Duplicity [p.h]

chapter ten || can of emotional worms

A/N: buckle up guys, gals, and non-binary pals — we're in for a multi-chapter ride. brb screaming.

"YOU DID AMAZING, Jax."

Eric had not said a word to me since the meeting; once Max had given his seal of approval onto our plan, the leader and ex-instructor seemed to be so overwhelmed with pride and the sweet satisfaction of a seemingly foolproof plan that no words could find their way out — and I only had a day left to secretly prove him wrong.

The sinking feeling that came with the realization of how abruptly time seemed to have passed was enough to make my head implode with stress. Projections of blood on my hands had been looping through my thoughts and dreams alike — it was either the blood of an innocent, necessarily spilt to keep my cover... or should I fail to do so, it was blood of my own. The thought made me shiver.

No matter how much control I thought I had over myself, especially in high stake situations like the one I found myself in, Eric could always see right through me. Perhaps that's why he beckoned me to follow him, nodding away from the elevators and slipping through a side door into a stairwell when no one was watching.

He was always able to lift my spirits too. Perhaps that's why I followed him.

Though his demeanour was nowhere near threatening — quite the opposite, in fact, judging by the small smiles he sent my way every time he looked back over his shoulder, the expression more human that I would have presumed he was capable of, if you asked me a few weeks ago — I resolved to keep my guard up. Eric was as cunning as they came. For all I knew, he could be leading me to a death of a traitor. But something, an instinct, maybe, told me his intentions were benevolent. Genuine. Whatever feeling overtook me as our footsteps echoed against the stairwell's angular white walls and identical ceiling all the way out of the compound... it confused me. It was, best put, one of ambivalence.

Once Eric turned the corner onto a sidewalk I had frequented in my youth, I knew right away where he was taking me.

We were alike in more ways than I would like to admit. An Erudite childhood of logic and shying away from impulse in favour of strategy overtaken by a daring and often explosive Dauntless present and future gave us the same cunning and resourcefulness (traits, as he once mentioned in passing, that were by in large unique in our faction), but that was not where the similarities ended.

Both quick to ignite, quick to forgive — but more than capable of holding a grudge forever, from time to time. Both prideful, high-achieving, sanctimonious. Both a little bit alone, for whatever reason.

(Sometimes how alike we were made me forget the heinous things he had done. But how heinous were they, really? Would they be heinous if he was on my side? After all, the only difference between us was what we were fighting for.)

At present, I remembered that we also shared a preferred method of relieving stress: hitting anything we could get our hands on.

Rowan's hand-to-hand studio, now deserted, was much smaller than I remembered, but the two bags that dangled from the ceiling towards the side of the room and the wrestling ring in the middle would suffice.

My knuckles, bloodied up a healthy amount by attacking a bag without gloves, crisply smacked again and again against the leather. "Oh, come on," I heaved. "You could have done that in your sleep."

"No, I couldn't have. I mean it Jax. You were incredible." With my hands on my hips, I watched Eric beat his own bag next to me. "Not that I'd expect anything else from you. It's like you were born for this."

My hearty laugh morphed into a scoff. Eric's expression towards me as he steadied his target told me he was dead serious. "Really? I mean, I completely choked. For a second there I though Max was going to have my head! There was no way I would have gotten through it without—"