The Way Back

Chapter 23

TOBIAS POV

I wake early after the restful sleep, entangled with Tris. If I don't concentrate hard enough, I can pretend like everything is normal; I can breathe in her natural scent, keep her in my tight grip, and act like it is an average morning before the war.

But there are things that can't be ignored. Her stomach is flat under my palm, indicating that she is no longer pregnant. The bandage on my hand causes my skin to itch—I will have to remove it for the first time soon—and the plastic of her boot brace presses into my leg uncomfortably. Plus I feel gross overall because I haven't showered in a while. It is those minor details that pull me out of my imagination and drive me out of bed.

The shower I take is a quick one, and I only bother to do a mediocre job of washing up and shaving my face—I haven't gotten the chance to do either for nearly a week, and I didn't last night because Tris was my main concern, not my own wellbeing. I exit refreshed in a towel as I dry my hair with a smaller one.

Double-checking that she is still asleep on the bed, I drop the towel and pull on some boxer briefs, followed by pants and a shirt. Once I am clean and prepared for the meeting I have to attend, I approach the bed and take a seat on my side of it, where Tris is facing.

She has a hand curled up under her face, which has a neutral expression. Her eyelashes gently touch her cheeks, and her perfect features beckon for me to sit and stare at her all day. She has never looked more angelic than she does now, sleeping in my sweater, but unfortunately I can't stay and watch her any longer.

With a soft smile, I run my fingers through her hair until she wakes up with a content sigh. Her blue-gray eyes flicker open and meet mine, making me even more awed by her beauty.

"Hey, beautiful," I whisper. "Did you sleep well?"

It takes a second for her to form a nod, and then she stretches out on the bed, not quite reaching the end of it. A yawn overtakes her face for a moment, so she blinks until the forced tears leave her eyes.

"I hate to do this," I admit, "but I have to leave for a while to attend a meeting. I also have to pick up your pain medicine for your leg from the infirmary. Do you think you'll be all right here alone? Or do you want me to have a friend come stay with you until I get back?"

I know she hates being treated like a child who has to be coddled and babysat—I can see it in the way she scrunches her nose distastefully at my suggestion—but I'm hesitant to leave her alone ever again if I can avoid it. And I don't want to have to worry about her stubbornly getting out of bed and attempting to walk if she needed something.

"I'll be fine," she mumbles, her eyes heavy with sleep.

Pressing a hand to her shoulder, I tell her, "Okay. Just get some more rest. I'll probably be back before you wake up."

Instead of responding verbally, she hums and nuzzles her face back into the pillow. Begrudgingly, I remove my hand and stand up. Then I walk out of the bedroom to the front door, where I slide on my boots and jacket before I leave.

The compound is unusually calm today. With everyone returned safely, most Dauntless members are spending their time sleeping and recovering from the physical and mental exertions that come with war. That will change quickly though; soon—I don't know when—there will be a huge, day-long party held to celebrate our victory.

I pass a few people on the way to the Pire, and I receive pats on the back and words of gratitude for leading the faction to a win. Although I didn't do much and don't really deserve recognition, I accept their praises and move along to get to the meeting that I am about to be late for.