It's gonna be colder, now you've forced open the door

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It's gonna be colder, now you've forced open the door

With my splinted hand, Sassy and Shevaun have relegated me to front desk duty for the next three weeks. It's standard policy for an injured employee, gleaned from their own experience that and employee must rest and heal to return to full effectiveness. It doesn't make this easy, sitting still and processing payments and new memberships. I'd rather strap my left arm securely to my chest and run, even if it puts me at risk.

Without running, I just feel adrift, useless. I'm just left alone with my thoughts.

I can't outrun them.

Sighing, I almost forget to plaster on a smile when I hear the door chime. "Welcome to Off the Wall."

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"I was hoping you'd be here," Cole says as he steps in. He's not dressed in his usual workout gear, but rather just jeans and a tee shirt. He leans against the counter and taps her splint. "Doesn't look so bad, now that it's all cleaned up." He's beating around the bush. There's a reason he's here, clearly, but he's not sure how to get to the point.

"I do, in fact, work and train here," I remind him, sliding my hand back from his touch. I'm reminded of Peter and of Eric, who liked to remind me of my height and weight, that I'll never be anything but a child to them. They would never see me as a threat and Cole will never see me as someone capable, especially while he lays Trish's ghost at my feet.

He sighs. "Look, Tris, I'm sorry. I'm the kind of guy that takes care of people. I never wanted to be, but that's who I am, and . . . it's hard to shake. It's not you, specifically, okay? It's everyone. It's just how I function."

I shrug, looking at the counter. "I'm not Trish, whoever she was," I say. "And I'm not weak, just because I'm short or small or a girl."

Pointedly, I cast a hand over at Shevaun and Sassy who say they've owned this gym for years. "Injuries are a fact of Parkour. You can't ask me what I was thinking and how dare I when we both know that."

"I know," he says softly. "I don't think you're weak, I just . . . I'm protective of people." He smiles a little wanly. "Trish is . . . she was my girlfriend. She died, falling from a building. I couldn't save her." He hadn't been fast enough. For all his power, he hadn't been fast enough.

"Everyone thinks I'm weak. They never believe I'm anything more than a short, skinny stiff. You're not the only one."

Then he explains Trish and I swallow tightly, nodding. Loss has marked every life I know, here and in Chicago. That never makes it easier.

"I'm sorry."

"Me, too," he says. Then he sighs. "I don't think you're weak, Tris. I know you're not. But that doesn't mean I'm not gonna try to take care of you, when I can. That's not some reflection on you, y'know? It's . . . more a reflection on me." He can't not take care of people. He can't not protect them. It's who he is. It's what he does. He can't turn that off.

"There's a difference between being protective and acting like I should never have done parkour in the first place, Cole." I fix him with a hard look, one that's run out of...everything.

"Look, maybe it's not easy for you to get, but I don't exactly do well with people falling off buildings." His voice comes out angrier than he wants it to. "I'm sorry if my reaction was less than rational."

"But I'm not her!" I protest. No, that's not right. I'm sorry I said it the second I finish the sentence. The words are cruel when I don't mean to be and I sigh, leaning forward on my hand.

"I...I don't like being treated like a weakling. My whole life, everyone has."

"I'm not—" His voice starts to come out raised, so Cole stops talking immediately and composes himself. His jaw works a little, then he nods and tries again. He's much calmer when he says, "I'm not trying to treat you like a weakling. I'm treating you the way a person treats someone when they've been freaked out by something that traumatized them." He takes another deep breath and pushes through it. "And that had some unfortunate side effects for you. It wasn't fair to you, but I couldn't stop it, Tris."

I nod and step out from behind the desk, looking at him. For a long moment, I just don't say anything before I bow my head, trying to imagine how I'd feel if I saw someone with a bullet in his forehead. Already, the mental image makes my stomach clench from thoughts of Will.

"I've been selfish," I say at last, words that are as much confession as they are apology for Abnegation.

Cole watches her, then nods and offers his hand. "I'll forgive you if you forgive me?" he says hopefully.

I extend my bandaged hand and take his, nodding. Our anger is born of our respective fears.

"Thank you."

Cole makes sure not to be too gentle when he shakes her hand, but he also doesn't try to inflict pain. He's not a dick. He's just . . . trying to show her that he's going to try to stop treating her differently, just because he feels protective of her.

"So, we good? You gonna show me any new moves?"

I've never been very good at being protected, not after being cloistered for so long.

"Oh yeah, my new mandatory desk-assigned moves," I say, rolling my eyes. "Employee policy. Anyone ho's injured has to sit."

Cole holds up a hand. "I could still fix that for you," he reminds. He won't do it, not without her permission, but the offer is there.

"Won't make a difference," I say, looking towards my bosses. "I'm still on desk duty for the doctor-recommended time. I may as well leave it and not make anyone ask questions."

"Alright," he says with an easy shrug. "I just hope you don't go nuts waiting to get back to it." He grins a little, because the part of him that had panicked at seeing her fall was now taking a little bit of sick pleasure, knowing she'd be frustrated and unable to do anything. Serves her right.

"Oh I probably will," I admit, trying not to notice the slightest twitch in his face. "I hate being useless."

"I'm pretty sure nobody actually likes being useless," he points out. "I'm happy to kick back and relax, but if I lost my powers, or something? I'd hate it."

"Sometimes I wish I had the powers people thought I had," I mutter, fidgeting with a pen on the desk. Maybe then I could have saved him.

"Powers aren't all they're cracked up to be," he says. "I speak from experience, remember."

"I know," I say, apologetic. But if my Divergence had actually given me powers, maybe I would have been stronger. Maybe I could have saved my parents.

"The just thought I did, at home. It wasn't true."

"Hey, you got by without 'em," he reminds. "Seems like you did just fine." To be fair, he doesn't know her whole history. Every time they've come close to talking about it, the subject has been changed, one way or another.

I shrug, still thinking about the people I could have saved if I had been stronger, smarter, more powerful.

"I just always wonder."

"Try not to, okay?" he says gently. "Wondering is a real good way of making yourself crazy. What-ifs suck, no matter what you're what-iffing."

"My whole life is what-ifs," I say, blurting it before I realize how tired and bitter the words are.

"Sorry," I add, too late. "I just think about my parents a lot..."

"Hey, don't apologize," he says gently. "You're here now, yeah? Try to make the most of it." He smiles and gently grips her shoulder.

I'm here now, but my parents aren't. Will isn't.

"I'm working on living at all, still."

"Well, you ever want advice, you know where to find me," Cole says gently. "I'll see what I can do, okay?"

"And you know where to find me," I counter, regaining a little humor. "Right behind this desk for the next three weeks."

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It's gonna be colder, now you've forced open the door

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