Disclaimer – I disclaim!
Bit of a language warning on this one.
Intrepid
Chapter Three - The Hope
"What the hell is a Griever?"
The question cracked through the Glade like a whip. She felt the sting of it as the air abruptly turned raw and full of welts. One by one, the different boys slowly looked to Nick.
"They're," Nick began and paused, searching for the words, "creatures that live in the Maze—"
"—creatures?—"
"—monsters," he corrected.
The crickets chirping through the Glade, the soft murmurs of the others, even her pounding heart seemed to fall silent at the word. Liz's eyes flashed to Nick and then to the others standing around, looking, hoping for someone to crack a smile and tell her that this was just one big joke. But every face was solemn as death and she swallowed, mouth suddenly dry.
"And they're… real?" Her voice was very quiet. The leader merely looked at her like the answer was obvious. So she changed the question. "Why didn't you tell me?"
"Listen, there's a lot of klunk that we don't have the answers to and the Grievers is one of them. We don't tell Greenies everything at once—it's too much for the mind to handle and they break, I've seen it before—"
"How many have they killed?" She cut him off. Nick stopped, his eyes hard.
"Seven."
Liz went silent, her blue eyes catching the light of a torch nearby, face completely pale.
Monsters. Monsters that lived in the Maze. The Maze that had them trapped in this clearing. For some reason, the first thing she thought of was not the fear or the sound of the Grievers scream earlier, but Minho. The boy with the biting tongue and raven hair; the Keeper of the Runners. He went into the Maze every day without fail, taking the risk that no one else would take in the search for freedom. Her eyes found his and he stared back at her, like he knew she finally understood. She saw fire in those eyes, still burning from their confrontation earlier but there was something more, something that had always been there just under the surface, barely contained.
She saw rage.
It swirled in his eyes, the color of human desperation and the blood of so many children (because, in the end, that's what they all really were). It was an agony that ate at him—an ignition that never turned off, it pushed him beyond exhaustion and reason. All of that wrapped around skin and bone and flesh like the rest of them. That was Minho.
She never realized before how brave he was.
Liz tore her eyes away, muttering a soft curse, and tried to sit up. Only the burning ember in her side suddenly flared into an inferno making her hiss loudly and fall back to the ground, hand grasping at her ribs. Her breath came in short pants and she screwed her eyes shut at the pain, a low moan escaping between her gritted teeth.
Hands were on her now, feeling along her ribs until she cursed louder and slapped them away. Then Nick shouted, "Med-Jack!"
Other hands then, these ones infinitely more gentle, and Liz opened her eyes to see the quiet Med-Jack, Clint, kneeling beside her. She hadn't really spoken to him before, aside from formalities when they had first been introduced. He had been one of the first ones in the Maze, a soft spoken boy with gray hairs already dusting the top of his dark head; she didn't know if that was how he was naturally or how this place had rendered him.
He slowly tilted her head from side to side, a small hand running from the back of her head along her neck, "Any pain here?"
Liz bit her lip and shook her head.
"Can you show me where the pain is the worst?" He asked.
Liz motioned to the center of the flame just below her breast and Clint softly pushed her hand out of his way and ghosted his fingers over her side, feeling and pressing. Her other hand dug into the grass beside her and she squeezed her eyes closed.
His hand drew away and he spoke in a low tone.
"Hold her head still, please. I don't want her neck moving around too much when we do this," before Liz could open her eyes in confusion, firm, warm hands were on both sides of her face, effectively trapping her, and then Clint pressed on the center of her breast bone and if she had thought her side had hurt before, now it was a volcano of molten lava.
"Mother fu—!" Liz squeaked and a great and terrible kind of pain began to build behind her eyes like tiny bricks stacked on unsteady ground ready to topple over and leak out of her. Clint immediately eased off but she was still gasping, blinking back treacherous tears.
"Anything broken?"
"Hard to tell, but I don't think so. Her breathing is hindered but not too much. My guess is that the rib is deeply bruised. But if I'm wrong, either way, she's going to need to rest for a while. It should heal up fine if she doesn't move around much."
"Should we head to the clinic and tape it up?"
"No. Constriction might help with the pain but it will also make it harder for her to breathe. She needs to be able to get air into her lungs to prevent infection. Honestly, the best thing we can do is just let her rest. She'll be fine."
Liz's face contorted. "Yeah? Tell that to the fucking fire ripping through my fucking chest!"
Silence, and then someone above her coughed out a laugh but Liz was too preoccupied to look to see who it was. Earlier, she had felt and even heard something inside of her crack; she realized now that it had been her restraint. She could not bring herself to regret snapping at the Med-Jack even though he had done nothing to deserve it.
Clint, however, was either too mature to rise to the bait or he was too used to hot tempered patients, because he very effectively ignored her outburst and continued speaking in an even voice. "I'll need to see her over the next few days, just to check and see if it's getting worse. But right now all we can really do is get her back to her bed and lay her down for the night."
"Alright Minho, let's get her up." Nick said and Liz opened her eyes. The smirking face of the Runner hovered right above her. Her face was slightly chilled when he let go of her head and shifted back.
Without warning, two hands gripped her gently under her arms and slowly began to pull her up to a standing position. She tensed, every single muscle rigid, as blinding pain shot through her.
"I've got you," Minho said softly, sensing her reaction. "Just relax."
Liz tried to, honestly. But the nearness of his presence, his breath right beside her ear, his arms encircling her body, caused all of the wrong reactions and she tensed even more. She realized, briefly, that it was the first time since she had come to the Glade that she had physical human contact—that is, contact that wasn't restraining her when she was losing her mind. She tried not to think about why she couldn't stop tensing, why it made her so uncomfortable and left her wanting to cry in gratefulness all at once.
And then she was precariously balancing on her own two feet and his presence was gone and another was there. Nick pulled her arm on her uninjured side over his shoulder and bent himself down at an awkward angle so he could help her walk back to the tiny tool shed.
She hadn't noticed before, but the majority of the Gladers that had gathered earlier were gone now, having wandered back to their beds. Maybe they found the situation boring, maybe this happened often, she had no idea but she was profoundly grateful for their absence and whatever semblance of privacy that offered.
Their walk was slow and once she got moving, the pain wasn't as bad. At some point Minho left them to return back to, well, wherever it was he slept at night. Nick didn't say a word and Liz was too busy gritting her teeth to speak, but there was something between them—something that needed to be said and Liz only hoped she could get the courage to spit it out.
Once they reached the tool shed, Nick unwrapped her arm from around his neck and opened the door. It was only then that they realized how unpractical and painful it would be for her to sleep in her hammock like this. Both of them stared at the contraption for a moment, not sure what to do. Exhaustion from the whole night's ordeal hit her suddenly and Liz yawned, just wanting to close her eyes and sleep. She waved a hand in the air.
"It's fine. I'll just lay on the floor." Nick gave her a look and she bristled. "What? Do you have any better ideas?"
"No, actually," he admitted, scratching the back of his head. "But if you're going to do that, I'll at least get you a blanket. Stay here."
The boy turned quickly and ran off towards the homestead while Liz waited, propped up against the doorframe. It wasn't long before the tall boy came jogging back with a red blanket balled up in his hands. She watched his approach from afar and was struck, for the first time, by how handsome Nick was. She wasn't sure how she hadn't noticed before, maybe her mind was too focused on other, more important things, but now that she looked… it was undeniable. He might not have been her type (she wasn't even sure what her type actually looked like) but he was still good looking; not overly muscular, but with a good build, broad shoulders, messy light brown hair, seafoam green eyes, his skin tanned from hard work in the sun.
Her eyes dropped to the ground as he drew closer and she bit her lip, ashamed for some odd reason. Nick didn't say a word as he moved past her and began arranging the blanket on the floor right next to her hammock. With both of her beddings taking up the majority of the tool shed, there was just the tiniest space of standing room left and Nick glared at it all.
"We'll get you somewhere better to sleep soon, I promise."
Liz shrugged, "I don't mind."
"Yeah, that may be true, but we're still getting you someplace better."
She didn't have anything to say to that so she gripped the doorframe and gingerly stepped towards the little nest Nick had made. He moved immediately to help her and it was a lot of cursing and his muffled laughter at her creative word choice as she got back down to the hard ground. It sure as hell wasn't comfortable, but better than being bent at an angle in the hammock.
Nick waited, watching as she situated herself, ready to help, and Liz felt a pang of guilt at his diligence. When she got as comfortable as she was going to get, she looked up and found Nick staring hard at her.
For a few minutes he just looked at her, his eyes searching her face. She wondered if she looked different after tonight, if her true face was showing.
She wondered if it was the face of a coward.
"Why did you do it?" Nick asked suddenly and Liz froze.
"Do what?"
"Run."
She laughed then, a quick mocking sound cut off by a grunt of pain and another colorful curse. When her breath returned and the pain subsided, she rose one eyebrow. "I thought that would be an easy guess."
"I meant for the Box. Why did you run there?"
Her eyes burned into his for a long time, her entire body feeling like it was on fire, and then flickered away to the ceiling where it was safer to look. "I don't really know," she said, slowly. "My mind was… somewhere else. All I could think was that there was a way out of here and maybe that was it—that maybe jumping back down that pit, I could get out of here. Or at least back to where I came from." She almost laughed again, but stopped herself. "Stupid, right?"
"Spectacularly."
Her eyes returned to his then and there was something unreadable in his face, something he needed from her and she didn't have the slightest clue as to what it was. She felt it again, the sharp, tangy twinge of guilt and embarrassment. Drawing in a deep breath, she gathered her courage.
"I'm sorry for all the trouble I've caused," his brows furrowed and she clarified. "I know you've had to deal with a lot of change with having a girl here and I'm sorry."
"Not your fault." He said without hesitation.
She pursed her lips and pressed further. "And I'm sorry for tonight. That was a pretty royal panic."
"It happens to all of us, and yours was not the worst, trust me." Anger swiftly swirled in her throat.
"Can you stop making excuses for me?"
"Not when you keep apologizing for klunk you can't help." Nick shot right back and Liz rolled her eyes. His gaze hardened. "I mean it. Don't do that. Don't… destroy yourself over things you can't control. I know—we all know—you've been hiding out in this little shitbox shed, that you avoid us at meals or any time you can, but you need to get it through your head that we are all you have right now. If any of us are going to make it, we've got to stick together. You are not as alone as you think. Got me?"
Something shifted in her at his words and Liz felt her chest burn with an emotion she couldn't name. When she spoke, her voice was barely a whisper. "Hey, Nick? Would—" she began, then louder, "—would you die trying to get out of here?"
There were a few moments of silence and something flickered behind his eyes, like a wall coming down, revealing something harsh and real and weighty. "Wouldn't we all?"
Her jaw clenched and she released a slow breath. "I guess it's time for me to stop being so afraid then."
"Good that." Nick agreed, softly.
They didn't say anything else and he quietly closed the door, leaving her in darkness.
For a long time, she simply breathed.
She woke up with her back pressed against something solid and smooth and cold. There was a light shining her in eyes and a shadow crouched in her sleep blurred vision. Her body felt very distant from her, somehow. Her muscles, achingly tired, not responding fast enough to her brain's command to move. Someone pushed a stray curl off of her forehead and Liz blinked repeatedly until the shadowed boulder-like shape took the form of a softly grinning Newt.
"Hey, Greenie."
"What time is it?" She croaked, her already raspy voice now the gravel-like quality of an eighty year old man.
"Late," Newt said. "We figured we'd let you sleep it off, see if you were a little less crazy this morning."
She stared at him, face serious. "And what's your deduction?"
"Hmm, well, let's see." Newt scooted closer, he pulled down one eyelid and peered at her pupil. Next he tugged on her right earlobe while plugging her nose nosed with his other hand. Grinning, a teasing glint shone in his dark eyes. "Yep. Still crazy. But that's okay, we all are, so you fit in just fine."
He ruffled her hair and Liz stayed still, enduring the torture, glaring daggers at the Glader.
"You keep plotting ways to kill me in your head and I'm not going to give you this," Newt warned, seeing her look, and pulled a wrapped egg sandwich out from behind his back and waggled it in front of her. Liz made a lazy grab for the food, her stomach growling, but Newt moved it just out of reach and clucked his tongue. "Sorry, Greenie, but you're going to have to ask nicely."
She waited a few moments before her face transformed and she smiled beatifically, her voice sugary sweet. "I will tie you up and skin you alive laughing while I do it unless you hand over that sandwich. Right now." Newt's eyes widened slightly and Liz added, as an afterthought, a very polite, "please."
It didn't take long for the sandwich to be placed in her hands. She greedily took a monster bite and chewed, a low moan of appreciation come out of her mouth. A throat cleared.
"You should smile more often, you know," Newt began, his eyes glancing around the tool shed before coming back to rest on her, his hand flapping in her general direction, "does wonders for your face."
Liz rolled her eyes dramatically and swallowed. It was awkward eating while lying down and so she tried to sit up. Thankfully Newt was anticipating that and he moved quickly, grabbing her under the arms like Minho had the night before and gently lifting her body to a sitting position with her back against the wall. Her breath caught, moving around the pain, her fingernails making indentions on the bread in her hand.
"Alright there?"
Nodding, she slowly brought up the sandwich and took another bite.
"You gave us quite the scare last night, running like a madwoman through the Glade and all. Bloody nearly had a heart attack."
"Sorry I upset your delicate disposition," Liz muttered around the egg and bread in her mouth before swallowing and biting another mouthful.
"Me? Nah, I'm not delicate. It's the others I'm worried about. Alby's a really sensitive guy, you know." She snorted, then grimaced and Newt grew more serious. His hand went to her shoulder and gave her an awkward sort of pat. "Seeing as how you're out of commission today, where would you like to spend your day lazing away while the rest of us work our arses off?"
She gave him a look and shrugged. "Someplace quiet, away from—"
"Nope."
"… No?"
"Nope. Not gonna cut it, miss. You've isolated yourself enough from us and it's time to face the music—there is no avoiding us any longer. Not after you've officially joined the crazy club and made everyone panic. That means you're one of us. Now, I'll ask again, where would you like to spend your day?"
Liz fell silent, remembering her conversation with Nick last night.
I guess it's time to stop being so afraid.
She thought for a while as she finished off her sandwich and Newt grumbled, "By all means, please, take your time. It's not like I have anything to get done today."
Just for that, she smirked and exaggeratingly slowed her chewing. "Hmm…."
Newt flicked her nose and it made Liz jump and then cringe away from the pain. The blond boy looked only slightly repentant. Liz glared at him and sniffed haughtily, "I'll go hang out with Frypan."
"Girls always go for the cooks." Newt bemoaned and Liz shook her head.
"Not really, we go for the food."
Newt laughed, "Is that right? Well then, I'm sure you'll weasel something out of that big softy before the day is over. Alright, up you go, we have places to go, people to see."
"We?" She asked as he helped her to gradually stand.
"Oh? Did I forget to mention?" Newt grinned at her and it was a little on the wicked side. "You get to have my lovely company for the day. Lucky you."
Liz looked up at him then, with his laughing eyes and happy personality, and she found herself smiling back at the boy. Maybe being not so afraid of them wouldn't be such a terrible thing. She could at least give it her best shot. She owed them that much.
Drawing in a deep breath, Liz exhaled slowly and let Newt lead her out into the Glade. He talked most of the way, nonsense things, and she was getting more used to his babble. She even appreciated it when it took her attention away from the tearing sort of feeling running down her side with every step. From the look on his face when he would catch her grimace, he was babbling on purpose. When he steered her towards a medium sized building that she had never been in before, she became confused.
"Frypan is that way," she pointed out.
"Yes, excellent observation. But we're stopping by the clinic first so Clint can get a second look at you."
"Oh," was all she said, her voice still hoarser sounding than usual. What she really needed was a gallon of water to chug.
They passed by the Builders site and Liz naturally kept an eye out for the BrowMan, but he found them first, walking over with that fast paced, made-his-mind-up-and-nothing-can-change-it-so-get-of-his-way sort of step of his.
"Newt," Gally nodded and then his eyes settled on her. "Hey, Greenbean. Feeling better?"
"Meh," was the answer Liz graced him with.
Gally grinned sharply. "You'll live."
"So grateful for your confidence." She said, voice flat.
The Browman laughed, though she didn't find it nearly as funny. Then he straightened, hand coming to his jaw. "Listen, it sucks you had a bad night and got injured for it, but since this interferes with your second day of your tryout and all… I know you wanted to give it a shot, but, let's be honest: you're not cut out to be a Builder. So it's a 'no' from me."
Her heart sank with disappointment as Gally so casually rejected her for the job, and she didn't even know why. It was true, she wasn't that good at making things, but she hated failing and this felt like just that. Failure.
Gally must have seen it on her face because he rubbed the back of his neck uncomfortably muttering a mere, "sorry, Greenie. Good luck with the other guys."
Liz watched him walk away and frowned. She shouldn't be this upset, really, but still, it throbbed. Newt finally snapped his fingers in front of her eyes and she turned back to him, decidedly grumpy, which did not deter him in the least.
"Why the glum face?" She said nothing and Newt gentled his voice, but only just. "Don't worry, there'll be other jobs. Besides, don't tell Gally, but you don't want to be a Builder. Bunch of brawn but no brain."
"What do you do, Newt?" Liz asked suddenly, realizing that she had no idea where it was that he worked.
The blond stiffened and then a very self-satisfied smirk took over his face as he puffed out his chest. "Third-in-command, missy." Her brows shot up in surprise—she would not have guessed he was that highly ranked in the Glade, if she were being honest.
"So… what does the third-in-command do, exactly?"
"Eh, third-in-command gets the shuck jobs. Cleaning up after Nick and Alby, doing their dirty work, babysitting crazy girl-Greenies, you know." He listed off and when they reached the door to the clinic, he pounded on it with his fist. "Clinty-boy! I got your newest patient here waitin' for ya."
Liz wondered, briefly, at Newt's odd accent. No one else in the Glade spoke so distinctly British and she wondered why he was different. She didn't have time to think on that any more as the door to the clinic was opened and Clint stood there giving Newt a funny look.
The Med-Jack was small, about the same height as Liz but he was slighter. His hands were small and almost delicate looking, his features refined. But there was something about him, the way he spoke and moved that felt… old; ancient, really. Not in a bad way, but it a way that made Liz fuzzily think of paintings in a museum; beautiful pieces of art that were thousands of years old, hung with absolute care. They were created with tender brush strokes; every move carefully thought out and planned to get the perfect blend of color and held with high esteem by onlookers. It was a delicacy that Liz did not expect to find in the Glade.
But then again, she supposed anyone who had buried as many Gladers as Clint had would seem older and maybe more fragile than the rest of them.
"Come on in," he stood aside and Liz gingerly made her way in the hut.
There was a table with a white sheet over it that Clint motioned for her to sit on and Newt was a great help in actually getting her on the table. He couldn't quite lift her, but he took enough of her weight in his arms that it made it an infinitely less painful process. There were wooden shelves on the walls, packed with different supplies—bandages, creams, gauze, medical tape and scissors and a number of other things including different looking plants. She was curious about those, having remembered someplace in her mind that there was a lot of medicinal value in nature. Overall, the clinic was neat, organized and smelled clean—not in the way the Glade smelled fresh, but this was the medicated kind of clean; antiseptic.
Clint came back, wiping off his hands on a towel and offered her a closed mouth smile. There was something very sad about that smile, Liz thought. "Newt, can you help her lay back on the table?"
Laying back hurt, but she bit her lip to keep from crying out. When she was flat on the table, Clint spoke calmly. "Alright, I'm going to need to lift up your shirt to check the color of your skin around your ribs."
Liz felt her face turn red and she was glad he explained to her before he did it. Her mouth was too dry to answer, so she merely nodded and turned her eyes to the ceiling.
She didn't dare to look at Newt or at the Med-Jack as he rolled her shirt up to just under her breasts, exposing her soft, pale stomach. His fingers were cold as they traced lightly across her ribcage and she tried not to flinch away, immensely uncomfortable. But any shyness vanished from her mind the moment Clint pressed lightly down on the offending rib and she grunted in response.
The next thing she knew he was rolling down her shirt and she was still grimacing from the pain. Clint helped her to sit up and said matter-of-factly, "I'm still not convinced that it's cracked. But the contusion is large enough that it has me concerned. Try to avoid moving as much as possible for the next three days and make sure you take at least one deep breath every hour or so. It'll help keep your lungs healthy."
"Great," Liz mumbled less than enthusiastically. She had no idea what in the world she was going to do, lying around for three days.
"Come see me again first thing tomorrow morning." Clint instructed and Liz gave him a lazy thumbs up.
Newt walked over to the table, a funny expression on his face, and Liz had the distinct feeling that he hadn't turned his eyes away when she was being examined and she didn't know what to think of that. Especially when he caught her looking at him and shrugged, like he couldn't help it, and silently helped her off the table and out of the clinic without a single apology.
The awkwardness lasted only as long as it took to arrive at the kitchens. Newt sat her on the grass, in the shade, her back leaning against a tree. Frypan found them soon after, his brow sweaty from slaving over an open fire, but his smile was blinding and he waved and immediately went back into his fortress only to return with a warm piece of homemade bread drizzled with fresh honey. Liz thought she might have actually drooled a little at the smell and Newt was eyeing her treat like a starving man.
Smirking, she bit into it and made a show of wiping the bit of honey away that leaked out of the corner of her mouth. Aware of her game, the third-in-command hit her with the most devastating puppy dog eyes she had ever seen. He even added a small quiver in his bottom lip.
She liked to think it wasn't his begging that made her tear the bread in half and give one piece to the blond Glader, but maybe, perhaps, it was the realization that he might be her very first friend in the Glade and that meant something to her.
Spending the day by the kitchens was by far the best idea she had ever had in her entire life. It helped Liz to realize an important fact about herself; food might very well be the main, and possibly only, way to her heart. And with the amount of treats and snacks Frypan kept sneaking her, the cook had wormed his way under her skin before she even realized it. But then again, so had Newt.
They wasted the afternoon away with a lot of teasing and laughter—that is, until tears leaked out of Liz's eyes from the pain of laughing and Frypan promptly bonked Newt over the head with his wooden spoon for making her cry. But that only made Newt yelp and Liz cry all the more. The blond, needing revenge, took a nearby fork and flung it at the cook, only his aim was terrible and the flying utensil missed and, instead, got stuck in Liz's thick mane of curly hair. Beat red, the Glader tried to untangle it from her hair, apologizing profusely and Liz, unable to stop laughing, was now flat out sobbing.
Alby was walking by then, all hard steel and business. He stopped and stared at a guilty looking Newt, took in Liz's face contorted with pain and streaks of tears running down her cheeks with a fork stuck in her hair, and Frypan grinning unabashedly. After a moment, the older boy told them with all seriousness that whatever was wrong with them was no little thing.
As Alby was out of sight and earshot, the three cracked up again. Frypan slapped his thighs soon after with a satisfied sigh and stood, "Welp, sorry kids, but it's getting late and I need to check and see how the other guys are coming along with the dinner."
Liz said goodbye softly, but Frypan was already gone. A yawn swiftly overtook her and when it passed, she blinked, sleepier than she should be considering it was the middle of the afternoon. Newt was watching and laughed.
"And now it's time to tuck you in. Come on, afternoon nap it is." Liz began to protest but Newt was insistent. "Doctor's orders. Come on, come on."
She let him help her up without complaint and slowly made her way back to the tool shed. After the ordeal of getting back down to the ground for her make-shift blanket bed, Liz was out like a light before Newt even closed the door.
She did not dream.
Soup night always caused a ruckus.
Nick wasn't really sure why, he didn't even really like the stuff, but the guys went nuts over it. Lip-licking, pot-scraping, occasional fist-fighting-over-seconds kind of nuts. The young leader stretched his legs out and leaned back on his elbows against the picnic style bench, watching the stampede of hungry Gladers rush the kitchen window where Frypan defended his keep with nothing but a wooden spoon.
Nick was tired. He could feel it in his bones, that deep, pulsing ache. It had been a long couple of days, and though he would never admit it to the girl, a lot of his exhaustion surrounded Liz's arrival and the Glade's subsequent panic.
She might not have known it, but things were shaking, shifting, moving and most of that shaking, shifting, and moving centered on her.
For example, the night she came was the very first time since arriving in the Glade that Nick dreamed. A year and a half and nothing and then she comes up out of the ground and suddenly every single night he was plagued with the same, or similar enough to be the same, dream. The whole ordeal was fuzzy and confusing, but the message was clear and repeated so many times in his mind that he woke up saying it:
Trust the girl.
Keep her alive.
She knows the way.
It shook him to his core and he didn't dare breathe a word of it to Alby. Because while Nick was naturally drawn to her, for whatever reason, Alby was set on edge by her very presence. In fact, she seemed to split them all, pulling interesting reactions from the different Gladers; either they were on her like a shucking magnet or driven away by her. It wasn't like she was doing anything wrong to deserve the suspicion though. When Nick eventually confronted some of the other Gladers about it, they simply said that something about her just felt… off. And it made them nervous.
After that, he watched his Gladers carefully around her and, to him, the split was obvious enough. She was still in the shock of the first week that she hadn't noticed the difference and Nick personally hoped she wouldn't for a while. She didn't need anything else to encourage her isolation.
They all knew what happened to Gladers when they began to isolate.
Which was why Nick was giving her one week, he always gave Greenies the first week to figure things out, and then he planned to drag her out of that tool shed, even if she came kicking and screaming.
He had brought his hand up to his chin, his thumb running over his bottom lip, caught deep in thought, when Newt arrived.
"Hullo Captain," Newt greeted and Nick rose one eyebrow.
"Aren't you supposed to be babysitting today?"
"Sure am, only Greenbean needed a nap and I, always one to encourage napping, let her go sleep it off."
Nick was silent for a moment. "How was she today?"
"Better," Newt said with a nod. "Still kind of quiet and standoffish. But better. She spent a lot of time with me and Fry, so that was an accomplishment."
The leader nodded in agreement, knowing that he had given Greenie duty to the right Glader. Newt had a way with people, making them feel comfortable… often comfortable enough to underestimate how utterly brilliant and flat out cunning he was behind his wacky grins and endless commentary. He was very useful around the Glade, if Nick were honest, always found things out before the rest of them; he could read people and their intentions like the pages of a book.
Which was why Nick also felt inclined to gravitate towards Liz, rather than push her away. Newt, whose intuition was reputable, was one of the ones on her like a magnet. That was enough for Nick.
"Any news from our Runners?" Newt asked casually, his gaze staying on the Gladers as they ribbed each other while waiting for their food.
"No, but we're meeting in an hour in the Map Room. Be there."
Neither boy said another word and Nick felt his mind begin to wander, like it often did when he was this exhausted. However, the sudden and sharp jab of an elbow in his side made him jump. He glared at the boy next to him but Newt ignored the threat and nodded slightly to a shadowed figure standing just on the edge of where the ring of light from the torches reached. It was obvious enough, even from where they were, to tell who it was. No other Glader had long, wild curls.
"Was only a matter of time," Newt murmured, a proud grin overtaking his face.
"Think she'll actually come over?"
"She's made it this far, give her a little credit. She's braver than we think."
The two waited, faces and body language carefully neutral, but their eyes silently pulling her past the barrier she had encased herself in. She rocked forward, then stopped, and Nick felt a smile tug at his lips watching her mind rage in its own battle of tug-o-war. He saw her fists bunch at her side, twisting the shirt she wore, her shoulders heaved, and then, slowly, she stepped into the light.
But only just.
"Atta girl," Newt said, more to himself than anything.
They weren't the only ones who noticed her arrival. Different boys sent curious or guarded glances her way. It was Gally though, surprisingly, who made the first move. She nearly jumped out of her skin when he held the bowl of potato soup under her nose. Gally's back was to him, making it impossible for Nick to see what the Keeper of the Builders said, but Liz, looking as if she were deeply touched, took the bowl and smiled, wide and true.
Nick frowned when Gally simply turned and left her, realizing that she might just stand there like some statue while she ate; brave enough to come into the light but still too frightened to be one of them. He was about to turn to Newt, telling him to get a move on it before she ran off, but the boy didn't need any extra push in the Greenie's direction. He was already ambling his way over, ushering her to a nearby table.
When the leader noticed who Newt steered her to, he laughed. The third-in-command didn't play fair, he thought, as he saw Myles, the Glade's youngest with a head of orange fire and freckles splattered all over his face, wave a welcome to the Greenie. When he saw the tension in her shoulders, visible from where he was, melt in reaction to Myles big brown eyes, Nick thought that Newt flat out played dirty.
Shaking his head and grinning, he thought that Liz looked a little odd and out of place, a splash of color among a world of gray. But Nick thought, for the first time, that she also might look a little bit like she belonged.
Somewhere during the evening, she had lost her shoes.
Liz wasn't a fan of wearing shoes in the first place, she wasn't sure that she ever had been. Every fiber of her being hated anything that made her feel trapped—including the fact that tennis shoes restrained her toes from having full wiggling freedom. It was an odd thing, she supposed, but she was much happier barefoot.
There was a fuzzy sort of feeling in her chest, fluttering around like a bird trapped in her ribcage, it tickled and left her with a soft smile on her face. She wondered what it meant that she felt this way after spending her first evening with the Gladers. She felt… lighter. Not happy, exactly, but more like she fit in, in an odd sort of way.
She stayed with them much later than she had intended, witnessed an impromptu arm wrestling match between one of Minho's fast talking Runners who had more attitude than there was room for at the table and a nearly mute Slicer named Tim, eaten three bowls of heavenly creamy potato soup, and reverted back to not sharing her food with Newt on account of his merciless discharging of his greatest weapon in the Glade: Myles.
Maybe it was some misplaced maternal instinct (although, that couldn't be true, because Newt said he was just as effective on any of the guys), but the twelve year old effectively demolished her shyness. And any time she started to withdraw, Newt nearly shoved the boy in her arms.
It had been getting late and most of the others had turned in for the night when she had started to wander back to her tool shed. It took some convincing for Newt that she was capable of walking on her own and a firm promise that she would go slow before he let her walk by herself.
And in all truth, she really did mean to go straight back to her bed, but before she knew it, she was standing in the middle of the Glade, staring at the imposing walls, the stone snare containing them. Memories of the night before came, flooding her heart with terror and screaming and pain. She didn't go as far as she had the other nights, only went half way to her usual spot by the wall of names before she stopped.
"What, you gonna chicken out now?"
Liz didn't jump this time, her heart stayed even, and she didn't turn to face him. She had caught glimpse of him only briefly during dinner, but something in her had known he would follow.
Minho came to stand by her side, his gaze locked on her, dark eyes glittering in the night, voice mocking. "You going to let one little Griever scream scare you away?"
"Isn't that what you want?" He didn't answer and Liz's question was tired and raspy and low. "Why did you follow me?"
"A number of different reasons," he voice sounded calm and it didn't match his eyes in the slightest. "The most honest reason is that I wanted to make sure you didn't go crazy again."
She gave a nod and waited. His eyes searched hers and he seemed to be considering his options.
"The other is that out of any person who has come out of that Box, you are the only one whose first response to this place wasn't…" Minho stopped and drew in a deep breath, changing his mind swiftly. "For a long time I was the only one who would dare to come out to these walls at night. And then I see you and… If there is a way out, like you say… I think you might find it," he said, his eyes burning, leaning forward slightly.
Her stomach jolted and she stared at him for a minute, in complete shock. When she spoke, her voice was quiet and disbelieving, "So what—you think… you think I could make it as a Runner or something?"
The question sounded stupid, but a very small, very brightly burning part of her wondered. Minho moved towards her and she could feel the heat of his body from where she stood, his voice a low, serious rumble. "You think I would ever let you step foot in there?"
Frustrated and confused, Liz laughed and there was no humor in it, just the pain aching through her middle. She embraced that pain and let it all bleed into her voice. "Then why say all of that?"
The silence that stretched between them grew miles wide and Liz for a long while thought he wasn't going to answer and then—
"Because whether you know it or not, whether they know it or not, you have hope," he voiced, and Liz felt that bird flutter, trapped inside of her skin, trying to rise and fly at his words as they marked her soul. "A stupid, crazy kind of hope and I don't want that to die."
AN – Slow moving chapter with lots of getting to know the characters. Hopefully I didn't bore you too much. Also, I'm sleepy after a long week. Any typos are completely my fault.
Thanks amazing reviewers! I was surprised, to be honest, to see how many of you shared your thoughts last chapter and I just wanted to say... SQUEE! It made me so happy to know people are actually enjoying this as much as I am having fun writing it.
OH! One last thing, I am considering moving this rating up to M but I'm not sure. I would do it mainly for language and violence… and yeah, it is a slow burn, not that there will be an explicit content, but things will get a bit uh, hot, later on. Anyways, just a heads up about that possibility.
Thanks for reading!
- RevolutionNow
