bakerstreet | You make it worth fighting for.

You make it worth fighting for.

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In a more normal time, this person would never be your type, if you even had one. But these days are nothing like "normal" in the least. The world, as it was, has ended, after all. The means don't matter: fire, ice, apocalyptic continent shift, zombies, despotic government that makes you wish for the former. All you're left with is the ashes of our former world and danger at your tail because you, lucky you, have survived. Having your pick or your type is a luxury you don't have; even if you did, it would be an extremely low priority.

As such, this situation, this relationship with this person hardly started out with any romantic intentions. It may have not even begin friendly. You came together out of necessity in order to survive, yet things got dicey as you learned to rely more and more on each other. When both of you feel as though you've lost everyone who'd ever been important, human contact is taken where you can get it. The more you rely on to watch your back, the more you rely on them for mere survival, the more you begin to rely on them for everything, in a way. While what you have between you started differently, it's grown and changed into something you can't describe. Still, you hold on for dear life, because even if you don't want to live for yourself anymore, you owe it to them to survive. This isn't love. It isn't healthy. It's codependency, probably, but it's a way to live.

What if they're not as much of a survivor as you, though? What if they're weak? What if you are?

...what if you lose them like you've lost everyone else?

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[It's getting dark.

The decision to call it a night comes without many words needing to be exchanged. They find an abandoned (mostly standing) building, they make sure it's safe and rid of cranks, they take over a little corner by one of the windows, drop their things, start a fire.

It's routine by now. Memorized, mechanical.

He goes over to his bag next, takes out a few supplies that they managed to scavenger earlier: beans, mostly, some mushrooms. He leaves them by the fire, for when they are hungry and then he goes to look out of the window, to the horizon. We're almost there, he repeats to himself, like a mantra, a prayer, that he says every night, We're almost there.

Even if 'there' is a place he can't yet see. A place he isn't even entirely sure is in that direction, exactly.

Still, it helps. And, honestly? As long as they keep going, he is sure they will get 'there' someday.

... Sooner rather than later, hopefully.]

[ Sometimes she wonders how much more they can possibly lose, but never for long. Not only is it not helping, but she also feels like if she thinks of something, someone, somewhere will hear it. Which is stupid, because that's impossible, but that isn't the point.

She goes through the motions same as him, looking through the rest of the building, scavenging, picking up firewood and stacking it in their corner, seeing if there's anything else here that's worthwhile. Not getting her hopes up for food in a place like this.

For a moment, lost in their quiet when all is said and done, he stares toward the horizon and she stares into the flames, but it doesn't last. Looking over at him, she admires his persistence. In any other situation it might be obsession, but it ties them together as much as time and survival does.

Tris goes to stand next to him at the window. She doesn't ask if he's okay. Instead, after a moment, she leans against him, still looking out to try and see what he sees. ]

[He hears her coming long before she arrives. It's instinct now, more than perception. His senses are not only well aware of her presence but trained on it, trained to know where she is at almost all times.

He isn't going to lose her. He isn't. More than a promise, that's a fact. The only way he is going to be losing someone else (the only person left) is over his dead body. He knows that they are walking towards what could possibly be their end, but they have a purpose, an objective, and if he is going down, he'd rather it be for a reason. She thinks the same and he respects that.

Because, yeah, this could end with both of them dead. But it could also end with both of them alive and with their friends back, rescued from WICKED's claws as they burned the whole thing down from the very core. If he doesn't hope for that, if he doesn't stay focused on it, it will be their end.

He needs a reason to keep going.

He looks at her, from the corner of his eyes, as she stands next to him. And, when she leans on him, he moves an arm, carefully, around her back, giving the horizon one last glance before fully turning towards her. Leaning his back against the window's side, he rests his other hand on her back as well, eyes not leaving hers.]

I found you a can of peaches, earlier. [Just one, mind. Yet, he knows she likes it.] It's in my bag.

[ It's more than a little bizarre, how safe she feels just resting against him, his arms around her. There's no such thing as safe. They both know better, and at the same time she really doesn't care. The smile she gives him isn't much of one, it's become harder to keep the cheer up with just the two of them. That's no excuse to stop though, and she can't, she can't stop any more than Thomas can. If it was just her, maybe, but it's not. There are too many people depending on them who might still be alive.

As for herself, Tris isn't sure she wants to make it through to the other side. Maybe it would be better if she didn't. Maybe it would be better if both of them didn't, after everything they've seen, and done, and lost.

Tris shoves the sentiment far, far away into the back of her mind. They still have each other.

She shifts and wraps her arms around his waist, eyes and smile brightening at the mention of fruit. ]

And you kept that secret the whole way. [ Teasing? Of course. ] We should share.

[ Well. Whenever they feel like moving again. Not right this moment. ]

[He can't help but smile back at her, once he sees that smile on her face. Yeah, it's become much harder to cheer up lately, after everything that happened, but if they allow themselves to succumb to what's inside them - inside him, at least - then they will be as good as dead.

And well, at least until he tries and saves his other friends? He can't allow that to happen. Won't. Death can come after, once he is absolutely sure that he did everything that he could to try and give them a chance. (He doesn't dare even consider that they might already be all dead.)

It's his purpose that keeps him afloat, that fuels him to keep going instead of just giving up. This is so much bigger than him-- Than any of them. They will make it, he knows it. Or, at the very least, they'll die trying. That's what keeps on pushing him forward.

Something lights up in his chest when he sees that brightness come to her eyes and smile. He moves one of his hands away only to carefully move a strand of her hair from over her face to the back of her ear. Then, he returns his hand to her back.]

And I meant to keep it for a couple more days still. [He teases back, his smile growing a little before he turns his attention outside again, back to the horizon where the sun is fully setting.] But why wait, right?

[He won't comment about sharing. In the end, he will nod about it, agree, but actually leave all of it for her. He is fine without it, and it being something that she likes, he would rather she has it.

... When they do decide to move, that is, yes.]

[ Tris is far too stubborn to give up while she can still even believe in the ghost of a chance. And she can. With him here, she can. If they can kill Grievers, if they can fight their way to freedom, if they can survive in this wasteland? They've already proven they cannot be contained, anything that could stop them has yet to be invented. (It's just the after that she can't stomach thinking about.)

When he brushes her hair behind her ear, she closes her eyes, smile unwavering. They're not stopping for anything, but they do steal quiet moments of stillness together like this. She can feel her heart up in her throat. ]

Right.

[ He will try to leave everything to her, and she will try to insist on sharing. It's still odd to have anything completely to herself. Who wins depends on who feels like arguing longer. Tris shifts closer, rests her head against his chest. Now she'd have to crane her neck to get a look at his face, but she knows his expressions almost by heart anyway.

The sun sets, and the blissful time between terrible heat and freezing cold is almost over. Tris doesn't care, listening to his heartbeat. ]

What're you looking for?

[ Out there, on the horizon. He's always looking, every evening, but she's never asked. ]

[(One step at a time, he thinks. One step at a time. When they get to the after... They will figure out what to do. Together.)

Moments like these, he will admit, help on keeping him going, too.

His smile gets warmer, fond, when she answers him and shifts closer, to lean against his chest. In turn, he holds her a bit tighter, arms around her back, pressing her close yet softly so. She isn't going to be more stubborn than him about the peaches. Not when they make her smile.

He lowers his head down a little, kissing the top of her head before resting his own cheek on it, looking outside. Amazing, where this road took them. He can't imagine any of this without her anymore. Her question surprises him and yet... not really. Not coming from her. Always observing, always wondering, much like him. He smiles again at the thought, takes a deep breath, closes his eyes.]

Not sure. [He confesses, in a low tone. Sometimes, he is looking for their destination. Other times, he is looking for a sign. A mirage. A hope. Proof that they are getting closer... Proof that they aren't going in the wrong direction.

Proof that they made the right choice. Proof that there's something out there, still. Proof that the sun keeps on setting-- And rising. Proof that time doesn't stop. Proof that they aren't completely alone, out here. Proof that they are alive. Proof that they are.

At the end of the day, though, he thinks he is looking for proof that he belongs. To this world, to this place, to this reality, to others, to himself. Proof that, as screwed up as this whole thing is, somewhere, out there, is home.

Yet, recently, he has found out, he doesn't quite need to search for that, anymore. Mostly because--] Though I think I've already found it.

[ This close, she can feel his words as much as she hears them, and the points where she ends and he begins blur just a little. Like this, they look out for each other. She knows he doesn't look out for her just because he thinks she can't do it herself - the same is true vice versa - but they will always be stronger together than they would be apart. Tris breathes deeply, relaxing against him. This is all the rest she needs.

Part of her is glad she doesn't have any of her old memories. This way, she's known Thomas a good portion of her life, and that fits how important he is to her.

At his words, warmth rises up in her, filling her chest. She can't stop grinning and feels foolish for it, glad that he can't see her face. That warmth spreads through her limbs, tingling in her fingertips. ]

Does that mean you'll stop looking?

[Much the contrary, in fact. He respects her, her capacities, her qualities, the things she can do. He doesn't see her as weak, inferior or a liability in any way... In fact, in many things, he is aware that she is stronger than he is. It was never about that, though. About who is stronger than whom, about comparison or even balance. It's about doing it together, no matter what. Thomas believes in them, he believes in the people he is with, he trusts them with his life, blindly and without question, and he hopes they feel the same way. Because that's what it is about. Group strength, community. About staying together.

Most of his friends are captured now. But Thomas will do everything in his power to get them back. He knows they are waiting for him, he knows they are counting on him, just like he would be counting on everyone too, if it was the other way around. It's their trust, their hope, that give them (him) strength, more so than anything else. He isn't good at fighting like Minho is, and he isn't good at planning like Newt, but his will could bring down armies. He is going to carry them to the finish line or he is going to die trying. There's no middle ground.

And her too, of course. Her strength inspires him, her spirit reassures him. Even if all goes to Hell for him, he hopes (knows) that she will be able to carry it out that last stretch, that she will lead their friends to safety. That none of this will be for nothing. That no one died in vain.

As for getting his memories back, that's still something he feels divided about. Forever curious, yes, but mostly uncertain. He wants to know about as much as he doesn't. So he tries not to think too much about it.

For now, all he wants to focus on is her. Holding her close, feeling her warmth. For a brief, selfish moment, that's all that matters.]

Looking for it? [He asks, in a whisper.] Yeah. [And then, after a brief pause:] But looking to keep reminding myself that I've already found it?

[He shakes his head a little, even resting over hers still, eyes closing.]

No, I don't think so.

[ The truth is, being lost and detached from everything scares her. He is her anchor in many ways, now that everyone she's ever known is dead or captured. It's just them now. That's all there is, but it's enough for her, so long as that's the one thing that stays.

Tris likes hearing him like this. Quiet and private and just between them, even though it isn't like there's anyone else within earshot anyway. The way he shakes his head against her tugs stray strands of hair further out of her braid, but none of that matters. There wasn't a time in her life (that she can recall) when she had to look presentable, and right now it's the least of her worries. She hums, smiling to herself, and cocks her head, though it isn't like he can see her arched eyebrow. ]

So that's why you keep staring at me.

[ He can hear her teasing well enough. ]

[He is her anchor much like she is his anchor too. As strong as his will is, he isn't sure he would have made it this far without her. Not after everything they've already been through, even after it was just the two of them.

The loose strands from her braid would be the last thing in his mind, unless it made her uncomfortable. Truth is, she looks beautiful, no matter what. Braid or no braid, what he sees goes beyond that. As long as it's her, that's all that he needs.

The words make him chuckle a little - ah, the subtlety of a brick to the face - and he raises his eyebrow too, moving back only enough to be able to meet her eyes again. He is smiling though-- More of a smirk, even, this time.]

And here I thought that was a well kept secret.

[It isn't, of course, it never was. They don't have time for that sort of thing. But still, he answers to the tease with a tease of his own, even if there's nothing but warmth and fondness in his eyes.]

[ Neither of them has been subtle. Neither of them had the chance to, anyway, given the people they'd travelled with then, jokes and commentary running on until they'd both caved and fessed up. She knows exactly who'd be catcalling about now, and who would be making gagging noises, but she grew out of caring about either of those things a long time ago.

Instead, she turns enough to look up at him and revels in his warmth. Again and again, he makes her feel alive just with how he looks at her. Tris smirks back. ]

You want an honest answer to that, or is it enough that I really don't mind?

[ She brings one hand up to rest it against the side of his neck. ]

[Point. The fact that he knows exactly who would be doing those same things, too, really does say a lot about how long this has been going on for, how long everyone knows, how long they've known, how long it hasn't been a secret at all. Still, it counts for teasing, right? That's why his smirk is there.

That's why she smirks back, too, and why he falls, all over again.

He hums, in reply, leaning down just so his nose touches hers, softly, and he traces it up, with his own, up until he reaches her forehead, which he ends up kissing.]

As long as you really don't.

[He leans slightly against her touch, almost as if trying to feel a little bit more of it. It's safe, reassuring. The total opposite of the world around them.]

[ They're both sick to death of secrets. Keeping them, having any kept from them - it's been enough, more than enough. Considering that, it should be no surprise to anyone they didn't consider pretending they cared any less than they did.
On the other hand, when so much of their lives is spent rushed, running for their lives from one thing or another, always a struggle, it's a gift to be able to take this one thing as slowly as they like. She holds his gaze until she can't, then lets her eyes drift closed again. With the sun almost completely gone and nothing but flickering firelight inside, he's cast half in darkness and half in a warm glow, an image that doesn't leave her mind as he kisses her. ]

I like how you look at me.

[ It makes her feel real, alive. It makes her feel like she matters, like they stand a chance against all odds. Maybe that's stupid, but she already decided she doesn't care. As she admits it, she traces the line of his jaw with her thumb. ]

[It's not like they have time for secrets either though, is it? Not in the way they've always known life to be like. One moment they can be alive, the next they can be dead. They don't have time to play tag with this. They can't afford to, not when 'tomorrow' is far more uncertain than what Thomas is willing to admit.

After their stance is clear though, after they know (have known), everything else can take its time. Because, yeah, knowing is the most important thing, isn't it? Knowing that the other knows, too. Everything else are extras that they can sometimes allow themselves to have, like these peaceful moments.

He smiles a little against her forehead, at that, moving back only enough to be able to look her in the eye. His head tilts, hand moving again from her back to her cheek, cupping it, caressing it with his thumb.]

That's good to know. [He whispers, leaning slightly against her touch again.] Because I don't really intend to stop.

[ The moment he pulls away, she knows he's looking at her. It settles on her like a gentle weight, and she can't help looking back at him. His whisper and his eyes on her is all it takes for a pleasant shiver to run down her back, which he might be able to feel too. Even what little distance there is between them seems like too much, far too much, and yet she stands there merely leaning into his touch, shifting her hand until she can feel the hair at the nape of his neck. ]

Good. [ Decisive, as quiet as she is. She doesn't want him to stop. Others might be intimidated by his momentum or his focus, but she's not. ]

[He does feel the lightest movement underneath his fingertips on her back, but he doesn't have a lot of time to focus on it. Mostly because, right after, her hand is venturing over the nape of his neck and it's his time to feel a jolt up his spine, a slight (almost unnoticeable) intake of breath between parted lips. It's a sensitive area, mainly so with whatever WICKED implanted on it. Yet, instead of uncomfortable, her touch is welcome, pleasant.

Her reply - He hadn't expected anything else, really - makes him smile a little, and he leans in, ever so slightly. He brushes his nose with hers, eyes closing, but he doesn't do anything else, instead letting the silent question hang in the air.

Can I?]

[ She likes that, the way his breath catches when she touches him, and even though it's just the barest of reactions, they're so close she can't help noticing. Once his eyes drift shut, so do hers, and she's glad that there's still a question when it could be a matter of course by now, because that means she gets to tell him yes.

She tips her head back just a little and straightens to kiss him, not quite needing to be on her toes for a change. ]

[It's a question that, admittedly, will probably always be there, no matter how much he thinks he already knows the answer. If there's a lesson he knows all too well is that taking anything for granted is half-way into everything going to Hell. He isn't willing to risk that.

He isn't willing to risk this.

He is leaning down enough that their lips manage to meet easily, as soon as permission is given for such. It's a light touch, at first, a soft kiss, dry lips brushing. It doesn't bother him-- Much the contrary. It spreads warmth through his body, tickles his spine, makes the fingers still on her back curl a little.

His thumb hasn't yet ceased to caress her cheek, and he nuzzles her nose again, wetting his lips with his tongue before kissing her again, right after.]

[ Likewise her fingers curl at the nape of his neck and low on his back where she's still loosely holding on. If it wasn't for her nervous habits, he might be feeling her fingernails just about now, but they're far too short.

Tris barely has time for a shallow breath, feeling like she's short on it suddenly. The air they've been sharing seems charged with something she doesn't bother naming. All she knows is that it's a good thing he wastes no time to kiss her again, and that it's easy to lose track of the world so long as he's touching her. She arches her back slightly as they kiss, never really thinking about it. ]

[Very thankful that they both sort of share that nervous habit-- Long fingernails and scratching are the stuff of nightmares these days. Her hold though, her fingers curling, it gives him all sorts of good feelings, spreads warmth through his body.

He leans in a bit further when he feels her arch her back, not really thinking about it either. He is running on instinct, mostly, trying to figure out the best things to do. It's not like they have any sort of information or previous knowledge about these things, at least not in a way cited by experience, definitely not in a way brought by memory.

He kisses her again, a third and a forth time, nuzzling her nose after just to steal yet another kiss.

It feels good, this proximity. Safe.

Hell, to be honest, he could do this all night.]

[ She has scars from nails and teeth, that's enough. That's more than enough. If she can help it, she'll never bear another mark she didn't agree to. This is much better, safe and warm, and when he leans in further, the hand still on his back starts shifting up his back, following the line of his spine through his clothes.

At some point maybe they'll remember they both need food and sleep, but this has become almost as important to sustain them. They're both clueless, but in a way, it's almost reassuring to Tris. No expectations to live up to, just them figuring things out as they go along. She leans up the next time he pulls away, rising to stand on the balls of her feet to make the kiss last a little longer. ]

[He can't help the very, very soft, low sound that escapes his throat as her hand trails up his spine, making him arch his back, ever so slightly. He doesn't stop kissing her though, hoping that's the right thing to do. It certainly feels right.

To be fair, Thomas isn't even fully sure of what expectations there used to be. He knows what this is, he remembers all those terms and definitions - something that was always interesting, how he pretty much remembered everything, except for his own, personal memories or the ones around him - but he can't quite ever remember learning much on the topic. He can only guess as to why-- WICKED probably kept him busy and occupied with puzzles while everyone else was probably doing what it was more common for teenagers to do.

... It's not a thought he wants to dwell on too much right now, though. He'd catch up, right?

So, instead, he focuses on the here and now of things and how that last kiss was made to last. He wonders if he should try something more adventurous but, at the same time, he is afraid of her not liking it. Ah doubts. Questions.

So many, many questions.]

[ So many questions, so many choices. It comes down to neither of them having a clue what they're doing, and that's fine, that's okay, it gives them the chance of figuring it out for themselves. Tris decides she likes that sound her touch draws out of him, and kisses him until she has to stop for breath.
Even when she pulls away she doesn't - can't - go far, she's breathing their shared air a little quicker than before. Now she does open her eyes, just to see his reaction.

Yeah, they'd both be catching up. ]

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You make it worth fighting for.

Tris Prior || Divergent (books)

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