are always modest and gracious, selfless and considerate.

"I'm sorry that the clothes don't fit," She apologises softly, noticing the rolled up sleeves and jeans. Her own clothes are also ill-fitting, her shirt too large and her pants as well. "I'm sure we can find some better ones for you if the Amity allow us to stay. They must be extremely uncomfortable."

"They're fine," I say honestly, not that phased by ill-fitting clothes. I give her grateful smile. "Thank you."

A blush scatters over Ellate's cheeks, a small squeak leaving her as she busies herself once more, picking up a comb. "I heard you were shot. Do you need help with your hair? Or your shoes? I'm sure it's not easy with such a terrible injury."

Stubborn and overwhelmed, I am about to refuse her offer, but I really do need the help. My shoulder is really stiff.

"Yes, thank you," The words leave quietly, timidly as I tuck a strand behind my ear and bite my lip. Admitting that I need help is hard, especially when raised with a faction that relied on a selfless ethos, but ever since joining Dauntless, I've realised that needing help does not make you selfish nor weak. Admitting that you need help is actually a sign of wisdom and strength, requiring you to recognise your own shortcomings.

Carefully, I sit down on the stool in front of the mirror and Ellate stands behind me, her eyes trained to the task at hand rather than her own reflection. They do not lift, not even for an instant, as she runs the comb through my hair, pulling it through the long silver tresses. Not once does she ask about my shoulder, how I was shot, what happened after I left the Abnegation safe house to stop the simulation. I get the sense that if I was to whittle her down to her core, Ellate would be fully Abnegation, through and through. Nothing else.

"Have you seen Solaad yet?" I ask, genuinely curious about if she had. Our friend, Solaad, had been extremely close with Ellate. However, instead of remaining together in one faction, he chose Amity while she remained in Abnegation, meaning he was in the compound. I wonder if their reunion will be anything like my own and Mael's. I wonder if she hate him, if he will hate her. I wonder if they will argue or if they will understand. Not hold it against one another.

"Briefly, last night," She answers, her voice soft whisper against the running rhythm of the comb. "I left him to grieve with his faction as I grieve with mine. That is just how it is. It was nice to see him again, though."

I hear a finality in her tone of voice that tells me the subject is closed, over. Ellate will not speak of this any further.

"It's a shame that this happened when it did," Ellate sighs, her eyes still trained to my hair and the comb. "Our leaders were about to do something wonderful. The whole faction was anticipating it."

"Really?" I ask, my eyes wide with surprise. "What?"

"I don't know," Ellate blushes, her cheeks puffing with the swell of embarrassment. "I just knew that something was happening. I didn't mean to be curious and selfish; I just noticed a few things and took note of them."

"I wouldn't blame you for being curious even if you had been," The words leave before I think, too used to be unrestrained within Dauntless. Curiosity was something I was barred from growing up, causing it to grow and swell within me instead of die. Maybe that was why I was so fascinated by the Dauntless, the ones who jumped headfirst into danger for the sake of satiating their own curiosities. Maybe that is why I find it harmless in comparison to other traits.

Silently, Ellate nods in response and keeps combing. I wonder what the Abnegation leaders - including my father - were doing. And I can't help but marvel at Ellate's assumption that whatever they were doing had to have been wonderful, good. It is naive, thoughtless, to think that secrets can always be good. Being in Dauntless has stripped me of that. I wish I could just see that in people once more. I wish I could believe that of people again.

If I ever did.

"The Dauntless wear their hair down, right?" Ellate asks, tilting her own head to the side. No hair follows, all swept into her neatly tidied bun.

"Sometimes," I say thoughtlessly, thinking of the array of hairstyles and colours I had seen in the Dauntless compound. Most of the time I did the most convenient style. "Do you know how to braid?"

So, upon the request, Ellate's deft fingers tuck pieces of my hair into one braid that tickles the middle of my spine. I stare hard at my reflection until she finishes. I thank her when she's done, and she leaves with a small smile, gently closing the heavy door behind her. That's when the calmness snaps, when my thoughts cannot be controlled and I cannot see something correct about anything in my reflection.

I keep staring, but I don't see myself. I can still feel her, her fingers brushing the back of my neck and the sides of my face, so much like my sister's fingers, the last morning I spent with her. My eyes wet with tears, I rock back and forth on the stool, trying to push the bittersweet memory from my mind. I am afraid that if I start to sob, then I will sob and sob until there are no tears to cry and I am left a shriveled and dried raisin.

Through my teary eyes, I spot a sewing kit on the dresser. In it are two colours of thread, red and yellow, and a pair of glistening scissors.

I feel calm as I take in a deep breath and undo the braid in my hair, combing it through once more. With shaking hands, I part my hair down the middle and make sure that it is straight and flat. Then, with one smooth motion, I close the scissors over the hair by my chin. Thick air rushes out of my lungs, calling for silent, burning tears to follow it as I open the scissors once more and stare at the damage done: one chopped lock, shorter than the rest, resting by my chin in a messy cut.

My lungs rattle.

How can I look the same when she's gone and everything is different? I can't.

I cut in as straight a line I can, using my jaw as a guide. The tricky part is the back, which I can't see very well, so I do the best I can with touch instead of sight. Locks of silver hair surround me on the floor, scattered in a broken halo.

I leave the room without looking at my reflection again.

When Meliodas and Veronica come to get me later, they stare at me like I am not the person they knew yesterday. They are wide-eyed, shocked, their eyes fixed to my face and the new change I have made to my appearance.

"You cut your hair," Says Veronica, her eyebrows high. Grabbing hold of facts whilst in the midst of shock is very Erudite of her. Her hair sticks up on one side, from where she slept on it, and her eyes are bloodshot.

"Yeah," I blush a little, suddenly feeling self-conscious. "It's...too hot for long hair."

"Fair enough," She sniffs. Then a mischievous smirk works its way onto her lips. "Maybe I'll do it too."

I feel like reminding her that she is Abnegation and so she won't be allowed to do that. Members of Abnegation are all the same. They have the same clothes, the same hair, the same look, the same beliefs. Cutting her hair like mine, in a short, uneven bob, will only make Veronica an outsider - a rule breaker. Abnegation did not take well to rule breakers, especially those who are already pledged to be part of the faction.

But, instead of saying anything, I only nod. I don't say anything because I can't. If I want to change because nothing is the same, then of course Veronica does. I do not blame her for not wanting to be reminded of Margaret and father at every waking second.

We walk down the hallway together. With every step, the floorboards creak beneath our feet, obvious and noticeable. I miss the way my footsteps used to echo in the Dauntless compound; I miss the cool underground air that somehow felt fresher than up here. But mostly I miss the small, petty fears of last week, the fears I face now being much bigger and dangerous than those had ever really been. Much more real.

We exit the building, the air pushing against me like a suffocating pillow. Everything smells green, like a leaf when you tear it in half, most likely because everything surrounding us was green. Trees, grass, plants: Amity was based around farming and agriculture and so everything around them reflected that. Everything around them was to do with nature, plants and animals - which I have never really seen before.

"Does everyone know that you're Damon's son?" Veronica suddenly asks, raising a brow at Meliodas. "The Abnegation, I mean?"

"Not to my knowledge," Meliodas sniffs, shrugging. He glances at Veronica. "But I would appreciate it if you didn't mention it."

"I don't need to mention it. Anyone with eyes can see it," Veronica huffs, frowning at him. Her skepticism and judgement isn't at all hidden. She was being protective again, like she had been many years ago, looking out for me because no-one else - including myself - could. Her gaze narrows at Meliodas. "How old are you anyway?"

"Eighteen."

"And you don't think that's too old to be with my little sister?"

Meliodas lets out a short laugh. "She isn't your little anything."

"Stop it. Both of you," I say firmly, cutting between them both. A crowd of people in yellow walks ahead of us, toward a wide, squat building made entirely of glass. Rays of sunlight bounced from the walls and roof, feeling like a pinch to my eyes, the glass panels gleaming and shining brightly. As we got closer to the building, I shield my face with my hands, wanting to continue but hating the harsh pinch in my eyes.

Kind and welcoming, the doors to the building are wide open. Around the edge of the circular greenhouse, flourishing plants and trees grow in troughs of water or small pools. Dozens of fans positioned around the room serve only to blow the hot air around, so I am already sweating from the humidity. But that fades away from me when the crowd of yellow thins and I get a glimpse of the rest of the bright room.

In the room's centre grows a big tree. Wide and healthy and immense, its branches stretch over most of the greenhouse, and its twisting roots bubble up from the ground, forming a dense web of bark and wood. In the spaces between the roots, I spot not dirt but water, and metal rods fixing the roots into place. I should not be surprised - the Amity spend their lives accomplishing agricultural feats such a this one, with the help of Erudite technology.

Standing on a cluster of roots is Aunt Nadja, her hair falling over the scarred part of her face. I learned in Faction History that Amity does not recognise an official leader - they vote on everything, and the result is usually close to unanimous. They are like the many parts of a single mind and Nadja only acts as the mouthpiece. The part that does the talking for the rest of the collective body.

Comfortably, the Amity sit on the floor, their legs crossed, in knots and clusters that oddly resemble tree roots to me. The Abnegation sit in tight rows a few yards to my left. My eyes scan the crowd of grey for a few seconds before I realise what I'm trying to look for: my lost family.

I swallow hard and try to forget. Meliodas touches the small of my back, guiding me to the edge of the meeting space, behind the Abnegation. Before we sit down, he puts his mouth next to my ear and says, "I like your hair that way."

I find a small smile to give him and lean into him as we sit down, my arm brushing against his. A subtle sign of affection. A subtle thanks.

Nadja lifts her hands and bows her head. All conversation in the room ceases before I can draw the next breath. All around me the Amity sit in silence, some with their eyes closed, some with their lips mouthing words I cannot hear, some staring at a far off point. Uncomfortable, weird: every second chafes. By the time Nadja is done and lifts her head once more, I am ground down to the bone.

"We have before us today an urgent question," Nadja speaks, her voice ringing around the warm glass building. "Which is: How will we conduct ourselves in this time of conflict as people who pursue peace and only peace?"

Every Amity in the room turns to the person beside them and starts talking.

"How do they get anything done?" I ask, as the minutes of chatter wear on. Even though I am someone who believes in democracy, a system in which everyone gets a say, this is ridiculous. Fairness and equality is important, but time is too. Very important.

"They don't care about efficiency," Meliodas says, seeming just as bothered about the pointless chattering. However, he seems more knowledgeable about this, as he simply points toward Nadja. "All they care about agreement. Watch."

Two women in yellow dresses a few feet away rise from a group of them. Then they join a trio of men. A young man shifts so that his small circle becomes a large one with the group next to him. All around the room, the smaller crowds merge into bigger ones, growing and expanding, and fewer and fewer voices fill the room, until there are only three or four. I can only hear pieces of what they say: "Peace - Dauntless - Erudite - safe house - involvement- "

"This is bizarre," I say, watching as the groups continue to move and change.

"I think it's beautiful," Meliodas says, smiles.

I give him a look.

"What?" He laughs a little. "They each have an equal role in government; they each feel equally responsible. And it makes them care; it makes them kind. I think that's beautiful."

"I think it's unsustainable," I say, thinking about all the possible things that could go wrong. "Sure, it works for the Amity. But what happens when not everyone wants to strum banjos and grow crops? What happens when someone does something terrible and talking can't solve the problem?"

Meliodas shrugs, "I guess we'll find out."

Eventually, someone from the big groups steps out and heads toward Nadja, picking their way carefully over the roots of the ginormous tree. I expect them to address the rest of us, but instead they stand in a circle with Nadja and the other spokespeople and talk quietly. I begin to get the feeling that I will never get to hear what they are saying.

"They're not going to let us argue with them, are they?" I ask, watching the expressions of the smaller cluster of people.

"Doubt it," Meliodas agrees. He is no longer smiling, instead focused on deciphering what they were talking about.

We are done for.

When everyone has said his or her piece, they all leave Nadja and sit back down, leaving my aunt alone in the centre of the room again. Carefully, she angles her body toward us and folds her hands before her, in her lap. Where will we go if they tell us to leave? Back into the city, where nothing is safe? Hiding away from a murderous Erudite who will stop at nothing to find us? That fate would be the same as just handing us over.

"Our faction has had a close relationship with Erudite for as long as any of us can remember. We need each other to survive and we have always cooperated with each other," Nadja begins, her features calm like a pool of water. "But we have always had a strong relationship with Abnegation in the past and we do not think it is right to revoke the hand of friendship when it has been extended for so long."

Her voice is honey-sweet, and moves like honey too, slow and careful. I wipe the sweat from my hairline with the back of my hand, glad that I no longer have long hair that sticks to me when I'm sweaty. Nervous.

"We feel that the only way to maintain our friendships with both factions is to remain impartial and uninvolved," She continues, remaining calm and careful. Measured. "Your presence here, though welcome, does complicate that quite a bit."

'Here it comes,' I think. 'This is where we will be cast out.'

"So we have established the conclusion that this faction's headquarters will be a safe house for all members of all factions," A nice, pretty smile stretches across her hair-covered face. It makes her eyes shine with innocent youth. "Under a set of conditions. The first is that no weaponry of any kind is allowed on the compound. The second is that if any serious conflict arises, verbal or physical, all involved parties will be asked to leave. The third is that the conflict will not be discussed, even privately, within the confines of this compound. And the fourth is that everyone staying here must contribute to the environment by helping out. We will report this to Erudite, Candor and Dauntless as soon as possible."

Her gaze drifts to Meliodas and I and stays there.

"You are welcome to stay here if and only if you are willing to abide by our rules," Nadja repeats. "That is our decision."

I think of the gun stowed away under my mattress, and the tension between me and Estarossa, and Meliodas, Zeldris and Damon, any my mouth feels dry. Tough. I am not good at avoiding conflict - even if I don't particularly enjoy it.

"We won't be able to stay for long," I say, the fear and anxiety leaking into my voice as I tug on Meliodas' arm.

A moment ago, he was still faintly smiling. Now the corners of his mouth have disappeared into a frown. "No, we won't."