I back up another step.

David is speaking, talking about getting rid of me, how he can't allow my theft. He doesn't understand, and that is okay. There isn't time to argue or distract.

David's eyes gleam fiercely, and underneath the fury and betrayal, I see a hint of his madness. He raises his gun, and I tense my muscles, about to spring towards the box when suddenly something slams into my side, sending me flying.

BANG.

Pain explodes in my chest and I slam into the counter, crumple to the ground. My head cracks against the floor, the force of it sending waves of bile into my throat, black spots swimming in front of my eyes.

BANG.

The gun goes off again, and I remember. The box. The serum. The code.

I can hear Caleb repeating the code over and over and over, and I pull myself up against the counter. Each movement sends shockwaves of agony through my chest and body. I gasp under its weight, my vision blurring black.

Focus! I scream. I punch the sequence into the box. What comes next?

The button. The green button. I slam my hand into the green button, and it's done. I slump to the floor, the sounds of struggle behind me bringing me back to my surroundings. I turn, huddled against the counter and see two figures grappling. The gun glints between their hands.

I can't see who it is. My vision is blurring, narrowing, blackness working its way in. I struggle to focus through the pain, block out each wave of pain that flows over me with every breath. My palm slaps against the floor, and I pull myself towards David and the figure.

BANG.

The gun goes off again, and my ears are ringing with the echoes of it throughout the tiny room.

David is slumped in his chair, and the figure gasps, falling back toward the ground.

I recognise that face. I recognise that hair. I recognise him.

No.

Gritting my teeth, I drag my body towards the man sprawled on the ground, gasping with each breath. Blood is pooling underneath him and I drag myself through it, my hands sliding through its warmth.

Every breath I take is like being stabbed over and over and over, but I have to touch him, I have to hold him. This can't be happening.

I cup his face in my hands, and his hand reaches out for me. His eyes. His nose. His mouth. I know each feature.

No. No.

"No!" I gasp, staring into his face. His hand trails through my hair. I grab his hand in mine, clutching tightly.

"Beatrice."

"Caleb." The word comes out a sob. "Caleb, why are you here? Where are you hurt?" Frantically, I run my hands over his neck and chest. My fingers find a bullet hole in his shirt, and I press the heel of my palm to the open wound, trying to stop the blood. So much blood.

"Beatrice," he gasps, "Forgive me."

"I have. I did." Tears are streaming down my face, mixing with his blood, my blood, the black dots. I struggle to focus on his face. "Caleb, you can't sacrifice yourself out of guilt. It doesn't work like that." Anger and grief pour through me, as his blood pours through my fingers.

"I'm not. It's…you." His words are broken by his breaths, coming shallower. His eyes lose focus, re-focus on me. "For you," he coughs, and blood bubbles, coating his lips.

I gather him closer, sobbing and rocking. "Caleb no. No, you can't leave me."

"I'm not…leaving," his voice is a whisper, and I lean into him to hear him. "Beatrice…with you. I love you." His breath goes silent and his mouth slackens.

I shake him, even as my vision narrows. Blackness is seeping over me, and my limbs feel heavy. Pain is stabbing through my chest, my head, my body. It is too much. It hurts too much.

"Caleb," I gasp, "Caleb!" and I succumb to the dark.

My head is pounding. My lungs are on fire. My entire body is in agony.

I try to open my eyes, but they feel gritty and heavy. Through the crack of my eyelids, I make out a blurry, dark shape leaning over me. I smell wind and sweat and safety.

"T-" my voice cracks, and I cough. An explosion of pain rockets through my chest and I moan.

"Tris," his voice is hoarse and shaky. Tobias presses a straw to my lips, and I suck automatically. Water coats my parched mouth and throat, and I swallow greedy mouthfuls.

"Easy," he soothes, pulling the straw away. I force my eyelids open, blinking at the bright lights surrounding Tobias. His face is pale, his eyes heavy with purple rings. Worry, relief, fatigue, anger war in his eyes.

"Tobias." I reach to touch him, but my hand is heavy, lead, and my fingers drop uselessly against my side. He twines his fingers through mine, his other hand reaching up to cup the side of my face.

"Tris, god. Thank god." Tears well in his eyes and he gathers me carefully in his arms, working around the tubes attached to my arms, chest, neck, body. He is warm and whole, and smells like home. I breathe in, ignoring the stabbing fire in my chest. With what feels like all my strength, I drag my lips across Tobias' neck.

I know the answer to the question, but I have to ask. I need to know.

"Caleb?" I whisper. Tobias pulls back, and his eyes say everything I already know.

"I'm sorry, Tris. He died in the weapons room."

Tears spill down my cheeks, choke the breath from me.

"No, no, no," I repeat. "Caleb. No." sobbing, I cling to Tobias' waist as he gathers me against him, rocking me gently.

"Shhh," he soothes, but I can't calm. The grief and anger overwhelms me, and I am screaming his name. I barely register the rush of footsteps, the muffled voices, the tug on my arm. Weightlessness flows through me, and gradually, I am pulled under, back into blackness.

I wake again, and force my eyes to open. It takes me a moment to focus, but I immediately find Tobias. He is leaning against my bed, his head resting beside my hip, his hands clutching one of mine.

"Tobias," I say, only it comes out a scratchy whisper. He jerks up like he's been electrocuted, and his eyes search my face desperately. His hands reach up, cupping my face, stroking my hair, tracing my cheekbones.

"Tris." He swallows, his voice cracking. "Tris." He can't seem to say more, and we stare at each other, greedy, absorbing the touch of skin, the familiarity of each other's faces.

"Tobias." My eyes fill with tears, not of grief, but relief, thankfulness, appreciation. I never thought I would see his face, his eyes, his spare upper lip and full bottom lip again. Never thought I would touch his hands or breathe his breaths.

Gently, Tobias presses his mouth to mine, and I relish the taste and smell of him. I don't want to let him go, but I am not strong enough yet to hold him to me. Too quickly, he pulls back. "I'm here." He says, and I remember my message to Caleb for Tobias.

"Tobias, I never wanted to leave you."

"Shhh. You need to rest." he brushes his thumb across my lip, but I shake my head, shake his hand away. Pain shoots through my skull, and I grit my teeth against it. This is too important. He needs to know.

"No. I need you to know. I never wanted to leave you. I need to tell you what happened."

Our eyes lock, our fingers entwine, and he nods. "Okay."

"Caleb-" I swallow against the sting of tears. "There were guards…" and, without losing eye or skin contact, I take him through the entire, horrible series of events. After, he climbs carefully up beside me on the bed, pulling me close against his chest and holding me while I cry.

I am released several days later. My cracked rib is healing, my punctured lung is repaired. Bruises colour my ribs and chest, and I have a lingering black eye from when I hit my head. I am stiff, and a bit sore, but I can breathe and walk and move, and that is a start.

Tobias and I fought over whether I would leave in a wheelchair, and he finally compromised by carrying me out of the recovery wing to his room.

He moved out of the communal dormitory into an old hotel room. When he walks through the door, I recognise it as the room where we first— I flush at the memory, my cheeks and body heating.

The couch is against a wall, a bed on the opposite wall. I spy a small bathroom through a door beside me as Tobias pauses to lock the door behind us. A small table by the couch holds bottles of water, sandwiches and other unidentifiable snacks. There are clothes draped over the back of the couch and I recognise some of my own mixed with Tobias'.

I raise an eyebrow at him, and colour tinges his cheeks.

"I thought you would be more comfortable here, than in the dormitory. The bathroom is closer—"

"And so are you," I finish, pressing my lips against the curl of flame on his neck. His breath catches and he sets me gently down on the bed.

"You should rest," he says, his eyes hungry on mine, his fingers stroking the side of my face. A finger slides behind my ear, and he leans down, gently touching his lips to mine. I am weak from the hospital stay, but not so weak that I will give up so easily.

My hands fist in his shirt and pull him closer, tighter against me. The hard planes of his body press against me, and his arms band around my back.

"Tris," he whispers against my mouth, and I shake my head.

"No. Tobias, I don't want to rest." I wrap my arms around his neck, sealing my mouth eagerly against his, my tongue tracing the curve of his lips.

Tobias' breath shudders out, mingling with mine, and his mouth opens. His hands slide up my back, over my shoulders, down my sides, grip my narrow waist. While I am tracing his tattoos, his fingers find the hem of my shirt, slide underneath and up my ribcage. When his fingers brush the underside of my breasts, I shiver. Heat courses through my veins, flooding my system with the scent of wind, the taste of home, the feel of Tobias.

Desperation suddenly overtakes us, and we are tugging hastily at each other's shirts, our fingers scraping against shoulders, rubbing over necks, tracing tattoos, brushing sensitive areas.

Gently, Tobias leans over me, his hands holding me secure as he lays me back against the bed. The sheets are soft and cool, and they smell like Tobias, a welcome change from the crisp, stiff hospital sheets that stung my nostrils with cleaner.

His hands linger at my hips, his thumbs tracing over my hipbones before circling under the waistband of my jeans. He pulls back, his blue eyes suddenly stern, searching mine.

"I want you to take it easy. I don't want to hurt you. You're just out of the hospital, recovering—"

I press my thumb against his lip. "I am taking it easy. Tobias, I—" my cheeks heat. "I need you. I love you."

His eyes darken at my words. "I love you, Tris." His lips capture mine again, and his hands are tugging at my pants, pulling them down my muscular thighs, past my knees, my shins, off my feet. The flush in my cheeks spreads quickly down my body, and I close my eyes momentarily. When I open them again, Tobias is looking over every inch of me, his gaze appreciative, hungry, admiring.

"So strong," he murmurs, kissing up my legs. "So beautiful," he kisses my stomach, my breasts. I believe him. I feel strong and beautiful, and I don't care that I am naked. I want him. He is mine and I am his. We kiss eagerly, and I push off his pants with my hands and then my feet. My hands run up the backs of his thighs and over his butt, marvelling at the strength.

He shudders a sigh against my mouth. Our fingers roam, touching, teasing, enticing, coaxing. His hands push my thighs apart and he settles between them. I can feel the hardness of him pushing against me, pushing into me, sliding slowly, inch by inch until I am filled completely.

I arch beneath him, ignoring the faint twinge of pain in my ribs in favour of the overwhelming pleasure coursing through my centre, my legs, my chest, my arms, my head. I feel heavy and drunk with the taste of feel of Tobias inside me, a part of me, a piece of me.

Slowly, carefully, Tobias thrusts into me, setting a rhythm and we pull at each other, scratching gently, mouths biting shoulders and necks, moans and panting breaths filling the spaces of our room. I wrap my leg around his waist, pushing my hips up to take him deeper and his harsh groan fills my ears. I grin with the power of his pleasure until his fingers touch me where we are joined, and I cry out at the sudden, beautiful, intense pleasure.

"Tobias!"

"Tris," he groans, our pace and his fingers quickening. Tension coils inside me so tightly it's all I can do to keep up, to keep holding on. Our lips meet, his fingers press, and suddenly I am coming undone. Pleasure so bright and fierce rockets through me in waves and I scream into his mouth, holding him tightly against me as I break into a thousand little pieces.

Tobias stiffens and his moan mixes with my cries, and I feel his small spasms, the heat of him inside of me, the tension of pleasure tight in his muscles.

I trace his tattoos on his sweat-slicked back, our breaths heavy and harsh, our muscles lax.

"Tobias." I say, and he lifts his head up. His cheeks are pink with blood, his eyes drugged with release. "I love you."

He smiles down at me. "I love you, Tris."

Later, when we are lying together in a tangle of limbs, the silence a comfortable blanket around us, I realise that I belong to the people I love, and they belong to me. Always. No matter where my friends are, where my family is, they are with me, inside me, a part of me, and that will never change.

I shift, and Tobias looks at me. We smile at each other, and in him, I see my future, our future, factionless, peaceful, beautiful, bright, long. And I am happy.