Author's note: Hello! Sorry I disappeared for a while - I had a big exam this week, but now it's over and I plan on updating again more regularly. I guess this is the point where I should share with you guys that I don't really know where this is going. I've been winging it for a while now, and the only thing that would really make sense to me at this point would be for Tris and Four to truly take on the task of helping their country overcome the GD/GP problem... But that would take forever. I don't know if I want to write another book! What do you guys think? I would hate to end this with a meaningless ending (or leave it too open), but I also don't want to drag it on forever. It's already quite long. But the meeting of the Chicago people is coming up soon and that I look forward to! And there's a lot of room to see what's going on with some of the characters... Oh, the dilemma. My problem is probably chapters like this one that don't really add much to the plot. But they're so much fun to write! Anyway, I'd be glad if you share your thoughts and here's the new chapter. Enjoy and thanks for the reviews / follows / faves!

Chapter Sixteen:

FOUR'S POV:

The next few days feel like they go by so fast my memory of them is just a blur. I get up blood early to work at the greenhouses. Afterwards I talk to anyone and everyone I see about the upcoming meeting. At first I am uncertain how to approach them, but soon I learn to recognize the fear and uncertainty in their eyes. We're all strangers, and lost here. And somehow that makes it easier for me to find a way in; I tap into the fears, I ask questions, I listen. Soon people are sharing their ideas with me, their hopes and their dreams. I don't know how I've gone from Four the intimidating instructor – who Tris considered to be as approachable as a bed of nails – to someone people pour their hearts out to, but it feels right. With aching muscles and soil still underneath my nails, I listen. And after that I go to see Tris. She asks me how my day was and I end up telling her more and more. In those moments she listens, offering a word of comfort or counsel or laughter in between, but mostly just listening. I also go see Tin and Evelyn every day. We still feel a bit uncomfortable around each other, but we are learning to relax more. I asked Zoe yesterday if I could borrow the golf cart and she said she would have to ask – I'm hoping I can take Tin out for a ride in it. It's been snowing in earnest lately, so I'll probably have to wait until the weather lightens up.

In this way a week passes. It is the day before the meeting and I am on my way from my room to see Tris in the hospital. She's been visibly getting better – her rigid workout plan is having positive effects. There's still the twitching in her left hand and I guess she'll limp until some time after the bullet is removed from her leg, but it's amazing how fast she's progressing. The doctors remain consistent in not giving us any clear answers, but I think she should be able to leave the hospital soon.

When I approach Tris's room I hear voices coming out of it. First I hear her clear voice and then, a deep man's voice. Dr. Cooke? I can't understand what they're saying, so I slowly move closer. Something in their tones seems intense. It's probably not right to listen, but curiosity gets the better of me. I stand right next to the door with my back pushed tightly against the wall and take shallow breaths. There's silence now. Then I hear the man's voice – it's definitely Dr. Cooke – say

"Miss Prior, have you been to see someone like I suggested?" I don't hear any answer, but Dr. Cooke sighs. "Are you absolutely sure you want to do this? High levels of pain are just as likely to trigger bad memories. More likely, actually, considering the fact that you really wouldn't notice anything under anesthesia."

"I'm sure." Tris's voice sounds tight. I feel my own muscles tense at the strain in it. "Dr. Cooke, I want this over with. I want to move on."

There's a slight rustling sound, papers crumpling. "Yes. I know. And it does seem as if you are physically prepared. Neurologically also."

"So? What else do I need?" Tris asks.

"Not all wounds can be found in the body," is his reply. I find myself nodding. "All right, if this is your wish, I'll let Dr. Zimmermann know. He already gave you his ok?"

"Yes," I hear Tris say faintly.

"He'll be performing the surgery and overlooking your recovery. I don't think I can help you any further; your physical therapy will eventually help you overcome the twitching and the minor issues left with your fine coordination – the rest you seem to have overcome already."

I hear footsteps and nearly panic, but then I move sideways down the hall away from the door with my back still against the wall. I'll just pretend I'm arriving now. But Dr. Cooke isn't quite finished. He says, "Miss Prior, I do hope you will consider talking to a psychologist or psychiatrist. It's ok to accept help once in a while. Good night."

His footsteps begin again and I quickly move away from the wall and act casual. Dr. Cooke sees me walking towards him as he's leaving Tris's room. "Ah! Mr. Eaton! I was actually wondering where you were!" His genuine smile is almost infectious. I wonder if this is what it would be like to actually have a father. The thought makes the smile that was almost finding its way onto my face wither.

"Yeah, I guess I'm never too far from her," I answer awkwardly.

"No," Dr. Cooke says, suddenly serious. "You're not, and for that I'm glad." His smile returns just as suddenly and he claps my shoulder. "Well, good night then!"

"Good night, Dr. Cooke," I say.

Tris is sitting on her bed facing the door when I walk in. Her elbows rest on her knees and her head in her hands; the dusk light coming in from the window makes her hair look almost orange. I close the door behind me and pull the empty chair up so I'm sitting in front of her. She doesn't move. I let a moment pass, then I gently pull her arms towards me and tug her into a tight embrace. It's so good to have her here pressing against me.

"Hey," I say.

"Hey," she mutters into my shoulder.

"I overheard part of your conversation with Dr. Cooke. I hope you don't mind." I hear a muffled no in response. "Are you ok?" I ask. There's a pause. Then another muffled no. I pull away from her and let my eyes roam across her face: they start at her chin, then go slowly over her lips, meander around her cheeks, then follow the straight line of her nose and finally end at her eyes. Those bright eyes, so alive. Why do I see so much fear in them now?

"You're going to let them take the bullet out without a full anesthesia." I say. It isn't a question. Tris nods. "When?" I ask.

"The day after tomorrow."

"Are you afraid it will hurt?"

She hesitates, then shakes her head. "I know it will hurt. I can take pain."

"Then what's wrong?"

Tris looks me straight in the eye for a long time. I feel trapped in her stare, like I can't move as long as her eyes remain fixed on mine. Finally she breaks her gaze and frees me. "I'm afraid of my fear," is all she says.

What can I say to this? The man who spent months going through his own fear landscape nearly every day? The man who voluntarily submitted himself to witnessing his fears over and over, trying to conquer them, and then had his greatest fear truly come to life and nearly let it break him? There is nothing I can say. So I just take her hand – it twitches occasionally, which I ignore – in mine and we sit that way until the room grows dark.

(page break)

TRIS'S POV:

I'm already falling asleep when Tobias leaves. He kisses my forehead lightly and I'm so far gone I only manage to mumble something unintelligible when I try to say good night. The last thing I hear before sleep takes me are the words, "I love you" murmured gently against my skin.