Chapter Text
I shove the heavy door open and let Tris exit before me. She stops a few feet away and turned back and gave me this look. Like hopeful and worried at the same time. I make her feel that. Shit. I’m already fucking this up.
I reach out my hand and she miraculously takes it without question. I am so much better with no questions. When I talk things just get messy. I know I’ll inevitably say something harsh and cruel and I’ll see her eyes change the way they did when I tossed her friend over that rail. Granted, I didn’t know it was her friend, but I would’ve still done it and that’s the whole problem, isn’t it? I know exactly what I am, but does she? Does she know who she wants to walk into the mess hall with? Who she is going to let publicly claim her? Does she know what it means to be claimed in Dauntless? The assumptions people will make?
Fuck. Even I haven’t thought this through enough. I am quite literally the biggest over thinker I know outside of Erudite, but when I get within five feet of her my brain just short-circuits and all I can do is run on instincts. But my instincts can’t be trusted. If I let myself trust my instincts without any of that logic, I’d still be in that training room, and I’d have her stripped and writhing on my cock right now. But she’s not ready for that. And I’m already too much of a dick to want to push my luck any further. I’m lucky she let me kiss her so much and didn’t cut my throat when she had the chance.
I’ll make sure she has plenty of other chances to kill me if that’s what she wants.
In the meantime, I walk slow. She’s so much smaller than me, her hand is tiny. I walk half my regular speed so she can keep up, keeping my eyes straight ahead, my posture stiff and straight. Nothing to see here.
But there is definitely something to see here. The second Abnegation transfer in Dauntless history, the smallest transfer this year, the feistiest initiate possibly ever, is hanging on my arm. MY arm. Not Number Boy’s. Not the golden boy who Max thinks should be the next leader. Not even a nice decent transfer boy of her own age.
She chose me.
She did choose me, right?
The whole knife throwing incident had my brain foggy with rage and then lust and then panic, and now we are only a few yards from the mess hall doors and she is still holding my hand.
Fuck.
Here we go.
She squeezes my hand and the small touch makes me pause and stumble. She’s changed her mind, I fucking know it.
When I look at her face, she looks nervous, and it confirms all my worst fears.
“Don’t want to do this anymore?” I clench out, eyes a laser focus on her forehead.
“What? No, I’m just—“ She cuts herself off before she says it. Scared. Being scared isn’t as taboo as the transfers think it is. It’s normal. Everyone is scared shitless. We just do it anyway.
“Me too,” I admit on a low exhale, so only she can hear me.
Her eyes widen slightly, and she squeezes my hand tighter.
“We need a mission plan,” she states resolutely, and I can’t help the broad smile that cracks my face.
I try to regain some composure. “Agreed. Through this point of entry, infiltrate northward, our target is the serving line.”
“Perfect. And then?”
“And then we eat.”
“Where? Do we sit with—or do we—umm?” Tris struggles and my mind whirls as I think through the tactical advantages of various seating choices.
“We sit alone.” Her eyes shoot up to meet mine, and I quickly amend. “Alone together. Not with others.”
“Right. Yea, that could work.” She nods, squeezes my hand and squares her shoulders.
We both take a deep breath and step into the bustling room.
The Pit is always chaos, and the mess hall even more so. As soon as we enter, our mission plan is disrupted by the chaos around us. People push past and around us. Initiates yell and dependents run through the aisles. Tris and I barely have room to push into the food line, and we have to drop hands to get there. Once in the line, she slides up next to me, tucking herself under my arm like she always stands there.
Maybe she will.
We get our trays and take them to an empty part of a long table near the far side of the hall and sit on the same side of the table. She puts her hand on my thigh under the table and my whole body stiffens.
“You ok?”
“Fine.” I grit the word out too harshly, but she is completely unfazed. “Sorry.”
“Don’t be. I know you’re an asshole.”
A chuckle wrenches itself from my throat and I relax in my seat a bit. Tris scoots until her body is flush against mine, keeping her hand settled on top of my thigh.
We are a few bites into a hearty lasagna dish when that Candor girl pops up on the other side of Tris. “TRIS! There you are girl, I thought you fell off the roof or something!” The loud-mouthed transfer plops down next to Tris and starts talking, like I’m not even here. Tris tries to interrupt her, but the Candor rants on and on about nothing.
She’s retelling her first kiss with some other transfer initiate when I can’t help but laugh a little under my breath.
Apparently not under my breath enough. I’m not known for my subtlety.
The Candor girl turns to glare at me. She has the audacity to open her mouth like she is going to say something to me, when Tris interrupts. “I’m happy for you Christina. He really seems to like you.”
“I know, right?! And get this, he says he thinks Al likes you!” Tris shudders next to me.
“Yea, umm, he sort of told me that..”
“Oh my GODS he DID?? That’s so cute, Tris! We could double!”
With each word, I can feel the discomfort radiating off Tris as she presses into my side. I clench my jaws as tight as I can so I don’t just let loose a swirl of curses at this dumb transfer.
“But you know Tris, men don’t like it when you try to fight their battles for him. If you really want to date him, you can’t do stuff like what you did in training today.”
I’ve had enough. Tris doesn’t want that shriveling weasel of a man. She doesn’t want to hide her strength and tone down her bravery for some pansycake loser.
She can feel what I’m about to do before I do it, and her eyes catch mine just as my arm moves.
And I see clarity.
Acceptance.
Do it.
I wrap my arm around Tris and pull her into my lap, my thighs on either side of her own as I surround her body with mine.
The Candor squeaks and sputters, not managing any full words.
“I’m sorry, did I interrupt you trying to convince my girlfriend to stop being so Dauntless so she can impress some coward initiate who won’t even make the first cut?” I seethe, and only the feel of Tris warm in my arms keeps me from climbing out of my seat and dragging that girl over to the chasm right now.
“Tris—you—but—wha—I—“ she continues to squeal.
“Christina, as you can see, I don’t really need any dating advice, but thank you.” Tris’ voice is more polite than I could ever muster.
Her friend—or former friend, I am guessing—leaps up from the table and scrambles back to another table where I watch her whisper her new gossip to a group of initiates. Their heads all turn towards us, and I take the opportunity to brush Tris’ hair behind her ear and plant a kiss on her neck.
“You’re just doing this for attention now,” she sighs, but she doesn’t stop me.
“Maybe,” I whisper against her skin, “Would you prefer I stop?” I brush kisses along her jaw.
“Don’t you dare.”
Our display draws stares, and within a blink the whispers start. I can feel the news of our relationship rippling out through the crowd.
I know the news has hit its mark when Number Boy slides up to our table, looking pressed and ready to fight. Good. I’d be happy to finally have an excuse to knock his ass out.
“Eric,” he states through closed teeth.
“Four.”
“Can I speak to you for a moment?” His question sounds like an order, but there’s no way he’d be dumb enough to try giving me a direct order.
Tris squeezes my thigh and scoots away from me, evidently acquiescing to Four’s insistent stare. She slides off the bench and grabs her tray. “Find me after?” Her face is a little unsteady, and I can’t tell if it’s because she thinks my conversation with Four could sour our day, or if she’s still not sure about me, but either way I offer as much reassurance as I can in front of Number Boy.
“I’ll take care of this and then I’m all yours.” I throw in a wink, more for the audience than her, but she bites her lip and my cock twitches at the sight. Gods she will be the death of me.
Once Tris has wound her way toward the exit, Four slams his fist on the table beside my food.
“Damnit, Eric, is this some sort of training stunt you’ve got planned?”
I’m outraged at the implication, but I play innocent and take another bite of my lasagna. “What ever do you mean?”
“Tris isn’t like the Dauntless-bornes, Eric, she’s not used to our customs yet.”
“And she’ll never learn them with you coddling her.”
“I’m not cod—this is NOT about me,” he huffs, and I can tell I’m getting to him. “You need to quit playing mind games with her, or I will report it to Max.”
“Then you can follow me there.”
“What do you have to report to Max?”
“A new relationship.”
“A new—you can’t be serious. Tris? You and her—no, I can’t —that can’t be true,” he sputters, sitting on the bench opposite me.
This is priceless.
“Oh but I am. Completely. Serious. Tris and I are together,” I let the word slide off my tongue, thick with meaning.
While he’s formulating a reply, I get up, grabbing my tray. “The next time you interrupt me while I’m eating with my girlfriend, at least bring cake.”
And with that a I stomp out of the mess hall, half-eaten food tossed in the garbage, a red-faced Four staring after me.