A/N: Hello everyone. Thank you so much for the reviews, favorits and follows. And I made it into a community. Check it out, please because this pairing and the possibilities it brings deserve much love. Let me know what you think. I wrote this in the middle of the night and am not quite sure if I like it.

For your information: I have planned a lot of chapters for that, because of the lines of the song I am using. If I can finish this, I am not sure. But I will give my best. If you want to contribute, want me to think about different ideas, please let me know. I am always open for that.

Sorry for the long note. Enjoy.

Warning: Drug and alcohol abuse. Might be triggering to some degree. Dark. Read with caution. Not beta-ed yet.

If anyone wants to burden him- or herself with being my beta, feel free to write me. I have high expactations, though.

Disclaimer: I own nothing, Veronica Roth does.

4: To know why hope dies

The blood is still pumping through veins that build a fine network under too pale skin. Zip-lining was one of the experiences she thinks she will never forget. Not the air pushing into her lungs, the fear of nearly suffocating and the exhilaration of flying. It made her forget anything but one thing, because the bright moon hidden behind stormy clouds is an impressive grey, just like his eyes. She asks herself what they would portray other than the brokenness that screams from them. She asks herself if he did this as well. But then she remembers Uriah's words, that this is a Dauntless' tradition, for Dauntless-born initiates and she was just so lucky to be a part of that experience.

Then her body meets the waiting arms of brothers and sisters she doesn't even know the name of and her boots click distinctively when they meet concrete. She never was a sound person, Abnegation too silent for her liking, Dauntless too loud, but now the wind sings and his voice is a caress against her bruised knuckles and sweaty back and whenever he is around really. A part of her, that she guesses is scarred because of her upbringing and because of that not thinking rationally, longs for him to see her know and maybe gain his approval with her act of bravery, with the life that bleeds from her eyes like the wound on her left ear back when they threw knifes. But even though her family is around her and they yell and laugh and congratulate her, she feels a bit lonely, a bit not belonging and that irrational part of her knows it is because of his absence.

When she is back in the compound her feet aren't ready to carry her to her dorm because there is just too much within her that wants an escape. Being always invisible it isn't a new feeling or something she is uncomfortable with. But maybe the past few weeks changed that, evoke something that was always there but suppressed with duties she fulfilled but never to her best abilities. She was only sixteen but felt already as if there was too much going on within her. Or maybe her age was really the thing that build knots in her stomach and chaos in her thoughts and hilarious dreams of silent encounters with a certain instructor slash leader slash broken but oh so intimidating former nose.

So she lets her feet carry her wherever they want, sleep not an option, being calm as well, facing the others not something she wants to face.

He is back to pacing, glaring, sneering at nothing in particular really, but everything at the same time. At himself mostly. Maybe he should have cleaned the remains of his mirror because even the small glistening pieces mock him. Cynically he thinks at least they now show a small piece of reality because finally he sees how small and immature and what a fucking waste of space he really is.

His hands go through his hair, pull at the strands and press them back down. He feels like he can go up the walls but never reach the high. More mocking than the shards of mirror are the ampules on plain display because in his anger and disorientation he threw the bag through his cage-apartment.

Amazingly enough he finds a small flicker of… something within himself. He is afraid, a bloody coward to admit that it might be hope. The word alone feels wrong traveling through the few intact synapses and he can't even dream of letting the letters build in his dry, scratchy throat and roll from his tongue, through chapped lips.

Stupid, he thinks and doesn't know if he refers to himself, life itself, the girl in his every waking thoughts and even dreams or the plan his enemybrother and himself came up with.

And the energy is still there. He longs for a fucking fight, for tremors in muscles in exhaustion and not the cold sweat that is at the moment on his forehead and hands because cold turkey is best served freaking hot. But he wants to challenge himself to that. He has to. Because the sun has to go up tomorrow as well. He can't even imagine a world without that. Without her. The sun.

He throws open the cage door, ignores rules and his own urges and the nearly too strong pull of small glass ampules with a spicy liquid that could stifle that something – hope, goddammit, at least think it – and make him numb to his own feelings of despair and longing and the hate.

Look at you, you weak idiot, his mind taunts; taunts with a too fast beating heart and the feeling of suffocating because he needs the next dosage, depends on the kick and the numbness and the feeling of flying away. A man like himself shouldn't be allowed dreams, but he never was a stickler for rules, never was anything but selfish and self-indulgent and a waste of breath and just like that he finds himself with dreams at his blood-soaked hand; still red even though he washed them countless of times. He guesses that the blood of friends will never go away, just like the cloudy images dancing through memories.

He travels through corridors and the dark mixed with spots of light are just another freaking reminder that she could break through him like a child through too thin ice, drowning in his cold life. Oh, he is sure he would embrace her, pull her down to never reach the surface again, fill her lungs with poison and her body with himself. Claim her as his personal Lady of the Lake. His Nimue but he isn't Merlin. Groaning and biting down on his lip ring until it burns he tries to drown his own thoughts of desire - because he can't be nothing more - in himself and pain as well.

His steps are faster now because something is breathing down his neck. His dreams want to lure him, pull him apart, in different directions even though his soul is already in shatters, for fuck's sake. What is their goal in continuing the piece of art that is blackened shards piercing his insides? Shouldn't dreams be a way to escape? But maybe he can't because his dreams consist of controversial things. He wants to never wake up, hopes for a too high dosage but knows he is still not gone far enough to lose his intelligence. And he wants to lose himself in the sun, take her fully, against everything possible, taint her with himself and maybe even wash himself clean. Burn away the images and memories and the feelings that overwhelm him whenever he tries to forget about ampules and maybe even live again.

He finds himself on a roof, shadows and stars and blond hair dancing around him. He doesn't curse seeing the sun, he doesn't even contemplate turning around, leaving her alone because he just isn't strong enough anymore and just has to do something. Maybe he should warn her, he thinks while he slowly edges closer, breathes the air she exhales, talks himself into believing it is sweet and full of light and live, even though it is just a mixture of different gases and not at all healthy to depend on. A merciless smirk pulls at his lips. It seems he has a knack for the killing substances.

"Hey." She whispers softly, the wind carrying away that greeting. Instead of answering, he sits down next to her because his knees hurt, his joins hurt and maybe just sitting a little too close to her can heal the effects of cold turkey he should have heated.

"What are you doing here, stiff?" He asks gruffly, tries in vain to hide the pain and anger with himself and the world and freaking Erudite and woman with too much power over him.

"I can't remember seeing the sun in a long while and we aren't allowed to leave the compound…" Her sentence trails off like that and he finds himself nodding along. Clever sun, clever burning girl.

And then there is silence and they just watch. He finds himself relaxing… relaxing in a way he isn't sure someone like him deserve, but he indulges himself this one time. This one night is maybe all he needs to get enough back on track to make sure the sun raises tomorrow again.

And there is this hope again and he isn't at all surprised to find the foreign emotion intertwined with her presence, with her leg pressed against his, her warmth spreading to his aching body and even into his soul in pieces. He knows that she isn't even aware that she is his blanket tonight, that she warms his sweat soaked body, helps with the pain in his joins and the headache and the heartache.

Maybe he should at least tell her that she is his balm. Glues him back together, but unglues him at the same time. He can't tell her that she fights good, can't compliment her on being physically strong. It would be a lie and even though he is in too deep, infatuated, head over heels and bone hard just picturing her leaning her head against his shoulder, he could never lie to her. Because she is too pure to be lied to and he will taint her enough with his touches he is sure he can't hold back much longer.

They breathe in union, like one being and he scoffs silently because he never could be a part of the sun because he is too much of a shadow. A shadow of ideals, dreams and a man he could have been if it weren't for losing too much and gaining too little.

"Are you alright?" She asks softly and with baited breath he watches how she contemplates of lying her hand on his on his thigh but decides against it.

"It isn't any of your business." He lashes out and at the same time regrets that he hasn't any social skills, any idea how to confess that without her here tonight he would just jump of the roof with his enemybrother at the front of his mind and the promise he made to keep the sun safe. She doesn't flinch at his words and when he lets his eyes stray to her too young, too innocent, too fucking beautiful face, he sees a small smile on her lips he wants to taste. Maybe he would know again what happiness means, what sunshine tastes like, what freedom smells like.

"True enough. But…" He hears her swallow, follows the words up and down her throat and bites the inside of his cheek until there is only copper left. And suddenly her eyes meet his and as much as he tries, she pulls him in with kindness he doesn't deserve, with feeling that burns him.

"But know that there will always be tomorrow and maybe tomorrow it is, Eric." His name sounds strange on her lips and he sees the first shadows appear on her light because the word alone taints her. And makes her even more beautiful. If he would believe in a higher being, in deity and salvation and washing away sins he would pray in that moment.

Maybe he is lucky that his face doesn't show the impact, the crater her words leave in his soul, pull it open and the hope increases that maybe he can heal better this time. But maybe it is just his luck that he can't utter the words to bind her to him even though he wishes.

After that they stay silent again. They watch the moon fall, the stars fade, feel the wind on their skin, the silence in their bones and a companionship that should be forbidden from existing because it makes living alone impossible and a crippled being out of both of them.

He watches her, unashamed, the whole night. He breathes her in, takes everything she is unaware she gives him. And even though he feasts on her and has already tainted her in a small way, she shines like on that first day their eyes met. When her voice suddenly pierces through his delirium, he is fascinated by the childlike happiness painted in her posture, in the way her hair moves, her eyes glint, her nose crinkles lightly.

"The sun." She whispers and maybe she feels that speaking louder than that would destroy the spell they cast without knowing around them. All he can do in response is intensifying his stare at her and maybe she feels it, because she turns to him. It is all he needs to close the distance between them and kiss her neck. And she tastes like redemption and hope.

"What are you doing?" She asks, her whole body stiff and he expected to hear her voice quiver or shake or tremble. But it doesn't. All it does is inflict the light on him and the burning in his veins gets stronger. He should have known better than to expect weakness when her being screams strength. Not that she is aware of it. Not that he should indulge himself with it.

Instead of answering he continues to press his unworthy mouth against her neck, feels her pulse against his flesh, smells her. Aflame with need to soak her warmth. He is a parasite, more so now that he feels her skin under his. And he is selfish to do so. Feeding of her like that, cornering her like that. But he never was a man not taking what he wanted and his flame that was out cold until her eyes met his answers her fire. She is the sun.

And then she is on her feet, glaring at him and he smiles. Truly smiles because now he can see what makes her Dauntless. But he is also aware of the distaste displayed by clenched hands, of distrust by the thin line her mouth forms.

While he watches her go he surprisingly feels nothing, just the tingling of his own skin, the coldness in his whole body and with strength he wasn't aware was still there, he pulls himself together and goes back to his cage. His show was over.

And the ampules glisten again in the rays of sunlight. When he chucks down the spicy liquid, sees her turned back in front of his eyes, he knows why hope dies.

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