Note: All characters and story in general came right from Veronica Roth's head, not mine. I only expounded on her idea. Also, ALL of the words in regular Italic font belong to Veronica Roth – her exact words. Whenever you see regular font you are seeing my wording. Also, the bold Italic words are mine and are meant to be read with typical italic flare. The first few chapters are here almost word for word from her book because I thought it was necessary to lead up to the change.
CHAPTER 54
TOBIAS
FOR THE FIRST time that I've seen, Zeke and Hana are outside Uriah's room. Dauntless funerals, if you can call them that, usually turn into a celebration - one with a lot of liquor. But here, death is met with sympathy. Here they acknowledge that death is a sad thing. It's more fitting. I watch as people step up to them to say insufficient condolences; some knew all three of them, but most only knew Uriah. I will my body to move to the back of the line and I try to think of something, anything to say.
When it's my turn, I still haven't thought of anything. All I can do is stare at Zeke and try to be strong. I can tell he's searching me for something, but I don't know what it is. I struggle, but succeed, to maintain eye contact. He must find what he's looking for; he gives me a nod and looks toward Hana. I take the queue and look to her too. Tears for her are not a sign of weakness; I wonder if she's stopped crying since she got here. She holds my stare for only a moment before pulling me to her. Hugging is still an awkward thing for me, but much like in my relationship with Tris, I don't touch anyone idly. If this is what she needs to be comforted, I am going to do my best to give it to her. I am about to pull my arms away when I hear her voice in my ear.
"Your girl is strong, Four. She's going to make it through this. My Uri was special and strong, but some of the light left him when Marlene died. Tris has something to fight for. Don't you forget that, okay? She's dauntless, maybe more than the rest of us."
She unwraps her arms just enough to grab me by the shoulders with one hand and rest her other on my cheek.
"Be brave." Those are the same words I've said to anyone just before I put them through any kind of trauma; Tris just before her fear simulation, Eric just before I killed him, Peter just before the memory serum. And those are the words I need most to hear. I think she knows it, too. She nods once and lets go of me completely.
Walking back to Tris' room I think about Hana. Since the accident happened I've been consumed with the state that Uriah was in, how Zeke would react to my betrayal, whether or not Tris would forgive me for it; I don't know that I've thought about Hana even once. Here she is, a grieving mother, really mourning the loss of her youngest child and trying to give comfort to the one indirectly responsible for it.
"Be brave," she said. Brave means not giving up even when the chances seem impossible. It means standing even when the weight holding you down is suffocating. It means moving – anywhere – even when grief is forcing you backwards.
Almost second nature, I pull my chair closer to Tris' bed, grab her hand with a squeeze and sit down. The others must have been waiting for me to get in here first, because shortly after I sit Christina, Matthew and Cara find various places to sit in the room. Christina sits in the stiff chair, Cara on the window sill and Matthew leans against the wall. It's a companionable silence. What is there to say, really?
At some point someone, Cara I think, gets us dinner and we attempt to eat while surrounding Tris' bed. Usually I am the only in the room with her at this time, but I think today we all need some solace. Watching that happen with Uriah was hard on us all.
I'm woken sometime in the middle of the night by a gentle squeeze to my hand; maybe not quite a squeeze. I'm flooded with disappointment when I see the nurse very near me checking Tris' vitals. She must have accidentally brushed my hand. I feel, rather than hear, the sigh that leaves me. The others are still here and asleep in the same places they sat in.
"Do you know what time it is?" My voice sounds hoarse and foreign.
"It's 5:30 AM. You look like you've been awake for days, why don't you try to get some sleep?" Even as she is saying it, I can tell she knows it's advice I won't really follow.
"How long have we been here? Tris? How long has Tris been in the hospital?"
"Today will be day 4." She looks at me sadly as she says this, but I can't tell what she's sadder about; that Tris has been in here that long or that I can't remember how long it's been.
Suddenly I'm aware of how stiff and sore my body is; I need movement. Getting up, I squeeze Tris' hand like I always do when I come or go. I'm usually somewhere between a violent hope of feeling her squeeze back and forcing all those hopes down. It's not hard to force them down, she hasn't moved in four days.
So it's a shock when I feel her squeeze back. I don't move for a minute, my eyes glued to her hand. Waiting. Waiting for a sound, movement, anything. It can't have been more than a minute or so when I feel it again. It's not strong and it can't be called a grip, but her fingers moved against mine and that's enough for me.
I'm terrified to walk away, to break whatever is happening right now, so I settle for getting loud.
"Hey! Hey – somebody get in here! HEY!"
Out of the corner of my eye I see all the other occupants of the room bolt upright. Christina is the first one to my side.
"She moved. She, she moved." Loud just a moment ago, I now can't bring my voice above a whisper. I'm on the brink of collapsing in sheer relief.
The doctor and the same nurse shove me back as they enter the room, ready for anything I suppose.
"What happened?" The tension in the doctor's voice is actually tangible.
Mine is the exact opposite. I whisper again, "She moved. She just moved."
"What moved, what exactly did she do?"
"She grabbed my hand. Twice, wait no, three times. I thought it was the nurse at first, but it wasn't." As the relief washes over me, my body slumps into the chair and my head falls into my hands. "She moved."
They hover over her body and are doing God knows what while we all wait. Wait and watch with bated breath. When the doctor turns around, he too has a sad smile. How could he not? Uriah's death yesterday is now married with Tris' impossible revival.
"This is good, Tobias. This is a really good sign. Her vitals are great, and she is definitely responding. If I had to guess, I'd say she'll be awake and fully cognizant within the next 24 hours. She's out of the woods." With a nod to me they leave the room.
It doesn't take long for the tension in the room to break and the laughter to start. We need this – all of us. The entire compound is looking for answers to questions that only Tris has. And I, well I need her here for more reasons than I understand. Without her, I can't help but be a broken empty shell; without her I am not worth anything. It's more than just needing her to feel good about myself, though. Tris is light. She is magnificent and a world without her doesn't make sense.
There are all kinds of people in this world. There is the kind like Tris, who, after suffering and betrayal, could still find enough love to lay down her life instead of her brother's. Or the kind like Cara, who could still forgive the person who shot her brother in the head. Or Christina, who lost friend after friend but still decided to stay open, to make new ones. Appearing in front of me is another choice, brighter and stronger than the ones I gave myself.
I have come so close to losing the most important person in my life so many different times, but none have felt as real or as close as this time. Yet here I am, being given another chance at having a life with her. All I have to do is choose to let go of everything keeping me back – all of the anger and pain and brokenness. I need to not let myself be defined by everything wrong and bad thing that's ever happened to me. I need to choose to look forward; to keep looking at what my life could be if I let it.
We've been dropped into this new world where we can make anything happen, make everything different. I could spend my years next to her warmth, trying to provoke her soft smiles and trying in vain to keep her safe and protected. We could live without baggage – much baggage – without fear or constant battle. This is the future that having Tris allows. Without her I couldn't have it; I'm not sure I'd even want it without her. But that's not something I need to think about; she's here. She's alive and she's here.
I'm almost giddy with relief and some part of me feels like I should be able to stay awake for days, but as I lay my head down on top of our hands my eyes close. I know I fall asleep with a smile on my face.
