Salutations! Thank you for reading this next chapter of The Troubles Of Being Divergent (seriously, if anyone can think of a better title, please tell me). I hope you enjoy this update. Thank you to the people who have reviewed and assured me that this was getting lost in the crossovers. Enjoy!

Chapter 4

I wake up bleary eyed the next morning, woken by the annoying shrill beep of my alarm clock. I groan and burrow my head deeper into my pillow, trying to block out the racket and get a few more minutes (or hours) of sleep. It didn't work the first time I tried it, and it doesn't work now. Groaning defeat, I reach my hand up and slap the air around my bed until I hit the clock, shutting it up.

I force myself up into a sitting position and stretch my arms and legs as far as I can. I rub my eyes and force them open. I have to blink a few times before my room comes into focus. For a few minutes, I sit and gaze around the small piece of the house I can call my own, my brain slowly waking up.

As it does, I regain my bearings, and the memories of last night come rushing up, front and center. I place a hand to my temple. That means . . . today is Choosing Day. Today I declare what my choice of faction is. A choice I still haven't made yet. Today I leave my family.

I slip out of my bed and my sock clad feet pad against the carpeted floor to the opposite side of the room. I throw open my closet doors and a blur of black and white jumps out at me. In the back of my mind, I sigh and wish for something else. After 16 years of black and white, I've grown to want some color to wear. I've always liked the shade of the sky, and sometimes I long to wear a bit of blue. But Candor only wear black and white. No color for me.

I sort through my options, and fish out a pair of black dress pants, a white dress shirt, and a black vest. My favorite dressy outfit. I grab fresh underwear as well and fold everything into a meat stack. I quietly open my door and walk swiftly to the bathroom. Waking up early has its perks. No wait to use the bathroom, and I'm the first one to use the hot water.

I strip off the clothes I wore yesterday and start the shower. Ducking under the warm spray, I unconsciously sigh and feel some of the tension in my muscles leave. Hot water always feels good, and often helps me calm my mind. A blissful unawareness falls over me, and I forget the huge choice looming over me, concentrating on the here and now of washing up.

I shut off the water after a decent amount of time. I dry myself off and slip on my fresh clothes. I wipe away condensation on the mirror and stare at my reflection. I wet my hands under the faucet and nervously try to slick my hair into some resemblance of order, but to no avail. My hair refuses to cooperate today and sticks up in random places, evidence of a fitful sleep. I run my hands through my hair one last time before giving up on the lost cause.

I open the door and step out into (relatively) cold air. Steam floods the hallway as I pound down the stairs to the kitchen. As per usual, a kettle of tea boils on the stove, and I smile. Even on a day like today, or maybe especially on a day like today, Father made tea, and I have a hunch it's my favorite. A quick lift of the lid and a sniff confirms it, and I eagerly grab a mug and pour a sizable amount of tea. I take a careful sip and smile as the familiar flavor washes over my tongue. Father introducing us all to tea years ago, but I'm the only one who ever really liked it. Ever since, every morning a kettle would be ready on the stove for Father and me to share.

I've started on my second cup when I hear the thuds of someone on the stairs.

"Morning, Donnie." I greet without looking up. I get no response besides a huff and the sounds of the coffee machine being started up. Don is not what you would call a morning person. Just the opposite, actually. Mess with him before he's had his coffee, prepare to get both barrels.

Hot brown liquid flows from the machine into Don's mug, then stops with a quick sputter. Donnie grabs it eagerly with both hands and takes a long sip. Immediately he perks up, a small smile taking the place of a scowl. I shake my head, smiling at his transformation. It amuses me every time. An ache in my heart grows as I add to the list of things I'm going to miss.

"Good morning Leo." He says in response to my earlier greeting. What's good about it? I think in my head. But I say nothing and smile instead. Don already knows. I already know. Neither of us need a reminder.

Don wears casual dress clothes today. Black dress pants with a white dress shirt trimmed in black, which neither match nor clash his light brown hair and reddish brown eyes.

We sip our drinks in silence, not heavy like last night's, but comfortable. I feel like we're not just drinking our caffeine, we're drinking in each other's company, and I drink it like I'm dying of thirst.

A few minutes pass, and heavy footsteps on the stairs echo down the stairs. Raph emerges from the stairwell and immediately moves to the fridge. Raph is clad in black dress pants, a black leather jacket, and a white T-shirt, which all clashes with his red hair and emerald green eyes. Not as dressy as Don and I, but acceptable. Raph throws open the fridge door and pulls out the milk carton. He grabs a glass from the cupboard above the fridge and pours himself a tall glass before shutting the fridge and taking his seat beside me.

No sooner than he does that, light footsteps fall down the stairs in rapid succession, and Mikey hops to the floor, skipping the last two steps. He's wearing simply black dress pants and a white collared shirt with his sleeves rolled rushes to his seat across the table from Raph and next to Don and gives the table a radiant smile. Anyone else besides us would think he was going to have the best day of his life. It was a nice smile, but I detected a hint of strain that gave his smile a slightly forced look. Yet I smiled back, albeit a smaller, shy smile.

Now only one seat is vacant. The one at the head of the table, belonging to Father. If he has stayed true to his routine, he is working in his study to get some paperwork out of the way before breakfast and the real work at the courts.

Silence cloaks us as Donnie, Raph, and I sip our respective drinks and Mikey sits watching us. Any other day, we'd be chattering away, or if we were quiet, Raph would be scowling at Mikey to stop staring at us. But over his glass of milk, Raph's emerald green eyes dart to each of our faces, and so do Don's reddish-brown, and my sapphire blue, memorizing our brother's features. Who knows when we will next see each other after this day? Even the odds of one-on-one time will be rare in the future, the odds of us all together are astronomical.

Except for you. A voice in my head whispers. I hold back a frown. It's true. I haven't decided between Abnegation or Dauntless. If I pick Abnegation, it's possible I could see my brothers through volunteer work, or maybe even through a government position. If I pick Dauntless, I'll be with Raph and see him everyday if I want to. That alone is a huge point to Dauntless.

But Dauntless? When I try to picture myself there, dressed in black garb jumping off a train, it just doesn't feel right. But, the same goes for Abnegation. The image of me in all grey, performing undesirable tasks, being a meek public servant, just feels absolutely wrong. As I drain my cup, I picture myself in Erudite, and in Candor and Amity. None of them feel right. My Divergence, I assume. I don't completely fit anywhere. I banish the thoughts of the other three factions, and go back to Dauntless and Abnegation. I have to decide. Dauntless black with Raph, standing for bravery and protection, or Abnegation gray alone, standing for selflessness and helping everyone, even if it means sacrificing me for a jerk I could care less about (something I've seen in public areas several times)?

I sigh. The choice, when put like that, seems obvious. Dauntless. But can I really fit in with a bunch of daredevils and adrenaline junkies? And if being me, being Divergent, is truly dangerous, would joining the same faction as my brother put him at risk?

Bravery or selflessness? Cowardice or selfishness? Protect my brothers by leaving them all, or let myself have a reminder of home? As I think that, I realize that the choice of faction may prove where I belong. To choose to forget my wants to protect my brother would be selfless, while to choose to stay with Raph, regardless of any danger, would be selfish. AND, I allow myself a wry smile, refusing to let fear stand in between my brother and me would be brave, while letting fear conquer me would be cowardly.

"What'cha thinkin' about?" Mikey asks me. I jump slightly, and realize that I've been staring about my empty tea cup for who knows how long. I look up and see all my brothers staring at me.

"Nothing important." I lie.

Raph cocks his head in a "BS" kind of way.

"Seriously. It's nothing. Just a stupid thought." I force myself to blush by thinking real stupid thoughts, and they seem to believe this time around.

Either way, I'm saved from more interrogation by the arrival of Father.

"Good morning, my sons." He says.

"Morning, Father." We chant, the response engraved in our memories.

Father moves to the cabinets and fridge and pulls out various ingredients. Flour, eggs, milk, sugar . . .

"Can I help?" Mikey asks.

"I can handle it, Michelangelo. Continue talking with your brothers."

"Please, Father? I want to help." Mikey makes his puppy dog eyes, and Father sighs, smiles, and nods. Mikey beams and leaps up out his chair, dashing to the cupboard and pulling out skillets. I smile. They're making pancakes.

The morning passes in a flurry of pancakes, syrup (a rare treat), shared memories and jokes, bittersweet laughter, and smiles. I find myself having one of the best mornings of my life, and while I try to fully immerse myself in the moment, my head continues to remind me that it won't last. That this may very well be the last morning I have with my brothers.

Stupid voice in my head.

Eventually, all the food is gone. Most of my share was eaten by Mikey. I'm not hungry, and that kid has a bottomless pit for a stomach. The final hour grows closer.

"My sons, I have something for you. If you would step in my study?" Father says it like it's a question, or it's a choice. It's not. We're only a few steps behind him as he walks into his office. We stand in a row in front of his desk, like we've always done, while he bends over and rummages through the bottom desk drawer, looking for something. After a good few minutes of digging, Father stands back up, holding a long, flat, white box in his hands.

"The Splinter family has a tradition. No one remembers how it got started, but every generation has participated in it. When a child is born, the blanket they arrive home in is saved, and sewn into masks."

"Masks?" Donnie asks. "Why? Why masks?"

Father shrugs. "As I just said, no one knows. But the art has been done for countless generations, and you four are no exception. I give them to you today, so you will remember your roots, and remember that no matter where you go, you will always be a Splinter."

Father opens the box, and inside lay four masks. They are simple strips of silk, with empty eyeholes cut into the fabric. There is a red mask, a blue mask, an orange mask, and a purple mask.

Father picks up the orange mask and holds it out to Mikey. "This one belongs to you, Michelangelo." Mikey steps forward and ties the mask on, bowing his head. When he lifts it, sky blue eyes shine out of the holes, and the mask seems to fit him like a second skin. The orange suits him. It's a bright and bubbly color, full of energy and fun, just like my Mikey.

Father now holds the purple mask, and directs his gaze to Donnie. "The purple is yours, Donatello." Donnie steps forward to claim his mask while Mikey falls back into line. He handles his mask with care, and ties it on slowly and delicately. Finally, he looks back up, and once again, the mask fits just right on my brother. Purple is Donnie's color. It symbolizes wisdom and dignity, qualities my brother has plenty of.

Donnie falls back while Father picks up the red mask. "Raphael, this is your mask." Raph steps up quickly and eagerly ties his mask on. He looks up and grins devilishly. The red mask brings out his green eyes, and they almost seem to glow. The furious red is Raph, no doubt about it in any way. Red is the color of fire, anger, and passion, things my brother practically defines.

That just leaves one mask. I step forward as Father holds up the last one, the royal blue. "Leonardo, this mask belongs to you." I gingerly pick it up, and tie it with care. The fabric is tight, yet soft against my skin. It settles in all the right places, coming three-quarters of the way down my nose. The tassels tickle my shoulder, and I can't help but smile. This is a nutty tradition, but I love it. The mask makes me feel safe, hidden and protected from the world. I've always loved blue, as well. It's a calm color that symbolizes leadership, tranquility, and wisdom. I love my mask.

"Thank you, Father." We chant, smiles on all of our faces.

"You may wear them until the Ceremony, but you must take them off when we get there." All at once, that tiny little break from reality ends and reality slams back into place. Smiles are instantly gone, and worried, anxious eyes and small frowns take their place.

"When do we l-leave?" Don asks hesitantly, not really wanting an answer.

"In a half-hour, Donatello." Father says kindly. And there it is. The deadline we have until this idea that's been a dream for so long becomes truly real. A half-hour left in this house. A half-hour of this life left. A half-hour left with my brothers. A half-hour to say our goodbyes.

We stand there frozen for who knows how many precious seconds, the only sound the ticking clock above the doorway. Then Mikey breaks rank and tackles me into a hug. I take a step back in surprise, but quickly regain my balance and grip my baby brother tight. His head is tucked under my chin, his face against my chest, and I bury my face in his blond curls, my arms holding him close. I feel two more pairs of arms wrap around me and Mikey, and our hug is now a four-way hug. I loosen one of my arms and wrap it around someone else, I can't tell who. Three grips on me tighten, and they smother me. I don't mind. Group hugs are far and few, and this is likely to be the last one I ever have.

After countless minutes in each other's company, we break it up. Mikey immediately turns to Raph and latches onto him. I turn to Don, smile, and quickly envelope him in a hug as well. The strength of Donnie's grip surprises me, and it's hard for me to breath. Though that may not be simply Donnie's hug.

We break it up and Mikey and I swap partners. I set my chin on Raph's shoulder as I shut my eyes and hold him close. My brother . . . My best friend . . . How can I leave him? I still can't breathe, and now I know that it's not because of the hugging, but a tightness in my throat. No. I will not cry again. Not now.

Finally, I'm hugging Mikey again, and Donnie and Raph hug each other. We don't speak. We're quadruplets, brothers. No words need to spoken. We all know what we're thinking. I love you.

We finish our goodbyes, and stand in front of Father's desk in our row. I look over my shoulder, and notice nearly all our allotted time is up. Father notices this too, and nods.

"It's time."

Not sure why I wanted give them masks, but I did, it's my story, so there!

Okay, in regards to the rest of the story, I have not seen the movie. So my descriptions will be off the books. Sorry if the two don't match up, but I will do my best.

Okay, off topic, but would anyone out there be willing to read a crossover plot bunny of mine? TMNT and . . . Tinkerbell. Yeah. I'm going there.

Anyway, leave comments, reviews, ideas below, and happy wandering!

-Katana