𝐁𝐋𝐀𝐂𝐊 𝐒𝐌𝐎𝐊𝐄 𝐑𝐈𝐒𝐈𝐍𝐆

𝟎𝟏𝟔

"𝙄'𝙢 𝙤𝙣𝙡𝙮 𝙝𝙪𝙢𝙖𝙣, 𝙄 𝙢𝙖𝙠𝙚 𝙢𝙞𝙨𝙩𝙖𝙠𝙚𝙨.
𝙄'𝙢 𝙤𝙣𝙡𝙮 𝙝𝙪𝙢𝙖𝙣, 𝙩𝙝𝙖𝙩'𝙨 𝙖𝙡𝙡 𝙞𝙩 𝙩𝙖𝙠𝙚𝙨.
𝙏𝙤 𝙥𝙪𝙩 𝙩𝙝𝙚 𝙗𝙡𝙖𝙢𝙚 𝙤𝙣 𝙢𝙚. 𝘿𝙤𝙣'𝙩 𝙥𝙪𝙩 𝙩𝙝𝙚 𝙗𝙡𝙖𝙢𝙚 𝙤𝙣 𝙢𝙚."

𝘏𝘶𝘮𝘢𝘯 - 𝘙𝘢𝘨'𝘯'𝘉𝘰𝘯𝘦 𝘔𝘢𝘯

▲ ▲ ▲ ▲

You lurched forward in bed, clutching the thin blankets that were wrapped around you in a tight cocoon. You realized all at once that you weren't in your usual cot, pressed against the corner of the initiation dormitories. This room was bright, white, and blinding and for a fleeting moment, you considered the idea that you might be back in your bedroom in Amity.

But just like the Dauntless dark, the light was also artificial.

Flickering fluorescent bulbs hummed overhead, beaming down at you and casting sharp shadows across the floor. Six or seven beds were lined neatly against the walls, all of them empty but yours. A long black curtain stood between you and the cot beside you, obstructing your view of the doorway. But you could still easily see the opposite wall and the cabinet of medical supplies that Eric Coulter was currently leaning against. 

The machine next to your head began beeping frantically as you jackknifed up in bed. You were unfamiliar with most technology; the glowing scoreboard and those little square tablets that all the leaders carried around boggled your mind every time you saw them. You also weren't exactly used to waking up in the same room as Eric, although it had happened twice now.

He glanced up from where he'd been wringing his hands, jaw instantly tightening and his posture turning strict. He seemed uncomfortable being caught doing something so human. There was something deep brewing behind his eyes, like a dust storm. You figured it must be what disappointment looked like on him.

"Where am I?" you croaked. Your face felt numb and puffy and there was a dull ache pulsing through the rest of your body. Eric licked his lips, gaze softening before hardening all over again. You must've looked even worse than you felt.

"You're in the infirmary. Edward did quite a number on you." He tried to chuckle but stopped when he realized you weren't laughing along with him. It was so much easier to be funny when he could make jokes at the expense of his scrawny initiates. "His training's been suspended for attempted murder."

Amongst other things, he thinks. But instead focuses on the way your eyebrows knit together and your hands fold gingerly in your lap as you piece together his explanation. "No," you insist quietly. "I mean...where am I?"

He put a supportive hand on the cabinet behind him, wrapping his fist tightly around the ledge. How hard did that motherfucker hit you? Eric would tear every room in this compound apart to find that sorry son of a bitch if he left you with more than just a few bruised ribs and a cut on your lip.

You frowned as Eric studied you, blinking slowly and analytically. "...on the scoreboard?" you clarified.

Oh. Right.

He cleared his throat but ultimately dismissed you with a quick jerk of his chin, eyes wandering toward the window. It's dark out, which means you've slept through the rest of the day at least. 

"That doesn't matter right now."

"You know it does," you press, throwing aside your blankets. One of the medics must have changed you out of your bloodied training clothes because you now found yourself in your grey pullover and black athletic shorts. Bandages and sutures littered most of your exposed skin and the sight of your bruises left an awful taste in your mouth—like rotten citrus.

Eric surged forward, arms outstretched to stop you from trying to stand. "Easy, sweetheart. I need to call the nurse in here."

"No—" you wince, struggling to hide how much pain you were actually in. "I need to get back out there." Your limbs were on fire, tugging at stitches and sore muscle tissue with every move you made.

"Hey. Listen to me," Eric commanded in the tone he's only ever used on your entire class of initiates. The toe of your sock was barely grazing the sterile tile floor when he hooked his hands under your arms and hoisted you back onto the edge of the bed. "You're staying here."

You don't miss a beat. "How many points did I lose?"

"(Y/N)–"

"How many?"

Eric licked his lips again, extending his throat so he didn't have to look you in the eye. A deep, defeated exhale is produced through his nose. "Ten."

You leaned back onto the papery mattress and did the math in your head, drumming your swollen fingers across your bruised knee. "Ten? that's—I'm in the red?"

He hates how devastated you look. And he hates that he was the one who had to put your scores into the system. He hated seeing your name drop and he hated watching everyone else's flood around it, instantly filling the empty white space like vultures.

"It's not that simple," he said. "When fights end unlawfully, the loser earns a share of their attacker's points."

You stared up at him blankly, unsure of what you were supposed to do with this information. Eric huffed. "20th place. Above the cut. For now."

Relieved tears puddled in your waterline but you were quick to brush them away. You wouldn't let him see you cry just yet. With slow, calculated movements, you crept back up the bed until you had just enough room to tuck your knees against your chest, which you did carefully.

"I'm sorry..." you whispered, gulping down your shame before it could bubble over and turn you into a sobbing mess. He had so much hope for you. He must have. Otherwise, he wouldn't have bothered to help you like he did. And all you did today was let him down. "I'm sorry that I wasted your time."

Winning against Edward would have taken skill that you didn't have and strength that you haven't earned. How could you have thought for one second that you had what it took to beat him?

In the corner of your misty eye, you noticed Eric tense up ever so slightly. Careful not to jostle your fresh injuries, he sauntered down to the very end of your cot and leaned his side against the thin mattress. You pretend not to be completely embarrassed when his eyes rake over you, viewing your fresh bruises like medals of defeat.

"Why did you choose Dauntless?" Eric asked. And he must've sensed the perfectly crafted excuse about to leave your mouth because he added hastily; "The truth. No bullshit."

The thought of telling him the truth worked like a thick serum through your body. Your divergence, your mistake at the ceremony. He hadn't been there, but wouldn't someone have told him by now? Of how your ache for peace led you down this dark and treacherous path? You could never tell him the truth, but at the same time you were uncertain which lie will get you in the least amount of trouble.

Shifting your weight, you lean over your knees. "Are you asking as my friend? Or as my instructor?"

Eric looks caught — like a child who was seen eating a sweet far too close to mealtime. He considers your question, the hint of a hint of a knowing smirk playing onto his lips.

"As your ally."

Ally. An ally was the closest thing to a friend that he's made in his two years as Dauntless. But he'd never tell you that. Just like he would never tell you that he's been waiting outside the infirmary doors since that morning, counting down the seconds until the nurse finally allowed him inside. And he'd also never tell you just how long he stood frozen in that corner waiting for you to rouse from your trauma-induced sleep.

You nod contemplatively, crossing your arms over the tops of your knees. Of course, he knew the answer to your trick question. Now you actually had to give him what he wanted. "Amity..." you start slowly, buying yourself some time. "Amity is acceptance. It's-It's healing and it's support and it's love. It's family."

That last word drives a stake through your heart. "It was beautiful. It is beautiful. And I miss it. But...But I was always so jealous of the people who felt at home there. It was like...there was a wall between me and the rest of my faction," as you spoke, you drew the invisible barrier in the air between you and Eric. It distracted you from trying to dissect his unreadable expression. "And no matter how hard I tried, I just couldn't tear it down. I hated it there because...because I loved it too much."

You try not to think of June or those summers you spent lounging on quilts beside the pond or those apple trees you would weave in and out of during drawn-out games of tag. "Erudite, Candor, Abnegation, those are factions. I chose Dauntless because...I felt like maybe it could be home."

You're not sure if anything you've said made any sense, but if Eric's quick inhale was anything to go by, you've given him an answer that satisfied the fiery Erudite curiosity at his core. He struggled to form a response and you could see the cogs whirring behind his eyes.

"Get some rest," he said, and that was pretty much all you expected from him. "You need it."

One of the lights in the corner flickered and you watched from under your eyelashes as Eric made his way to the door, listening to his echoed footsteps long after he turned the corner and disappeared from sight, unaware then that he would be your most constant companion in the days of your recovery. 

Because he wasn't just your instructor anymore, or a face from your past. Eric was your ally.

(A/N: Heyy. Prom was last night and I'm a teeny weeny bit hungover so I hope this is legible. I've been editing it for the past few days and idk why it took me so long. But enjoy! I have a strange urge to work on R&R again so...)