Tobias

Some days, I feel a lot older than I know I really am. Today is one of those days.

I've come to the old Dauntless headquarters, just this last time, to remember. The final faction memorial is tomorrow, doubling as the commencement for the final phase of the city's rebuilding, and the remnants of the Dauntless will likely all be here, saying goodbye one last time. But I'm here today, before the sun, because I need to remember everything I have overcome, and then put it all behind me for good.

I need to finally find a way to move on from the shadows that still linger.

No. I won't think about her right now.

I reach out my hand and touch the cool stone of the walls of the Pit. I close my eyes and let my thoughts drift as I take a step to the left, letting my heart guide me where my mind can't. As I walk through my old home, the memories overlay reality. I remember the crush of bodies on a Friday night in the Pit, people gathering together to unwind and get a little crazy letting off steam. I remember the echoing clamor of hundreds of voices. I remember reveling in the abandon and noise, so unlike the tightly controlled structure of the home in which I spent my childhood. I learned how to have fun here.

I see the ghost of a blonde transfer initiate duck into the abandoned tattoo parlor on the left.

No. There will be time for that later.

I force myself to walk again. Before very long, I'm at the door of my old apartment. I know it's all but empty now, but I still step inside. This was the place where I got to explore the person I wanted to be, needed to be, not the person my father so desperately attempted to carve into his image. I see the room through the memories that are so old that I feel like they happened in another life. The cot isn't truly rusted and bare. The walls aren't actually empty. There isn't really an inch of dust on the dresser.

I'm not really waking up to find her gone.

No. I've awakened alone enough in the last 12 years.

I leave my old apartment and wander through corridors, climbing up rickety and rusted stairs until I'm standing in front of the room where I relived my fear landscape so many times. The black box I dropped the last time I was here is still on the floor, an unused syringe of the Dauntless serum still inside. The serum is long past its expiration, and the machinery doesn't work, but I still have to struggle against the compulsion to walk through the exercise again. I remember my final trip through the simulation, when the fear of the man who raised me turned into the fear of becoming him.

Maybe it's been long enough that I'm not still terrified of living my life without her…

No. I don't need the simulation to know that answer.

Again, I let my feet move on their own back down the stairs, down through the corridors into the belly of the Dauntless headquarters. This time, I stop in the cafeteria. The tables are still here, by some small miracle, and I stand at the end of the one that I usually shared with the only real friends I ever had. I discovered my sense of humor, such as it is, at this table. I smile just a little, remembering Zeke's loud and boisterous voice as he boasted about something particularly stupid he'd done and survived. I made real friends here. Some of them are still with me.

I scan the rest of the room, eyes falling on one table in particular, where the transfer initiates used to sit.

No.

I move my feet again, out the door and down more corridors, to the initiate training room. Unlike the cafeteria, there's nothing left here. The targets, chalk boards, and training gear were removed long ago, most of it appropriated by the city police force when they were trying to get themselves off the ground right after the revolution. But I remember where everything used to be and my feet carry me to stand exactly where I did that day long ago when I threw those knives at the only other Abnegation-born initiate I'd ever known.

She was the bravest when she was being selfless.

No!

I turn around, knowing that there's one last place that I have to see before the demolition. As I walk, I remember how confusing the place was when I was an initiate. I got lost more than once, but I never admitted it. I spent a lot of time just walking, learning the place, developing the understanding that separation doesn't necessarily lead to independence. Separation from your past is easy; independence must be earned and fought for, a struggle that is never easy. It isn't long before I find myself standing at the edge of the net. It's just a few strips of material clinging to the metal bars that used to hold it in place. It was in this room that I started to understand that there was an entire world that existed beyond my experiences.

A grey blur drops through the hole and lands awkwardly in the middle of the net.

NO!

I struggle for a moment to control my lingering grief, still strong even though it's been nearly 13 years. I rein it in like I do my rage and my fear. It is a demon I control, not the other way around.

I may have made a mistake in coming here. I may have fooled myself into thinking that I needed this trip down memory lane so I could finally let it all go. Instead, it reinforced that there are certain things from which a man cannot divorce himself. They stay with you and shape every decision, every thought, and every opinion.

For as little of my life as I actually spent in this place, just two and a half years out of more than thirty, it's surprisingly painful to be here. It's more than the place where I learned my own strengths and became a man who is not cowed by his own fears. It's more than the place that taught me that I don't have to be a product of my own upbringing. It's more than the friendships forged and friends lost.

It's her. We had so little time together. Those few months felt like an entire lifetime when I was living them. But everything about her, everything that we did together, everything she gave to me—these are the things that make months feel like years and years feel like lifetimes. And it's her memory that haunts this place most, at least for me.

"Four?" I turn and see Zeke. "What are you doing down here?" he asks.

I ponder my response carefully for a moment, not wanting to reveal the depths to which my grief still runs, even after all this time. Then I realize that he's here to do the same thing I am doing.

"Remembering," I say quietly.

Zeke nods his head. He knows what this place means to me, to all of us who knew her, to all of us who were Dauntless in those last few days. I'm not surprised that he's here. It holds similar significance for him.

He crosses to where I stand and claps a hand on my shoulder. We say nothing to one another. We just stare at the net for a while, undoubtedly pondering different things, but lost in the past together, nonetheless. We both turn at the same time to climb back up to the Spire and out into the rest of Chicago.

"When is the memorial?" Zeke asks as we emerge on the roof.

"Tomorrow morning, ten o'clock. The demolition crews are coming in soon to set the charges for the implosion." I squint into the midmorning sun. I was down there longer than I intended.

"Who's speaking?"

"Christina."

Zeke raises an eyebrow at me and I lower my head.

"I can't. I wrote the speech, but I can't get through it without remembering…" I let my voice trail off. I can't bring myself to admit my weakness, even to my closest friend.

"She really was the one for you, wasn't she?" Zeke's voice is soft, filled with a thoughtfulness that doesn't fit his boisterous nature.

"Yeah," I say quietly through a constricted throat. "I think she was."

Zeke nods solemnly. He's tried several times in the last ten years to introduce me to a larger group of friends, mostly girls, probably hoping that I'd be able to find someone who could give me what he has with Shauna. I even had decent relationships with a couple of them, before they got tired of waiting for me to fall in love with them.

"She wouldn't want you to be alone, you know," Zeke says. I'm sure he has a list of women I haven't disappointed yet who are anxious to take a shot with one of the famed former Dauntless. At least he'd stopped trying to whore me out to blondes years ago.

"Since when are you so perceptive?" I ask with a raised eyebrow. I hope that I can distract him from a touchy subject by giving him a chance to be his charming, braggadocios self.

"I've always been perceptive," he says. "I just like to keep it under wraps. Can't have people thinking I'm sensitive or something." He waggles his eyebrows in good-natured humor, and for a moment I think he's taken the bait. "Don't change the subject. She wouldn't want you to spend your life moping, and we both know it."

I take a few steps away from Zeke, not too close to the edge of the roof, but just enough to try to get a little distance.

"I know she wouldn't want that," I say, trying to make my voice sound firmer than it felt. "And you know that I don't mope. I'm too busy." I grinned at him, again, hoping that he would let me lighten the mood. Zeke grunts, his version of a noncommittal comment, and I know that my attempts at banter haven't worked. "I guess the fact that we're finally burying the place has just brought it all to the surface again."

"Do I even need to call bullshit on that one, man?" says Zeke.

"What's that supposed to mean?" I give him a hard look, unable to keep my irritation from showing on my face. I'm getting tired of serious Zeke. It seems like that's all he ever is, anymore.

"It means that it's always been on the surface. It's never gone away. You've ignored it, sure. You lose yourself in your work, especially since you've taken over the restoration project, so that you're constantly busy. You say you've put it behind you, and I think that you want to believe that enough that you've fooled yourself. But I think you and I both know that you're still living in that morgue."

I don't reply. A part of me knows that he's right.

The next morning, I'm surprised to find the memorial is overcrowded by the time I arrive. I recognize a lot of faces in the crowd. Most are Dauntless, but there are a number of people present who were in all of the factions. And there are far more people here who I don't recognize at all. I'm lucky that my position as project manager for the city's government ensure that I have a seat on the stage, because what was to be a small memorial is now standing-room only.

It's been ten years since the revolution ended and the people of Chicago were allowed to rejoin the rest of the world. We've spent that time as a city rebuilding, starting with the most heavily damaged areas and working sector-by-sector, turning the city into something better than it had been, something it should have been from the beginning. We were also determined to prove to the rest of the country that there was a better way of living, and completely rebuilding the city from the ground up together seemed to be a good way to do that.

As the project manager for the restoration project, it was easy to keep this section of the city at the bottom of the list as the plan has progressed. The Dauntless sector was empty for most of the conflict and was largely left untouched, except by time. Other areas had priority. I knew I wasn't going to be able to keep this day from happening at all. But, the part of me that knows that I'm still stuck in a morgue 12 years ago also knows that seeing the Dauntless sector demolished and rebuilt means that I can't continue to hide. I will be expected to move on now, expected to let her go completely. And if refusing to do that even now means that I am a coward, then I'm not so sure that I don't deserve that criticism.

I try to pay attention as Christina gives the speech that I wrote. Attentiveness is not easy this morning. I can't swallow past the lump in my throat, and I clench my jaw to keep the grief from tearing through me again. It's been long enough that this should be easier than it is. I have no explanation for why, after nearly 13 years without her, this day hurts with the same intensity as the day I lost her. It just does.

Christina finishes the speech and we all turn around to watch as the charges inside Dauntless headquarters detonate. The Spire drops through into the Pit, a cloud of dust and debris rising around it. I manage to keep the tears at bay through the entire thing, but that seems like a superhuman effort.

As I'm walking off the stage, the mayor, Johanna Reyes, gives me a knowing look. I was working as her assistant when I was going through the worst parts of the grief right after the revolution ended. She knows what this day means for me, probably more than any other person in attendance except my closest friends. She walks to me and lays her and on my shoulder. I nod at her, not needing words to communicate to her how much I appreciate that small gesture.

I walk with Zeke, Shauna, Cara, Christina, and Caleb to a nearby parking lot. My truck is there, and I assume the others have parked there as well. No one says much. I don't think any of us care to say anything right now. We stop together on the sidewalk and share one last look around. The girls hug, Cara and Christina bending down to meet Shauna in her wheelchair. Zeke and I clap shoulders. I nod at Caleb, who still is both not enough and too much of his sister at the same time. He nods back and I think he understands.

Several weeks after the memorial, I'm finally trying to settle down into bed after a particularly long day at the office. I spent a few hours at the gym this evening to relieve some of the stress that I've learned is an invariable part of being a public servant. It's enough that I've even started going to the range with Zeke and Amar on the weekends, overcoming my post-revolution aversion to firearms.

I'm usually in bed and asleep long before now, but tomorrow is a day off, so I don't worry about the lateness of the hour. Just as I pull the blanket over my shoulders, I hear a knock on my door. I glance at the clock and groan, rolling off the bed. I hope that whoever has decided to drop by is important enough to me to justify dropping by uninvited at one o'clock in the morning. I grab a t-shirt from the basket of laundry next to the couch as I cross the room to answer the door. I only manage to get the t-shirt half on when I open the door.

Christina gapes at me in the hallway. I can't help but notice the tops of her ears turning pink. I know she doesn't mean anything by it. We foolishly tried to go down that particular road several years ago. To say that it didn't turn out well would be an understatement. I stand back from the door to let her in, but she grabs my hand and tries to drag me out of the apartment.

"Christina, wait a second! What's going on?" I ask her, trying to be as calm as possible.

"No, there's no time for explanations," she says. "Just come with me. I need your help."

I look at her, trying to muster as much patience as I can, which turns out to be less than one would think considering my chosen career path. I try not to let my frustration be obvious, but her reluctance to tell me what's happening is starting to get on my nerves.

She just shakes her head, grabs me by the hand, and tries again to pull me put the door.

"Wait, Christina," I say, pulling my hand from her grasp. "At least let me put some shoes on, okay?"

"Hurry! There isn't much time!"

"I gathered that much." I look into her eyes and try to read her expression, something I've never really been good at, no matter how much I've practiced over the years. She's anxious about something, nervous, and scared. But, considering the fact that I have no talent for reading people, I could be completely wrong about all of that. I've known her long enough and know her behaviors enough that I think that I'm right, though.

I pull on my gym shoes and grab my jacket of the hook on the back of my apartment door. It's spring time outside, but there's still a bit of nip in the air after dark. Winter doesn't quite want to move on yet. I can understand why it might not want to.

Christina drags me out of the door and down the hall to the elevator, pulling me by the hand for the entire length of the hall. I live on the fourth floor; any higher was too high for my aversion to heights and there weren't any residential spaces in the first three floors. In the lobby, I can see that Christina's car is parked illegally in front of the glass doors, and there's someone in her front passenger seat. I can't really see much of the person from where I am now, but the street light sheds enough light that I can see that the passenger is female.

A blonde female.

I groan, more than just slightly frustrated at Christina. I'm pissed now. I stop walking about halfway between the lobby entrance and the elevators and cross my arms over my chest.

"Christina, if this is some lame attempt to set me up with a look-alike damsel in distress, then you can go to hell."

She turns around, tears in her eyes, and doesn't say anything. She motions for me to stay, as if I actually care to go out there and be introduced to whoever it is that she's brought for me to meet. Without a word, she hurries to the passenger door of her car, practically running at a full sprint. The car door opens and Christina helps the girl stumble out of the car, but Christina is still blocking my sight line. I sigh and turn around to start back toward the elevator.

Fuck this.

I'm just pressing the elevator button when Christina and the woman stumble into the lobby with a lot of clatter. I take a deep breath, determined not to look back.

"Tobias?"

I stop moving. My heart jumps into my throat. I might even have stopped breathing. I pray that I'm dreaming, because if this is real it could destroy me.

I know that voice almost better than I know my own.

It's haunted my nightmares for more than 12 years.