A/N: Thank you to everyone who has favorited, followed, and/or been writing reviews for this story! You really inspire me to keep going. Thank you also to my wonderful beta reader, Rosalie!

Chapter 7: Tobias – Gratitude

The store owner, whose name we learn is David, insists that we stay with him while we're in Pittsburgh. He has a small apartment by Chicago standards, but I'm sure it's quite large for this city – with a kitchen and living room in addition to a bedroom and private bathroom. Compared with the tiny one-room apartment we saw the last time I was here, this place is enormous.

We sit in the living room, Kevin's long body taking up most of the small blue couch while David and I occupy the plush mis-matched chairs that form the other side of the conversation area. But I'm not really looking at either of them – I'm still staring at the paper that David kept for all these months. I guess I'm hoping that more information will magically appear on it if I look long enough.

The man who bought Anna's ring is young – probably in his early twenties – and average sized, with reddish-blond hair and pale skin. David said they didn't talk much, but judging by his accent, the man has probably always lived in Pittsburgh. The only thing David noted from the conversation was that the man wanted to surprise his girlfriend with the ring so they could get married before their baby came.

It's depressingly little to go on – certainly not enough to find him in this city full of people. So, we end up focusing our attention on the fact that he paid in cash – and speculating from there.

"What percent of the population would have been able to afford that price?" Kevin asks curiously, sounding like the Erudite he is.

"On a payment plan," David begins, "close to five percent of my customers could have afforded it. I priced it for that range. But to pay in cash?" He shakes his head. "That was highly unusual…."

"And I assume that tells you something about his profession?" Kevin presses.

David's face shows distaste. "Well, yes. Either he was a member of one of the prominent families, or he did something…illicit, at best." He scratches the bald spot on the top of his head before continuing. "He didn't have a bodyguard with him, so I doubt he belonged to one of the families, or that he was a pimp or in charge of a gang. And he wasn't large enough to be an enforcer for a loan shark."

A vague sense of revulsion goes through me at the possibilities that David is listing, and at the idea of Anna's ring being with someone like that. But I push it aside and keep my focus on our host.

"Overall," he says thoughtfully, "I think he was probably a thief."

It's slightly better than the other options, but I still don't like the idea. Most of the people in this country are barely surviving as it is – they can't afford to have someone steal from them.

And with that thought comes additional doubt. "How could he have made that much money by robbing such a poor population?" I ask.

"He couldn't," Kevin answers flatly. "The numbers don't add up. Besides, if he was stealing from people, why not simply steal a ring when he wanted one?" He shakes his head, dismissing the idea. But then another thought seems to occur to him.

"Unless he stole from businesses…" he says slowly. "In that case, he'd end up with whatever they had – which probably wouldn't be jewelry – and when he sold that, he'd have cash."

I have to think about that for a moment, remembering what little I know about businesses in NUSA. My mind goes to the building where we hid in Philadelphia. They were a manufacturer of some sort, but they only had one guard on duty at night – Margot's ex-boyfriend, Simon. It's easy to see how someone could have stolen from them – and could have ended up with enough money to pay for Anna's ring as a result.

But David looks startled by the suggestion. "I can't say I ever heard of anyone doing that," he says hesitantly. His eyes turn to me. "NUSA's broadcasts encouraged us to serve businesses almost as much as the government itself, so it's difficult to imagine someone stealing from them."

That's undoubtedly true, yet something about it doesn't quite make sense. It takes me a little while to realize why... If no one ever stole from businesses, why would Simon's company have hired him in the first place? Why would any security be needed, even just a single guard? Clearly, there was some risk.

"He must have been resistant to the serum," I say, suddenly feeling no doubt that it's true. Given the extreme wealth discrepancy in NUSA, where so much abundance sat right in front of people who were starving…of course someone who was resistant would be tempted to go after it.

But I don't know if that helps us find the man we're looking for or not. He obviously wasn't part of the rebel group, since he didn't leave the city with Lauren and the others who went into hiding – he couldn't have, or he wouldn't have been here to buy the ring the next day. And he must not have known that NUSA was increasing the dose of serum in the drinking water, or he wouldn't have been out casually buying a ring during that time period.

And that means he presumably drank the water, and that may have caused him to turn himself in…. If so, he's probably dead now, I realize bitterly, unless we stopped NUSA before that happened.

Turning to David, I ask, "If he committed that type of crime, and then turned himself in, where would he have been questioned?"

"I don't honestly know," David answers, looking nonplussed. "Maybe the main police station?" He chews on his lip for a few seconds before nodding as if he's sure there's no better option. "I can take you there tomorrow if you want to check."

For another moment, I hesitate. There's far more guesswork in all of this than I'd like, but at the same time, several paths seem to lead to the police station…. If the man we're looking for turned himself in – for any crime – and is still alive, he's probably in jail there. And if he's dead, the police might have his possessions. And even if none of that ever happened, the police station probably has records of business thefts, and maybe those could help us find him, somehow. It's certainly better than wandering around looking randomly.

"Yeah," I say rather tersely, "let's give that a try."

David cooks some type of stir-fry for dinner, and we eat in our same seats in the living room. The food is surprisingly tasty, though that might be because the only previous meals I've eaten in this country were absolutely awful. Still, I take note of the spices he used so I can suggest them to Uriah when we get back. He's always looking to experiment with new recipes.

I offer to clean up afterwards, out of some old Abnegation habit, or perhaps because I'm used to taking turns with chores in my current faction, but David adamantly refuses. It's clear that he's determined to take care of his guests.

So, Kevin and I sit in silence while David washes the dishes by hand, his clinking noises carrying in from the kitchen.

"You didn't tell me about the broadcast," Kevin finally says, watching me carefully. "Why not?"

I shrug, looking away uncomfortably. I knew this subject was likely to arise, but that doesn't make me any more anxious to discuss it.

"It didn't seem important," I mutter.

"Really?" Kevin states, raising an eyebrow. "You're in an abuse support group, and you didn't think it was relevant to tell your sponsor that you broadcast a message about your own personal abuse to an entire country? That didn't seem worth sharing?"

I'm not sure whether to be amused or annoyed at that description. When he says it like that, it seems ludicrous that I didn't speak up sooner, but I know that's not the full story.

"It didn't change what happened to me, or what I did, or what I need to do next," I argue back. "So, why does it matter?"

Kevin opens his mouth to answer but then closes it again, staring at me with a confused, flustered expression as if he can't even begin to formulate a response. It's a rare look to see on an Erudite.

"Tobias," he finally says, "judging by everything I heard today, you single-handedly changed the face of abuse for all of NUSA. Our program helps some fifty people a year, but you…." He pauses, shaking his head a little," You helped hundreds of thousands – maybe millions – of people in one fell swoop. That isn't something to ignore."

But I want to do exactly that. I'm even quite sure why – I just know that the need to move is suddenly coursing through me, and I'm on my feet and pacing the room before I have a chance to think about it. Kevin watches me, his face appraising, and I know he's waiting for me to be ready to talk.

So, I try to think my way through this. It bothered me to share what I did in the broadcast, of course. Those memories were far too personal for me to want to show them to everyone. But at the same time, I don't regret doing that, not after seeing how much it helped people. And I've talked about those same memories in group sessions, so it's not as if I'm trying to hide them from Kevin. I just don't want to talk about the transmission itself….

And finally it occurs to me why.

"I shouldn't have done the broadcast at all," I admit, pulling the words painfully out of me. "Tris was always better at it. She was supposed to do it."

Kevin waits, but I can't seem to say anything else. Anger is pulsing through me now, but it's not directed at him. It's aimed squarely at me.

"The only reason she didn't," I add bitterly, "is because I broke her ribs and left her lying half-dead in a basement." The self-hatred is building, and I snarl, "How am I supposed to take credit for that? As if it's something good?"

I turn away from Kevin, pacing the small room furiously. All I can picture now is the way Tris looked as she slumped down the wall that I smashed her into. As she gasped for air she couldn't find while the light slowly left her eyes. She could so easily have died in that moment, and it would have been entirely my fault.

And people want to treat me like a hero because of that? No. I won't put up with it.

The need to hit something is abruptly overwhelming. I need to move, to get this adrenaline out of me, to turn it outwards and keep it from smashing and slicing and eating up everything inside me. I claw at the sides of my head, trying to somehow release it.

Kevin's hands grip my wrists hard, halting my motion and freezing me in place. My eyes snap to his, glaring.

"Tobias," he says firmly. "Stop."

I step back quickly, pulling myself free in a sharp motion. But then I stand still, breathing hard and trying to regain control of myself. I've never seen Kevin intervene physically before, and I know if he's doing it now, it must be because he was afraid of what I'd do. That I'd hurt myself.

So, I start my calming routine, breathing in and out while I repeatedly form my hands into fists and force them open again. Finally, I nod stiffly. Kevin nods too before speaking.

"I'm not going to minimize what you did to Tris," he tells me solidly. "You know I'll never do that. But it's important to recognize the things we do right as well as the ones we do wrong. And regardless of the circumstances around it, you did a lot of good with that broadcast."

Some type of scoffing noise comes out of me, and Kevin gives a long, discouraged sigh in response. He runs his hands down the sides of his face.

"Can I ask you a question?" he finally says, his voice softer now.

Part of me wants to snap no, but I do know that he's trying to help. And he's done enough for me in the past to deserve my attention now. So, I nod, swallowing hard.

His voice is very quiet this time. "Do you think that my sponsoring people makes up for what I did to Elena?"

The words startle me out of my current train of thought, and for a few seconds, I just stare at him.

"No," I answer honestly.

He nods a little, to himself I think. "I agree," he says. His expression is vulnerable when he meets my gaze again. "But is it worth doing anyway?"

The word forms itself without conscious thought – "Yes" – and suddenly I understand his point. It's impossible to accept it as right, but at the same time…I can't argue against it. The good he's doing is separate from the harm he caused, and both need to be remembered. And the same is true with me.

I just don't know if I can do that yet.

"Look," Kevin continues, his voice still unusually soft, "it's obvious that you're not comfortable discussing this yet. I'm sorry I pushed you." He holds his hands up, palms out, in a reassuring motion, and something inside me does relax a little in response.

"I'm just going to say one more thing," he adds, "because it's something I need to say and something you need to hear, and then I'll drop it. Okay?"

I look at him uncertainly, not sure if I should agree, but I finally nod. Kevin has never steered me wrong before.

He nods a little, too, his expression serious. "Thank you," he says firmly. His gaze holds mine. "I've lived the full spectrum of abuse, so it seems fair for me to say that on behalf of everyone who will never have to live it because of you. Everyone who will never be hit the way you and I both were. And everyone who will never know the horror of losing control and hurting the people they love, and then having to live with that for the rest of their lives."

He closes his eyes and repeats, "Thank you."

All I can do is stare. In that moment, I'm sure I'll never be able to speak again. Some strange type of prickly energy is travelling up and down every nerve in my body, and it's completely closing my throat.

"Someday, you'll be ready to accept those thanks," Kevin says softly. "It may be tomorrow, or it may be ten years from now. It's okay either way." One side of his mouth lifts a little. "We'll talk about it again whenever you're ready to say 'you're welcome.'"

It's impossible to answer verbally, so I just turn my attention to the floor, looking at the worn carpet as if it's the most fascinating thing in the world. After a very long time, I finally nod, acknowledging his words. Whether I respond to them or not, I know they're now firmly imbedded in my brain, and they'll stick with me until we eventually talk about this again.

I just don't know yet if that's a good or bad thing.

David insists on sleeping on the floor, leaving the bed and the couch available for his guests. I try to take the couch, knowing that Kevin is too tall for it, but really, he only has an inch on me, so it's a weak argument. And when he ultimately refuses to get off it, insisting he'd rather just sleep there, I give up and head to the bedroom.

It's hardly a shock that my sleep is restless, filled with dreams of my father and NUSA and Tris. I wake up in the very early morning, momentarily disoriented and alarmed, and then lie there listening to my heart pounding in the silent apartment. When I finally fall asleep again, I enter a dream I didn't expect.

I'm wandering around this country that used to be NUSA, while person after person approaches me. A little girl with bruises all over her face smiles at me and whispers, "Thank you." She's followed by a boy who might be her brother, though it's hard to tell through the blood covering his head. He grasps my arm, catching my attention as he echoes the girl's words.

A middle-aged woman who bears some resemblance to my mother follows them, murmuring her thanks as she touches my cheek lightly. She's joined by the manager from the store we visited earlier in the day, and then by her children and finally her husband. He holds my gaze for a very long time before saying, "Thank you for saving me from myself."

He shakes my hand, and when he moves away, I realize that there's a long line of people waiting to greet me. They approach me one by one, each showing me their injuries or those they inflicted, and each thanking me for changing their lives.

The line goes on and on, an endless stream of abusers and victims, until I can no longer see the individuals and I lose all sense of time. It's not until a familiar face emerges that I focus again.

My father is in front of me, standing tall and straight and wearing Abnegation gray. His eyes are on me, the same dark blue that I grew up fearing and hating. But now they look the way they did the last time I saw him – when he looked like he was proud of me.

"Thank you, son," he tells me, his voice breaking in a manner I've never heard before. "For making sure it ended with me."

He shifts to the side a little, and suddenly he's holding an infant – a child with the same deep blue eyes, and I stare at it, wondering even in the dream if it's me.

But I get my answer when he turns to the side, handing the baby to a woman who has just appeared, and I find myself looking at Tris as she holds what I now know without question is our child.

A longing like I've never felt before goes through me at the sight of them together – at the idea that I could be with them. That I could have this life.

The people around them fade into the background as my eyes lock with Tris'. She holds the baby up, as if offering it to me, and she steps closer.

"Thank you, Tobias," she says softly, her face filled with love and trust. "Thank you for keeping us safe."

I don't know how long I stare at her and at our child before I answer.

"You're welcome," I whisper.

A/N: I'm going on a short vacation, so it will probably be a week before the next chapter is posted. In the meantime, please let me know what you thought of this chapter. It's obviously an important one in both plot and character development, so I'd really appreciate your feedback. Thanks!