guest: thank you so very much for reviewing my story, it was so kind and thoughtful that I couldn't stop smiling as I read it. I'm so glad you like the way I've written it, and that you don't think she's a Mary Sue - I'm trying hard to keep her away from that. thank you again, I can't thank you enough for taking the time to leave a comment.


Winston took Eleanor to wash her hands before they got lunch. He'd spent a good part of the morning waiting for her to stop acting like his shadow and finally reach a shaking hand to one of the cow's noses; the result was a laugh half filled with amazement and the other half filled with nervousness when the it's tongue snaked out to taste her fingers. The rest of the time he'd had her feed them and then scoop the dong out of their pens – she hadn't liked the last part, no one did, but she was the only person he'd met who didn't offer a single complaint whether verbal or through her actions.

"How was it?" Newt asked leaving his place in the food line to wait beside her. He'd known the moment she said she'd be fine that she wouldn't be leaving without a good strong effort of trying to stay – it's what he liked about her. She could be as worried as a hen with its chicks, if it was expected that she do something then she would try her best to do it. Even if her mind got lost sometimes along the way.

She looked at Winston before turning to Newt. "It was fine," she told him, though he could tell from the way she'd looked at Winston she wasn't being honest – she was so easy to read.

They shuffled forward in line and Newt looked to the boy behind him. "She was good?"

"It was fine," Winston said using her response. He didn't know which shank coddled her more; Newt or Jeff.

Eleanor took her sandwich from Frypan feeling her tongue wrapping around a word she couldn't remember. "I'm supposed to say something," she said looking at him for the answer.

His mouth may have grinned by his brows had furrowed. "Thank you," he told her watching the recognition ignite in her amber eyes.

"And you say you're welcome," she said, her large eyes rounded further and the corners of her mouth curled with pride at remembering.

Both Frypan and Winston stared with deeply creased brows as they wondered what exactly went on her pretty little head; but Newt stood smiling almost proud himself, staring at her as though she'd said the most remarkable thing.

"She's a weird shank," Frypan said handing Winston his lunch, watching Newt walking with Eleanor to find a place to sit; and Barks following closely at her heels.

"But you like her," Winston finished making Fry nod in agreement. "I hit Barks once, I was moving something. And that shuckin' dog looked so sad I just wanted to pet him. She's a kicked dog," he said, the only explanation he could find why they'd stopped questioning why she was there and instead started planning how they'd keep her safe – playing the hero trying to save the pretty damsel. Only Eleanor had inadvertently chosen her hero, and he limped beside her staring at her like she'd placed the sun in the sky.

When Winston took her back to the slaughterhouse he'd just about had to pull her by the arm; Newt wouldn't leave and she wouldn't leave him. But Gally, who'd become irritated at Newt's constant presence at her side, had called his name taking his eyes from her a few seconds. Winston took advantage of those seconds and told her they should head back, glad when she nodded and followed after him. Though she'd turned back once as they walked to see Newt staring after her; she didn't know why but it made her happy to see his small smile when she waved.

Newt made his way to the slaughterhouse ten minutes before the doors would close, planning to take her to wash her hands again before going to wait for dinner and ask her how her day really was. Nothing could've prepared him for the sight of her standing at a counter with blood halfway up her arms scooping out the innards of a pig. He could feel his stomach turning at the sight, his nose drowned in the scent of iron. And yet she stood with a face void of disgust, casually running her hands inside the pig to catch anything she'd missed.

"How are you not bloody gagging?" he asked grimacing.

A short bubble of laughter greeted his ears as she turned to him. "It is bloody," she told him before turning back to the counter.

He shook his head smiling before he turned away at the sight of her bringing down a knife on the pigs legs, not understanding how she was so calm about hacking away at a pig. "Winston didn't make you kill it, did he?" he asked, knowing she hadn't wanted to. But that was something he'd come to know about her; if you asked her to do something she more often than not she'd do it, afraid to make anyone angry.

She shook her head, tossing the legs of the pigs with the others. "He'd already killed it," she answered.

"Does that make it better?" he asked her, honestly surprised Winston hadn't just killed the pig in front of her before asking her to cut it up – it wasn't like Winston had a shucking problem with it, in fact he almost seemed to enjoy his job. Which was good considering no one else did.

Winston had certainly thought so, and once she'd caught her breath she'd moved to stand beside him and did what he'd told her to. She looked at Newt to see his unhappy eyes looking at her hands. "Do you wanna help?"

"No," he told her without missing a beat, earning himself her startled eyes. "So what are you doing?" Winston had been with Frypan and the other cooks giving them the meat for dinner, which meant whatever she was doing wasn't part of it.

That was a good question, one she'd tried to ask Winston. "He said he's gonna try to cure it. And then he laughed when I asked what it was sick with," she told him. Newt couldn't have kept himself from chuckling if he'd wanted to, and she turned to him bewildered. "Why is that funny?" she asked so seriously, her face so confused, that his laughter wouldn't stop.

"I'm sorry," he told her trying to stop, but he couldn't even wipe the smile from his face. "It's not funny," he said. And yet it was because she was staring at him so dumbfounded, her brows creased so deeply – even as he reached a hand to cup her face he couldn't stop smiling. Though the moment he realized he was standing holding her face and stroking her cheek all laughter died on his tongue. There was something so familiar in this gesture, so romantic, as if he'd seen someone doing the very same thing.

She didn't know what he was thinking as he slowly lowered his hand, only that his face was reddening and he was looking at anything but her. She was saved from having to come up with something to say to him, not knowing why he was flustered, when Winston walked into the building to see her staring confused and unsure at a blushing Newt. "It was nice working with you Greenbean," he told her, looking at Newt briefly before stepping around him to take her place.

"Is that it?" she asked not realizing it was already time for dinner – it barely felt like it'd been an hour since lunch.

"Would you like to stay?" He waited for her to tell him no because she hadn't enjoyed anything except feeding the animals, when she stopped being afraid of them – but she refused to tell him no. "Go wash up, maybe this klunk-head will snap out of it," he said jerking his head toward Newt.

Eleanor looked to Newt to see him rubbing absentmindedly at his face, still not looking at her. And so she made for the door, doing as Winston had told her. "It was nice working with you too," she said softly, looking back at him and giving him a small smile – and then she left, leaving Winston looking after her wondering if they'd had any hope of not liking her.

Newt followed her wondering if he was actually thinking of anything that had to do with her, and if he was then he told himself he had to bloody stop – he didn't even know if she was capable of thinking for herself, if she could function without someone telling her what to do. He couldn't possibly expect anything from her. And yet when he finally looked up, unfurrowing his brows, he found that she'd washed her hands and led him to the dinner line where she waited patiently behind Minho.

She turned to him when she noticed his eyes were on her staring curiously at her face; and she still didn't know what to say. And so she said the words that were running through her mind. "We're all mad here," she told him.

He looked at her startled by those specific words; his will crumbling at the sight of her smile, her bottom lip between her teeth, her doe eyes sweet and warm. She was once again stunning him. "It's from a book," he said realizing he knew those words, finally understanding that every time she said something strange like this it was from the book – Mustard wasn't a bird, but flamingoes and mustard both bite. It was another memory, and she was telling him the only way she knew how. Her only answer was a grin as she turned to move forward in the line, taking a plate from one of the cooks before waiting for him to decide where they'd sit. "Minho has something he wants to tell you," Newt said they sat down.

The boy in question looked up with a mouthful of food and glanced at Eleanor unhappily as he chewed. He didn't wanna say anything and he certainly didn't want to say the words sorry – but Newt told him he should, said she deserved it since he didn't know whether she was right or wrong about how she got to the Glade. Minho looked down to see one of half of her bread held in offering to him, her dark eyes waiting patiently for him to take it. She wasn't making him apologize, she was offering her forgiveness. "You're alright, She-bean," he told her taking the bread and eating it.

They ate in relative silence, Minho shoving food in his mouth and Newt sat looking between his food and her face – and she wasn't much of a talker. Occasionally Minho would say something and every time he did he had to repeat himself because Newt had been lost in thought looking at her – he might've made fun of him if Newt would've listened.

"How was working with the Slicers?" Gally asked, a plate in hand, stopping behind the three.

She looked at him and smiled. "It was okay," she told him, seeing his brow twitch hearing the falseness in her easily readable voice. "Are you eating with us?"

Gally hadn't planned on it anymore than Newt and Minho had planned to ask; but looking down at her sweet face he sighed before moving to sit across from her. "So how was it really?" he asked knowing it hadn't been 'okay.'

After a moment of sitting pensively she sighed. "I don't like scooping klunk," she told him honestly.

A surprised laugh escaped at hearing her actually say the word klunk. "I'd say so," he said before bringing his fork to his mouth.

There was nothing peaceful about the silence they fell into, Newt and Minho spoke through glances and Gally sat knowing the two didn't want him there – and they all knew it even more when Alby joined them. The only person who didn't seem to notice was Eleanor who just sat quietly in a warm safety.

After several failed attempts at a conversation Minho finally turned to her. "Do you not see this is awkward?"

She looked at him so taken by surprise he realized she hadn't. "Why is it awkward?" she asked him having thought it was comfortable. Minho looked at her as though she'd told him she was a Griever before looking to Gally.

"She wants me here," Gally said speaking for himself in a bitter tone. "Guess you slintheads will have to get used to it."

Minho held a hand out motioning to Gally. "See?"

She inhaled sharply, not liking that they weren't even giving him a chance. "You haven't even," she started, her voice firm and steady – thickened with her irritation at the injustice; it was the strongest they'd heard her sound and it took them completely by surprise. She turned to Gally flustered with her own emotions too strong in her tired mind. "How was your day?" she asked him, the first to actually ask him that in a while. And he honestly had to take a moment to think of how to respond. When he'd finished telling her she looked next to Alby and listened as he stumbled over an answer – it wasn't a question they were used to, at least they weren't used to looking at someone waiting so earnestly they thought she really cared to know. But that was the way of women, caring, nurturing; Eleanor may have been jacked but there were parts of her who remembered the person she used to be. And the Gladers were quickly realizing that with gentleness came kindness. She was the kindest person they knew, she just went a little mad sometimes.

A few days later, when Eleanor was still cycling through jobs trying to find one that fit – she wasn't tried as a Builder, Bagger, or Runner, as a girl she simply wasn't capable – she spent the day with Jeff and Clint as a Med-jack learning how to wrap sprains and cuts and how to deal with splinters, when an alarm suddenly sprang to life and began wailing.

By the time Jeff realized none of them had told Eleanor about the alarm that came with every Greenie, she'd already folded herself into a corner holding her hand over her ears rocking gently back and forth. He knelt beside her to tell her it was okay, to hear what she was mumbling and see if he needed to get Newt or if she'd get calm on her own. But she wasn't saying anything. Her knees were drawn close to her chest and her head rested on them, but her eyes were shut tight and her hands were clenched around her head – her body was rocking. She hadn't done this before, this wasn't one of the fits she was worked into. This was something worse.

She suddenly found herself running down a long white hall, once more wearing the white hospital gown and slippers. There was panic beating into her bloodstream with each stroke of her frantic heart; she was trying to escape this horrible cold place. She rounded a corner to find the sign for a staircase, the way out was the basement, she just had to make it to the end of the hall.

An alarm began blaring, booming all around the hall – they knew she'd gotten out of her room. And as close as freedom was it was violently thrown away from her as guards swarmed around her, grabbing her flailing body and holding her down.

"Let go of me!" she screamed, trying to kick and thrash her way out of their hold. "Please, I'm not crazy. Just let me go. Please!"

A warm fluid was injected into her vein and within seconds time stood still. It was slow at first, she was floating on a cold cloud watching the world slip away, and then all at once unconsciousness took over.

She woke to an ache piercing her head, back in the room she'd tried so desperately to escape – the fifty nine scratches on the wall beside the bed. Her attempts to stand were futile as the cuffs around her ankles extended as far as they would, which wasn't even half a foot off the bed. Instinct told her to sit up so she could see what was happening, but her wrists were anchored to the bed as well. She was completely and utterly trapped.

"No," she whimpered pulling at the restraints aimlessly, twisting her body trying to find some way to break free. She'd never escape. She'd spend the rest of her life tied down to this bed doing whatever they wanted because she couldn't do anything to stop them with her limbs restrained.

Her heart dropped to her stomach when the door was thrust open, and she strained her neck to see the doctor walking toward her – the woman stopped beside the bed and stared down at her disappointed. "Test subject is not immune, administer the Bliss."