Chapter Text
A boy in all black sits in a circular, wooden room with glass windows that look out to a picturesque scene of a golden sun setting over an expansive apple orchard. He tries not to let his gaze wander to the brilliant hues of pinks and oranges and reds— he tries to ignore the pull in his chest. He doesn’t belong here; it was a mistake. This is all one, huge, cruel mistake.
Eric reiterates the sentiment to the dark skinned lady in front of him who's been looking at him for the better part of an hour with her pathetically sympathetic eyes; Johanna. “I’m not supposed to be here— just let me go back to Dauntless and this will all settle down without a problem.”
Her eyes never lessen, as doesn’t her smile— it makes him seethe. “And just what problem would that be, honey?”
This is the fourth time they’ve gone though this conversation and he’s starting to think she wants to find out the hard way— that she enjoys pain. Or that he does— because after all he, too, is still sitting at the oak desk with his arms crossed and his eyes on the pinky, yellow, pretty sunset. He should hate it— he keeps repeating to himself that he has to hate it. He has to hate it here, it goes against everything he stands for. It is pretty, though, and Dauntless likes pretty things, he tells himself. It offers him a touch of solace as he fumes.
Be it Dauntless or Amity one thing’s for sure— neither are Candor and lying is a trait they disdainfully share. Especially when they’re lying to themselves.
“Oh you don’t want to find out, honey, I assure you that.” Eric all but spits at the smiling woman.
He’s rewarded— rewarded or threatened, he can’t decide— with a hearty chuckle. “Eric, I am aware of your previous standing in Dauntless and who your father is. Unfortunately, even as a leader of Dauntless, he is bound by the same rules we all must follow. You chose Amity, whether by accident or not, and now you belong here. I think you will find yourself to quite like it here.”
She says it sincerely. Everything she does seems to be laced with sincerity, dripping with honey and happiness. He can’t tell if it’s an act. If it is, it’s a good one. If it’s not though then that means she believes every word of what she’s telling him. It means she thinks he actually belongs in this crap hole.
That makes Eric laugh too, but it’s less than sincere— darker. “I’m not a pansy picking idiot— I don’t belong here. I never took you for one either all those times you visited Dauntless but if that’s truly what you think then maybe I was wrong.”
If the insult phases her, she doesn’t show it, she only shrugs her thick shoulders and grins. “Maybe. Are you hungry?”
The question throws him for a loop— why would she care? If he were her, he certainly wouldn’t. It’s not lost on him just how much of her time he’s taken up— how many times he’s threatened her in the span of four hours. He wouldn’t put up with it, let alone offer himself dinner, so why does she?
As if answering for him, his stomach growls disgustingly loud, echoing through the wooden room. Yeah, he’s hungry. He may be pissed off and desperate but, yeah, he’s also fucking starving. He’s only had the pleasure of eating at Amity once or twice in his life— the privileges of being a leader’s kid— but he remembers it. Especially the cherry pie. He doesn’t think he’s ever tasted anything like it in his life.
No— scratch that— he knows he hasn’t.
But that doesn’t mean he’s going to admit it. “No.”
“Would you like some dinner? It’s about time—”
He cuts her calm voice off with his biting one. “I want to speak to my father.”
Johanna sighs— maybe he’s cracking her. “You can— on family day in a month. You of all people should know how that works, honey.”
He glares at her and she levels him with a gaze he can only perceive as motherly. At least, it looks a lot like the one his mother used to give him. Suddenly, the spacious wooden room feels suffocating. He turns his glare to the sunset.
“I already told you— I’m not an idiot.” He sneers, his palm stinging as if to say ‘are you sure about that?’
“I never said you were.” Johanna replies.
His stomach growls again and it’s all he can do not to lose it right here, right now. It feels like everything is collapsing on him all at once. His home, his life, his identity— all gone, all different. His face feels hot, his eyes welling up— since when does he fucking cry? He’s Dauntless— he’s fearless— he doesn’t fucking cry and he doesn’t take orders from smiley, complacent imbicles.
He needs to get the hell out of here— be it Amity or just this office.
So he backs down— because even though a Dauntless doesn't back down, they really don’t show weakness and that’s what he’ll be doing if he stays here for one more minute. He may be a liar— he may specialize in lying to himself— but he won’t do it at the risk of looking weak.
“Fine. Family day it is.” Eric pushes himself out of the surprisingly comfortable chair that he’s made his home for the last four hours. “But I’m telling you this now, a month here isn’t going to change my mind— and it certainly won’t make what I do to you for keeping me here any easier.”
Johanna stands as well, walking around her desk to stand next to him. On the way her fingers brush over a potted plant— a tiny flower that Eric doesn’t know the name of but has to tell himself isn’t pretty regardless. She spends a moment righting its leaves and whispering something into it’s petals. That’s all it takes for the inkling of sentimentality to leave his body— she’s as crazy as the rest of them. No wonder she’s the leader.
“I hear you, Eric. I understand. Before you rain any hellfire down on us, how about you go eat something. I hear that helps with scheming. After that someone can give you a tour of this place. You should probably know the layout of Amity, even if your stay with us will be a short one.”
Eric doesn’t grace her with an answer and whether that’s because he’s so mad that he can’t speak or because his throat stings too much he can’t tell. He would like to believe it’s the first one— that he truly is Dauntless despite what anyone says. He’s an angry, vengeful, strong Dauntless. At least one of those things has to be true.
He makes it to the top of the wooden, spiral staircase that he had marched up this afternoon before he’s stopped one last time.
“Oh, and Eric?” Johanna’s warm hand startles him as it wraps around his painted bicep and he yanks it from her grasp before it can burn him.
He doesn’t turn, he doesn’t speak either, he just stares at the stairs that lead into the stables and at the last dregs of the strawberry pink evening as it fades into the bleary, indigo night, waiting for her final words.
“I don’t believe in accidents— welcome to Amity, honey. Try the bread.”