"Stop!"

Thank God. I can't take any more. Every part of my body throbs. My left eye is swollen shut, and my nose feels three times it's normal size.

I want to lie on the mat and die in peace, but if I don't get up soon Eric will kick my butt. He doesn't tolerate weakness. He doesn't tolerate things like mercy and compassion.

Get up. Get up before you are forced to go again.

A hand wraps around my arm, tugging me to a standing position. Thankfully, the hand stays put, otherwise I'd find my way to the floor again in no time.

"Tris." A familiar deep voice cuts through my hazy thoughts.

The last thing I remember before my world goes dark is the feel of rough hands picking me up, carrying me to safety.

0000

"You. Need. To. Fix. Her."

Fantastic. Eric's on the warpath. The barely restrained anger held in each word, warns me he is close to losing it.

I should open my eyes, but I'm comfortable and my head throbs. Opening my eyes would kill me right now.

"I'm doing the best I can," a woman replies patiently.

"Do better," he bites out.

Whatever has his panties in a wad must be important. He sounds more surly than usual.

"Perhaps you should leave if you can't be patient," the woman says, less understanding this time.

"That's not happening."

He never sounds unsure. I often envy his confidence. It pours off him in waves, hitting everyone with its power.

I don't envy his anger and cruelty.

"Thirsty," I say hoarsely.

"Your awake," Eric

I've either died or I'm still asleep because Eric wouldn't care if I was awake or not. In fact, he'd probably prefer me dead.

"Tris?" he asks as if he's afraid I fell back to sleep.

Yeah, I'm dead. Not even I could dream this up.

"Why isn't she responding?"

"You shouldn't yell," I finally manage to say. "You're making my headache worse."

I'm going to pay for that comment, but who cares? Soon I'll be factionless. I keep losing fights and my shooting skills leave a lot to be desired. In all honesty, it's only a matter of time.

Once I get back on my feet, I am going to be terrified at the thought of being without a faction, but right now I can't muster the energy.

"Always with the back talk," he says fondly.

"Why are you here?" I croak.

"Had to make sure Peter hadn't killed you," he says lightly.

Fingers press against my ribs and I can't contain the cry that crawls its way between my parted lips.

"Watch it!" Eric yells. "I brought her here for you to heal her, not injure her further."

With superhuman strength, I pry my eyes open, quickly taking in my surroundings.

So someone took me to Dauntless' makeshift hospital. I catalogue beds lined in a row, bare walls, and a large man sitting beside me - Eric in all his glory, for once looking like he wants to help me rather than hurt me.

The nurse continues to poke and prod me, completely ignoring the thunderous expression Eric's aiming her way. I guess not everyone is afraid of the big bad Eric, I think, secretly amused.

"We need a real doctor around here," he grumbles loudly enough for both of us to hear.

"I've had just about enough of your mouth," the pink-haired girl retorts.

"I'm fine," I assure both of them. I need to get back to training.

"You have two cracked ribs, a black eye, and a concussion. Not quite fine," she corrects. "You're going to need someone to stay with you until tomorrow."

Perhaps Christine? Or Will...

"I'll do it," Eric offers gruffly.

"No," I shoot back instantly.

I start to understand why Eric's playing the concerned leader. He's looking for an opportunity to take me out. Well, I am not going down without a fight.

"Yes," Eric says, standing from his chair.

"I have friends," I mumble.

He says nothing to my petulant comment. Instead, he gingerly picks me up and cradles me in his arms.

"Are you sure I'm not dead?" I ask the brightly colored hair nurse.

"Pretty sure, yeah," she says, her confused eyes observing me carefully.

What would happen if I asked her to help me? Is she a good enough fighter to beat Eric? It would be selfish to take the chance, knowing she might get hurt, I tell myself.

Though this is Dauntless. There's a decent chance she wouldn't help me even if I begged and pleaded.

"I will be soon," I say under my breath.

0000

"You can stay in my quarters till tomorrow," he says, like me being in his apartment is no big deal. And it is. It's a very big deal.

He carries me down numerous corridors, finally reaching his door.

Inside is what I would imagine Eric's room to look like had I ever given it much thought. Bare except for the weapons scattered randomly throughout the large room. Throwing knives littered the kitchen counter, a few guns lean against the side of his large bed. If he brought me here to kill me, he would have plenty of options available to him.

Deciding I've been quiet long enough, I gaze resolutely into his eyes, tilt my chin defiantly, and say, "Are you going to kill me?"

He keeps eye contact. "You think I'm capable of that?"

From anyone else I would think I'd hurt his feelings, but Eric is Eric, and, yes, I think him capable of it. Eric does what he wants, when he wants, rules be damned.

My silence must be answer enough for him because he nods his head. In the next second, I'm being deposited gently on the bed. Eric's bed. The bed Eric sleeps on. The bed he probably does...other things on.

"Are you hungry?" He heads to a small fridge next to the sink.

"No," I say, which is a lie. I haven't eaten since last night.

"Are you trying to be selfless by not eating, or something? You hardly ate anything last night and you didn't have anything for breakfast," he says, taking out two pieces of bread from a cabinet over the sink.

How does he know my eating habits? Has he been watching me? I almost ask, but I think better of it before the words leave my mouth. "What are you making?" I ask instead.

"A culinary delicacy," he says, turning his head to grin at me.

The "culinary delicacy" turns out to be a peanut butter and jelly sandwich, and it tastes amazing. I'm so hungry I don't put up much of a fight when he offers the sandwich to me. I figure if he poisoned it, then that will be that. I've had a good run.

"Why aren't you eating?" I ask suspiciously.

For some unknown reason, he seems inclined to sit on the side of the bed and stare at me. I haven't had a chance to look into a mirror since my fight with Peter, but I can easily guess I look terrible. I certainly feel terrible. And I'm not one to be self-conscious about my looks thanks to my Abnegation upbringing, and yet I can feel heat rushing to my cheeks. Hopefully, I'm bruised up enough, he won't see my blush.

"Lost my appetite," he replies, his expression not giving anything away. "Don't worry," he adds, his eyes teasing, "I didn't poison your food."

"Didn't say you did."

"You were thinking it," he replies, smiling.

"Why are you doing this?" I blurt out.

"Doing what?" His innocent face doesn't fool me for a second. Eric has an agenda, and I want to know what it it.

"Your being...nice. To me, the Stiff. Why?"

"You know what I think I like the most about you, Tris?" he says, ignoring my question, and using my real name for the first time in...well, forever. "You're extremely feisty. You don't cower for anyone, and I respect that."

"So we're exchanging heartfelt speeches now?" I ask incredulously.

"Didn't think you'd be into that kind of thing," he teases.

"Eric!" I yell without thinking.

I'm just so frustrated and confused, I'm not thinking straight. No one raises their voice to Eric unless they have a death wish.

He takes a deep breath as if to brace himself. "I was scared when you went down," he confesses quietly. "You just...you just fell and I froze."

I say nothing because my brain has deserted me. Words have escaped me, and I'm lost.

"I'm used to being in control," he admits. "I like it that way, so when you came along I wasn't prepared."

"Prepared?"

"For you," he laughs. "Today I finally realized something," he continues soberly. "Something mind blowing and very scary."

"What's that?" I ask softly, half afraid to hear his answer.

"Tris, I'm in love with you."

A gasp echoes off the walls, bouncing around like an out-of-control bouncy ball. I realize, belatedly, that the loud sound came from me.

He's lying. This is some kind of trick to embarrass me. He wants to see me broken. He wants to see me bleed.

"Stop," I demand, my voice shaking.

"Why?" he counters. "I'm tired of pretending that I don't care about you. I'm not saying you have to feel the same way, but could you at least give me a chance, Stiff?"

"I don't believe you," I whisper. "You don't have feelings," I say, my voice rising.

I ignore the shame I feel from saying something so harsh. I have nothing to be ashamed over, so I stuff the feeling away and wait for Eric to cut the charade. Any minute now he's going to get up and smirk over how I'm not as gullible as I look. I just have to be patient and wait. Only, I wait and wait some more and nothing happens.

"This is about Four, isn't it?" Eric's sitting next to me, hunched over; gaze averted. I swear I can detect bitterness in his tone. "You have a crush on him, right?"

I have a hard time maintaining eye contact with his eyes drilling into my soul, searching for an answer to his question. Four hasn't been on my mind for some time. He's a mystery I don't have the time to solve with everything I have going on. At one point I was interested, but that faded away fairly quickly once training began.

"No," I say. "I don't have feelings for Four."

"If that's true, then your refusing to give me a chance, based on...?"

Impatience lights his eyes, his jaw is clenched in what I think to be anger, and I say the words I've been dying to say since I met him. "You're cruel. You revel in other people's pain for no other reason than the joy you get out of it," I let loose, the words flying from my mouth like arrows. "You don't care about anyone but yourself. If you really mean what you say, then I'm saying no based on who you are," I pause, "because when I look at you, I see nothing more than an empty, angry, bitter man."