Original CH9 (after Tris and Matthew, after Four's finger, before they collide at the Bureau)
Skipped because... I didn't like it. I was writing the path to her ending up at the Bureau at the same time as Four and it's much easier to just say the bullet moved. It also was a little telenovela with all the OMG PREGNANT? so I didn't complete the chapter. And let's face it. It's kind of a filler.
No betas for omitted scenes.
Tris trudged through several inches of snow hoping for relief at her monthly appointment at the start of February. She'd been stuck with a fever and painful cough for over a week. She'd blamed the cold and the viruses spreading throughout the factionless equally, but it didn't pass in a few days. It was intensifying. Her inability to breath had limited the durations of her trips. She needed to keep to the train schedule if she couldn't walk on her own. This type of weakness was always the most frustrating to her.
Her legs bobbed back and forth as white as the thin gown which barely protected her from the cold of the stethoscope. She Inhaled then exhaled, coughed then tried again. Then they went through the questions. Nausea, fatigue, feeling tired. What about her last cycle? She thought back, then felt hot, like boiling water had flooded into her face trickling out her hands. Despite the cold of the room, she radiated. "End of December." She informed him. His arms crossed while he lowered himself onto the stool across from her.
"Tris, have you been sexually active in the last month?"
"Yes." She admitted, looking down, away, like she could find a place to shrink into.
"Did you use contraceptives?"
A solid pit was forming in her stomach as sue reflected on Matthew. "Not every time." She gulped, "I'm pregnant?"
"The only thing that's sure, is that you have pneumonia, but yes, you could be pregnant." He stated, "I will have the nurse draw blood, we need to know before we do a scan, won't take more than thirty minutes. And that will sort out that question. So let's focus on the pneumonia. Okay?"
She didn't honestly know how he thought she could, but she nodded mechanically.
"You had a partial splenectomy. Typically, the residual spleen grows to full size and full function, but it can take months or even years. If it's not functioning at 100%, you're at greater risk of bacterial infections, commonly, pneumonia." She vaguely remembered this from her recovery in the Bureau. "I want to take a swab from your nasal cavity and confirm a bacterial infection before I prescribe antibiotics. We'll also need to see that blood test before I make any decisions."
She must have looked as overwhelmed as she felt. "It's going to be okay. There are a lot of options for young women. And we don't know for sure, so just hit pause." He popped his head out the door to discuss with the nurse and order the required tests.
She came in with a syringe, the doctor following, "Arm out, she'll take the blood. Is it okay if I take a look at your wounds now?"
"Is there any way to reduce the scars?" She asked, immediately feeling stupid given the source for the concern. The rubber drew tight around her bicep while he peeled back her gown. She had to concentrate hard on the fact that he was a doctor, an objective doctor. That he was not evaluating her for a beauty contest.
"You had excellent suturing, these scars are going to be barely visible in the end. Over time, they'll fade." He commented, "Just be patient." He pressed down on her rib cage under the exit would in her chest. They'd already spent hours putting plates in place to reconstruct and reattach.
"Any pain?"
She cringed a little, but not much. He let her pull the thin sheet back over herself putting on his most assuring smile.
"You're lucky you get to form scars. I don't know how it missed your heart."
The nurse invited her to take a walk down the hallway. The first stop was the water fountain for three cups of fluid that would make her light up like neon on the scan. The second was the room with the tubular machine that could dissect her like a frog in science class with half the mess and a million times the precision.
Setting up the machine took so long, they started without the blood results; although, she could tell the technicians were dawdling. The clock hand ticked loudly, around the face and she battled between nearly hyperventilating and bargaining with the unjust God she hoped existed. Somewhere during it they took a swab of her nose but she didn't even remember it, just felt the lasting sting.
The nurses crowded around the computer on the counter, waiting for a little line of text to appear from another lab somewhere in the building, each one watching their wrists and trading sideways glances at the teen in trouble in the chair. And then they sighed together.
"What does that mean?" One asked, out loud while another took the mouse.
"Why can't we just say yes or no?" another moaned, then confirmed, "One is negative, yeah, one is negative, see the explanation?"
"You can breath, little one, its negative. You're not pregnant." They stepped away with more purpose, fiddling with the last settings.
"You're OK for the scan."
They didn't let her rest in the relief for very long. They asked her to lay very still on the plank a white cross centered on her breastbone. The machine sounded like gunfire. Without fail, it delivered her into the hands of her memories.
She fought off the feeling of panic and terror. She knew that it was neurons that the associated rapid fire with the image of Will on the ground and her mother falling in the gap between the buildings. They crushed the memories together as if they didn't happen thousands of feet apart. But she managed to breath through it to take the escort back to the room.
Ten more minutes until the doctor came back, "Swabs confirm it, Bacterial Pneumonia." He was writing a prescription, "And the blood test came up negative, which I must say is a relief to me, must be to you. You're probably late because of the infection or the changes to your medication that we discussed last time. While I'm writing, would you want to go on birth control? Avoid this business in the future?"
"What is it? How's it work?" He looked at her like she was an alien but she was just Abnegation.
"There are a few options. There are pills that you can take every day that will prevent your body from releasing eggs; but you have to make sure you take it. You can discontinue at any time, or by accident, and still get pregnant." He emphasized.
"There is also an implant that we can put into your arm that lasts five years, give or take three months, does the same thing. I find that most women your age opt for the implant."
Then he paused, looking at her carefully before continuing, "There are certain diseases that get passed through sexual contact, unless you have a health report for your partner, you should also be using condoms to protect yourself. So, which do you want?"
"Me being divergent, that won't influence it?"
"No, it's hormones, not mind control." He smirked, which she didn't appreciate.
"The implant sounds fine." She left with a spreading bruise on the back of her left arm, no intention of ever making use of it, another bottle of pills for the regiment, and the promise of scan results the next day.
She returned to work, a meeting between the Amity and the former-factionless to discuss the supply needs for supporting the spring planting. Therese and her cohorts devolved quickly into paranoia and infighting. But her mind was swallowed in the what-ifs, accidents and implications of implants. It felt like too little too late when it should have felt empowering.