I'm so sorry about the wait, but I had a terrible case of writer's block and it put me off schedule! I hope you can forgive me!

Also, this is only about 7500 words this time (versus my usual 8-12 thousand), so yes, it is shorter than usual! But I thought this would be a good place to leave off, plus I didn't want to keep you guys waiting any longer! So...there! That should be all!

Disclaimer: I do, in fact, own the Divergent series!...that is, in my dreams.

Chapter 46

Tris' POV

I've been lying awake for hours now, guilt, self-loathing, and anger filling me. I've cried my fair share of tears tonight. Every time I think of what I did—how I let Oliver take me on a date, how I led him on, how I led myself on, how I let him kiss me—I want to either burst into tears or scream profanities until my throat is raw. I've only done the former so far, but my anger has now come to a boiling point making me wonder if the latter will come shooting out of my mouth before long.

I huff and sit up, throwing the covers off of me. I plan to just go to the bathroom and refill my cup of water, but I catch a glimpse of the black curtains and quickly change my route.

I quietly storm my way through the house knowing that at one o'clock in the morning it's unlikely that either Tori or Caleb will wake up to the sound of footsteps. I wrench open the hallway panel and quickly make my way down the stairs, my subconscious mind praying I don't fall.

I don't.

Luckily for me, Tobias hasn't come down here since last night so the makeshift lock he created is still tampered with by yours truly. I slip my way through my door and across to his. It's only when I'm halfway up that I realize I will have to navigate my way through his house until I find something familiar, as I don't know which room the passage spills into.

It seems that his panel is exactly like mine, so I can at least open it without a problem. It opens quietly and shuts just as quiet. I find myself in a dark hallway that I don't recognize; I must be toward the back of his house. I run my hands along the wall to help guide me until I find an open doorway, which leads to the living room.

Good. I know where to go from here.

I make my way to the kitchen then turn right so I'm headed for the stairs. I float my way up, even though I'd rather stomp, my face burning with determination. I let the red, hot anger at both Tobias and myself show through a scowl.

I open and shut the door to his room, not making a sound. I make my way to the faint outline of his bed and flip on the lamp beside him, light replacing the nearby shadows. I get a glimpse of Tobias's sleeping face, but I now stare at it with seething anger instead of compassion. I can't see his blue eyes, as they're closed, and it subconsciously reminds me of his double...whom I've now let kiss me out of pure spite.

A fresh wave of anger rolls over me and without another moment of hesitation, I slap him. A short thwack sounds, and he startles awake immediately, his hands flying up to cover the spot where my hand met his skin. I feel guilty, but not nearly as guilty as I probably should. The sight of his dark blue eyes relieves me, and I feel just a tiny bit of the anger ebb away. When they finally focus and he sees me, his face morphs into one of shock.

"Tris, what are you-"

"Get up," I hiss. His eyes widen, and he has the decency to at least look guilty. He knows why I'm here. "Get up!" I say more loudly than before. "You and I are going to talk!" He sits up, wincing, and frantically reaches his hand up to cover my mouth. I clench my jaw and throw his hand off only to have it cover my mouth again. "Tobias!" I shout irritably, but it's muffled due to the heavy hand blocking the source of the sound.

Tobias scrambles upward, not so gracefully I may add, and apprehension fills his eyes. He keeps one hand on my mouth and uses his other to not so gently shove me toward his closet. I fall, also without grace, as he pushes me in. He goes to close the door but has to stop because of my foot in the way.

"Tobi-" I begin to shout, but he simply uses his hand to muffle the noise again. I grit my teeth as I once again throw off his hand. I glare at him.

Either my glare doesn't bother him or he simply chooses not to acknowledge it, because instead of acting like any normal person would in this situation, he squats down and leans forward to kiss my forehead. I frown, my anger turning into confusion. There's something in his eyes that I've never seen before. I thought the fear in the very depths of his eyes was because of my unexpected confrontation, but I now see it's more of a blind, frantic kind of fear, and it throws me off guard.

"Tris, I love you, but right now I'm going to need you to trust me," he hurriedly says.

"What are you-"

"Hide in the corner and make sure you're invisible. Invisible, Tris. I want you completely silent and completely out of sight."

I swallow, a rock settling uncomfortably in the pit of my stomach. "Tobias, I don't understand-" I whisper, purposefully lowering my voice.

"You do not come out, you hear me? No matter what you hear, see, or even feel, you stay invisible," he demands. I nod quickly, afraid of what's making him act like this. His eyes go soft for a moment. "I'm sorry, Tris," he whispers, and the emotion I hear in that single sentence is enough to make me forget about everything that has happened throughout the past week.

He closes the closet door before I have the chance to reply, but I remember his orders and scramble my way into the corner, hiding myself behind hanging clothes, empty bags, and shoes. I'm about to adjust my position again when I hear Tobias's door open. I frown. Did he leave?

"Boy, what the hell do you think you're doing?" a voice hisses.

My heart seems to stop for a moment, and everything suddenly makes sense. My face pales, my hands shake, and my eyes fill with tears.

"I'm sorry, sir," Tobias replies automatically.

"You're sorry?" I hear heavy footsteps cross the room. "I want to know what was causing all the ruckus up here."

So this is Marcus. I shudder. His voice makes me want to run as far as possible, preferably in the opposite direction.

"I was talking in my sleep. Nightmare," Tobias smoothly says.

"You're lying," Marcus spits. "You know how I hate liars, Tobias."

The sound of Tobias's name on his tongue makes my fists clench and my face burn with anger. The sound is filled with so much hate and so much venom that it hardly sounds like a name at all; it sounds much more like a curse. My heart hurts. This is who Tobias grew up with. This is who made Tobias grow up alone.

"I'm not lying, sir. I apologize for waking you; I'm aware that it's late."

I have never heard Tobias speak this formally, nor did I think I ever would. I chew on my lip to keep my mind from wandering into its own world of thoughts. I can't miss a single word of this conversation. I have to be prepared for anything.

"I heard someone else up here with you. I'm not a fool, boy. Where are they?" Marcus says, hate filling every word.

"There isn't anybody here, sir."

A loud smack echoes across the room, and I flinch, knowing Marcus has hit Tobias. My Tobias.

I did this.

A tear slips out of my eye. I hit him too. I hit Tobias.

"Tell me the truth, boy!" Marcus roars.

"I am," Tobias answers. "With all do respect, sir, if there was someone in your home, don't you think you would have known about it? The front and back doors are locked as always. There's no way they could have gotten in unless one of us let them in."

"Well, if there's no one here as you say, then you wouldn't mind me searching around your room, now would you?" Marcus says with a sneer in his voice, obviously thinking he's won. I quietly shift a few more shirts my way to hide me even more. I'm suddenly glad I have black clothing on.

"Of course not, if that's what it takes," Tobias answers calmly, although I detect a bit of worry behind his tone. I can easily tell he's wondering if I followed his instructions well enough to go undetected.

I can only hope I did.

Marcus scoffs, and his footsteps wander around various places in the room until he reaches the front of the closet. The door is yanked open, and I hold my breath. I can see through the spaces of the shirts, and I'm suddenly looking at Marcus for the first time.

His face is contorted with anger, but it's a contained kind of anger-cool, collective, calculative. His hair is gray as well as his stubble, and his face is covered in wrinkles and hard, unforgiving lines. His eyes are the same dark blue as Tobias's, but they hold a certain cruelty that Tobias has never had, and they're missing the patch of light blue in the left iris. I subconsciously tense as he stares into the darkness, unnerving even the shadows.

His eyes pass right over me.

He shuts the closet door, and I only allow myself to breathe when his footsteps have travelled back to Tobias.

"I'm going to check the doors and closets downstairs," Marcus spits and leaves the room. I don't speak until I hear his footsteps wandering downstairs, opening and shutting numerous doors.

"Tobias?" I whisper, not sure if he is even able to hear me but needing to say something anyways.

"No."

It's the only thing he says, but it makes me fall into silence once again, my hands shaking.

Marcus comes back a few long minutes later, and I can practically feel the waves of anger radiating off him. It makes me shiver, and I grow even more afraid for Tobias. The image of his scarred back makes its way into the front of my mind.

Not helping.

"Grown men shouldn't have nightmares," Marcus says. If anybody else were listening in, they would hear a man gently chastising his son, but I, as I'm sure Tobias does, hear the venom in it. My stomach twists.

"I'm sorry," Tobias softly apologizes.

I want to throw up. No one should have to apologize for having nightmares. No one. Especially not to the person who caused the problem in the first place. I try to imagine apologizing to Eric, but I have to stop when my stomach begins to churn at an uneasy rate and a rush of dizziness hits.

"Today is Saturday, correct?"

Ice fills my veins.

"Yes, sir," Tobias answers, his voice quieter than before.

Without another word, a loud thud is heard as Tobias falls to the ground from an inevitable blow. My breath hitches and my hands fly up to cover my mouth as tears flow down my cheeks.

I did this.

Another sickening sound is heard as Marcus pulls something that sounds eerily similar to a whip and hits him again, and again, and again. I sit. frozen to the spot.

You do not come out.

I don't think I could move even if I wanted to. I know that it would only end badly, so I stay. It seems like forever before the blows stop coming, but eventually they do. I've closed my eyes a long time ago, as if impairing my vision would do the same to my hearing.

It didn't.

"I'm going to the bar," Marcus sneers and slams Tobias's door shut behind him, the force of it shaking the house. It kills me to do so, but I silently wait in the closet until I hear a car start up and drive away, even waiting a couple of minutes after that to ensure that he isn't coming back. After the excruciating few minutes, I scramble across the piles of clothes to the closet door where I throw it open and stumble out.

Tobias lays on the floor half-conscious, angry lashes tearing the scarred skin on his back. When he sees me, he forces himself up on his elbows, but groans from either the pain or effort. Or both.

I quickly snap into action and fall to my knees beside him, placing a gentle hand on the back of his neck. "Tobias, don't move. Not for me," I whisper.

He gladly collapses back onto the floor. I take a closer look at his back and see that there are many more lashes than what I thought, some of them beginning to scab over.

But these kind of things don't heal that quickly. There's no way that these could already be scabbing unless...unless...

No...oh God, no.

Unless tonight wasn't the first time.

"How long?" I ask, my voice quivering.

"Tris…" he trails hesitantly.

"Tobias," I say, more firmly this time than before.

He sighs and closes his eyes. "When do you think?" he whispers.

I clench my jaw to keep it from trembling. Of course. It started the day he began acting differently, and now I feel like a self-centered—and for lack of better terms—bitch for not realizing this sooner.

"How long do we have until he comes back?" I ask, anger flowing through me. Though, it is no longer directed at Tobias.

"An hour, maybe. He usually leaves me at least thirty minutes to clean up," he answers factually.

I scoff. "You say it like you're the one who made the mess."

"In his eyes, I am. My blood, my mess."

The statement makes my stomach churn again. I purse my lips and go back to his closet, pulling out a black duffel and beginning to throw a variety of clothes into it.

"What are you doing?" Tobias asks me after I've thrown the majority of his closet in, packing it as tightly as possible.

"Getting you out of here," I answer.

I look over at him just in time to see his eyes bug out. He starts to struggle upward, but one dark look from me and he stops.

"Tris, no. It's too dangerous," he says looking worried.

"And it's even more dangerous if I leave you here with him," I spit, refusing to speak Marcus's name.

"Tris-"

"Don't argue with me on this, Tobias. You won't win, so don't even attempt to change my mind," I say firmly.

He sighs and closes his eyes in submission, knowing that this battle isn't worth fighting. I nod, satisfied, and go back to the previous task of packing his bag.

As I throw the last shirt in, another question arises: Where will I take him?

I obviously can't take him home, as Caleb and Tori both know that we are no longer together, not to mention that Caleb knows what a jerk Tobias has been, even seeing it first-hand, so I can't just bring him over without being asked questions. Lots and lots of questions. Questions that neither Tobias or I can or will answer. But I can't take him to any one of the girls' homes either, as they don't know about Marcus either, and I'm willing to bet that Tobias still doesn't want them to know. I briefly consider the Pedrad home, but just as quickly cross it off the list; if Tobias doesn't even want his best friend to know, then why would he want his best friend's brother and mother to know?

He wouldn't, I think with a grimace, knowing full well that I'm running out of options.

And then an idea pops into my head.

"Tobias, does Marcus have his own car?" I slowly ask.

His eyes force themselves open and he pushes himself into a sitting position, waving me away when I attempt to help. He looks half-way dead, small, lost—things I've never seen him be before. Then again, I suppose being whipped and criticized by your father probably tends to do that kind of thing.

I chuckle flatly. What would I know anyways? I no longer have the chance to see my father in such a form.

Okay brain, let's lay off the dark humor for a while, yeah?

Tobias goes to grab the shirt he had obediently taken off earlier but winces at the reaching involved. I quickly snatch the shirt up myself and hold it above him, gesturing for him to raise his arms. He rolls his eyes—even the simplest actions like that seem to have lost their flare—but lets me help him back into his shirt.

"Yes," he finally answers.

"Good," I reply.

"Where are you going?" he asks tiredly, leaning his head on his bed.

"We," I correct him. "And I know someone who will help without asking questions."

"Tris..."

He looks wary, scared, and completely and utterly defeated. My heart breaks in two, and I have to bite my lip to keep from screaming.

"Please trust me," I whisper.

He stares at me for a few moments, then sighs, closing his eyes. "I do."

I nod once and start to rummage through his room, pulling my phone out of my pocket and dialling as I move along

Please pick up, please pick up, please pick up, please-

"Hello?" a groggy voice answers.

"Is it too soon to ask for a favor?" I nervously ask, getting straight to the point. I distract my nervous fingers by grabbing the photograph of Tobias and his mother, wrapping it in a shirt, and placing it in his makeshift suitcase.

"Wait—Tris, is that you?"

I wince. "I know it's an ungodly hour and I really have no right to ask you for anything, but you're the only one I can trust right now—well, that we can trust—and I could really use your help. But if you don't want to-"

"Beatrice," he cuts me off, "Stop rambling. I'll help you and...well, whoever 'we' is, in whatever way I can."

I close my eyes briefly as a weight lifts off my chest. "Please tell me that you put your money to good use and don't live in the dorms," I say, forgetting that that could be a possibility until now.

I can practically hear his frown. "I have a small house here, if that's what you're asking."

I sigh in relief, going back to my task of grabbing invaluable items. I can feel Tobias's questioning stare, but I choose to ignore it for now, instead grabbing the blue statue from the shelf and adding it to the bag.

"What's your address?" I ask quietly, desperately searching for a writing utensil.

It's silent for a few moments. "Tris, what's going on?"

"Please just give me your address," I beg.

"I texted it to you," he answers, his voice much more alert than before. "Tris-"

"I'll explain what I can when we get there, but you need to stop asking questions."

"Beatrice-"

"Oliver," I interrupt. "Please."

I quietly zip Tobias's suitcase up as I wait for a reply on the other end of the line.

"Okay," he finally relents.

"Tris," Tobias groans from behind me. I spin around to see that blood—his blood—is seeping through his shirt at a faster rate than before.

"Oliver, I have to go, but I'll see you soon, okay?"

"Wait, Tris-"

I hang up before he can say whatever it was he was going to say. I slip the phone into my pocket and sling the packed duffel over my shoulder.

"Let's go, Tobias," I quietly say and squat down next to him. I slowly shift his arm around my shoulder and try the best I can to support his weight without hurting him. He groans and leans heavily against me, his body protesting against the movement.

"Can you walk?" I whisper, my voice leaving me.

He grits his teeth and nods. I'm not sure what I would have done if he said said no-it's not like I could have carried him.

We begin to make our way outside. The stairs are the worst part: With every step, Tobias either takes in a sharp breath or winces, trying to hide his obvious pain but ultimately failing. Overall, though, we're able to make it to his truck without too much trouble.

Now to figure out how to get him inside the large heap of metal.

"Tris," he strains. "I can't...I can't…"

He can't finish the sentence, but the way his body has doubled in weight throughout the past few minutes says everything.

"Almost, Tobias," I whisper, my muscles burning from supporting someone two and a half times my size. I somehow am able to open the back door and step up without letting go of Tobias. For once, I'm grateful for my below-average height. "Just a couple more steps, and then you're done, okay?" I try to encourage him.

He looks at me, and even though it's completely dark outside, I can see the exhaustion dimming the ocean blue eyes I love so much. He looks to the seats then back at me, starting to shake his head in defeat, his eyes drooping even more.

"Tobias," I breathe, tears pricking at my eyes. "Please. For me."

He stares at me, and I see something click back into his eyes. They burn a bit brighter, his grip on me tightens, and he determinedly drags himself up and inside the truck. His legs shake violently along with the rest of his body, and I quickly help him lay on the seats, face down of course. His eyes close immediately, the exhaustion taking back over, but my heart swells with pride. I brush his hair back and place a kiss on his forehead before hurrying to the driver's seat, trying to push away my nerves as much as I can.

I finally take the time to look at the address on my phone and silently curse to myself when I realize that it's at least fifteen minutes away. As I drive, I'm stuck between wanting to break the speed limit by at least 10 miles per hour and driving slowly (since Tobias has no way to hang on other than his own strength, which, at the moment, is at an all time low). I settle for an average speed, making sure to brake extra carefully on the turns and stops.

"How are you doing?" I ask him quietly, afraid to startle him.

"Never been better," he says dryly, his tone drained of all energy despite his sarcasm.

Even though his answer is a big no, I feel a bit of my worry slip away. It's not enough to change the level of my nerves, but at least it makes it a little more bearable. If he's still talking comprehensively, even adding a dash of sarcasm, then that's a good sign, right?

"Do you think you can move once we get there?"

He stays quiet for an abnormal amount of time, then replies with, "Where is there, exactly?"

I'll take that as a no, then, I think to myself.

"A friend's," I simply put, choosing not to point out his avoidance to my question.

"Tris-"

Already able to sense the panic in his voice, I interrupt. "Not one of yours,' I say. Realizing how that sounds, I quickly add, "Not that we have different friends. I mean, I'm friends with the gang too, but I mean a different friend, which I now see is contradicting with what I said about not having different friends right before this. Long story short, you don't know him," I ramble.

"Tris-"

"I already told him not to say anything to anybody, and I know he won't. He's trustworthy, I promise."

"Tris-"

"I-"

"Tris." I shut up and look at him through the rear view mirror. He's wearing an amused yet frustrated look as he says, "Could you let me say more than one word?"

My cheeks flush at his tone, only now realizing how many times I've cut him off. I nod in answer and turn my focus back to the road. Five more minutes.

"I trust you, Tris. And if you trust this guy,—Oliver, I think I heard?—then that's good enough for me," he quietly assures me. I nod once more in acknowledgment, a small smile creeping up on me even though the situation doesn't call for one in the slightest.

The rest of the ride is in a comfortable, yet tense, silence. It seems that while neither of us can find the right words to break it, neither of us care too much about whether we do or not. It's me who breaks the silence in the end with the words, "We're here," as I park in a driveway next to a familiar red truck. If it weren't for the truck, I would be calling Oliver and demanding him to verify our location before continuing on.

I quickly hop out of Tobias's truck and rush to the back door, swinging it open. "Can you stay here while I go get help?" I whisper so as not to wake up the neighbors.

Tobias opens his eyes, which I hadn't noticed were shut until now, and attempts a smile. "It's not like I could go anywhere else," he says.

I smile half-heartedly at him and peck his forehead before running to the front door, knocking on it with unnecessary force. It opens on my third knock, and I have to quickly pull my hand away so I don't punch Oliver in the nose.

He looks disheveled and groggy, which is exactly how you would expect a person to look like when they're woken up in the middle of the night to do a ridiculous favor for a ridiculous friend. Well, okay, more like a ridiculous friend who is more like an acquaintance due to the amount of time you've known them, yet still considered more of a friend than acquaintance..

"Woah there," Oliver says, instinctively rocking back.

"Help me, please. I didn't know where else to go and I didn't know what to do and I couldn't bring him to a hospital or to one of his friend's houses or to my house, but I couldn't just leave him there either and-"

Oliver grips my shoulders, suddenly very serious. "What do you mean, Tris? What do you mean you couldn't take him anywhere else? Who is him? And why was a hospital mentioned? Because I swear if you just brought me in the middle of something illegal-"

"It's not illegal," I assure him, then think better of it, wincing as I correct myself. "Okay, so it's very illegal, but not for you or me or him."

Oliver's eyes widen and he takes his hands off me. "Tris-"

"Ollie," I beg. "Please. You won't get in trouble for helping me, and neither will I for helping him. It wasn't his fault, what happened—what's happening. I need you to trust me on this, okay? I haven't given you a reason not to trust me, and I know that that's not much to go on considering we only met yesterday, but I'm asking you, I'm begging you, to please help me. Just this once. And if you never want to help me again after this, fine. I understand. But please, Oliver, please, help me."

He closes his eyes and rubs his temples, sighing. "Why is it that I can never quite tell you no?" he says.

I sigh in relief and grab his arm, pulling him toward the truck that isn't currently red. "C'mon," I say, not bothering to even attempt to answer his rhetorical question.

"At least tell me what I'm getting into here; I need something to go off of. A one word summary, maybe two," he insists as we get reach the truck.

"Blood," I answer quietly as I open the door again, not waiting for Oliver's reply. "Four," I gently say, "we need to get you inside."

He tiredly opens his eyes to squint at me. An alarm goes off in my head as I spy his slightly glazed over irises and dilated pupils. I take a deep breath to calm myself down and turn to Oliver to get his reaction. He looks mostly shocked, but underneath that I can see the confusion and tinge of anger as he eyes the slashes on Tobias's shirt that make it obvious the blood wasn't here on accident. I'm sure Oliver has a fairly good idea as to what's going on because, let's be honest, no one is that oblivious, but he doesn't let on that he knows. Instead, his bright green eyes grow dark with anger and sadness—emotions that I had never associated with Oliver until now.

"Okay," Tobias whispers with some effort.

I stare at Oliver to gauge his reaction so I can plan our first move, but he's already snapping into action before I can think it through. He helps Tobias scoot to the edge and roll to his side where he practically lifts him off the seat and to the ground. I stare in utter surprise for a moment at how fast the entire process went before shaking my head and latching onto Tobias's other side. We practically carry him across the ground, Tobias attempting to gain his footing every so often.

I temporarily take on Tobias's weight again as Oliver reopens his door. He holds it open for me as I stumble through with an almost 200 pound boy having no choice but to cling to a 95 pound girl only two-thirds his height for support.

Oliver luckily helps take on the challenge of Tobias (or, at least, a challenge for me) guiding us in the direction of his couch, which seems to be the nearest thing Tobias can lay down on. It's a slight struggle to get him laid down so his back is facing up, and I wince when he finally is. His blood has soaked through his shirt even heavier than before, probably due to the movement. I look at Oliver with slight panic. He looks composed (how that is I'll never know) and nods at me before leaving the room at a brisk walk.

"Tobias?" I whisper and kneel in front of him.

"Yeah?" he says, his voice strained.

I shakily take one of his hands in mine. "I love you."

The three words have an instantaneous effect on him. His eyes crack open, his lips twitch into a soft smile, and he lightly squeezes my hand. He doesn't say anything in return, but I can sense the words through his actions.

I love you too.

I breathe a sigh of relief as some tension leaves my body. I move to hold his hand, encapturing his curled fingers with both sets of mine. I rest my head against the tangled phalanges until Oliver comes back into the room. He tosses me a couple towels to place on the side of Tobias so the blue couch doesn't stain.

"I hope you didn't want to keep this shirt," Oliver says as he positions himself beside me, gently peeling the blood-soaked shirt from Tobias's back and cutting his way up the fabric.

Tobias humorlessly laughs. "It isn't mine."

I frown. What does he mean? If it isn't his, then whose is it?

I shake my head to clear it of its thoughts as Oliver quietly asks me to use the ratty cloths he brought to clean up the excess blood. We work in silence, passing tasks from one to the other, Tobias offering no more than occasional groans. The bleeding is eventually stopped and the dried blood is slowly and carefully removed from his back. I want to ask Oliver how he knows so much about healing wounds like these and how he has stayed so calm, but something tells me that this may be better left a mystery. Abundant knowledge about a subject like this can't come from anything good.

"Tris, can I talk to you for a second?" Oliver asks me, but something in his eyes, his green eyes, tells me that I can't walk away from the conversation.

I sigh and nod, pressing a soft kiss to Tobias's cheek. "I'll be right back, okay?" I tell him. He nods, too tired to utter words, and his eyes flutter shut. I trace a finger along his jaw and stand, following Oliver into the kitchen. He leads us to the sink and turns the water on, gesturing for me to wash my hands too.

"He has blue eyes," Oliver says as he scrubs. I freeze for a moment, surprised by his opening statement, only unfreezing once I digest the meaning behind his words.

"Yes," I confirm, unsure of what else I should be saying, "He does."

Oliver only nods, looking more sullen and lost in his own head than I thought he could be. We finish washing, taking turns drying our hands with the towel he provides from a drawer I didn't see before.

"Oliver," I start unsurely, "are you okay? I mean, not that I know you well enough to be asking if you are, but it's just…" I trail off, studying the green eyes that were much brighter yesterday. "You don't look okay."

He closes his eyes and leans his elbows on the counter, folding his hands together. "We all have our ghosts, Tris. This just happens to be one of mine," he says so quietly I almost didn't hear.

"Do you want to talk about it?" I ask just as quiet, approaching him slowly as if he were a frightened animal.

"There was a girl," he says after an almost awkward amount of time. "She was never good enough. Nothing she did was ever good enough. Each time she was deemed not good enough, her father decided to show her through physical means how disappointed he was in her, and her mother simply stood on the sidelines. Her brother was gone, off to college, and had no idea what was happening. Each time her father would leave her on the ground, but each time she got up and came to me. She had nowhere else to go, nobody else who cared, and it hurt me so badly to see that. So each time I helped her, promising to never tell anyone unless she agreed to it."

"Oliver…" I whisper, touching his shoulder.

"But one night was bad, worse than usual, and she had to be brought to a hospital. I...I told the doctors and the social workers everything. She hated me for it when she woke up, even though her father was sent to prison, her mother was sent to a mental health institute, and she was sent to live with her brother, who she was still very close to I might add, because of it. But...he lived in New York. She stayed with my family until her flight, and the night before she was scheduled to leave I attempted to fix what I had broken. She told me she didn't hate me and that she forgave me for what I did, even going so far as to thank me for everything I'd done for her, but she also told me that she couldn't forget. She flew out, we said goodbye, and...I never saw or heard from her again. It's been three years." He sighs, his eyes temporarily shutting. "I suppose she didn't want anything to trigger her ghosts—no direct connections to her past. Everything ended as perfectly as it could, and it was good, and she was happy, but somehow...somehow, that hurt just as much as the first time I saw her blood."

I stay quiet for a few moments, blinking away tears. "Did you love her?" I finally ask.

He hesitates for only a moment. "I don't know."

Silence fills the room.

"I'm so sorry," I apologize. "For bringing him here. I just...I…"

"Had nowhere else to go?" he finishes, finally looking at me. He must see the guilt on my face, as he attempts to smile. "It's okay. I'm used to being everyone's temporary safe place. You don't have to apologize."

"Oliver," I admonish. "Don't say that."

He shrugs. "It's the truth."

"Ollie," I breathe, shaking my head. Instead of saying more meaningless words, I reach up to hug him. He tenses, reluctant to return the action, but after he realizes I'm not letting go any time soon, he slowly melts into it.

"Tris," he mumbles a minute later, "you can let go now."

I do so, being careful to do it slowly. The last thing I want him to think is that I only hugged him out of sympathy. That thought does no good for anyone.

"I'll pull out an air mattress for you to sleep on for the night, but I think it's time for us to hit the hay; we could all do with some sleep," he says firmly, and I know that the previous conversation is over.

"I can sleep on the floor," I suggest, not wanting him to go to more trouble than he already has.

Oliver shakes his head immediately. "No. I'd offer you a bed, but I'm pretty sure there's no way I could convince you to part with him."

I offer a sheepish smile, not being able to argue. He smiles the first real smile I've seen him wear tonight and leaves the room, walking up the stairs to our left for what I assume to be an air mattress.

I take his leave as a go-ahead to check on Tobias and quickly walk back into the living room where Tobias motionlessly lays. I grab his hand and squeeze, running my thumb across his knuckles. He smiles tiredly.

"Hey, Tris," he greets, sounding ready to fall asleep at any given moment. I purse my lips as my eyes roam his bandage-covered back and his bruise-covered face. I see a spot of blood on the back of his neck and gently wipe it off with my thumb, smearing it carelessly on my shorts. I swallow.

"I'm so sorry," I blurt out, biting my lip.

Tobias's eyes open and he smiles weakly at me, knowing exactly what I'm apologizing for and getting ready to deflect it. "Don't be. I was a total ass."

I tearily laugh, wiping moisture from my cheeks. "Yes, you were," I agree. "Completely and utterly."

He closes his eyes again, still weakly smiling. "I didn't think I could do it."

"You'd do anything to protect me," I whisper, brushing his hair back from his forehead.

"I should've done it differently," he says, shaking his head. I place a hand on the back of his neck in a silent command to stop moving and he falls still almost immediately. I place a small kiss on his forehead, taking in a sharp breath when I feel the uncharacteristic heat emanating from his pale face.

"You couldn't have done it any differently. You had to get me to keep away from you, and there was no way that was going to happen unless you...well, unless you did what you did. But I could have done more—I should have done more. I should have known that you would never do the things you were doing to me without good reason, and that you wouldn't want to do that to me unless you had to. I should have known that something was wrong," I say, the guilt pushing me to place the blame on myself.

"You left me a note," Tobias whispers to me like that excused everything I had or, rather, hadn't done.

"It was just a note. I should have talked to you in person, cornered you somewhere you couldn't escape and made you tell me what was going on."

Tobias shakes his head again, ignoring the hand on his neck, and opens his eyes. "That's what you were doing tonight, wasn't it?"

I look down, guilty. A tear works its way down my cheek and along jaw, dripping from my chin onto the carpet below me. "Yes," I admit.

A squeeze of my hand brings my gaze back to his. "I'm proud of you."

I frown in confusion. That was one of the last things I had expected him to say. "What?" I ask, stupefied.

He smiles, warmth flowing back into his eyes. "I'm glad that you were going to put me in my place. I was a jerk to you, and I would have deserved it had you gotten the chance to ream me out. I would hope that you'd do that to any jerk who treated you that way."

I blush. "Tobias…"

"I've got the mattress!" Oliver calls from halfway down the stairs. I sigh and pull my hand from Tobias's, standing up and wiping my cheeks of any stray tears. I meet Oliver, who is currently trying to slide a mattress down the stairs and carry pillows and blankets galore at the same time, and help him bring everything to the living room. We place the mattress directly beside the couch so I can be as close as I can to Tobias and dump everything else (the pillows and blankets) on top of it.

"Thank you, Oliver," I quietly say, flashing him a small smile.

"You're welcome, Tris." He smiles back, turning and heading back upstairs a moment later, I assume to go back to bed.

I begin to quietly shuffle the pillows and blankets so it creates a makeshift bed and crawl under the covers. The mattress is surprisingly high, so I can still see Tobias's face as he rests. I relax slightly, knowing that I will be right beside him and the first to respond if anything were to happen overnight.

His arm hangs over the side of the cushions, almost touching my shoulder, probably to make it feel as if he isn't confined to the couch like he is. I take his hand and make a mental note to move him from that spot tomorrow. I almost jump when I feel a gentle squeeze of my fingers.

"I'm not going to sleep until you tell me what's really bothering you," Tobias mumbles, his eyes opening to prove his point.

I choke out a small laugh. "Even when you're half-conscious you don't miss a thing."

"Not when it comes to you," he quietly says, making my cheeks flare to life. "Now stop avoiding the question and talk to me."

I sigh, running my fingers over his calloused skin. "I feel like it's my fault," I admit after several minutes of silence.

"It isn't your fault," he says, turning his hand in mine, causing his fingers to be the ones exploring and mine to be the ones being explored.

"But I should have known, Tobias. I should have seen it."

"Maybe. Maybe there's more we all could have done," he says, running a finger over the line of my palm making shivers to run through me, "but we just have to let the guilt remind us to do better next time."

I perk up slightly. "That's an Abnegation quote," I point out.

"Just because I left doesn't mean I don't agree with their values," he says.

I smile. "I think I would have liked to be in Abnegation, maybe. I would have liked to blend in, to help other people, to keep to the shadows."

Tobias smiles softly, looking lost in thought. "Never," he says, shaking his head. "You aren't someone who should be blending in. You were made for Dauntless, whether that aptitude test says so or not. Besides, you look better in black than gray."

I quietly laugh, my spirits lifting. "What if you'd stayed in Abnegation?"

"What do you mean?" he asks.

"Like, what if instead of choosing to switch to Dauntless you chose to stay in Abnegation? What do you think would be different?" I clarify.

He thinks for a moment. "I wouldn't have had Zeke, or Uriah, or Shauna, or any of the gang. I wouldn't have had Hana, who is the closest thing I have to a mother now. I may have had less scars on my back, but then I may not have had you, and you may not have had them. And I would choose scars over a normal father every time if that's what it took to keep you around," he quietly says, his hand squeezing mine.

I blink several times to get rid of the burning behind my eyes. "Yeah, well, no more scars, please. We have enough between the two of us already," I try to joke, squeezing his hand back and looking up to meet his eyes. He smiles tiredly at me and pulls his hand from mine, softly touching my cheek. My eyes flutter shut as he traces the curvature of my face. Exhaustion hits me all at once, and my entire body relaxes.

"You're supposed to be the one falling asleep," I mumble.

I hear a light chuckle come from his lips. It's quiet for a while before he speaks. "I like watching you sleep," he whispers, his fingers freezing in their ministrations for the time-being. "It's nice to see you at peace; it's almost as if you have no ghosts and nothing more to worry about than what you're going to wear the next day."

I snort. "What I'm going to wear?" I repeat disbelievingly. "I'm not a 'Christina' type of girl, Tobias."

His fingers resume their movements, but they've now moved on to my hair. "No, you're not."

I want to ask him what he means by that; I could sense that he meant something other than just agreeing with me, but I don't know what. And I would ask—would have asked—if I weren't so...gone.

"Goodnight, Tobias," I quietly whisper, my words so slurred that even I can't decipher them. But somehow, Tobias does.

"Goodnight, Tris."