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winterscaptain · 3 years

Text

balm.

Aaron Hotchner x Gender Neutral Reader a joyful future fic that requires no context

a/n: let me know what you think!! this takes place in au!april 2014 and it brought a lot of joy into my heart. i hope it does the same for you!! let me know what you think :)

words: 1.3k warnings: language

summary: “It’s a humbling thing when you find someone to love. even better if you’ve been waiting your whole life.” - george clooney

masterlist | a joyful future masterlist | ajf faq | requests closed!

You come home to Aaron sitting on the edge of the bed, his face pinched up in pain with his head in his hands. Kneeling at his side, you put one hand on his knee and the other on his shoulder.

“What’s wrong?”

His breath catches once before he speaks, and you realize it's shallower than it should be. “Just in a lot of pain today.”

You press a kiss to his bicep and reach over to his bedside drawer, pulling out his topical lidocaine. It makes your hands numb for hours, but as long as it helps him, you don’t care.

Tossing it on the bed, you settle in front of him, searching for his eyes. “Hey. Shirt off and lay on your back for me. I’ll be just a second.”

With a defeated sigh, he nods and you go into the bathroom, grabbing a towel, the big bowl you keep under the sink, and a washcloth. Running the tap, you wait for the water to heat up before filling the bowl and soaking the washcloth.

When you return to him, he’s got an arm over his eyes and his jaw is tight. You set the bowl and washcloth on the floor. “Lift up a minute.”

He rolls to the side and you slide the towel under him before he returns to stasis. You straddle his thighs, settling your weight on him both to reach what you need to while simultaneously soothing some of his anxiety.

His voice is small when he speaks. “You don’t have to do this.”

You pick up the hand resting on the bed, kissing his knuckles. “I know.” Still holding his hand, you ask, “Which is the worst?”

He escapes your grasp and points to the one under his collarbone and then the long one down the left side of his ribs.

“How long?”

He doesn't bother lying. “Since last night.”

You tut at him a little bit, but it’s in vain. “I’m gonna work on breaking up some of the subdermal scar tissue, okay? It’s gonna hurt like a bitch but -”

“Just do it.”

With a sigh, you reach down and wring out the washcloth, satisfied by the heat coming off of it. You dampen his skin, warming it and relieving some of the tension in his abdomen. “Do you want the heating pad?”

He shakes his head. “After.”

You continue your work until he’s well and truly clean, dry, and pleasantly warm. Rolling up your sleeves and setting your engagement ring on the bedside table, you take a decent amount of his lidocaine balm into your hands, rubbing vigorously to warm it up. You set the capped tube into the warm water to maintain a comfortable temperature.

He knows the drill by now, so he doesn’t jump when you press your hands flat to his upper chest, fingers massaging deep into his intercostal muscles. You feel him match his breath to yours as you take deep breaths, pushing into his skin with every exhale.

You reach the gnarled, raised scar tissue under his collarbone and he lets out a little whimper from his throat. You ignore him, feeling the knots of scarring and muscle seizure underneath his skin. With the warmed balm, your hands glide over the surface of his skin, rolling over each obstacle with little friction. It’s a small comfort.

You scoot up, straddling his hips. His hand falls to your thigh, but it’s more for stability than anything else. Your work on his chest is painful, and it’ll feel worse in the morning.

All things considered, you prefer this to the dangers of more scar tissue developing over time and he prefers the ache to the ceaseless nerve pain that plagues his days, both bad and good.

He’s doing remarkably well breathing through it. After about fifteen minutes, you’re thankful for the lidocaine, as you can’t feel the inevitable cramping creeping into your fingers and Aaron’s breath comes a little easier as your hands and forearm find far less resistance digging deep into his pectoral structure.

“That one gave really easily - that’s good.”

He hums, not entirely convinced, but raises his left arm in a painfully slow adjustment to get out of your way as you move on. You lean down and kiss his sternum, careful to avoid the balm soaking into his skin. He hums and brings a hand to the base of your skull, his fingers pressing affectionately into the tense muscles in your neck.

You smile into his skin before leaning up again to return to your task. His fingers trace along your jawline before his arm lands over his head again. You tilt your head to the side, examining his ribs “Where’s the nerve pain going?”

He wiggles the fingers of his left hand and gestures across his chest. “Up and down, burning cold and some numbness in my hand.”

With that in mind, you focus on buildup that compresses the brachial and ulnar nerves in his arm, in his shoulder and armpit. You’ve found the scar tissue likes to travel farther than you expect, which was part of the problem when they had to clear it.

You dig your fingers in between his ribs, doing your best to ignore his grunts and hisses. “I know, I know.” You can’t let up, knowing that if you work at it long enough, he’ll be in much better shape come the morning.

More and more balm lands on his upper arm and abdomen as you ferret out all the little knots and gnarls under his skin.

Soon enough, your hands can run from the bottom of his ribs to his shoulder and down his bicep with little resistance. You rinse your hands in the bowl before returning to the bathroom, setting the lidocaine on a towel to dry off while you empty and replace everything.

When you return, you find Aaron with his shirt back on and the heating pad on low over his chest. You curl up against his side and he kisses your head. “What would I do without you?”

You shrug, carefully scooting up so you can reach the underside of his jaw. He hums as your lips make contact, adjusting so he can return the favor. He kisses you lazily, your lips sliding over his.

Whispering against him, you ask, “Do you think you can get some sleep?”

“Mhmm.” His tongue slips into your mouth and you smile as you follow his lead and deepen the kiss. He’s in no shape to get up to anything really fun, but the casual intimacy after your time away is always welcome.

Reluctantly, you tear yourself away from him to slip your clothes off and turn off the light. Aaron will sleep on his back tonight to let his back reset and you’ll probably curl up at his side before rolling over and stealing the covers.

He reaches for your hand as you return to his side, kissing the back of it. “Thank you.”

You hum at him, pulling your linked hands to your lips. “Of course. If you feel better, I feel better.”

There’s a little sigh that leaves him, and you make the active choice to leave him to his inner monologue.

“Get some sleep. I set my alarm early so I can wrap you up before work tomorrow.”

He humphs, but you gently elbow him to stop his complaint. With another little sigh, he says, “I love you.” It almost sounds reluctant.

You kiss the part of his chest you can reach just by turning your head. “Love you too, dummy.”

+++

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#aaron hotchner x reader #hotch x reader #aaron hotchner imagine #criminal minds imagine #criminal minds x reader #criminal minds fanfiction #aaron hotchner #criminal minds #hotch #tali writes fanfiction #tali talks cm #a joyful future

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sketchy-vii-writes · 6 years

Text

Capsule Light

Pairing: Doppo x Hifumi

TW: Anxiety

Genre: Fluff

Word Count: 2972

Summary: Home is where you find warmth after a day of cold rain and bitter words.

Write it on our hearts so that we believe

Open up our eyes so that we can see

Put your hand in mine, skin to skin, we're all human

Plumb - Human

The key slides into the lock with a familiar click, a hollow welcome to their empty apartment. He rests his hand on the doorknob, cold seeping into his skin from the metal. His body is weary and over tired, the stress of the day resting deep in his bones. Dull teal eyes fall shut for a moment as he wills himself to open the door. He can feel the dark emptiness waiting for him, calling him into its cold expanse. Their home never feels right without the other, as if all the warmth drains out the door the moment they leave. His head falls to his chest, chin resting against his sternum as he releases a deep sigh. He can feel the weight of his bag tugging at his shoulder, digging into the clothed skin. There’s a dull ache in his feet from too tight shoes and the beginning of a headache pooling behind his eyes. He knows nothing will be solved standing in the dingy hallway, but he can’t bring himself to find the will to enter. His body is sore, his mind tattered, and a distinct loneliness is beginning to swirl within him. He wants to run the other way, seek out the one person who can bring him solace on this night and never return without him, but he knows that he can’t. Pulling in a deep breath, his head down, he pulls open the door and shuffles in.

The moment he enters a gentleness encircles him that he was not expecting. Soft light is filling the apartment, making everything look cozy and warm. The air is thick with the smell of home cooking, inviting him to venture further in. He’s leaning back against the door, hard wood keeping him upright as he stands dumbfounded at the sight. Hifumi is standing in their kitchen. His tall frame is dressed in loose sweatpants and a black v-neck, somehow looking more put together than half the businessmen Doppo just left on the subway. Doppo can see the strings of a bright green apron tied haphazardly around his hips, the fabric swaying slighting as he moves about the room. His face is screwed up in the most adorable look of concentration Doppo has ever seen, and it is taking all of his self control to not sprint across the apartment and kiss that look off his face. Pushing off the door, finally clicking it into place, he begins toeing off his shoes. His body screams in relief as his socked feet are freed from their confines. He lets his bag slide to the floor as he continues to shed his workplace persona, each layer dropping in place until he finally feels free of the corporate chains that have been strangling him all day.

“Doppo!” A bright cry calls out across the quiet space, breaking the silence Hifumi had been working in. Without hesitation, Hifumi is sprinting across the apartment towards the redhead by the door. Doppo barely has time to catch his bearings before he is fully encompassed in the taller man’s arms. Musky cologne and rich spices fill his senses the moment Hifumi makes contact. Slender fingers slide into his hair, moving through his coppery strands and pulling tangles left behind by anxious hands. Doppo can feel the tension falling from him at the warm contact, melding his body against Hifumi, quietly asking the taller man to help him carry the burden he’s been shouldering all day.

“My Doppo is home! Ah, my tired Doppo,” Hifumi coos into Doppo’s ear causing a hot flush to flood his cheeks. His vulnerability broken at the bubbly words, suddenly overcome with a wave of biting embarrassment. He will never fully get used to Hifumi’s overly affectionate nature, the way he can so easily give everything to Doppo unabashedly. He pushes back from the embrace, hanging his head to hide his burning face.

“What are yo- shouldn’t you be heading out for work?” Doppo’s voice is soft, the stress of the day piling up again within him, taking its toll. The knowledge that soon he’ll be alone again within the constricting confines of their dark living room, left to wait out the night until the host returns weighs on him. He can feel himself slouching, pulling into himself at the thought. His body trying to hide from the shadowed notion.

“I took the night off.” Hifumi places a finger beneath Doppo’s chin, raising his face to meet his golden eyes. Hifumi’s face is gentle, caring irises peering down into weary teal. His lips are pulled into a delicate smile as he strokes Doppo’s cheek. The pad of his thumb is soft against his skin with each gentle touch. Doppo has been on the receiving end of Hifumi’s host persona more than he cares to remember, been sent enough sly winks and flirty simpers to send him into an early grave, but this? This soft, tender expression Hifumi is giving him now, void of any tactic or host trick? This is what truly wrecks him. His knees feel weak from fatigue and the fragile love he holds.

“You did what?” Doppo doesn’t comprehend. What does Hifumi mean he took the night off? He didn’t do that for him, did he? Why would he?

Hifumi lets out a quiet laugh, eyes crinkling in the corners from the genuine sound. Doppo swears it sounds like bells in his ear.

“I took the night off. You seemed upset when you texted me earlier. I just,” Hifumi’s eyes wander down, one hand curling behind his neck, “I just thought it might help.”

The sentiment in Hifumi’s actions is overwhelming. Doppo takes a step back and looks at the man before him. His gold eyes are bright with happiness, blond hair pushed in all directions, showcasing the bright green beneath. There’s something smeared across one cheek, left behind in his haste to have a warm meal ready for his partner. The hopeful smile blooming across his face goes right to Doppo’s heart. He shifts his gaze to the floor, staring at the threadbare fabric of his socks.

“You didn’t have to do that for me.”

“Yea, but I wanted to, for my Doppo.” Hifumi’s voice is tender, not holding the normal bubbly cadence it tends to hold. He’s chasing after Doppo’s stare, trying to make eye contact with the flustered redhead and make sure he understands that all he wants is Doppo’s happiness. He wants to give back all the love the redhead has given him. He feels this endless need to prove to Doppo that he is worth it, and deserving of all the good in the world and more.

“T-thank you.” Doppo smiles gently, Hifumi barely catches it before his face falls back to neutral. He’ll take it for now, knowing that a simple meal and warm embrace isn’t enough to cure Doppo of the fatigue he’s carried for so long.

“Come on, let’s eat!” He’s pulling the shorter man to the set table across the room, fresh salmon already plated and ready. Hifumi pushes Doppo onto the cushion before dashing back into the kitchen. Doppo stares down at the warm meal prepared before him. There’s a part of him screaming that he doesn’t deserve this, doesn’t deserve Hifumi’s unending kindness. He tries to push the bitter words from his mind, but their claws have sunk into the foreground of his thoughts. They’re stinging his head, pulling him from the caring warmth of the apartment. He’s no one, just an overworked salaryman who has done nothing of note in the decades he’s endured. What does the bright man fluttering around the kitchen see in him? Why does he give him such love and care? Why does he feel the need to burden himself with taking care of him? Why-

“Hey,” Hifumi’s voice cuts through the heavy fog he’s coated himself in. The blond is placing down two cans of beer onto the worn surface of the table. It’s his favorite, and Doppo knows they were out of it this morning. Another bubble of guilt bursts inside him thinking of Hifumi making the trek out to pick it up for him. He didn’t have to do that for him. Doppo doesn’t deserve that type of effort.

Hifumi seats himself across from Doppo, long limbs folding around themselves on the floor. He straightens his back as he makes sure everything upon the table is set properly. Glancing across the space he can see the gears in Doppo’s head churning, the anxious thoughts clearly pulling through him in a never ending stream. A fleeting look of concern ghosts across his sharp features.

“Don’t get lost in there!” He reaches across their dinner, tapping a slender finger against Doppo’s forehead. Doppo abruptly looks up at the other man, staring into faceted gold.

“Hm?” He cocks his head to the side, not fully hearing what Hifumi had said.

“I can hear you over thinking from here!” Hifumi’s head is in one hand, eyes focused on the dazed man. He has one eyebrow up, challenging Doppo to tell him otherwise, to try and claim there’s nothing wrong and they should just eat and that he’s fine and there’s no problems, or worries, or anxieties flooding through him. Doppo knows he can’t, knows he’s caught.

“I’m fine.” He tries anyway.

“Doppo!” Hifumi drops his hand from his face. He rolls his eyes as he throws himself backwards, heaving an exaggerated sigh at the ceiling. Doppo would find the motion endearing if it wasn’t directed towards him. “You can talk to me! Or just… be here, but you don’t have to lie to me, Doppo.” Hifumi’s looking at him again, his eyebrows pulled down over a pouting face. He looks like a kicked dog and Doppo can’t take it.

“I know, I know.” He’s falling into anxious habits, rubbing the back of his neck and avoiding eye contact at all cost. “It… it was just a long day. I’m very… I’m very happy to be home now, Hifumi.” He can feel heat flooding his face, staring anywhere but at the man before him. “Thank y-you.”

“Aw! Doppo!” Hifumi is reaching across the table again, grabbing for Doppo’s wandering hands and grasping them tight. His skin is soft and cool, sliding smoothly against Doppo’s calloused fingers. The gesture is unexpected, but welcome. “You’re very welcome.” Chancing a glance up, Doppo can’t help but lighten at the happiness reflecting across Hifumi’s face. The golden man shimmering before him under their dim apartment lights. Even in their dreary apartment, Hifumi shines bright.

The meal they share is simple, but comforting. The food is prepared with care and the conversation is curing. Each man sat by the table allowing their companion to soothe the pains they bring. They know that their troubles cannot be cured by a warm dinner and shared thoughts, but it’s a solace from them. Sitting across from their own personal oasis, they can’t help but feel peace break over them. The morning will bring the same stresses, anxieties rolling in with the dawn. Right here, though? Right here they can find levity. In the warmth of the other they find safety, and shelter, and a home. The neon expanse of their city sits right outside their window, the cold bite of bright lights just behind dirty glass windows, but it doesn’t break the hazy peace they conceal themselves in. Simple words of care are passed back and forth, trying to show the other the depths of the emotions held within this home. This is all they truly need, all they could ever hope or ask for.

When dinner is done Hifumi is pushing Doppo towards the bathroom. Slender fingers sliding across the plane of his back. The redhead protests, wanting to help with cleaning up the mess he helped create, but Hifumi is having none of it. He promises to meet Doppo in the shower and flits off out of the room.

Doppo turn the shower on hot, letting the room cloud up with the temperature. The steam of the shower fogs the bathroom mirror, obscuring his reflection. The hazy silhouette in the pane of glass mocking him with every move. Doppo can feel the darkness he had pushed aside during their dinner creeping in without the bright presence of Hifumi. All the insecurities and doubts that plague him rushing to the forefront of his thoughts. He’s staring at the foggy outline, wondering what Hifumi sees in the man leering back at him. He’s shorter than he would care to be, his copper hair always a tangled mess from pulling at it. The bags beneath his eyes are unsightly, darkening the skin beneath droopy teal. He’s picking himself apart, pointing out every flaw he can see until he doesn’t see himself but a laundry list of failings he would rather scrub clean. He hates thinking this way, but alone, encased in steam beneath their muted bathroom light, he can’t stop the flood of uncertainty.

The beating of the water against the shower door bathes the room in static. His mind is buzzing in tune with the white noise, drowning out his senses. He doesn’t come back to himself until he’s encircled by two strong arms, pulling his back flush against their owner. Warm breath is fanning across the side of his face as blond hair fills his vision.

“I thought you were going to get into the shower, not stand outside of it.” Hifumi’s voice is low, a huskiness filling his words in a way Doppo doesn’t often hear. The intonation sends a shiver down Doppo’s back as he pushes himself further into the man behind him. He’s dying for release from his thoughts, craving the electricity of Hifumi’s skin against his own, knowing the contact will immediately quiet the roaring inside his head.

“I was waiting for you.” Hifumi looks up into the mirror, staring into the beryl eyes hazily reflected back at them. He knows. He knows Doppo was standing here, staring at his likeness, and tearing himself apart.

A cold sadness curls in his chest, wishing the redhead in arms could look into the mirror and see what he sees. Wishes he could see the strong man before him, the brilliant eyes hidden beneath chaotic hair, and the kind heart concealed behind a wall of pain. He wants to tell Doppo all the sentimental thoughts that stream through his mind all day while he’s gone, tell him that without him he wouldn’t survive, would not have survived. He needs Doppo to know that in this stormy life, that he is his unwavering shelter. He dips his head down, burying his head into the crook of Doppo’s neck, and kisses his gently. He’s hoping against hope that as he’s standing here, pressing soft lips to softer skin, that Doppo understands. He’s putting every last emotion he can into his actions, kissing up the column of Doppo’s neck, hands pushing up his chest and resting atop his heart. Gentle whimpers pull from the man in his arms, curling with the steam of the shower and disappearing into the air. The moment is tender, a tiny bubble in their pocket universe tucked away from the hells of their lives. Here they are home. Here, with delicate touches and whispered words, they find refuge.

Doppo’s mind is overflowing, warmth and passion and need just spinning across his thoughts. Each brush of Hifumi’s skin against his own is a burst of electricity across his body. Every connection between them is ablaze, fire spreading through his cold being. He never wants to leave this moment. Never wants to face the morning sun and part from the bastion of light attached to him. He can feel Hifumi’s hands running over him, burning up every inch of him until there’s nothing left to torch. His lips are traveling up his neck, over his ear and panting incomprehensible tales of heat. With hooded eyes he stares back into the mirror at the combined contour of them. His heart is overtaken, deluged in a torrent of emotions that he hopes to never cease. Every cold and broken thought is leaving him, Hifumi’s touch mending the battered pieces of him and making him whole.

He reaches back, fingers gripping blond hair and yanking down Hifumi’s face to meet his. The taller man’s eyes are clouded with desire, a muffled whine falling from his lips as he stares down. Doppo is scanning his face, trying to memorize every curve of the man beside him, and that’s when it all hits him, the dam inside his chest disintegrating in the steam. Hope. That’s what floods Doppo when he looks up into his partner’s face. Hope. He may be stuck in a dead end job, living in the shadows of a neon jungle. He may suffer through packed subway cars, endless lectures, and an ever growing pile of responsibilities. All of that may be true, and more, but it’s not what defines his life, defines his small pool of happiness. No, his home is what defines him. It’s the spark in Hifumi’s eyes when Doppo walks through the door, the serenity that fills his face when Doppo rolls over in the night and sees Hifumi’s anxious mind has ceased for the night, it’s the small smiles, and gentle words, and the electric current that rushes through him every time they touch. That’s what defines him, golden hair and eyes that greet him every night and bring life into his tired soul. This. This moment here with Hifumi’s warmth wrapped around him in the hazy mist, not sure where he ends and Hifumi begins, this is what defines him. Their little capsule world, warm and bright and loving, tucked away in the dreary city streets. He is finally home.

#Hifumi Izanami #Doppo Kannonzaka #Dohifu #Hifudo #Hypmic #Hypmic Fanfic #Hypnosis Mic #TW: Anxiety

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theoreticallyawriter · 5 years

Text

Chapter 15: Matters of Pride

Read on AO3

After breakfast, my friends and I walk back to the training room, this time joined by Myra and I’m laughing so hard I can barely catch my breath. Edward split the moment he had to actually interact with Will, fell back with his other friends while Myra just shook her head in mock disappointment. Honestly, Will probably would have bounced too at the first sight of Edward if Christina hadn’t quietly insisted he prove how ‘not a big deal’ their falling out really was.

He never can resist a challenge.

Monday means back to fighting, probably the single most loathsome thing I’ve encountered in initiation so far. I’d ask how this is supposed to make us any braver, but the last time someone questioned the relevance of Four’s material to Dauntless life he got a gun to his head.

First and last time I ever felt bad for Peter.

Even though it’s been several weeks, it hasn’t gotten any easier for me. Don’t get me wrong, I’m pretty good at it, but the guilt that comes along with every win is not totally insignificant. I’m not the only one who feels guilty, I know that Al’s been throwing fights but I don’t know how to talk to him about that or if he wants to talk about it at all. I don’t want to talk him into doing something he doesn’t want to do, but I don’t want to see him cut either. I can’t imagine life here without my friends because even on Eric and Four’s worst days, they make it all bearable, they nip any thoughts that this might just not be worth it in the bud. I’m here for me, but I’m also here for them and we’re supposed to help each other get through things, and we do. We all know that no one means anything by the punches, but sometimes it’s even hard for me to make light of it.

So when Christina by the arm over like four different bruises as we walk into the training room, I take it as being meant affectionately no matter how much it makes me want to curl up and die.

“Mimi,” she breathes.

“What?” I try not to snap, rubbing my ribs.

She points toward the whiteboard, which usually isn’t present until around lunch. But now it displays in big block letters that the first fight of the day will be between Peter and I.

And for a solid five seconds I genuinely consider turning around and walking out of the training room.

But that won’t help anything, will it? It will only make me look like a coward, and make Eric hate me; which I’ve been trying really, really hard to avoid.

Four finishes writing out the rest of the matches on the board and then turns to us. “We’ll be moving the fights up to this morning rather than in the afternoon, and then after lunch we’ll have more practice with the knives.” He glances at Tris. “I hope there won’t be any more…incidents.”

Peter and friends snicker and Tris blushes.

“Alright,” Four says, “take your laps.”

Out of the corner of my eye I see Peter looking at me, sizing me up. Neither of us are undefeated, that honor goes to Edward, but we’re definitely on the better end of the fighting spectrum at least as far as the transfer class goes. Peter is half a head taller than me and has significantly more muscle mass, he also has no qualms with beating the fuck out of me. Even though it is Peter, I would still feel guilty if I really hurt him.

But I won’t let this be an easy fight; if he wants to underestimate me then that’s fine, that only works in my favor, but I won’t go down easily.

Do I think I’ll win? Not really, my pride would say that I’ve at least got a shot but that’s not really true. He’s probably going to put me in the infirmary and it’s also only going to inflate his ego more, and that will suck. But I’m not Edward, I don’t have the skill that he does. If it were Minerva in my place, she could win this, she was just like Edward at his age and maybe she would do so much better in Dauntless than I am; the fighting and the attitude, they might come more naturally to her than they do to me. After all, the Candor are loud and brash like the Dauntless just in a different way, not to mention that she’s already got the main skill down. Or at least she did, I don’t know if she keeps up the hobby anymore or if time and age have dulled that particular interest.

I wish I’d been like her, like Edward, I wish I’d come into this more prepared for what I was going to face. I wish that I’d always known where I would wind up like my siblings did, like everyone does. I guess overall I just wish I were a better Dauntless. It’s not just about this one fight, it’s about showing that I’ve learned something in my time here. I lose about as many fights as I win and it drives me nuts.

I’m not competitive like some people are, but I certainly have a drive to succeed; and though I’ve never expected to be ranked first, I know that to do the things that I want to – I have to – be better than most of the other initiates including the Dauntless-born.

I have to be better at something that I barely know how to do and really don’t like to do amongst people who are far better equipped to perform the task and belong here in a way that I can only aspire to.

God, I am so boned.

We finish our laps and I’m filled with enough dread that my knees start shaking. Peter beat one of his friends to hell and back on the very first day and he hates me, he’s not someone who I think is above seriously hurting me and I think that it’s practically guaranteed to happen. Though I have a more animositous relationship with Four thank I do with Peter, we still hate each other and on more than one occasion I have said some things that seriously pissed him off. I have absolutely no doubt in my mind that he won’t pay me back in kind for them.

“Peter, Ice Queen,” Four says, waving us up onto the mat. “Let’s go.”

Christina puts her hand on my shoulder. “Good luck.”

“I’ll need it,” I mutter.

“Nervous, Ice Queen?” Peter says with a wolfish grin.

Despite my nerves, I still find it in me to scoff at him. “Not in the slightest, not when I know I’ll wipe the floor with you.” I grin right back at him.

“Cut the banter and fight already,” Four snaps.

Peter makes the first move as I expected him to, with the same punch that struck Tris only seconds into their fight. It’s aimed at my jaw but I block it with my arm. Pain blossoms from it, but unlike getting hit in the jaw I’m able to stay upright. I aim a punch at his throat and he blocks that, it seems that we’ve both been watching each other because I always go for the throat first and he’s the first one to pick up on that. I slide just out of his range when he kicks at my side and I try to grab him like he did to Tris but he pulls back with considerable strength and I lose my grip.

“Will one of you land a fucking hit already!” Eric jeers.

Peter’s mouth twists into a snarl and he aims a punch at my stomach at the same moment I attempt to sweep his feet out from under him. I don’t exactly succeed, he lurches and the punch meant for my stomach actually connects with my thigh.

His reflexes are quick enough that he practically bounces back to his feet the moment his hands touch the ground and he comes up swinging. I lean backward to dodge the punch that would have hit me in the face and step back in an attempt to put some distance between us. I don’t want to kick at him because I saw how that worked out with Tris when she fought him; or rather, how it didn’t. I don’t have the body mass to tackle him, my best bet is to just keep punching and dodging, and not letting him back me into a corner come hell or high water.

I fake to the right and then punch him in the kidney with my left hand when he shifts his guard. My left may not be as strong, but I’ve been practicing and it pays off in his pained wheeze. I take advantage of his momentary stumble and punch him in the sternum. Or I would have if he hadn’t caught my arm before I could make contact. I try to wrench out of his grip but he yanks me forward and I lose my balance when he lets go, falling on my side. I scramble backward to buy me a few seconds to get back to my feet, but Peter grabs my ankle and pulls me forward and back onto my back. I lace my fingers together behind my head before I hit the mat and it hurts my hands like hell but it doesn’t hurt my head. I kick forward with the ankle that he holds and swing my other leg up to his knee, kicking it as hard as I can to the side. It bends reflexively and he loses his balance. I manage to twist in his grip and get him to let go of me, getting back to my feet as quickly as possible and then I punch him in the face. I manage to hit him in the jaw before he can raise his arm to protect himself. His head snaps to the side but he still swings and hits me in the stomach, knocking the wind out of me. I force myself not to double over like I did in my first fight, not looking for a repeat of that incident and instead hit him back as fast as I can, my blow glancing off his shoulder.

We keep exchanging blows and at some point my nose starts bleeding. I hit Peter almost directly in the eye once and even he can’t stop the guttural noise of pain. I know that I can’t let him knock me off my feet, not if I want to win this fight. It’s not just about scoring points, it’s about knocking this asshole down a peg because I can’t stand to see how smug he is going into every single goddamn fight. Even when Edward wipes the floor with him, he still acts like he’s god’s gift to fighting or something.

I punch him in the face and my already bruised knuckles hurt even more than they already did, but it’s worth it when I see the bright red blood drip from his nose. I flash him a smile and his mouth twists into a snarl.

“You’re gonna pay for that, Ice Queen,” he murmurs and then lunges at me.

I turn and try to step away from him but he grabs my arm and drags me down to the ground. He elbows me in the throat and it stuns me for a second. I thrash, attempting to get out of his grip as he tries to pin me. I knee him in the stomach and he groans, retaliating with a punch to the mouth. I take a page from Edward’s book and headbutt him in the chin, though it twists the arm he still has pinned in a painful way. His head snaps back and I think his lip splits, though it’s hard to tell with the way that my head spins. My determination to win begins to wane as the desire to simply lie down and fall asleep grows stronger.

I keep trying to struggle out from under him but he smacks my ear with the flat of his palm and it rings. Pain blossoms in my right temple as I’m sure that my head is knocked into the mat again. He shifts over me and puts one of his legs on my chest to further pin me; I wheeze under the full weight of him. He releases my arm for a second and I punch him in the stomach. Most of his weak points are hard to hit at this angle and though pain flashes across his face for a second I can imagine it feels nearly as bad as him punching me in the jaw. He almost casually swats my hands away in order to grab my braid, lifting my head only to slam it back down into the mat. Colorful dots dance across my vision like fireworks and I suddenly want to puke very, very badly.

“Get on with it already,” says Eric, though it sounds like he’s been submerged in water, or maybe I have. The corners of my vision are beginning to darken and I’m fighting as much as I can but I can’t seem to get him off me. Or maybe I’m not moving at all and only imagining it.

One of Peter’s freezing hands wrap around my throat like a vice and I can now hardly move at all. Those dark patches are growing much larger and I feel nothing but tired now.

His fist comes at my face and I close my eyes before it even connects.

When I wake up, I’m in the infirmary alone. I sit up and regret it immediately, a wave of nausea passing over me and the lights seeming to grow brighter. I groan miserably and draw my legs up closer to my chest to rest my head on my knees.

“Hey, Sweetpea.” The door creaks open and I look up, just barely opening my eyes.

Nurse Phyllis smiles at me and brings me an icepack. “How are you feeling?”

I press the icepack to my forehead, smiling slightly at the small relief that the cold brings. “Like I’ve been hit by a truck.”

“I figured. I’ll grab you something for the pain.”

“Where are my friends?”

She glances over her shoulder back at me, smiling. “I’m sure they’ll be around soon. They had to go back to training, but they seemed really worried. Sol had to practically shove the string bean boy and the tiny girl who grabbed the flag Friday night out the door.”

I smile.

“They were pretty set on staying with you. You’ve got good friends, Mimi.”

“I know. They’re really great.”

Nurse Phyllis hands me two round white pills and a glass of water.

“Lay back down,” she says. “You should try and rest while you can. You took one hell of a beating.”

I do as she says, but I don’t get back to sleep. At some point, the medication kicks in and my head stops throbbing. I don’t entirely feel better, but I’m not as miserable as I was when I woke up. As I lay there I wish that there was a window or something down here, I hadn’t really noticed how closed in all of this was. I had almost forgotten that we’re underground. I miss seeing the sky all the time, there were a lot of windows in pretty much every building in the Erudite sector so it wasn’t something I had ever considered I wouldn’t have.

And I guess that’s something else I can put on the ever-growing list of things that I miss about Erudite I had never even considered when I left.

“Mimi.” Christina’s hand falls on my arm and I turn over onto my back, smiling up at her.

“Christ,” Will gasps.

“That bad, huh?” I ask.

“Worse,” Will says.

“Will!” Christina exclaims.

“We brought you some lunch, Mimi.” Tris hands me a sandwich as I sit up.

“And Four’s expecting you back for training this afternoon,” Al adds.

“Of course he is.” I roll my eyes and bite into my sandwich.

“So.” Christina sits down on the edge of my bed. “You got your ass kicked.”

“But I was the one being blunt.” Will rolls his eyes and sits down next to her. “However, you did give Peter hell. He’s sure to be bitching up a blue streak for the next week or so.”

“Good. If only that would have been enough to shut him up. He’s never gonna fuckin let this go.”

“Yeah.” Christina rubs my back but stops when I wince. “But look on the bright side.”

I stare at her, waiting for her to continue her sentence and she looks away awkwardly, biting her lip.

“You know, usually when you say ‘look on the bright side’ you’re supposed to also include the bright side,” Will says, snickering.

“Yeah. I know.” Christina laughs with him and the rest of us do too after a second.

Laughing makes my chest and head ache in horrible, horrible unison but I try not to let it show. Instead I just shift my ice pack slightly to press the cold to another part of my head.

“So how were the rest of the fights?” I ask. “Please tell me I’m not the only one of us who lost.”

Christina glares at Will. “Yeah, this one kicked my ass.”

“I did,” Will says proudly.

“You couldn’t beat Will?” I give Christina an incredulous look.

“I know!” Al adds. “I couldn’t believe it either.”

Christina shakes her head. “Bastard’s tougher than he looks. But,” she holds up her fingers in a ‘pause’ gesture. “I think I’ve finally figured out how to stop losing. I just need to stop getting punched in the jaw.”

Will laughs. “Yeah, just stop. Don’t let it happen.”

We laugh and Christina rolls her eyes. “You know what I meant.”

He snorts. “Well, I think we all now know why you aren’t Erudite; not terribly bright, are you.” He taps the side of Christina’s head and she swats his hand away.

“Will,” Tris says, “you were the first one to get knocked out, remember? I think you’re the last person who should be doling out fighting tips.”

Will flushes and grumbles under his breath much to my amusement. But Al looks away and shrinks in on himself. He must still feel bad about doing that to him. I wish that there were some way that I could impress on him that we don’t really have much of a choice in the matter. It sucks but we can’t just not fight, not if we want to make it through initiation.

Christina laughs. “Tris, was that an insult I heard? You’re really developing a bite.” She affectionately punches Tris in the arm.

“Ha, ha. Ow.”

“Just you wait, she’ll be tearing out emotional jugulars in no time,” I say, still giggling despite the ache in my chest.

Tris laughs and shakes her head. “No, that’s just you.”

I fake pout. “You make me sound so mean.”

“That’s because you are mean,” Will says quickly, giggling.

“Oh whatever.” I roll my eyes while grinning. A moment of silence passes and then I say, “Did I at least look kind of cool while I was getting the shit kicked out of me?”

“Cooler than I looked probably,” Tris says. “You fought him for a lot longer anyways.”

“A loss is a loss.” I’m surprised at how bitter my voice sounds when I say that. I’ve always been a little competitive, but never a sore loser and really never even close to the way other competitive people I know are. I’ve always thought of myself as someone who takes their losses in stride, learns from them and tries to do better next time. Maybe this is just different because it’s someone I hate, because I know that he’s going to be rubbing it in for probably the rest of initiation; he hurt me, the medication and the ice pack are helping but it doesn’t change the fact that I’m in pain and I’m really going to be in pain later. What happened during capture the flag doesn’t matter anymore, if anything that was just another testament to where my real skills lie. I’m no brute, combat and force aren’t my forte, but strategy is. Maybe that’s helped by my Divergence, I’m smarter than most but more importantly I’m better at thinking things through than most of my Dauntless peers because that’s the Erudite in me.

Not that it matters. None of it matters if I can’t get my shit together and do as I’m supposed to.

“Okay so not to be the bearer of bad news,” Al says, “but we should probably be getting back to training.”

I sigh heavily. “This is gonna suck.”

“Here.” Christina stands and holds both her hands out to me. I swing my legs over the side of the bed and take them. Her hands are just as calloused as mine, knuckles split in the same places. Her touch is also rather surprisingly warm, though I guess that can be chalked up to the fact that I've been clutching an ice pack and my own hands are probably freezing. She half pulls me to my feet as the soreness and nausea hits me immediately.

Something must have changed in my face because she gives me a concerned look and says, “You okay?”

I would nod but I feel like that would only make it worse. “Ugh, I will be. I just…need a second.” Will puts his hand on my back, absent-mindedly rubbing back and forth as he keeps his eyes trained on my face.

“You sure you’re not going to pass out?” There’s no hint of teasing in his tone.

“Would you catch me if I did?” I say half-jokingly.

“I would try.” There’s something very earnest and sincere in his voice and not that I think he would ever intentionally let me get hurt, but I really believe that he would catch me if I passed out this second.

“I’ll be fine,” I say, realizing that I had never actually responded.

“Are you sure you’re okay, Mimi?” There’s no room for Tris to get close to me so she lingers a couple feet away next to Al but the two are very clearly concerned.

“Just a little ache-y, I’ll be okay though.” I glance at Christina and then at our still clasped hands. “You can let go, I can stand on my own.”

Her eyes widen like she’d forgotten we’d even been holding hands and she lets go quickly. At the same moment, Will’s hand stops moving on my back and he pulls away. If I didn’t know better I would swear he was blushing.

Good thing I know better.

Though it hurts like hell and I would so much rather just keep lying there in the infirmary, I walk with the others back to training. We push open the double doors to find everyone else already there.

“Hey, Ice Queen,” Peter shouts. “how’re those bruises treatin’ ya?”

I grimace and roll my eyes, a ‘fight me’ on my lips but I think better of saying it. Instead I opt for, “Fuck off, Peter.”

I grab my knives and take aim at the target.

“Ooh, someone’s prickly,” Peter continues with his mocking. “What’re you gonna do?” He grins. “Fight me?”

Oh, it’s going to be a long afternoon.

I’m desperately in need of some time alone after training is done mostly due to Peter’s non-stop gloating making me more than a little bit snappish. I wave off my friends, telling them that I just need to be alone and though they look concerned they let me go without too much fuss.

I’m not sure which is bruised more, my body or my pride. I’ve never claimed to be the best fighter but I can’t help but feel a little bit pathetic after that. Worst of all, Peter knows he gets to me. I cut my hand during target practice because I wasn’t paying attention to how I held the knife thanks to his constant ribbing that I just couldn’t block out. He has no right to get to me as much as he does; I should be focusing on training and trying to improve rather than some bully who isn’t even the best fighter in the class, who’s gotten his ass handed to him by Edward more than once.

I’m embarrassed and angry and generally just miserable. I want to believe that everything here is going to be okay and things are going to work out fine for me in the end. I want to believe that I am stronger than a loss, than that asshole and his taunting, than everything that I’ve faced in initiation so far. But it doesn’t take a fucking genius to figure out that I’m no good at fighting, and the notion of hurting my fellow initiates to the point of knocking them unconscious still really rubs me the wrong way.

It’s not just the fight, not really. I’m afraid; I’m afraid in a way that no Dauntless should be. I don’t want to hurt people and I really, really don’t want to hurt my friends. Despite what I said about wanting to deck Four, I don’t know if I could ever really do that and not just because he’s a more experienced fighter than I am. And then of course, there’s the looming specter of failure that comes back with a vengeance every time I lose a fight. We don’t know anything about our rankings so I don’t really know where I stand, but that doesn’t stop the acute feeling of fear in the pit of my stomach that I’m going to be the one who gets cut. All it takes is for my losses to outweigh my wins and I’ve crossed that line. I’m not like Peter or Edward, I’m always in a delicate balance of my wins and losses being pretty evenly matched and it scares the hell out of me. I’m stronger than I was that first day, but that doesn’t mean I’m making anything close to steady improvement or that I’m improving at all. Everything just feels so delicate and I have absolutely no safety net should I stop being able to just barely eke by; my instructors certainly don’t like me, or at the very least they don’t care about me, and I have no other Dauntless-like qualities that might give them a reason to keep me around. At least Tris has that going for her, she might not be the best fighter but she has intrinsic parts of her personality that make her inherently Dauntless.

I don’t know what makes me Dauntless, what put that on my Aptitude Test. I don’t even know what it means to be Dauntless, or what a Dauntless thinks and acts like. All the Dauntless adults I’ve encountered so far – save for the medical staff, whom I barely know – have struck me as people to avoid becoming at all costs rather than people I can find commonalities with.

I would go back to the dorm and get my journal, pour all my thoughts out there just like I always do, but I don’t want to run into anyone or be around other people. I’d rather keep my misery inside my head than let other people see it.

I wander through the halls until I eventually make my way back to the Pit. I come out on the top floor and make my way over to the balcony, leaning against it and watching the activity on the floors below. All these people here, Dauntless is their home and for many it’s the only home they’ve ever known. They all belong here and all I want is to be like them. I wish I knew more, I wish we’d learned more about other factions in school, I wish Gwendolyn would have talked about what things were like before Erudite, I wish my family weren’t so disapproving of them. It’s oddly painful knowing for certain that no one in my family wants me to be here, that the only possible way I could have disappointed them more would have been by choosing Abnegation. I still love them, their support would still mean the world to me especially now that I just feel so alone I would give anything for something familiar to hold onto.

I guess that’s what it all circles back to, I just want to fit somewhere. There's always something that makes me stick out, whether it’s because I’ve never been good enough, or I’m not strong enough, or smart enough, or just because I know I’m an outsider and I know that there are things that separate me from the rest and I can’t stop thinking about them.

And I don’t believe in fate but somehow I’ve found myself wrapped up in all these other fairy tales that I keep finding myself weirdly attached to; that your faction is meant to be your family, that everyone finds something in their faction, that everybody fits somewhere. If anything, I should be living proof that exactly none of that is true.

I didn’t even realize I was crying until the tears start dripping off my chin and onto my hands, which grip the railing so tightly that my knuckles turn white. I shiver even though it’s quite warm and try to swallow the lump on my throat.

The person behind me could not have picked a worse moment to put their hand on my shoulder.

I go completely rigid and flush with embarrassment, suddenly realizing how pathetic I must look brooding and crying up here.

“Hey,” Marlene says, moving around to my side but keeping her hand on my shoulder. She gives me a sympathetic smile and says, “Having a cry?”

The first words I choke out are, “Well this is humiliating.”

“What?” She gives me a quizzical look. “Do the Erudite not cry or something?”

That wasn’t what I expected her to say. I’m so stunned that I laugh, it’s weak but it’s a laugh nonetheless. I wipe my wet cheeks. “Not really, no; and they certainly don’t do it where they can be seen.”

I haven’t seen my siblings cry since we were children; and I think I’ve seen my parents cry once or twice ever, combined. The Erudite believe that getting emotional to the point that it brings you to tears is a sign of weakness, which of course is to be avoided at all costs. Weakness and ignorance go hand in hand, as I’ve heard more than enough adult Erudite say.

I look up at her again. “Wait, how did you know I transferred from Erudite?” I don’t recall ever mentioning that to her.

“Lucky guess.” She shrugs. “No but really, it’s kind of obvious; all you transfers may be able to fight now but that’s not all being Dauntless is.”

I remember thinking once how we all still had the looks and mannerisms of our old factions, but while pretty much everyone else has begun to let go of that at least through their appearance, I haven’t yet.

I turn my gaze back to the Pit. “I’ll take your word for it. I’ve got no clue what being Dauntless even means.” I don’t realize how bad that sounded until the words are out of my mouth. I essentially just revealed that I don’t belong here at all to a girl I’ve had one other conversation with, who I like well enough but barely know.

But she still looks at me with that sincerely sympathetic smile and then she laughs, lightly and good naturedly, her hand on my shoulder squeezing tight for a second. “You’re way overthinking it, first of all. We’re not Noses, there’s no formula to follow or anything; everyone just kind of does their own thing.”

I give her a quizzical look. “‘Noses’?”

“Erudite. Get it, cause they’re nosy as hell and stuck up?”

I swallow my irritation and laugh politely. I shouldn’t find that so insulting, I’m not one of them so it shouldn’t matter to me. But it does, something about it just grates on me for some reason.

“Yeah I mean, you know how it is I’m sure, they’re all kinda…same-y; the walk, the talk, the attitude.”

I want to tell her that she’s wrong, but I also don’t want it to seem like I’m defending my old faction. Also, I know that she’s kind of right; Erudite has a lot of unspoken rules on how one is supposed to look and act, which is part of the reason why some transfers have such a hard time. I guess in some ways we – they, dammit – had the same uniformity that Abnegation does, it just looks a little different.

“There’s like…a formula, a fuckin’ ten step program or whatever. Point is, they’ve got a ‘look’ going and it extends into how they act and it’s a pretty big deal obviously.” I hadn’t even really noticed it before, or at least I’ve never really thought about it that way. In my mind it had always just been propriety, I had never really thought about how different factions had their own ideas of what it meant to be proper and polite. I guess Marlene is a lot more observant than I thought.

“Dauntless isn’t like that. We don’t do that whole conformity thing.” She nods out toward the Pit to emphasize her point. “No two people look alike really, and everyone’s got a different idea about ‘what it means to be Dauntless’. Really it’s kind of a mess, but it works for us.”

“And what do you think it means to be Dauntless, Marlene?”

She runs her fingers through her hair, still gazing out at the Pit. “I don’t really think it matters, not like you’re thinkin’ it does. We don’t…bother with all the philosophical stuff, we just live and leave the thinking to the Erudite.” She sighs. “I guess what I’m getting at here is that we’re all a little different and really there is no one way to be Dauntless. You just kinda…do you and see where that takes you. That’s why our faction manifesto’s so vague I think, we’re all meant to interpret it in our own way.”

“You’ve memorized your faction manifesto?”

She blushes and looks back at me. “Uh, yeah…I just think it’s kind of pretty, you know?”

“No, I don’t.” We read over the different faction manifestos in school, though I never found them especially interesting and certainly not interesting enough to memorize. I would also never describe the Erudite manifesto as ‘pretty’; much like our apparent aesthetic, it’s all very formulaic in tone with very clear guidelines on how things are meant to be. It’s a practical and precise legislative document, as it should be, though I guess Dauntless sees theirs differently.

“It’s, uh…” she snaps her fingers, searching for the right word. “I guess you could say that it’s kind of, uh, poetic, I guess. It’s kind of…a list of things that we as Dauntless believe in but they’re real open to interpretation and everyone interprets them differently. I like to think that was kind of the point, each to their own and whatever.” She flushes and laughs awkwardly. “Wow, I sound like a real Nose, don’t I? Here I am giving you shit for it when I’m over here giving a fucking in-depth analysis of our faction manifesto.”

“No, it’s really interesting,” I assure her. “And do what you want, each to their own, right?”

She stares at me for a second, her eyes wide and there’s traces of both curiosity and fear. “I…uh…yeah…” We’re silent for a moment, both of us watching the ever-changing scene in the Pit.

Marlene stops leaning against the railing and looks at me. “Hey, Mimi.”

“Yes?”

She hugs me and after a moment of surprise I hug her back.

“Just so you know,” she says right against my ear, “we aren’t like the Erudite, no one’s going to think less of you for crying.”

Actually I can think of quite a few people who would, I respond mentally. But out loud I say, “Okay.” And I think of the casual way that she approached me, there was nothing awkward or judgmental about her seeing me cry, not even pitying. I haven’t the slightest clue what to make of that.

She lets go of me. “We don’t really do the whole emotionless thing. You know, hiding from your feelings is just as bad as hiding from any physical problem; and, as I’m sure you’ve figured out by now, the Dauntless aren’t very big on hiding.”

Her smile is kind of contagious in its own way, so when she grins at me I can’t help but return it.

“Yeah, I know.” Testing the waters with a real laugh I say, “But then how do you explain Four?”

She snorts. “Fuck if I know. The guy’s managed to remain a mystery after two years, at this point I would not in any way be surprised if he turned out to be a robot.”

I try to do my best impression of his gruff and mostly monotone voice. “Beep bop, punch each other more.” I giggle but try to remain mostly serious. “Fuck you, I’m not going to use your name; my programing dictates that I must be a total ass at all times beep boop.”

Marlene laughs harder, wiping a tear from her eye. “Wait, is that not like a thing between you two?”

“Fuck no, it’s not a thing. I don’t know why he won’t call me by my name and it irritates the shit out of me.”

She gives me another sympathetic look but continues to giggle but after another minute concern works its way back onto her face. “Are you sure you’re doing okay?”

“Better since you came over. Thanks, Mar.”

“Of course, what are friends for?”

Like with Tris and the others, I barely know her; our bond isn’t like the one I had with Casey, Kira, and Eliza, built on years of shared experiences. But if nothing else, initiation sure knows how to drive people together; I can’t possibly imagine going through all of this alone.

She walks away and I am left alone again, but feeling far less abjectly miserable than I was before. I stay up there for a little while longer, watching the people in the Pit, then I turn away and go back down the hallways I came to find my friends before dinner.

#fanfic #my writing #the anthem series #divergent

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calzona-all-ways · 7 years

Text

Presents.

Dusting off the cobwebs of a new blog. Never written this pairing before. I may never again depending on this! Haha. All mistakes are mine & because I’ve missed them as I quickly scanned. If anyone knows how to put this under a cut so it takes up less room do please let me know.

It’s a bit steamy. Pointless steamy V-Day fluff. Just a warning. Enjoy - I hope :)

******

by: @torresismyhomegirl

Arizona ripped the final piece of wrapping paper off the perfectly wrapped present, flinging it off onto the rug between her and Callie. They were sitting in their pyjamas; the remnants of their Valentine’s Day breakfast picnic which was lovingly prepared by Arizona haphazardly discarded around them on the floor of Callie’s living room.

Her new house was purchased a few months ago, shortly after a particularly eventful evening which resulted in the two of them waking up tangled together in bed in Callie’s suite at The Archfield. Purchased after Callie realised that she wouldn’t be using the return flight to New York she had booked. Purchased after they realised they weren’t supposed to be living on opposite sides of the country. Purchased after they declared they still loved one another. Purchased after they decided that this was it, this was their time. The last time they’d become ‘them’ again.

The brunette grinned into her coffee as Arizona turned the box over in her hands excitedly, letting out a squeal as she read the writing on the front of it.

“Callieeee…you didn’t?” she squeaked, running her hand reverently over the lettering on the cardboard lid.

Callie placed her mug back on the floor with a smile, leaning back against the front of the armchair behind her, bringing her knees up to her chest. She shrugged nonchalantly, although her eyes surveyed the blonde with amusement.

“Nope…it’s just the box. You’ll get what’s supposed to be in it for your birthday. Or maybe Christmas, since you don’t do birthdays…”

Arizona rolled her eyes, picking up a red bow from the pile next to her and throwing it at the brunette. She took a deep, steadying breath before opening the lid of the box slowly. Her face broke out into an enormous grin as she saw the pink Heelys nestled carefully in protective silver tissue paper.

“You remembered!” she squealed, looking up to Callie before picking up one of the shoes, running her fingers benevolently across side. Callie rolled her eyes affectionately at the gleeful blonde, reaching out with her toes to prod a pyjama clad leg.

“Well, you did make me stop and look at them in the window every single time we walked past the shop when we were shopping for Sof’s Christmas present.” Callie grinned, taking another sip of coffee before reaching forward to circle a slim ankle with her hand, pulling Arizona gently across the carpet towards her. Callie proffered her hand to the blonde, Arizona grinning at her as she passed her the shoe.

“Be careful with it…”

Ignoring the pointed look, she grinned as Callie pulled her foot onto her knees, sliding the shoe on carefully.

“It’s a freakin’ shoe…” Callie muttered, rolling her eyes as she tickled long fingers gently over the top of Arizona’s foot, the smaller woman pointing her toes and twisting her foot around to show off the shoe. “And it’s a shoe that’s a danger to all who wear them!”

“What do you think?” Arizona asked, ignoring Callie’s good natured teasing, instead choosing to look down to her foot with a smile, twisting it against the carpet to look from every angle.

Callie nodded her approval with an amused smile. “Despite my better judgement, I love them. Anything that makes you smile like that is worth it. And I must say they look particularly fetching with those pyjamas.” She teased, tugging gently on the hem of Arizona’s red checked pyjama bottoms.

“I think so too.”

The reply came immediately, poking her tongue between her teeth at Callie. Callie let out a laugh, shaking her head affectionately at woman across from her who was currently busying herself admiring her precious footwear.

Reluctantly removing the sneaker after a further few seconds of appreciation, Arizona placed it carefully back into its protective wrapping, sliding the box out of her way as she rose up on her knees, crawling slowly towards the brunette with a grin.

“I love them.” She whispered as she came to a stop at the taller woman’s knees, reaching with one hand to pull them apart before crawling closer to kneel between them. “Thank you.”

Arizona leaned forward to remove the space between them, pressing a kiss to waiting lips, giggling as Callie slid her feet along the floor before wrapping her legs tightly around the back of Arizona’s thighs, knocking the blonde off balance to fall down against her. Arizona pressed one final kiss to plump red lips before burying her head in the crook of a warm neck, wrapping her arms tightly around the brunette.

“You’re welcome, beautiful.” Callie whispered into a messy mass of blonde curls, squeezing her lover tightly to her, her petite frame rising and falling with every synchronised breath they took. “So I passed the Valentine’s present test?”

Arizona chuckled against the juncture where Callie’s shoulder met her neck before turning over in her embrace, sliding down to sit between two strong thighs, pressing her back against a warm and inviting torso. “You did. I love everything.”

“You’re easy to buy for.” Callie spoke softly, her hands linking together over Arizona’s stomach. Smaller hands made indiscernible patterns against the outside of Callie’s thighs, playing absently with the hem of the brunette’s slightly creased sleep shorts. “I know you.” Callie finished, reaching for the blonde’s smaller hands, tangling their fingers together.

Arizona watched their hands for few moments, smiling slightly as she watched Callie trace her fingers tenderly over her metacarpals. Predictable. She turned her head to look up at the taller woman, eyes tracing over every feature of the face she’d spent years getting lost in. She’d happily spend the rest of her life doing exactly that.

“You do.” Her voice was soft, leaning up to kiss to the underside of Callie’s jaw.

“Thank you for my presents too, babe. It’s a good job we didn’t listen to one another when we said we weren’t going to do the presents thing this year, huh?”

Arizona chuckled, her head leaning back against a strong shoulder, Callie taking the opportunity to press a lingering kiss to her exposed neck.

“You’re welcome. Just make sure you don’t try that dress on anywhere near me when I’m wearing the Heelys. I’m not as stable in them as I used to be. And that’s without me getting distracted by you…”

Callie chuckled into blonde hair, lowering their hands to her lap to before Arizona pulled away, kneeling up to pour herself another cup of coffee from the French press.

“I was sad you didn’t get me one thing though.” Callie mused, sneaking her hand into the pile of used bows and wrapping paper, grabbing a long length of red ribbon. Arizona’s head looked around quickly, her face furrowed in confusion.

“What’s that?” she questioned, before looking back to the table to locate the milk jug.

“Well…” Callie grinned, kneeling up and shuffling until she was directly behind the blonde, pressing her torso against her back. Strong hands gripped slim hips to pull the smaller woman firmly back against her. “I’d have quite liked to see you all wrapped up.” she growled into Arizona’s ear as she gathered her in a strong embrace.

Arizona cackled, her hands dropping to rest over the back of Callie’s which had snaked around her stomach. “And how would I have wrapped myself, Dr Torres?” she questioned huskily, pushing her pelvis back slightly to press against gloriously curvy hips.

“Oh I don’t mean in wrapping paper.” Callie whispered into an alabaster ear before nipping it gently with her teeth as she untangled one hand from Arizona’s grip, dangling the length of red ribbon in front of the blonde. “A red bow would be more than enough…” she growled, tugging gently on the earlobe before her.

Arizona chuckled, shivering gently against the warm body surrounding her as exploring hands worked their way under her top, dragging the hem of it slowly up over her stomach. “Oh I am sorry…” She raised her arms over her head to allow Callie to pull off the offending item and discard it haphazardly onto the side table.

“It’s ok, I think we can rectify the situation.” Callie husked, pressing a hot kiss to a perfectly smooth trapezius, hands threading the ribbon around a freckle spattered ribcage, holding the loose ends against a toned stomach as she shuffled around in front of the smaller woman.

Unable to resist nipping a pouting lower lip, she pushed Arizona down to the floor until she lay on her back, the brunette’s hands still holding the ends of the ribbon against an increasingly heaving ribcage. Straddling the slim hips below her, Callie grinned, sighing heavily at the feeling of Arizona’s deft hands running up her bare thighs as they gripped the hips below her. She leaned down to press a kiss to the waiting lips of her lover, pinning the smaller woman to the floor with her torso and flicking her tongue gently against its mate as Arizona attempted to deepen the kiss.

“Just wait…”

Grinding her hips upwards, Arizona let out a frustrated exhale. “Calliope…”

“Patience…” Callie husked against her lips, breaking away to trail a path of kisses down the sensitive skin of a pale neck and down her sternum.

“You know, I’ve never been a fan of wrapping presents but I could definitely get used to this method.” Callie rasped with a grin, fingernails grazing the skin underneath Arizona’s breasts as she sat up to loop one end of the silky ribbon around the other. Arizona let out a strangled groan as talented hands looped the material into a bow, brown eyes locking directly on hers as she breathed heavily beneath the delicious weight of her lover. Capable hands finished tying the knot, brown eyes almost onyx as they held gaze with cerulean blue, fingers dropping from the ribbon to trace the edges which ran across a heaving ribcage. Callie groaned as she felt the movements of the bones nestled under the skin beneath her hands. So hot.

“Calliope…”

Arizona couldn’t help but raise her hips, pressing her pelvis up against the one resting against her, attempting to coax some movement. Callie grinned but said nothing as she allowed her gaze to run slowly down from blue eyes, over the deep rise and fall of perfect breasts and down a lightly tanned torso, red ribbon breaking up the expanse of skin.

Watching her own fingers trace a gentle path up and down Arizona’s stomach, as always loving the contrast in skin tones, she shuffled slightly backwards, straddling lightly trembling thighs. She bent to press a kiss just below Arizona’s navel, grinning when she felt the blonde flinch beneath her ministrations. She lingered at the skin just above the waistband of the blonde’s pyjama bottoms just a second longer before kissing a slow path up the centre of her torso, grinning against smooth skin as she heard another strained groan emitted from above her.

Tracing a love-heart pattern over a cluster of well explored freckles, just underneath the swell of Arizona’s left breast, caused the blonde to arch her back into the body above her. Callie chuckled against into the skin as her hands followed her mouth’s path up the blonde’s sides towards her breasts, reverent hands cupping the soft skin.

“Relax, baby. I’ll get there.”

The brunette grinned against slightly sticky skin as Arizona undulated gently beneath her and her small but strong hands grasped at Callie’s shirt, pulling it over her head urgently. Arizona’s arms immediately snapped around her lover’s back, keeping their bodies firmly pressed against one another. Callie delivered a final kiss against the swell of Arizona’s left breast before sitting back up, palms running down the blonde’s stomach again, this time letting her exploring fingers find the ties of checked pyjama bottoms, undoing them slowly.

Brown eyes locked on the hooded blue gaze staring up at her, fingers deftly pulling down the waistband of the blonde’s pyjamas slightly before letting go, the elastic making a soft slap against alabaster skin. Smirking, Callie ran the tip of her index finger along the newly exposed skin at the very base of Arizona’s stomach, grinning when she saw goosebumps arise under the pad of her finger. Arizona’s eyes rolled shut, biting down on her swollen bottom lip as she felt long fingers hook into the elastic of her pyjamas once more, swiftly pulling them off her legs.

Pressing a kiss to Arizona’s kneecap before parting her legs slightly, Callie trailed her lips over the skin of her leg until they reached the soft skin of an inner thigh. Arizona let out a soft whimper, tangling her fingers into long locks as Callie’s talented lips made gentle patterns along her thigh, its mate being worshipped by roaming fingers.

“Did you just write ‘Calliope’?” Arizona panted, gripping Callie’s hair tighter as those fingers continued their exploration. The brunette chuckled, biting into the flesh of a toned thigh. She nodded slightly, bringing her hands up to grip struggling hips. She kissed her way higher, tugging the elastic of pink heart patterned underwear lower to graze perfect teeth over a prominent hipbone.

“Just making sure the gift card was written to the right person. Now hush, I have a present to unwrap…”

*****

fin.

#Callie Torres #Arizona Robbins #Calzona #Callie and Arizona #Calzona Always - All Ways #submission #Valentine's Day Calzona

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theoreticallyawriter · 5 years

Text

Chapter 10: Round One

In which everything goes very badly, very quickly.

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Monday comes far too quickly and from the moment we step into the training room things are different. The mat that used to be folded up near the wall is now laid out in the center of the floor where there used to only be concrete.

Though the morning and lunch both pass without incident, I know that once we step back into the training room things are going to become significantly less void of incident. Eric has been hanging around training more and more, which is enough to make me uneasy; but he seems especially giddy as we all stream back in from lunch.

“Maybe someone’ll vomit on the mat,” I hear him stage whisper to Four, anticipation dripping from his words.

“Yeah, that sounds like fun to clean up.” Four rolls his eyes.

“Your problem, not mine.” Eric pats his shoulder pseudo-affectionately and Four looks like he wants to break his hand.

A whiteboard has been rolled in on off to the side of the mat and that’s where all the matches are displayed. Before I can even find my name, Tris and Christina distract me.

“Ow!” Tris exclaims as Christina elbows her.

“Sorry,” she says. “But look, I’m up against the tank.”

“The Tank?” Tris asks.

My interest piqued, I find Christina’s name on the board; she’s matched up against Molly, the Candor girl who looks like she could crush my skull with her bare hands. Thus the nickname I guess.

“Yeah. Peter’s slightly more feminine looking minion.” She nods her head over to where Peter, Molly, and the other Candor boy – whom I have dubbed carrot hair until I learn his name – stand talking.

“Those three,” Christina moves her finger back and forth between them, “have been inseparable since they crawled out of the womb, practically. I hate them.”

“Al,” Will punches him gently in the shoulder, “I wish you luck, buddy.” The two of them have been matched against each other.

Al rubs his shoulder. “Thanks. Ow.”

My name is at the bottom of the board, I’ve been put up against Edward. So that’s great, you know because he’s been studying hand to hand forever. That will go well for me.

I’m brought back to thinking about Minerva again, how easily it came to her. When she tried to show me some things I was young and all but hopeless, but she was amazing. It never really occurred to me that I might be like her someday, like with Mark, we don’t exactly have a lot of similarities.

Dammit. I was really looking forward to winning my first fight. Guess I’ll just have to look forward to winning my second fight, because I’m sure as hell not going to win this one.

“Al and Will!” Four calls. “Let’s go.”

“Wish me luck?” Will says as he starts to walk away from us.

“Hope you lose,” I say.

“Kick him in the dick, Al! For me!” Christina yells and Al buries his face in his hands.

“Why do I even bother?” Will shakes his head.

“Good luck, both of you,” Tris amends for both of us.

The two of them stand across from each other on the mat and put their hands up to protect themselves just like how Four taught us. They shuffle in circles along each other and take jabs that barely glance off. Al is at least half a foot taller than Will and broad. He seems to have gotten the hang of Four’s teaching just like the rest of us, as much of dick as Four is I can’t argue with the fact that he’s a good teacher, but Al lacks the finesse that Will has.

“So what’s wrong with them?” Tris says, still looking at Peter and his friends.

“Peter is pure evil. When we were kids, he would pick fights with kids in other factions and then cry and say that they started it what an adult came to break it up; and because he was Candor, of course everyone believed him.” She wrinkles her nose. “Drew is essentially his sidekick. I seriously doubt that he has a single independent thought in his head.” So that’s Carrot Hair’s name. I don’t care all that much, but I suppose that it saves me a moment of embarrassment should I ever have to address him. “And Molly…she’s the kind of person who fries ants with a magnifying glass just to watch them flail around.”

Back on the mat, Al punches Will hard in the jaw so hard that it turns his head and I wince as do Tris and, weirdly enough, Al. Eric smirks at Al as he plays with one of the rings in his eyebrows.

Will stumbles back, one hand pressed to the side of his face and blocks Al’s next blow with his arm, though from the look that he gives it’s just as painful. Al is strong, but slow and Will takes advantage of that. He weaves around Al, until he’s just inside his guard and then jabs his fingers into Al’s solar plexus, before backing out of Al’s reach again. Al wheezes, but presses forward.

Out of the corner of my eye, I can see Peter and his friends putting their heads close together and whispering, casting furtive glances in our direction every so often.

“I think that they know we’re talking about them,” Tris says.

Christina shrugs. “So? They already know I hate them.”

“They do? How?”

“Because I’ve told them.” Christina flashes a saccharine smile at them and waves.

Will hooks his foot around one of Al’s legs and yanks him to the ground with a loud thud. Al scrambles to his feet as Will once again bounces back far away from his reach.

“We try to be pretty honest about our feelings in Candor,” Christina says, drawing my attention back to her. “Plenty of people have told me that like me and plenty have told me that they do. It’s no big deal.”

“We just…weren’t supposed to hurt people,” Tris says, “back in Abnegation.

“I like to think that I’m helping them by hating them,” she says. “I’m reminding them that they aren’t god’s gift to humanity.”

“I had a few Erudite classmates who could have used that particular kind of help,” I say with a chuckle as Dahlia surfaces in mind for the first time in a while. I know that it may seem like I pick on her specifically a little too often, but she’s a bitch to everyone and anyone she comes across that is not an adult or someone that she thinks she can use to get ahead. I very specifically remember her being nice as pie to me right up until the moment that I befriended Casey and Eliza, two people whom she deemed unworthy of even the most basic kindness.

As the fight drags on, Will and Al become more hesitant than they were before. They’re becoming worn down, not to mention that they’re friends and not at all interested in hurting each other too badly. Will flips his brown hair away from his eyes. They both glance at Four but he gives no response to their stares. Beside him, Eric checks his watch and fake yawns.

After a few more seconds of circling, Eric seems to grow sick of the lack of action and shouts, “Do you think this is a leisure activity?! Should we break for naptime?! Fight each other!”

“But,” Al straightens and drops his hands, “is the fight scored or something? How do we know when to stop?”

“You’ll stop when one of you can’t continue,” Eric says.

“Or until one of you concedes,” Four says.

“According to the old rules,” Eric corrects him. “In the new rules, no one concedes.”

“You really wanna break them on their first fight?”

“A brave man never surrenders.”

“A brave man acknowledges the strength of others.”

“No concessions,” Eric repeats.

“Lucky for you,” Four turns his head away from him. “those weren’t the rules when we fought.”

Eric’s eyes darken and his jaw clenches. He doesn’t have to say anything for us to know which one of them to listen to. Eric is a Dauntless leader, he has the authority. Therefore, concession is not an option.

Will and Al take up their fighting stances again; Al keeps his feet firmly planted as if he is made of stone while Will bounces back from foot to foot. Though it’s true that Al could knock Will out with one good shot to the head, his victory is entirely dependent on whether or not he can actually hit Will, who seems to have taken up the strategy of hitting once and then moving back out of range as fast as possible.

Will dodges yet another one of Al’s punches and quickly moves around behind him and kicks him hard in the back. Al grunts and stumbles forward, but manages to stay on his feet. Al whips around and charges at Will, latching onto his arm so that he can’t move away this time and then punches Will hard in the jaw while his hands are occupied trying to free himself.

Will’s pale green eyes roll back into his head and he crumples to the ground. It nauseates me and I lean back against the cement pillar, unable to tear my gaze from him.

“God,” Christina whispers.

Al’s eyes widen and he falls to his knees next to Will. He taps his cheek with one finger and the room falls dead silent as we wait for him to respond. For a few seconds, he just continues to lie on the ground with one arm bent beneath him at an odd angle. Then he sucks in a large breath of air and groans, bringing his arm out from beneath him and putting it over his eyes. He mumbles incoherently at Al and Al mutters back, clearing the hair from Will’s face.

“Get him up,” Eric says. He stares at Will as though he’s a meal and Eric’s half-starved.

Four circles Al’s name on the whiteboard to show that he won.

Al wraps his arm behind Will beneath his arms and helps Will get to his feet.

“I’ll help.” I begin to walk forward to them.

“You’ll stay right here, Blondie,” Eric says. “You’re up next.”

Four instead walks over to Will and wraps his arm around his waist. “I’ve got him,” he says to Al.

Al lingers in his place for a moment as Four helps Will toward the door, watching them go.

“Off the mat, initiate!” Eric yells at Al as I step up.

“Good luck, Mimi.” Al squeezes my shoulder as he walks back to Tris and Christina.

“I’m gonna need it,” I whisper.

Edward and I are still for a small infinity before the fight begins and then he rushes me. I back up three steps and then twist, trying to get behind him. But he’s as quick on his feet as I am on mine and there’s hardly a moment where he isn’t facing me. I punch, aiming for his sternum but he catches my wrist and bends my arm back. I try to twist my arm out of his grip, but then he tries to do to me what I just watched Al do to Will. When his punch comes at my head I turn away and bring my other hand up and at the angle I am I know that I won’t be able to land an effective punch. Instead, I elbow him as hard as I can in the mouth.

We exchange blows and though I would like to say that mine were perfect and always landed on the weak points that Four made us memorize, I would say that I could only manage to do that a fifth of the time. Edward hits as hard as I expected to and his technique is nearly perfect.

He brings his leg up and kicks the back of my knees, but as I fall my fingers manage to snag the collar of his shirt. Caught unaware, I feel him bend and his nose smash into the top of my head. I shove him back away from me as my knees hit the ground to buy me a few seconds to get back to my feet.

“Will you two get on with it already!” Eric shouts.

“Would love to, unfortunately-” the rest of my sentence is lost because Edward punches me in the stomach.

His nose is dripping blood and he looks annoyed. I’m sure that this fight has already dragged on much longer than he would have expected or liked it to. He tries to punch me in the face but I duck under his arm and go for his side. As his guard drops down to protect himself there, I straighten quickly and punch him in the throat. He makes a gagging noise but neither stumbles nor falters. He punches me in the face and I can’t shake off blows like he can so I stumble back. Using this to his advantage, he knocks my feet out from under me and my back slams into the ground. He drops down but I roll to the side before he can pin me and sit up to kick him in his exposed ribs. I kick him hard enough that it knocks him down onto his side. I scramble over, not bothering with getting to my feet and try to pin him, placing one knee on his chest and trying to get his arms under control like we were taught. He flails and one of his hands catches in my hair. He drags my face toward his and then head-buts me. When I snap back, he has the opportunity to shove me back. Despite how strong he is, I don’t go very far; I wind up still on his legs, but he can sit up now and he manages to free himself relatively quickly. We both jump to our feet and I punch him in the face. My nose has started bleeding too and fatigue is starting to get to me. I try to put some distance between us with an array of different punches, but he scarcely lets me out of an arm’s reach. He punches me in the jaw and then grabs my shoulders to hold me still while he knees me in the stomach. When I double over, his knee comes up again and this time it hits my face. I fall a second time and don’t quite make it away when he drops down to pin me. One of his hands locks my upper right arm in a vice grip and holds it to the ground while the other tries to land a hit on my face despite the fact that I keep moving my head. I can’t hit very hard at this angle and my left arm isn’t as strong as my right anyways, which Edward must have figured out, so it’s like my attempts to fight back are doing nothing.

Seemingly annoyed with my struggling, Edward stops trying to punch me in the face and uses that hand to pin my left wrist. He head-buts me and it’s not something that I can dodge.

The next thing that I’m aware of is someone’s hand on my face. I grab the wrist that it’s attached to and open my eyes.

“Hey, she lives.” Edward looms above me looking very, very smug. “Take it easy. Fight’s over.”

I huff and very quietly say, “Fuck.”

“Here.” Edward stands and offers me his hand. “Let’s get you to the infirmary.”

I take his hand and he pulls me to my feet. “I don’t need to go to the infirmary. I’m good.”

“Uh.” Edward gives me a quizzical look. “I…knocked you out.” There’s a slight upturn at the end of his sentence that makes it sound like a question. “You weren’t fine just a minute ago and, from one person who’s been knocked out before to another, you’re not fine now.”

“Fine,” I concede. “If only to make sure that you didn’t knock something loose.” I take a step and then immediately realize what Edward meant about not being fine because the world feels like I’m spinning and going to be sick. I grab his shoulder to try to stop myself from collapsing again.

“See.” Edward wraps an arm around my waist to keep me upright. “Not fine.”

“Not fine,” I mumble. “Got it.”

“Tris and Myra!” Eric yells as Edward helps me off the mat. “You’re up!”

Tris and I exchange smiles and we pass each other.

“Kiss for good luck?” Myra says and Edward nearly drops me to give her that kiss.

We walk through the winding hallways together in silence for all of about a minute.

“So why does Four call you Ice Queen?” Edward asks.

“’Cause he’s a dick-bag.” I shrug. “I don’t know.”

Edward snickers. “Never mind. I think I’ve figured it out.”

I roll my eyes. “Oh really? And why, pray tell, would that be?”

He hums, tapping his finger against his chin as though he’s deep in thought. “Well, and I might be totally off base here, but just as a guess; it might have something to do with positively subzero personality.”

“Don’t also be a dick-bag, Edward. I have taken one too many hits to the head to deal with that. Or maybe not enough.”

He chuckles. “Go with one too many. Can’t have you passing out on me again, Ice Queen.”

“Oh not you too,” I groan.

His chuckle turns to a laugh. “Guess I’ll just have to think of an obnoxious nickname of my own for you.”

“If you try then I swear that the next time we’re up against each other, I’ll turn you into a fine powder.”

“Oh please, I’m already fine. And I think that you might have a bit of trouble doing that considering how fast you went down this time.”

“Yeah, and your bloody nose was just spontaneous and not at all because you hit it on the top of my head of all things. I didn’t even have to punch you.”

He snorts. “There’s blood in your hair by the way. Like, a lot of blood in your hair.”

“I figured. That’s gonna be a bitch and a half to wash out later.”

He hums in agreement and we arrive at the infirmary. He opens the door and we have to go through sideways because I’m still having a bit of trouble standing up on my own.

“Oh great, more of them,” says the aqua haired nurse who’s checking over Will. She turns to Four. “I hope that this isn’t going to become a regular thing.”

“Initiation, Phyllis. Can’t be helped.”

“Can’t be helped my ass,” Phyllis mutters. “Just stop making them punch each other into unconsciousness and you’re golden.” She smiles at me. “Come here, Darling. Let’s see how bad you’ve been damaged.” She hands Edward and I both tissues to clean up the blood flowing from our noses.

“You’re good to go back, Edward,” Four says.

Edward leaves and I take a seat on the bed next to Will’s, who is now awake.

“Mmm, I thought you were supposed to win your fight,” he mumbles.

“Yeah, that was before I got matched up against Edward. You weren’t kidding about his skills.”

“Oh not at all. Looks like you fucked him up a little, going off of his face and your hair. Wish I could have seen it.”

“Deep breath.” Phyllis presses her stethoscope to my chest. She does that five more times and then sets the stethoscope off to the side and pulls the curtain out between Will and I. “Take off your shirt, I’m sure you’re already bruising.” I do as she says.

“Hey,” I say to Will, “you know that I didn’t actually mean what I said about hoping that you lost, right? I really didn’t think that you would.”

“Yeah, I know that, Mimi. It’s Christina that I’m concerned about.”

We share a laugh that turns into me groaning in pain.

“Yeah, don’t do that,” Phyllis says. “It’s gonna hurt a lot more tomorrow morning, by the way. But nothing’s broken, you and the other one are good to go.”

“Thank you, Nurse Phyllis,” I say and then pull my shirt back on.

“Thanks,” Will calls from the other side of the curtain.

“It’s what I’m here for. I’m sure as young Dauntless you two will find yourselves in here quite a bit. I wish you both the best of luck in initiation and that you’re not in here often.”

“I’ll wait here for the others,” Four says.

The last thing that I hear before I walk out the door is Phyllis saying to Four, “You’d better be making sure that they’re eating right. They’re growing kids and that boy is built like a string bean.”

“If it’s any consolation,” I say to Will as we walk down the hallway, “you looked really good. I wouldn’t be surprised if Four gave you points based entirely on how great your technique was.”

“Wow,” Will says, “that sounded like a compliment. I will take it.”

Our conversation is cut short when we pass Tris in the hallway being supported by Edward.

Will chuckles. “You would think with all that pent up aggression from years of Abnegation repression, she would have been able to win that fight.”

“Shut up, Will,” Tris mutters, barely heard over our laughter.

Back in the training room, Peter and Drew are fighting and not at all evenly matched. Peter is beating Drew into the ground, but he hasn’t passed out yet.

We walk over to Christina and Al and I sit down, leaning back against the pillar to feel the cold of the concrete against my skin. I still feel nauseous, but I flatly refuse to throw up because that would just be embarrassing.

“How’d Tris look?” Will asks.

“Good,” Al says. “Really good.”

“Guess she’s not quite as helpless as we thought,” Christina adds.

“Yeah, neither is Myra. I mean the girl’s the size of a leaf, but I guess Edward’s been showing her some things,” Al says. “It was…wow.”

I curl into a ball trying to stay awake and keep my lunch down. My head is killing me

Tris comes back right as Peter knocks out Drew and sits down beside me. In the passing hours while the others complete their fights, I start to feel marginally better. I’m sure I look like hot garbage but it doesn’t hurt to have my eyes open anymore.

The last person before Christina goes town like a sack of potatoes and she tilts her head back against the pillar. “Oh shit.”

“You’ll do great,” Will says.

“We’ll cheer if you want us to,” I say.

Christina rolls her eyes. “Thanks, but I’ll pass.”

She tucks her short black hair behind her ears as she steps up onto the mat and then cracks her knuckles. Her nerves show clearly on her face, though I can understand why. Will, Tris, and I just got done getting knocked the fuck out by our respective opponents.

I miss the beginning of the fight because another wave of nausea forces me to rest my head back on my knees and close my eyes because those fluorescent lights are definitely not helping.

My head snaps up when I hear Molly wheeze as Christina kicks her in the side. Molly grits her teeth and I half expect her to growl. Her hair falls into her face and she doesn’t brush it away; instead, she smirks and then dives at Christina’s middle with her hands outstretched. They both go crashing to the ground and Christina thrashes underneath her, but Molly is much heavier than she can manage to escape from.

She punches and Christina jerks her head to the side, but Molly just keeps trying until she finally manages to land a blow to her jaw, then her nose, then her mouth. I cover my mouth with both hands and watch in sheer horror.

“Jesus Christ,” Will slides down next to me.

“Don’t, uh,” I cringe when Molly lands another punch, “she’s not done yet.”

Blood runs down Christina’s face and drips onto the mat; she’s still conscious so Eric won’t call the fight. She screams into her teeth and I wish that she would just pass out so that we can get her to the infirmary already. Molly doesn’t even show a hint of remorse as she continues to beat Christina.

After a few more agonizing moments, Christina screams and drags one arm free and punches Molly in the ear to knock her off balance. When Molly teeters, she manages to wriggle free and crawl away. She puts one hand over her face and the blood covers her fingers in seconds. She sobs into her bloodied hands and then screams again when Molly kicks her and sends her sprawling onto her back. I can’t bring myself to tear my eyes away; all I can do is watch in horror and at some point during the horror, Will and I wind up clinging to each other while Tris and Al do the same.

“Stop!” Christina wails, holding out her hands as if they will protect her as Molly pulls her foot back again. “Stop. I’m…” her cough is mixed with a sob. “I’m done.”

Molly smiles and backs up. My friends and I breathe a collective sigh of relief and, ignoring my dizziness, I stand to go help her and Will moves with me. I take a step forward but stop dead when Eric stalks toward the mat. He looms over Christina with his arms folded.

“I’m sorry, what did you say?” he says quietly. “You’re done?”

Christina moves into a more stable sitting position and then nods, the tears that run down her face mix with the blood and then drip from her bruising jaw onto the mat.

“Get up,” he says with icy calm. I would not expect such an intensely Dauntless man to be so chillingly quiet. Dauntless are loud, explosive; like the Candor. Angry Dauntless scream and fight, I’ve seen the occasional fight break out over practically nothing. I know what Kira tells me. I also know exactly what Eric’s doing, that quiet rage and unerring calm that can sometimes be the most fear inducing thing it is. It’s the tone that my mother uses when she’s upset with people, it’s a very Erudite mannerism.

He grabs Christina’s arm as she is wobbling to her feet and then yanks her to her feet himself.

“Follow me,” he says to the rest of us and nods his head toward the door.

We do so in dead silence down the stone corridors. I would actually like Four to appear right about now, round the corner and cut us off. Maybe, just maybe, he might be able to talk Eric down from whatever he is about to do.

Once again, I hear the Chasm before I see it. I feel it as a vibration in my chest and the roar fills me ears.

Most of us all stop by the railing, before the bridge, but Eric grabs Christina and pulls her up the stairs and out to the middle of the bridge. There’s no one around but the eleven of us; the sun filters down through the skylight and casts the whole space in a washed out white light that’s too bright for my recently punched head to deal with very well.

Eric shoves Christina against the railing and she groans, almost crumpling again but managing to support herself against one of the metal bars.

“Climb over it,” he says.

“What?” she gasps and gapes at him with wide eyes.

“He wouldn’t,” I hear Myra whisper.

“No,” Edward gasps.

“No fuckin’ way,” someone else whispers.

“What?” another initiate claps their hand over their mouth in shock.

“He can’t,” Al whimpers.

“He can’t actually do that,” Will mutters.

“I think he can,” I whisper back.

“Shut up!” Eric snaps at us. He whirls back on Christina; enunciating each word he says, “Climb over the railing. You have three options; hang over the Chasm for five minutes and I will forget your cowardice, fall and die, or give up and leave.” As he finishes her sentence, more water splashes up from the raging river below and coats the thin metal rails in what has to be absolutely frigid water. Even if she does choose to do it, there’s no way to know if she’ll be able to hold on. Even without just having been beaten to hell and back it would be highly debatable whether she’d be able to do it. She’s looking at a choice between factionlesness and death.

The image of her slipping is enough to almost make me burst into tears.

“Fine,” she says with a tremble to her voice. She places her feet on the bar closest to the ground, gripping the top bar as hard as she can. She shakes as she climbs over and then lets her feet hang in open air. She looks over at us and I can see the fear in her eyes.

Al sets his watch and then it becomes a waiting game.

For the first minute and a half, everything is fine. Christina keeps a firm grip on the railing and her arms don’t tremble. She doesn’t so much as spare Eric a glance; she looks only at the nine of us, or probably just at me and her other three friends.

But then the river crashes up again, splashing the bridge and soaking Christina’s back. She cries out as her face strikes the barrier and her hands slip until she’s hanging only by her fingertips, she tries to get a better grip but now her hands are wet.

None of us can move a muscle to help her. As brave as we’re supposed to be, none of us are willing to cross Eric. I don’t think that anyone is willing to cross Eric. I would not think that Dauntless would be the ones to just let a person risk death because they’re – we’re – too afraid to anger a single person; but here we are.

Christina lets out a sob louder than the river that snaps my heart in two. Another spray of water coats her body and she shakes violently. One of her hands slips from the railing and she can’t get it back up again no matter how she tries.

“Come on, Christina,” Al says with surprising volume. “You can do it! Grab the railing again!”

Christina swings her arm up and fumbles for the railing again, straining for it and everyone is dead silent but Al cups his hands around his mouth and hoots.

“You’ve got this!” Will exclaims.

“We know you can do it!” The words break from my throat with more power than I knew that I had.

“Hang on!” Myra yells.

Drew makes a noise that dies when Peter elbows him in the ribs.

“Come on,” Tris says barely above a whisper. She clears her throat and says much louder, “One minute left.”

She manages to grab the railing again just barely and a cheer ripples through the crowd that makes Eric glare daggers at us. Christina’s arms shake so hard that I wonder if the bridge itself is shaking, but even so she twists her head and stares at us again.

“Come on, Christina,” Tris and Al’s voices join together, then mine and Will’s, Edward’s and Myra’s. It becomes a chant.

“Shut the fuck up!” Eric roars and stomps on the bridge just as another wave of water splashes her. She shrieks as she slips of the railing and half of us scream with her.

But she doesn’t fall. She manages to grip the bottom of the bridge at the very last second, hard enough to keep her from falling to her death. She’s much closer to the splashing water now; the next big wave could drag her down with it.

“Time!” Al almost spits the word at Eric. “That’s five minutes, let her up.”

Eric looks down at his own watch, taking his sweet time examining it from different angles as though it’s the most fascinating thing he’s seen all day.

“Fine,” he says after too long. “You can come up now, Christina.”

Al walks toward the railing.

“No,” Eric says. “She has to pick herself up.”

“No she doesn’t,” Al growls.

“Fuck you,” I sort of mutter under my breath. Sort of because everyone around me hears me and Eric may have also heard me.

“She did what you said,” Al continues, “she proved that she’s not a coward. You never said anything about her having to get up on her own.”

Eric doesn’t say anything as Al storms toward the railing with the three of us right on his heels. Will and Al reach over and are able to pull Christina up from the bottom and once she’s high enough, Tris and I assist them. We haul her over the safely onto the bridge and she immediately drops to the ground, knees clanging against the metal. She breathes heavily, her face is still smeared with blood from the fight and now her entire body is soaked and she’s shivering. We go down with her and catch our breath together, saying nothing and only forming a protective little circle around her as she begins to sob.

#divergent #The Anthem Series #guess who's back #it's been a while

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