A/N: Hello everyone! I couldn't help myself from not writing another story /).(\ So here it is, a short Fourtris one-shot.

This idea came to me as I was watching cars drifting on this drifting track and then the cars all went home and then came this one small car and a female passenger changed seats with the male driver and the car started driving around in slow moves and my dad told me that that is probably a lady learning to drive and the guy is teaching her. And so, yeah... inspiration struck my head and I wrote.

I feel like there are some weak spots, especially around the early parts of the story, but I hope that it's okay? Tell me what you guys think!

I replied and am replying to some anon reviews on my Tumblr.

Big thank you to my ever amazing beta-ing sister, Nalash Polal Falayt.

Disclaimer: I do not own Divergent.

Caleb sighs, parking the car into an empty parking lot and turning around to meet his sister's gaze. "You really want to drive a car?"

Tris glares at her brother. "Yes," she replies, chin held up high and arms crossed over her chest.

"I don't get it. Why are you so eager to drive?"

"I told you, Caleb..." Tris huffs. "I am leaving for university in a week. Doesn't it makes sense for me to learn how to drive?"

"But why would you need to drive by yourself? I can get you there, dad can—"

"For crying out loud, Caleb!" Tris exclaims, punching the armrest of her seat with the side of her left fist. "You are my brother! You are supposed to guide me—to help me grow up and learn the knick-knacks of life. Pampering me like this will never bring any good to me! How am I going to survive through university alone if I will always need you with me?"

Caleb wipes his right palm over his face, his teeth clenched and his eyes glaring at the sun-visor above his head. "That is why I told you to apply for an enrolment in the Erudite University where I have already received a scholarship from. Not at some university in some foreign state, miles away from home."

"Chicago isn't that far. And do you really think that I can decline to join the study program which was offered to me by none other than Marcus Eaton? Good friend of dad and mayor of Chicago and owner of the whole damn university."

Caleb shrugs, still glaring at the sun-visor. "You can always do so, Beatrice. Dad will understand."

Tris presses her eyelids closed, gazing out of the window with a huff.

He will never understand, will he? No matter what she says, no matter what she does, he will never understand that all that she has ever wanted was for him to leave her alone and allow her to try to be independent.

Caleb looks down at her with steady eyes—steady eyes which make Tris rolls hers.

"You know that I am just trying to protect you don't you?" He asks, flinching when she scoffs.

"You can't always protect me, Caleb. Haven't you ever thought of the possibility that there will be a time when you won't be able to stick around me like a dog?"

"Beatrice, I will always—"

"That's enough, Caleb!"

Caleb blinks at his red-faced sister, pressing his lips into a firm line as she fists her hair into her hands—her eyes already glistening with tears of frustration.



Caleb frowns at the index finger she points up to his face.

"You don't Beatrice me." She orders.

A loud screech bursts into the parking lot and Caleb glares disapprovingly at the black sports car with red flame stickers licking all over it—it's like the car owner wants to set the car on fire.

"Suicidal." Caleb mutters.

"Look," Tris announces, reclaiming Caleb's attention. "If you refuse to teach me how to drive a car, then I will get someone else to teach me."

"And who are you thinking of getting help from?"

The door of the flame-licked car swings open, revealing a glimpse of the man behind the wheels—all clad in black leather.

"That man," Tris announces, pointing at the man as he steps out, pushes a pair of sunglasses higher up his nose, a ring of keys hooked onto his thumb, and turns around to close the door of his car.

Caleb's jaw drops open.

Behind his neck, peeking out of the collar of his jacket are the tips of what looks like black and orange flames... painted onto his skin.

"You are not... you've got to be kidding me, Beatrice!" He exclaims, aghast.

Tris gulps when the passenger doors of the car swings open and a bunch of... a bunch of humans with shaved heads and pierced faces spills out of the car. Their arms covered in so much ink that it is impossible to find un-coloured skin in between the tattoos.

"Yes," She utters, voice lower than a whisper, then clears her throat to repeat herself in a clearer and louder voice. "Yes," she affirms, turning around to meet Caleb's bewildered gaze.

If it's the only way for her to learn, so be it.

In fact, she is going to ask for help from that one guy who seems sensible enough to drive. Not the... mutated kids with paint as their skin or that other guy who is already pressing his... girlfriend? to the car, devouring her mouth—

Air hisses between her teeth and she looks away, face red.

Honestly! Do they have to be so public?

"No, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no..." Caleb mumbles, shaking his head faster than a hummingbird can flap its wings.

"No Tris," he announces, decision final. "You are too young and-"

"Young?!" Tris bellows. "Caleb, I am just nine months younger than you are and you have been driving since last year!"

"Well whatever! You are not standing ten feet close to those... those punk... rock... crazy kids."

"Choose then," Tris challenges, crossing her arms over her chest and holding her chin up again. "You teach me, or he teaches me."

"Beatrice, if you go to that hellion, I will tell father."

Tris scoffs. "Do that, then."

She places a hand on the door handle.

The locks click in place.

"You are not going to that jerk, Beatrice Prior."

Tris cocks an eyebrow. "Stop me," she dares, unlocking the door herself and stepping out onto the cemented ground of the parking lot.

Caleb calls for her, shouts her name into the empty air, and Tris ignores him, marching her way towards the sunglassesed, neck tattooed, black leather jacket clad man whose fingers are tapping rapidly onto a black smartphone.

Tris stops two feet in front of him, crosses her arms and clears her throat.

The man looks up.

"I... need you to teach me how to drive a car."

The man tilts his head to one side, locking his phone and stowing it away into his pocket.

"You need me to teach you how to drive a car?"

Tris presses her lips into a firm line, softens them, then hardens them again.

Should she appear friendly and polite or serious and demanding?

"Yes," she nods, throwing a brief smile to him.

A second ticks by between them before his lips start to stretch across his cheeks... wider, and wider, and dangerously wide until a line of white teeth makes its appearance.

Tris furrows her eyebrows, the word, "What?" Slipping past her lips.

The man throws his head back in laughter, a hand thrown back onto the roof of his car to hold himself up from rolling onto the floor.

Tris scowls at him, totally deciding that serious and demanding is better than friendly and polite.

"Sorry, miss, but did I get you right?"

Tris presses her eyelids closed for a second before opening them again with a glare.

His throat hiccups and his laughter runs dry.

Her eyes are of a brilliant blue.

"Of course you got me right, we have settled on that." Tris snaps. " I just... need you to teach me how to drive."

The echoes of his Cheshire cat grin grazes his lips and he tilts his head to one side. "Why?" He questions.

"Because my brother refuses to do it and I need to get myself a driving license before I start my tertiary education."

The man hums in understanding and nods his head twice.

"How about learning at a driving school?" He suggests to which Tris blows a huff and bites into the insides of her cheeks.

"If my brother refuses to teach me, then he most definitely won't want to bring me over to a driving school. He trusts himself more than anyone else—even our father."

"Fairpoint," he replies, re-nodding his head. He seems to ponder about something for a moment, staring down at his boots with his hands in his pockets until Tris runs out of patience.

"Well, are you going to teach me or not?" Tris questions, chucking her fists onto her hips.

The man looks up and squints his eyes at her. "You're a demanding little thing, you know?" He teases, a smirk playing on his lips.

Tris scowls, her face red. "And you're a jerk," she barks back.

He laughs, again, and Tris has had enough of this madness.

"Fine! If no one is going to teach me, then I will teach myself," she declares, turning around to storm away from the black leather man.

The internet is always a helpful source of information.

Much more helpful than these two jerks.

"Miss!" His voice calls her back. "Hey! Hold up!"

Hurried footsteps run closer towards her before his body blocks her path. He holds up a ring of keys—one of them attached to a black plastic piece with a car logo embossed on it.

"Come on," he urges, nodding his head towards his car. "I'll teach you."

Her eyes glance up from the ring of keys, to those long and slender fingers holding it up to her, to his arm, and all the way up to his sunglasses.

The outline of his eyes is almost visible as he stands this close to her.

Suddenly nervous at the offer, her fingers shake as she reaches up to accept the keys...

A car horn blares from her right.

The scowl etched on her brother's face convinces her to pull the keys into her hands, stride towards the red-flame-sticker covered car and slip into the driver's seat.

The door on her opposite side open and closes, the man slipping into the seat beside hers.

There's a smell lingering on the seat she is sitting on, and it amplifies as the man enters and shuts his door.

Musky... rusty... manly...

"Go on," he urges, voice deep.

Tris jumps and her head snaps to her side, a slight frown etched on her lips.

Deciphering the frown as confusion, the man points a polite thumb towards the ignition hole. "The engine, switch it on."

"Name," she blurts out, a spoonful of saliva gulping down her throat as she tries to keep her mind clear and focused in this... this confusing, nerve-wrecking, musky haze which is trying to faze her mind. "What's your name?" She asks, completing her previous one-word sentence.

The head tilt makes a return as he looks down at her for a quiet moment. "Why?" He asks.

"Well, I will need to call you something..." Tris replies, fidgeting with the sleeves of her grey dress—her confidence running out.

He grins.

She scowls.

"Call me Four," the man replies and asks, "What's yours?"

Tris scoffs and rolls her eyes. "I'm six and my brother is eight."

"Are those your real names?"

"Is Four your real name?"

Four throws his head back in laughter once more, trying to utter the words, "sort of" through his chuckles.

Tris glares at him and shoves the key into the ignition hole.

Caleb's scowl has never been angrier as the black car on his left jerks to life.




"Brake, brake, Six the brake is the—"

The trash can topples, its contents sent hurling all over the cemented ground as the car ran straight towards it.

"—right one, not the left."

"This is hopeless!" Tris shouts, exasperated—slamming her fists onto the steering wheel.

"Six, this isn't hopeless, you're just—"

"Don't you see it? I can't drive! I've tried, but I just can't!" She declares, her back hunching and her shoulders slumped down. "Maybe my brother is right. I'm too young to drive a car and I should just... let him or dad drive me around to places."

Four frowns as he stares at the defeated lady. Her grey mood matching the colours of her dress.

"You know what? Maybe you wear grey too much." Four muses to which Tris lifts her head, scowling at the man beside her.

"Pardon me?"

"You're giving up too easily. You've barely even tried hard enough."

Tris shrugs. "I just... have it in my guts that I can't drive."

"Well that's bullshit."

"And you car smells heavenly."

Four cocks an eyebrow.

"You think so?" He asks with a smirk.

Tris squeezes her eyes shut tight, gritting her teeth to prove her annoyance.

"No. Your car smells like sweat and smelly shoes. It's like you never care to take a shower after enduring some form of extreme physical exercise."

When Four's lips are still turned up in a smirk, Tris squints her eyes at him and adds the words, "And that's gross." To her line of description.

"I'll blame the smelly shoes on Uriah and the sweat on Zeke," he replies shrugging his shoulders. "But the heavenly part of the smell," he continues, the persistent smirk still pasted on his lips. "that one is me."

"Well, the point is, I can't drive and it's not that I am giving up too early, it's just... I just can't!" Tris declares, fisting her hair into her hands, tears of frustration leaking through her eyes.

"You know? I think your brother is negating your self-confidence and ability to survive the world."

Tris's scowl turns into a frown. "What... do you mean?"

"He's holding you back from so many things with his over-protective behaviour and he is more than willing to do everything for you.

Every time you fail to do something which you have barely even started, you just claim that you can't do it and he'll be there for you, completing the task and cooing you and telling you that it's okay because he'll always be—"

"I don't!—"

"–there for you. You don't see it and you refuse to admit it, but it is true. That is what you've grown up to be. A spoilt kid who likes to believe that she is very independent but always ends up running to her brother and parents to help her with everything."

"I am not spoilt!"

"Well then prove it and drive the damn car!"

She sends him a hard glare then grasps the gearshift, shifting it to reverse gear and drives the car back in a swift move, then steps on the clutch brake, shifts to 1st gear and drives them away from the evidence of her point of failure.

The movement is jerky.

But she drives.

They almost run into a wooden bench.

And she slams her foot on the brake pedal, then drives away from it.

She keeps on almost driving the car into trash cans and wooden benches and all sorts of other obstacles.

But she still attempts to complete the figure-eight pattern she is trying to draw with imaginary marks left by the tyres of Four's car.

She tries, and she tries, and she whoops when she finally makes it. Smirking at the man beside her who is now challenging her to drive the car in even more complicated patterns—like the shape of a Ferris wheel. Thus, their heads swing from side to side as the car jerks forward and a sharp right and forward and right and forward again.

"Draw a heart next," he tells her to which she laughs.

"Peasy," she replies, pressing her foot on the accelerator.

A rhythmic beeping noise rings around the car and Tris moves to reach for her phone in her pocket.

The car surges forward and runs into another trash can when his hand grabs the arm which was reaching for her phone.

Grabs, and holds, and burns.

"You do not pick up calls while driving."

Her head snaps up to look at his face... to find that he is looking at her with a small frown and bare, un-sunglassesed pair of eyes.

Deep-set, dark blue eyes with eyelashes that touch the skin under his brow.

The colour is like the bottom-most surface of the ocean.

Like a pit of dangers and long-buried secrets.

Her eyes flicker.

There is a scar on the tip of his chin.

Four cocks an eyebrow at her.

"B-but it's... it's my brother," she stammers out, snatching her arm from his hand and pulling her eyes away from his face.

"Park the car first, then you answer the call. A split second amount of distraction is enough to cost your life."

The call rings into the missed calls directory and leaves the car into a heavy silence.

A heavy, and thick, and dense,

And musky?

And dense silence before the phone beeps once—a message entering her inbox.

"Well, we are parked now, Six. You can definitely check that one."

The message is none other than Caleb leaving a voice mail since she missed his call. Pressing the required buttons, Tris puts the phone on loudspeaker and Caleb's voice booms around the car.

"Beatrice, if you are quite done messing around in that hellion's car, then you better return to mine. We did not come here to attend some driving lessons."

Tris sighs as the phone beeps, signalling the end of the message. "I need to get back to my brother," she informs, tucking her phone back into her pocket.

"It's about time, really," Four replies with a shrug. His lips not exactly smiling, yet not exactly frowning at the same time. "I mean, we've been messing around in this 'hellion's car' for half an hour."

Tris throws her head back in laughter when Four quotes her brother with imaginary quotation marks drawn into the air with his fingers, but the laughter soon dies out and she sighs again, unbuckling her seatbelt—eyes trained on her feet.

"Would you like to keep a bottle of the heavenly scent of my car?"

Her jaw drops open, her cheeks heat up.

"W-what?" She sputters, stammers, staring at Four with wide eyes.

"Well, you mentioned that you like the smell of my car. So I thought that you'd appreciate a bottle of it. You know? Keep you company at night so you won't feel so lonely and un-confident when your brother tries to put you down."

She blinks, several times. Feigning confusion or maybe really confused.

Her cheeks, though, her cheeks are glaring red.

"I..." She tries to speak, to defend herself, but her tongue runs dry and her mind goes blank.

A chuckle shakes his chest before he explodes in laughter. "I didn't know that it is this easy to make you blush."

Tris furrows her eyebrows. "I am not blushing!" She proclaims, her lips twisted in anger.

"You know? You've blushed twice throughout the time I was with you and both happened after I mentioned how you particularly like the heavenly smell of my car."

Her lips twist tighter—though her cheeks redden even more.

"You know what?" She exclaims, pulling the handle of the door open. "I regret ever stepping my foot ten feet close to you."

"You should keep my number." He tells her, jogging his way towards the red-faced lady with a scrap of paper—a series of numbers scribbled on it. "You might want to attend another driving lesson one day? I am particularly sure that just that one lesson is not enough if you really want to drive by yourself."

Tris stares at the paper held out to her, and then to his eyes. "I'm moving to Chicago in like a week."

Four raises his eyebrows. "Oh?"

"Yes. Tertiary education."

His lips widen up into a grin. "And what university are you attending?" He asks, head tilted to one side.

"Dauntless University." She replies in a beat, frowning immediately after. "Should I be telling a stranger all these informations?"

Four smirks, shoving his phone number to her again. "Keep this," he says. "Keep this or I will force you to keep a bottle of my perfume instead."

The scowl returns to her lips and she grabs the paper from his hand, crumpling it up into her fist. "I'll throw it out of the window once I get home."

The familiar laughter rings around her ears again and she rolls her eyes, walking towards her brother's blue car.

"Tobias!" He calls out. "My real name, it is Tobias!"

Her feet pauses and she turns around to glance at him contemplating if she should stay serious and angry or friendly and polite.

"Tris." She replies, a small smile grazing her lips. "And my brother's Caleb."

Tobias grins, testing the name in a quiet whisper and liking the way it feels on his lips.


"I'll see you again if you're still here during the holidays," she promises, just before she disappears into her brother's car.

Oh I am going to see you again, Tris.

At Dauntless University, next week.