Okay, so I know I said this would be a two or three part story. But it might be just a little more than that. I don't know yet. But anyway, thank you for the reviews! Glad you like it so far. Here's part two, which I had so much fun writing :)
Part Two
It was morning, and Newt was staring into the Maze.
No one else stirred in the Glade, not this early. Dawn light was just beginning to peek over the soaring rock walls, casting a creamy glow on the cracked stone. The breeze carried a promise of fair weather. But Newt wasn't worried about the weather today. He was standing before the gaping doorway of the Maze. He didn't exactly know why. He had woken up painfully early, had seen that no one else was awake and moving yet, and so had come here. He couldn't help it.
He was curious.
What could out in the Maze? There had to be something out there; he'd heard all sorts of awful noises last night, grinding sounds that echoed from the walls. And only Runners, the strongest, were allowed in there. So what was so dangerous that the other Gladers weren't permitted past the walls?
Newt took a step closer, until he was nearly at the threshold. He could see down a long corridor in front of him, that seemed to go straight until it split into two directions yards away. Dark ivy spidered up the walls, and a few vines hung across the hall like dangling snakes. It all had a very ominous feel to it. But he found himself taking another step forward anyway. What's out there that they won't tell me about? he wondered. What're they hiding?
Footsteps sounded from behind him, thudding against the sandy ground in front of the Maze entrance. He started, thinking he was about to be caught by Alby. He turned to look over his shoulder, preparing an excuse. To his slight relief, it wasn't Alby, but Max that jogged toward him. The redheaded Runner was wearing a curious harness of leather over his beige, buttoned shirt. It was designed like the straps of a backpack; it crossed over his chest and held a set of sharp knives in sewn-on sleeves. He skidded to a halt beside Newt, surprise and unease in his face.
"Uh, hey, Newt," he greeted, somewhat breathlessly. "What're you doing here?"
"Don't worry, I'm not going in," Newt reassured him. He knew that was what the Runner was thinking. "I'm just looking."
"Okay. As long as you don't go in, I guess you're all right." Max gazed up at the towering doorway. "Kinda scary, huh?"
"Yeah," Newt replied. "But you'd know more about that than me."
"Can't argue with that."
They stared into the winding halls for a few seconds. It felt as though they were almost taunting the Gladers, daring them to step inside. Newt edged forward a little bit more. "So, what's out there anyway?" he asked.
"Er...nothing, during the day," Max answered, watching anxiously as Newt inched closer. "But at night, the Grievers wake up."
Newt wrinkled his nose at the unfamiliar word. "Grievers?" he echoed. "What's a Griever?"
"I don't actually know," Max admitted. "No one's ever seen one and—you know, you shouldn't get THAT close, Newt."
Newt was at the threshold now, standing between the massive doors. "Why not?" he asked boldly. "You said the Grievers only come out at night, right?"
"Yeah, but it's still not a good idea to mess around here."
"I'm not gonna go all the way in. Just a few steps..."
"Dude, you're not even allowed to do that much."
Newt twisted to give an unworried smile over his shoulder. "Max, I'll be fine," he assured him. "You don't have to bloody panic. No one's gonna know..." He stepped farther into the yawning corridor of the Maze.
It happened extraordinarily fast. Newt heard pounding feet, Max's warning cry, and then two hands fisted roughly in the front of his hoodie. He choked on a gasp as someone slammed him up against the stone wall. Through his startled mess of thoughts, he recognized the sharply attractive face of Minho. The Keeper's obsidian-dark eyes were smoldering. "What do you think you're doing, Greenie?" he demanded harshly. "Last time I checked, you're not a Runner."
Newt gritted his teeth as Minho kept him pinned. "I was just...looking," he bit out. Anger at the stupid Keeper made him defiant.
"Yeah?" Minho asked nastily. "Well, you're done looking."
Max raised his hand in protest. "Minho..."
"No, I want this shuck-face to learn his lesson," Minho snapped. He turned back to Newt, their face inches apart now. "You wouldn't last a day in there, shank. Not a day. Now get your wannabe Runner ass back in the Glade, before I feed you to the Grievers."
Newt clenched his jaw. Maybe he was being angry or just plain stupid, but he met Minho's glare with one of his own. "I'd like to see you try," he growled.
Max's jaw dropped in shock. His green gaze flicked from Minho to Newt and back again. A tense silence fell over the three of them.
Minho glowered at Newt like he was seriously considering snapping the blonde's legs in half. Up this close, Newt could see tiny golden flecks in Minho's eyes and sense the steely, corded muscle in his body. Something suspiciously close to a smirk quirked Minho's mouth. "Huh," he said thoughtfully. "You've got guts, Greenie, I'll give you that." He released Newt at last, and took a step back. He glanced at Max. "Let's go. I'm done wasting time."
Max wisely agreed and hurried past them into the Maze. Newt tugged at the hem of his hoodie, frowning at Minho as he backed up into the Glade again. The Keeper started to turn away, then paused, glancing back. He pointed threateningly at Newt, but with a half-smirk on his face. "And don't test me again, shank. You're lucky you're cute, or I would've plowed you into the ground right there." Then he was gone, leaving Newt astonished, and flustered, and just a bit happy inside.
-o-o-o-
The happiness did not last as long as he hoped it would.
"Hey, Greenie! You wanna stop sleeping and HELP ALREADY?"
Gally was scowling blackly at Newt, contempt in his icy eyes. He stood next to a fat tree stump, with rough, peeling bark. He, Newt, and another Glader named Nate were trying to uproot it to make more clear space in the Glade.
Newt jerked from where he'd been sitting a few feet away, daydreaming. "Huh?" he asked stupidly.
"Okay, I dunno what you think you're doing over there," Gally began, hefting the impressive machete he was using to pry at the stump, "but you need to wake UP, and GET OVER HERE before I beat your ASS."
Nate rolled his eyes, sandy-colored bangs flipping down across his forehead. "Leave the new kid alone, Gally. He's still getting used to it here." He knelt down and shoved his knife into the base of the stump, pushing hard to try and loosen the thing from the ground. So far, it wasn't working well. The bottom of the tree stump had been dug at with shovels and knives, to help get it loose. Now they just had to lift it up and out of the ground. It was a lot easier said than done.
Gally scoffed. "Whatever, you don't have to 'get used to it here' to be able to get a damn tree stump out of the ground."
Newt had to admit that that was a pretty fair point. Even if Gally was kinda a jerk. He clambered grudgingly to his feet. "Okay, okay, I'm coming," he sighed. He pulled a ten-inch-bladed knife from a leather case strapped to his back; Alby had given it to him earlier, claiming you needed to have a good blade to work with around the Glade. Newt had thanked him with feeling, because the knife felt good in his hands, comfortable. He felt better having a weapon of his own around here.
"When do you think the Runners are coming back?" he asked, sparing a glance toward the open doors of the Maze.
"Not for a little while," Nate replied. He wiped sweat from his forehead with the sleeve of his dark T-shirt.
Gally sent Newt a withering look. "Does it look like I care?" was his response.
Newt chose not to reply to that. Instead, he bent down beside Nate and jabbed the point of his knife under a section of the trunk. Nate did the same and the two of them pushed down hard on the handles. Newt's arms strained with the effort. Nate swore under his breath. But the stump still barely budged. This was going to take all afternoon.
"So, uh, what's your name again?" Nate asked, as they worked at the stubborn stump together.
"Greenie," Gally answered. "His name is Greenie."
Newt blew a lock of blonde hair out of his face. "You wanna shut up?"
"You wanna WORK?"
Newt really wanted to punch him. He looked back at Nate. "My name's Newt," he said.
"Newt. Okay. I'll try to remember that. I always have trouble getting the newbies' names right." Nate's mouth lifted in a half-grin. "You like the Glade so far?"
"I guess." The Glade was growing on him now. Sure, he hadn't found something he was good at yet, but he helped out with odd jobs around the place. He liked feeling useful. "I mean, I'd like to get out. See what's in the Maze."
"Don't we all," Nate agreed sarcastically.
Gally gave a bark of laughter. "Yeah, good luck with THAT. Tell the Grievers I said hi, if you make it that far."
"Aren't you just a ball of sunshine today?" Nate asked. Teasing lit his deep mahogany eyes.
"Shut up, Nate."
Nate chuckled, proud that he'd gotten a rise out of Gally, and held out a hand for a high-five. Newt grinned at the unexpected gesture and slapped the other boy's hand. Maybe the Glade really wasn't as bad as he'd thought before.
Gally suddenly groaned in exasperation. "I am so sick of this tree stump!" He kicked at the thing, which of course, stayed still.
"It is a pretty stubborn son of a bitch," Nate agreed, resting his elbow on his knee, his knife dangling in his fingers.
Gally raised his machete above his head. "I'm gonna hack the crap out of it."
Newt lifted his arms to stop him. "Wait, wait, wait," he cut in. "We don't have to go crazy. Maybe if we all stuck our knives in at the same side and tried to pry it up, it would help loosen it more."
"Might work," Nate shrugged.
"All right," Gally conceded. "Let's try it."
They circled around the stump until they stood side by side. Newt drove his blade in first, between the ground and the stump, and Nate and Gally did the same. Their knives were only inches apart. Newt braced himself. "You guys ready?" he asked. At their nods, he tightened his grip on the knife handle. "Okay...now!" With grunts of effort, they all pushed downward as hard as they could. A new cracking noise sounded from the tree stump. Slowly, it started to tip, pulling up old, dead roots and soil as it went.
"It's working!" Nate exclaimed, excited that the new Greenie had thought of a good plan.
"Thank GOD!" Gally gasped, and the other two Gladers laughed.
Newt felt the stump shift another inch. He pushed harder. Just a little bit more and it would tip over...just a little more...
That was when he glimpsed movement from the Maze out of the corner of his eye. And he saw Brian, Max, an unknown Runner, and Minho all file out of the doorway. All of them were sweating, exhausted. Max's shirt was soaked and Brian was pulling his pack off. Minho's shirt was unbuttoned the whole way, showing off the sculpted perfection of his abs. He snagged a water bottle from the unfamiliar Runner and dumped the whole thing on his head. Newt stared dumbly as tiny streams of water snaked down Minho's neck and chest, gleaming in his tousled hair. Oh. My. Shucking. God.
Just then, the stump gave a loud snap-crack and toppled over. Dirt sprayed up in its wake. It jerked Newt back to reality. Gally and Nate cheered as though they'd won the lottery, pumping their fists in the air. Then they heard the buzzing. They stopped. Gally cocked his head. "What the hell...?" Newt squinted into the ragged hole that had been cut out of the stump. What was that moving in there?
The buzzing intensified. As they watched in horror, an ugly, black-and-yellow cloud rose up from the fallen stump. "Oh...SHIT," Nate muttered.
As if on cue, the bee swarm swelled and rushed straight for them. "CRAP CRAP CRAP RUN RUN RUN!" Gally yelled, shoving Newt and Nate away.
The three of them turned and ran for it. It was kind of a comical sight, the three hysterical boys running full tilt across the Glade, with an enraged swarm of bees behind them. Newt had no idea where they were going or how they were going to escape. All he knew was that there was no way in hell he was stopping.
From the entrance to the Maze, the Runners looked on in faint amusement as the three boys yelled and swore and stumbled. Brian scratched the back of his neck, still panting from running. "And this," he said grandly, "is why I love this place."
"At least they're fast enough to not get killed yet," Max commented, unbuttoning his shirt. Beads of sweat glistened on his forehead.
Ben, the third Runner, propped his hands thoughtfully on his hips. "That one looks like he could be a Runner," he remarked. "He's faster than Gally, at least."
Brian blinked. "Which one?"
"The blonde one," Ben replied, pointing. "The Greenie. What's his name?"
Max piped up then. "Newt."
Minho suddenly glanced up. "What about Newt?"
Brian bobbed his head toward where the three panicking boys were careening across the grass. "Ben thinks Newt could be a Runner," he explained. He caught Max nodding in agreement and cast his eyes upward, as though asking for strength from God. "And Max looks like he's got the hots for him."
"I do not!" Max argued hotly. Then he lowered his voice. "I'M not the one that said he was cute." He and Brian then looked pointedly at their Keeper.
Minho ignored them. He turned away to watch Nate, Gally, and Newt hurtling off for the forest, making sure the other Runners couldn't see his smile.
"Please tell me we're losing them!" Nate yelled, as the trio exploded into the woods in a blast of leaves. They weaved clumsily between the oaks and maples, kicking up grass.
"RUN KEEP GOING SHUCK CRAP RUN DAMMIT!" Gally shouted incoherently.
Newt risked a glance over his shoulder and had time to see the horde of bees closing in. Right before a small, but very noticeable spike of fire ignited in his neck. "Bloody HELL!" he swore, and slapped at his neck. He hissed as he felt another sting at his collarbone.
A few feet away, Nate yelped, and wildly flailed his arms around his head. "Oh, shuck, that hurts!"
"You think?!" Newt shouted back, as another bee attacked his jaw.
"NATE I DON'T THINK WE LOST THEM!" Gally's voice rose from somewhere to their right. A muffled thump followed, and his cries of pain filled the air as the bees descended on the three helpless boys.
If this was a NORMAL day in the Glade, then Newt definitely decided that he wanted OUT.
~Later, After a Long, Painful Experience~
Newt was sitting in one of the unoccupied rooms back at the Homestead, waiting for one of the Med-jacks to finish treating Gally and Nate. The trio had staggered back after being brutally swarmed in the woods, then breaking into Frypan's kitchen and dousing their stings in water from his supply of water bottles and the sinks. Gally had gotten an awful amount of stings on his face and thus had stuck his head into the sink (much to Frypan's dismay). The cook caught them, of course, and chased them out with a pan held above his head. And that was when they ended up here. Needless to say, Clint and Jeff weren't very pleased to find three drenched, badly stung, pissed-off boys standing at their door.
Newt sat at the edge of a bed, staring at the floor between his boots. He was trying desperately to ignore the throbbing of the stings on his skin. Most of them were on his collarbone and neck. A couple determined bees had managed to crawl down the back of his hoodie and into his tank top though; he could feel the pain of his clothes rubbing against those stings. His hair was still damp and so were his clothes, after the Great Water Theft over at Frypan's. He was also exhausted.
What a freakin fantastic day.
Newt raked his fingers through his hair. "That was bloody awful," he muttered.
"That was hilarious," someone said from the doorway.
Newt didn't have to look up to know who it was. He knew from the low mischief of the voice, and the way his pulse sped up crazily. He released a long breath and glanced up at Minho. "Hey, Minho," he greeted flatly. So nice to see that while Newt looked like crap, Minho was effortlessly stunning in his jeans and denim shirt. He'd buttoned it up by now, but only halfway. His hair was spiky and adorably mussed from when he'd poured water on it.
Newt was horrified to admit that he seemed to be developing a crush on the Keeper of the Runners. How shucking wonderful.
"Beestings, grass, and Frypan's dirty water," Minho observed, sauntering farther into the room. "Not the look I would've picked for you, Greenie."
"Are you here just to annoy the crap out of me?" Newt asked drily. "Because if you are, I'm going to stab you." He held up his knife, which was lying in its case on the bed next to him.
"Wow, that escalated quickly," Minho remarked. "Already trying to stab people, and you've only been here, what, two days? Three days?"
"And I've already been harassed by you, Gally, and a swarm of bees."
"You're on a roll, Greenie."
Newt shot him a dark look. "Stop calling me that."
"What, Greenie?" Minho asked innocently. There was a wooden chair in the room, a few feet away. He hooked his ankle around one of its legs and dragged it over so he could sit. He faced Newt with his trademark, devil-may-care smirk. "What d'you want me to call you? Moron? Shank? Shuck-face?"
"How about none of the above?" Newt sighed in resignation. There was no beating the cocky Runner. "Never mind."
Minho's gaze glimmered. He rested his elbows on his knees. "Hey," he said, more serious now. "Newt."
His voice, forming Newt's name, was glorious. Newt fought the urge to ask him to say his name again. "What?"
"I think you could be a Runner."
Newt's jaw dropped. "W—what?"
"You heard me." Minho reclined in the chair, lacing his fingers behind his neck. "I saw you running today. You know, from the bees." He snickered and Newt growled. "You're pretty damn fast. Even Ben admitted it, and Ben doesn't like recruiting newbies."
Newt was still staring in shock. "So...you're saying I can be a Runner now?" he asked, the hope growing inside of him.
"If you were listening, you'd know that yes, that's what I'm saying."
Newt felt himself beam at the Keeper in relieved happiness. Finally, he could be something that wouldn't have him trapped in here. He wanted to run and tell Brian and Max right now and hug Minho. He settled for meeting his gaze. "Thanks, Minho."
Minho brushed it off. "Don't thank me yet," he warned. "You don't even know what this job's like. It kinda sucks."
"Whatever, it can't be worse than—" Newt broke off with a gasp as he shifted and a sting on his back grazed his shirt.
"Oh yeah!" Minho snapped his fingers. "I almost forgot..." He fished around in his pocket and pulled out a little can of what appeared to be ointment. He held it up triumphantly. "Jeff told me to give this to you for your stings. Sorry I didn't remember."
"You shuck-face," Newt grumbled. THAT would've been nice to have two minutes ago. He swiped the can away from Minho and plopped it down on the bed beside him. Wincing at the pain, he shrugged out of his hoodie. He could reach the worst of the stings, and his shoulders slumped in relief as he rubbed the ointment into them. But he couldn't get the ones on his back. Uncertainly, he glanced at Minho. "Er...Minho? I, uh..."
Minho laughed. "You got them on your back, don't you?" he asked gleefully.
"Shut up, and just help me," Newt snapped, cheeks flaming.
Minho lifted his hands in a gesture of surrender. "Okay, okay, I'm coming," he replied, standing up.
Somewhat nervous, Newt slipped his tank top off. He looked down at the floor as Minho sat beside him on the bed and plucked the can from the sheets. It felt very strange to be shirtless in front of him. Newt forgot all about that, however, when he felt Minho's fingers on his skin. The ointment soothed the godawful burning. Newt made a soft sound of appreciation as Minho worked on each sting.
"Oh—wait," Minho said suddenly. "You missed one right here." His fingertips touched Newt's jaw, just by his chin. The action made Newt turn his head toward him. They looked at each other. Minho was close enough that Newt could catch a hint of his addicting scent. His heart raced, and he locked eyes with Minho. For a wild instant, he thought Minho was going to close the distance between them. Then he broke eye contact and the moment was gone.
It was then that he realized just how big his crush on the striking Keeper was.
And just how screwed he was if anyone found out about it.
