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I wake up early and get dressed. I look at my hair and realize it's grown too long again, so I cut it short. The sun has just begun to peek out at me when I reach the train platform, my old instincts telling me to jump for the carriages. But I don't, because now the train stops at each station, a reminder that everything can change, that a revolution can affect even a small thing like the application of brakes. I reach the Hub, still sleek in all its urban glory, and there it is, my other life, the one that distracts me every day yet makes me scorn the noise of human companionship.
Johanna Reyes is receiving a call as I walk in, and she beckons me to take a seat.
"Well of course it would be within my interests," she says, her voice calm and steady. "Perhaps I could bring along a few of my assistants." I raise my eyebrows, wondering where we are going. The call ends and Johanna turns to me, her scar in full view now, as if it is a symbol of her resilience. And it is. She twiddles a pen around her fingers, pondering me for a few moments, before speaking. "We have been invited to visit several cities," she explains, "and speak to the people there about GDs and the truth behind them. We need to present scientific evidence, and for that I need our researchers." I nod, thinking of Matthew, who has done so much for us despite the propaganda of GDs before.
"We need Christina, who can deal with people well, and Cara, because of her position at that lab," I say, the words rushing out of my mouth. The truth is I don't want to go alone into a foreign city without my friends, or what's left of them. We've been through so much together that experiencing something outside our city and the Bureau would feel like something was missing.
I'd been to the neighbouring cities before; Milwaukee, where Peter worked, and Minnesota and the other metropolitan hubs, but only just to visit, never going on a public political intention. They were strange places, unfamiliar places, dirty and sometimes depressing and definitely different from the life I knew in Chicago. The people there seemed like soldiers or sleepwalkers, living each day like it was something to just get over with. I suppose for many, it is.
I find Zeke dozing in the lobby, his badge and gun in their holsters, his arm rising up and down across his chest. I look at the clock and it's only ten in the morning, but here Zeke slumps, sleeping like the dead save for his noisy snore. I shake him awake, and his bloodshot eyes stare at me for a millisecond before his eyelids droop and he slumps over even more.
"Let him sleep," says George, walking over to us. "The baby kept him up all night and he'll die falling into the street if he dozes more on his shift. Can't have Shauna angry at me." He winks, and all I can think about for a second is that his eyes crinkle at the edges the way Tori's used to. I brush these thoughts away, because they're painful and dangerous and have no business being in my head, not after all this time.
I nod, then smile, thinking of the little human that Zeke and Shauna share their love with now, a gurgling bundle of spittle and smelly cloth. Within minutes of being born, she had her father's finger clamped in her toothless gums, a fierce little stare coming from her dark eyes. She reminded me of Lynn, a character I never knew that well, but with that same adamant expression in her eyes.
George speaks. "Johanna says you might be going on a little bit of an excursion. Have you considered your security?"
I reply, "Of course. I hope there won't be a need to use the weapons we'll be armed with, though. This trip is supposed to foster peace and good ties with the cities, after all." I sit down across from Zeke, who mutters the words nappy, bib, and carrots in his sleep. I look at George Wu, and see so much of Tori in him that it hurts, the same way it is when Caleb crosses my line of sight.
"Amar and I want to come along to help with the protection. Not just that, but…" he hesitates, and I finish for him. "You're GP and it would help to convince the public eye if a GP speaks for us. Right?" He shrugs, mildly embarrassed.
"Something like that. But convincing them doesn't mean that I agree with these labels, that just because I'm Divergent I should have the benefits of having more of their sympathy. It's just the way these people think."
"Glad to know you're so familiar with it," I snap, although I know he means well, and I know there's nothing wrong with my genes.
George purses his lips, obviously frustrated, and I shake my head and try to talk some sense into myself. "I'm sorry. It's just been weirder than usual, these past few days."
He looks at me with pity, a look I hate receiving, and says, "I know." And I laugh. Because there's no way he does.
Caitlin smiles her toothless smile at me as Christina and I bend over her cradle. She has a black rattle which she swings around like a mace, laughing at the sound of the chaos inside, the beads all bashing against each other. Zeke and Shauna look exhausted, worn out, and completely ready to topple. Zeke has been working his policing job at day, and is kept up at night by Caitlin, who he claims is always hungry and loud about it. Shauna, in her wheelchair, has tangled hair and circles under her eyes and claims that if she doesn't get at least a day off, she's going to kick the bucket. "Or at least get even more insane," Zeke says, a tired attempt as his usual humor.
Their small apartment smells of food, the aroma wafting out from the kitchen, where Cara and Matthew emerge from, bearing platters of something that looks suspiciously premade and reheated. The Candor in Christina can't help but remark on it, and Cara and Matthew laugh, that small laugh possessed by quiet, studious people, and Christina clears the table so they can set down the hot food.
Caleb comes quietly behind them, bearing plates and silverware carefully stacked. He sets them down gently, and Christina comes to help him distribute them. They both reach for the plates, their hands touching, and I wonder if the look they share is purely my imagination. It's gone in a second, and I turn back to where Caitlin lies, fiercely happy as I rock her crib, enjoying the dip and sway of her little world.
Dinner is a lively affair, as lively as Zeke and Shauna can afford to be, both getting moderately drunk, moderate by the standards in Dauntless at least. Christina and I also partake, although Matthew timidly sips his small glass of booze, and Cara refrains altogether. Caleb surprises me, because he drinks more than anyone, and I wonder if he's going through something difficult. Probably a failed hypothesis.
Everyone is a little bit noisy, except for me. I feel like an intruder, although I know these people, know them so well. In the dim glow of the lamps in Zeke and Shauna's house, I view the evening like a spectator would, in bits and glimpses. The ring on Cara's finger with a small blue stone, which sparkles from time to time, just like Caleb's once-again empty glass. Christina's hair, which she's finally let grow out, cascading over one shoulder as she refills it. Zeke and Shauna, tired and worn but at least not empty, and Matthew, who fingers the string on his neck, smiling as he grips the back of Cara's chair.
But it's towards the end, when Christina helps me bring out the Dauntless cake with a single candle flaming on top, do I realized just how much older we've all gotten. We help Caitlin blow out the candle, and I can't help but feel sad when the flame dies.
R&R! Would appreciate this so much. By the way, my story is also found on wattpad, bearing the same title, of course. Cheers :)