Tris sat alone in the cafeteria, feeling self conscious. No one was paying attention to her that she could see, but she wanted nothing more than to disappear to her apartment for the night.
Eric hadn't told her where he would be, only that he wouldn't be there for dinner. She was impressed he even deigned to tell her that much, the mood he was in lately.
Not that her mood was much better. These days there was a ball of tension in the her stomach that wouldn't go away no matter what. She knew it wasn't right to let it affect her training, but that was exactly what had happened.
Training was her personal hell on Earth. Every time Eric was around it woke in her a fierce desire for his touch. Instead of finding her training cathartic as she used to, it seemed only to add to her discomfort. She always left the office and the gym feeling wound up and worse than before she went in, craving Eric's hands on her skin.
A hush fell over the cafeteria and Tris took notice. When she looked up, she found that she was, once again, the center of attention. Max stood over her table, looking harried.
"Tris. Walk with me a moment?"
"Sure," she said, although she was anything but sure. What could Max possibly want from her in the middle of dinner? Certainly anything work related could have waited until the next day, where he would call her to his office.
She followed him from the room, ignoring the way everyone was watching them. She was used to it.
"I'm afraid your training is going to be delayed for a few weeks," Max began once they were in the hall. He looked tired, but still offered her a small smile anyways.
"Why?" She was immediately confused.
"It's Eric," he explained, without really explaining anything at all. Tris felt her stomach drop, fast and heavy.
"What's wrong with Eric?" She blurted out, stopping in the middle of the hall in her suprise.
"He was shot- no, he's fine," Max amended quickly, seeing the horrified look on Tris' face. "He's in the infirmary now, getting the bullets removed. He was leading a patrol in the factionless sector when it happened."
"Bullets? How many times was he shot?" Tris gaped, unable to believe her ears.
"Just twice," Max assured her, as if it would comfort her. "But he's going to need a couple weeks to heal up, which is why I came to break the news about your training. I'll see about finding a substitute trainer, but there's really no one else who is qualified."
"Can I see him?" Tris asked, her voice sounding croaky and rough. She cleared her throat, a little embarassed.
"Of course," Max smiled gently. "But I can't promise he'll be in any mood for visitors."
Tris didn't care. Parting from Max, she made her way to the infirmary. Her hands were sweaty and she was shaking slightly by the time she reached the medical wing.
She had an image in her mind of Eric, torn open by bullet holes, face wrenched in pain as doctors bent over him trying to close his wounds before he bled out. It made her feel slightly sick to her stomach.
She walked into the infirmy to find it busy with a flurry of activity.
A harassed looking nurse stood by the reception desk, holding an icepack to a male nurse's nose.
"Excuse me," Tris said, noting with displeasure how her voice shook. "Can I see Eric please? Which room is he in?"
"Oh, him." The girl huffed, pointing with her free hand to a room just ahead. Tris thanked the nurse distractedly.
There was a privacy curtain drawn, dividing the room. Tris gritted her teeth, preparing herself, and pushed the curtain aside.
There was a lone female doctor next to the hospital bed, wrapping Eric's bare torso with thick, white gauze. Blood was already soaking through the gauze in two crimson spots.
The gunshot wounds, Tris realized, drawing in a sharp breath.
The doctor looked at her, suprised by her sudden appearance.
"Tris." Eric slurred, sounding pleased, happy even. His eyes were hazy and unfocused and he looked drunk.
"What's wrong with him?" Tris asked the doctor without taking her eyes off of Eric.
"He's sedated," the woman answered, taping the end of the gauze to Eric's chest. "He hit one of my assistants and broke his nose."
"So you drugged him?" Tris asked in disbelief. She had never seen Eric in less than perfect control of himself. The effect was startling.
"They shot me up with a needle, Tris," Eric chimed in helpfully.
"He injured one of my staff. We were following protocol." The doctor sounded clinical and indifferent as if she didn't have the time to deal with Tris' line of questioning. "Lie back please."
"Don't want to," Eric shoved the woman's hands away and shook his head.
"Please, Mr. Coulter." She tried again, sounding exasperated. Her hands barely touched his shoulders when he shoved them away again.
"No," he insisted, sounding like his normal, imposing self for a moment, until he burst out laughing.
Tris had never heard him laugh so freely before. It was strangely endearing. His lips were stretched into a wide smile, one that exposed twin dimples in his cheeks and made him look almost innocent.
"Lie down, Mr. Coulter," the doctor demanded, putting her hands on her hips.
He ignored her completely and stood up instead. Tris and the doctor rushed to grab hold of him as he swayed on the spot.
"Hurts," Eric muttered, touching his bandages and wincing. "Tris, it hurts."
"He's too far gone from the injection," the doctor told Tris, "I need you to help me get him back on the bed."
"Me? I'm not- I can't..."
"If you don't help me, he's going to rip his stitches and end up back in surgery," she said shortly. Tris couldn't really blame the woman for her impatience. Eric was hardly a model patient.
"Eric," Tris called, tightening her grip on his shoulder. His skin was cold and clammy, but damn if he didn't feel good under her palms.
"Wanna go home," he whined, hand still hovering over his wounds. "I need to sleep... don't feel too good..."
"You can sleep here," she told him, brushing the hair from his eyes with the back of her hand. Another first. She had never seen him with a single hair out of place. She stroked his hair again, imitating what her mother used to do for her when she was sick.
"Don't want to," he repeated, though he sounded less sure of himself. "Wanna go home."
"You can't go home yet. You got shot, do you remember?"
"I'm fine," he insisted.
Tris understood the doctor's exasperation. He was as argumentative and stubborn as ever, even drugged up on sedatives.
"Let them help you," she whispered in his ear, trying to soothe him.
He met her eyes then, and Tris saw a glimmer of recognition in them beneath the haze of drugs.
With a little coaxing, Tris managed to get him back into bed and into a lying position.
He protested weakly as the doctor began strapping him down to the bed with thick, nylon cords.
"Is that really neccesary?" Tris asked, her distress genuine. Eric was struggling against his bonds already and she thought for sure that he was going to pull his stitches out.
"It's for his own safety," the other woman told her, not sharing her concern. Eric gasped in pain as she tightened the strap over his chest. It was dangerously close to the bleeding wounds on his torso.
"You're hurting him," Tris snapped, grabbing her arm.
The doctor tore her arm out of Tris' grasp with a sharp glare.
"Put your hands on me again and I'll have you removed."
Tris knew she would make good on the threat. With no choice but to back down, she turned to Eric, ignoring the doctor completely.
There was a light sheen of sweat on his forehead and his features were twisted into a grimace.
"Can't you give him a painkiller?" Tris asked, but when she turned back around the doctor was gone.
She swore outloud, sure it would carry into the hall.
"Tris..." Eric groaned.
She took the chair by his bedside, pulling it closer so that she could reach his face.
"It's alright," she cooed, stroking his hair again. His eyes shut almost instantly, relief visible on his features.
"I'm glad you're here," he muttered, eyelashes fluttering against his skin. He sounded almost like his normal self except for the slight whine in his voice.
He was a pitiful sight. The usually fierce leader strapped down to the hospital bed, groaning and sweating bullets.
He was obviously in pain and Tris was beginning to think they hadn't given him any painkillers at all.
"I'm going to find a doctor. You need something for the pain."
"No, don't leave!" It sounded like an order, though there was a hint of panic in his voice.
Ruefully, Tris sat back down.
"Okay, okay. Lie still."
He eyed her suspiciously, but stopped fidgeting.
"Swear you won't leave."
"I won't leave," she promised, getting comfortable in her chair.
It was going to be a long night.