A/N: okay first up there are some apologies in order... my computer and the internet have not been the best of friends of late and I myself haven't been in such a good place but that is no excuse for abandoning updating this story, which is in fact one of the only things that I'm actually achieving right now XD I'm very sorry everyone who reads this was affected by my ineptitude :(
Secondly, and this is actually important please read this, I'm not sure how some will react to this chapter, and I beg those who don't like it to remember this: (plus here's a tid bit about G so bonus treat to those who read author's notes) this is a girl of 17 surrounded by strangers in a deadly place with no memory, no comfort, and no escape. The emotional and psychological stress was literally designed by WCKD to overwhelm these 'test subjects' and I therefore claim the right to show how such stress might affect children of this age in as realistic a way as possible. G is not always making the best decisions, and sometimes, she goes as far as to make decisions that are quite the reverse. Please remember that these are characters in a dangerous and potentially lethal situation, not a romantic comedy.
That's all from me, author out :P

Hangover

There was a strange smell in the Homestead and Newt wrinkled his nose as he entered to turn in for the night. The day had been particularly grueling, an odd but not unfamiliar gloom hanging over the Glade, turning any smiles flat, and laughs short and bitter. Meals weren't by any means not up to their normal standard, but it didn't seem like any of the Gladers could taste anything regardless. It was also on this day that Gally had loudly complained that someone had stolen into his private stores of brew and taken a decent share of it without asking him. He was mid death threat when Newt decided to go to bed, not really in the mood to listen to what Gally was going to do with the entrails of the thief in great and exquisite detail.

However, as impossible as it seemed, the day actually managed to get worse when Newt walked into the Homestead, smelled that strange smell, and saw what had caused it. Gagging, Newt crouched down to the floor and scanned his eyes around the hut, low enough to see under all the hammocks. In the far corner, leaning up against a wooden pole was a pair of muddy sneakers and scraped knees.

"Oi," he called, standing and dusting off his hands. "What the bloody hell happened in here?"

Newt made his way over to the corner and looked down at the slumped form. He stared in surprise.

"G?"

The girl didn't move, her neck slack and her head lolling forward onto her chest. Newt crouched in front of her and put his hands on her shoulders. "G, what's wrong? What happened?"

He gave her shoulders a gentle shake but she didn't wake, she only gave a small groan and dropped something from her limp hand. The glass bottle hit the ground with a low thunk and a sheepish tinkle, and Newt stared down at the thing in horrified realization. The empty bottle glinted maliciously where it lay, it's sharp recognizable odor weaving into the sickly stench that hung over the Homestead. Newt had found Gally's thief.

Looking back at G, Newt stared down at the front of the G's shirt which had an odd stain down the front of it. Closing his eyes with a groan of his own, he realised he had also identified the source of the unpleasant smell; G was so drunk that she had thrown up and passed out.

"Shucking hell, G. You've not been here two weeks you stupid piece of klunk," Newt grumbled, letting his hands fall from her shoulders and resting them on his knees.

"What the shuck is that," Minho choked out loudly, entering the room with his arm strewn across his face.

"It's vomit, Minho," Newt said with false cheer, standing and looking around. "Our slinthead newbie has taken it upon herself to sample Gally's brew with great gusto," Newt grinned tightly, a wild look to his eyes. He was suddenly reviewing Gally's threats from dinner with vastly increased enthusiasm.

Minho came over and gaped at the scene before him as Newt spun on his heel and stalked from the hut, a sharp line between his brows and an expression like thunder. Without a second thought Newt made his way to Nick, still in the dining room with a few other Gladers, laughing together over the last crusts of the meal. The boys looked up in alarm as Newt stormed up to them, his expression by no means curbed.

"Newt, what's wrong?" Nick said, half standing from his seat.

Newt took a deep breath. "Greenie's the brew thief and shucking puked in the Homestead."

There was a moment of still shock and then the whole table erupted into action; Nick and two others were off towards the Homestead and the rest of them presumably gone to find Gally, all talking at the same time in a garbled babble.

Newt followed Nick, catching up to the boy with a few long strides. "When did she have the time to do this? Wasn't she helping Fry with dinner?" He asked Nick, his stormy look persevering.

"Fry gave her the evening off, told her to take a proper look around the Glade," Nick replied, his tone uncharacteristically clipped.

Newt dipped his head, realizing that this was the second time the Greenie had done something stupid enough to end up in Nick's bad books since she had arrived. He didn't think he'd seen anyone manage to piss off Nick so much in his whole life; the boy was notoriously difficult to upset, one of the qualities that made him such a good leader.

They entered the Homestead to find a gaggle of Gladers, including Alby and Minho, surrounding the still passed out girl, all murmuring amongst themselves and casting looks of half interest, half amusement at the new arrivals.

"Alright all of you, I know you want to go to bed but make it a late night, give us half an hour," Nick called out, his gaze fixed on G. The group slowly dispersed, leaving only Alby, Minho, Newt, and Nick behind. Surprisingly, Nick cast his eyes over his friends quickly and his face grew tight. "You three as well, I'll take her to the Med-jack's room and clean her up for tonight, someone tell Fry that she'll be back to work tomorrow, no excuses."

Alby and Minho quietly followed the rest of the Gladers, Minho denying all that Newt thought possible and leaving without even one sarcastic comment; the Runner astoundingly managed to restrain himself to a single fervent look over his shoulder. Newt lingered, despite Nick's sharp glance.

"Let me help you take her there," he explained. "After all, I found her, and-"

"Get going, Newt," Nick said, as he returned his gaze to G.

Newt was so surprised that he took a step back; Nick sounded angrier than he had ever seen him.

"But-"

"I won't ask again," Nick bit out through clenched teeth. The boy had crouched down before G and was pushing the girl's hair back from her face.

Sensing imminent danger, Nick hastily retreated to find the Gladers grouped outside with curious expressions, lead of course, by Minho.

"What's got him so riled up?" Minho asked as soon as Newt approached.

Dumbfounded, Newt shook his head. "I don't know man. Has anyone found Gally?"

"Yeah, Kyle told him. He's ready to skin that dumb shuck Greenie alive. Hey, Alby!" Minho waved the boy over. "Do you know why Nick's so exceptionally pissed? People have gotten drunk before."

Alby nodded slowly. "Yeah, but they haven't gotten drunk on brew they shucking stole. Especially not after already having a rocky First Week. How's she going to do her part with a hangover like that's gonna give her?"

"Where is she!?" A voice screamed from the distance.

Newt rolled his eyes. "This is so exactly what we need right now," he muttered darkly.

"Where is that treacherous piece of klunk!?" Gally bellowed, flanked by his usual gang as he marched up to the Homestead.

"Gally, although we're all flabbergasted you can use such long words, cut Nick a break and let it wait 'til morning," Minho said, holding his hand against Gally's chest.

"Yeah come on Gally, like no one's broken into your stores before. Slim the personal vendetta," Newt added tiredly, rubbing his eyes.

Breathing heavily, Gally seemed to see the logic in their comments and stood before them angrily for a moment more before retreating off into the dark. Newt sighed and flopped down onto the grass.

"This day is utter klunk," he said plainly.

Minho collapsed down beside him. "You said it man."


After the shocking quality of the previous day, morning broke calm and cool over the Glade, an overcast sky casting smooth seamless grey light over the quiet sanctuary. As promised, the Gladers had been able to return to their hammocks half an hour after Nick sent them away, but Newt hadn't slept much at all. His mind had been keeping him awake for most of the night, and it was only when exhaustion sent him into a dreamless and unsatisfying sleep for a handful of small hours.

His grainy eyes scraped open at wake up and he forced himself upright. His head was pounding and he felt like his brief sleep had done more harm than good, but somehow he already felt better than the previous day. The phantom gloom that had plagued them was a phenomenon that appeared every few weeks, an accumulation of suppressed feelings that somehow every Glader simultaneously succumbed to together, a collective understanding and overwhelming apathy.

Newt grabbed a mug of hot mint tea from the kitchen, a simple drink made from the wild mint leaves that grew in the woods, and head out by himself. He didn't want to go find Minho yet, glad that it was his free day and he wasn't destined for the Maze on such little sleep. He didn't want to find Nick, either, his lingering exhaustion cutting away his tolerance for coping with Nick and G, and the tension the two now promised. Instead, Newt took his fresh, sweet smelling drink and walked out through the fields, making his way through grass and fog without really seeing them. He sat down on a small hill, clutching the cup between his hands despite the heat being slightly uncomfortable, and looked out blankly across the Glade. He could see his friends starting their days, Runners entering the Maze, Track-Hoes wandering the crops, and Sloppers pushing barrels around with low heads and hunched backs. It was a long time before he could shake himself of the strange desire to be alone and return to the rest of the Gladers, so long that the day was nearing its midpoint when Newt finally approached Nick sitting by himself near the edge of the woods.

"Hey," he said simply as he sat down.

Nick gave him a nod of acknowledge but his eyes were tired and his weak smile sagged on his face.

"You get any sleep last night Nick?"

"Yeah," Nick sighed, stretching his arms with a grunt. "But not enough."

They sat in a heavy silence for a moment.

"How's G?" Newt asked, failing to sound casual.

Nick's expression darkened. "She's at work, but she might as well not be. Pretty shucking poor effort."

Newt gave him a munificent look. "That's kind of understandable, though."

It was clearly the wrong thing to say; Nick's eyes flashed with anger as he rounded on Newt. "But it shouldn't have to be, Newt. Or do I have to remind you of our extremely short list of simple, yet tremendously important rules?" He shot, his sarcastic rhetoric a little threatening.

Newt didn't answer, he just returned Nick's glare with a cool, surveying look that he hoped convey his surprise and disapproval at their Leader's out of character and unwelcome harsh response to the events. Nick seemed to understand and sighed, lifting his hands to his face and rubbing his eyes. "Sorry," he muttered.

Newt waved his hand dismissively, but he was glad that Nick had realised he was being a slinthead, even with such turmoil with the Newbie.

"I'm pissed at G, too you know," Newt said, looking up at the Walls. "She's being a right klunkbrain and she knows it. But if we strung up every Glader, especially Greenies, who took to the brew like moths to a flame and ended up with the contents of their stomach accessorizing their shirts, half the Glade would be hanging around like idiots, and you know it."

Although looking sullen, Nick nodded, and Newt was once again supremely grateful that his friend was capable of taking criticism so graciously, despite his position of power.

"Cut her a break this time, she made enough of a fool of herself last night for her own punishment, but you won't hear me complaining if you chuck her in the Slammer if she does it again," Newt finished, leaning back on the grass propped up on his elbows.

Although completely serious in his declaration, Newt had no idea that this statement would in fact be presented with an opportunity to prove itself the very next day, somewhat sooner than he had been meaning.

Newt arrived at breakfast the following morning to find the kitchen in mild uproar; he quickly surmised that G had not been seen at all and no one could remember even seeing her go to bed the previous night.

"Are you shucking kidding me," Newt growled as Minho approached him.

Minho placed his hand on Newt's shoulder with a grim look. "This girl is really riling up Nick, it's actually impressive," his friend quipped half-heartedly.

"Where is he?" Newt asked, looking around the crowd but not seeing the older boy.

"Nick? He's off trying to find G. And honestly for her sake I hope it's him who finds her and not Gally, that shank's out to kill."

Newt nodded and jogged away, scanning his eyes around the Glade and trying to ignore the dank sinking feeling that was growing in his chest. He saw Nick and Alby as he searched, and in the distance he heard Gally blundering around, but no one had any luck and the Greenie remained unseen until well into the afternoon.

It was, in the end, Gally who found her after all. He had seen a bottle fall from the landing of the watchtower and had ascended it quickly and with large quantities of shouting, and had returned with G's arm clutched in his hand as she stumbled and nearly fell down the tower with a clouded, bleary look to her eyes.

Newt approached the small group that had gathered at the base of the tower with Minho, Alby, Nick, and Kyle, immediately noticing that Gally was no longer shouting and was actually looking rather reasonable. His mind reeling at the unlikeliness of this reaction in the notoriously inflammable boy, Newt's gaze fell upon G and the awkward silence suddenly made sense.

The girl was leaning heavily against Gally's grip on her arm, and Newt thought that it was probably the only reason she hadn't fallen over yet. She looked disheveled, her clothes dirty and in some places even torn, her hair was tangled and stringy, and there were scratches all over her arms and legs, but it was her face that explained the quiet lack of censure; the girl's face was streaming with tears. They were falling from her eyes and pouring down her cheeks, dripping into her hair and onto the grass. She was breathing in little gasps, the rims of her eyes red and puffy like she had been crying like that for hours.

Suddenly, G clumsily pulled her arm from Gally's hand and began to walk away, hugging her arms around herself as if cold. She stumbled a little, but none of the other Gladers moved as the girl disappeared away into the distance, and Newt wondered if even after being pissed off at her for so long if Nick could bring himself to punish her after such a display.


Newt didn't see G sober for a week. She almost never attended meals, and she definitely never came to work. Newt could see the compassionate empathy she had inspired in Nick beginning to wear thin, but their Leader kept an impressively calm face when she was around, and he had yet to lash out at her.

Despite this understanding, Newt was genuinely surprised Nick hadn't put her in the Slammer yet; he supposed it had something to do with Nick feeling guilty he had let G get to him so much and his behaviour with her at the beginning of the week, but if anything Newt thought that Nick was completely entitled to act like that now.

To make matters worse, Frypan's usual helpers had taken ill a few days ago and he only had half the people he needed working in the kitchens with him; meals were growing later and colder, and clean ups often dragged on so long that at nights Fry didn't get to bed until a good two hours after everyone else. Although he didn't say anything, the cook was obviously desperate for G to return and was rather shucked off at her for completely ditching her job.

Newt eventually got fed up; after witnessing Fry attempt to serve lunch to the whole Glade almost entirely by himself for the third day in a row, he stood up from his table with resolve and went to look for G. He found her in her usual spot, surrounded by empty bottles and slumped weakly with her head bowed, at the top of the watchtower.

She looked up with heavily lidded eyes as he hauled himself up onto the landing. "Hey," she said in a slow tone.

Newt raised an eyebrow. "Hey Greenie," he huffed, sitting down next to her heavily. "You ever gonna come down from here?"

G looked away and didn't reply. Newt stared at her. "You gotta stop this G," he said seriously. "You gotta get back to work and get on with-"

"How the fuck am I supposed to do that," she whispered. "How the fuck do you all just pretend like nothing's-"

"We're not pretending klunk you jacked up shank," Newt cut in harshly. "We're just not letting our own stupid feelings mess up helping each other and not being lethargic slintheads for shuck's sake."

G gave a croaky laugh. Seeing the look Newt shot her, she gave a half smile. "You use that stupid slang so much I can barely understand what you're saying."

Newt gave her arm a light shove. "We'll convert you one day, Greenie," he said with a grin.

"Never," she replied, the half-smile spreading a little, but it lingered on her face a little too long. She looked at him with a scared look in her eyes. "I don't know if I can do this," she said quietly.

Newt held her eye contact a little sadly. "Yeah, you can," he said evenly. "But you can't if you stay like this. Come on G, stop doing this. You have to get back to helping Fry, he's dying without helpers, seriously."

She looked a little guilty at the mention of Frypan and focused her eyes on her entwined hands solidly. Newt gave a frustrated sigh. "Nick is going to throw you in the Slammer if you don't start getting back to reality soon, and you really don't want to get on Nick's bad side."

She gave a wry grin. "Why now?" She asked, obviously hinting at their Leader's blatant lack of any malicious dispositions.

"Because it would be a very lonely place to be, now come on," Newt grinned back, standing and holding out his hand. "Let's get you cleaned up, you look disgusting."

"Ever the charmer," G rolled her eyes, but to Newt's immense relief, she took his hand and let him pull her to her feet. At the sudden movement and change of posture the girl's lingering intoxication took out her balance and she instantly keeled sideways. Newt went to steady her but she had already fallen, landing hard on her side and her hands.

"I don't want to stand up right now," she groaned, lowering herself down and closing her eyes with a pained look on her face.

It was Newt's turn to roll his eyes, and he comically put his hands on his hips. "You're a right piece of work, you know that Greenie?"

There was no snarky reply and he shot her an incredulous look. "No sarcastic assault? No biting comeback? I'm floored, G, truly amazed."

After a second bout of silence, Newt crouched and pushed G's hair back out of her eyes. He stared. She was asleep. He gave a huff.

"Stupid drunk ass Greenie."

A/N: I have no right to ask for reviews after my terrible neglect so instead I shall request as many angry complaints as possible reprimanding me on my horrid failures at my author's duties. You'll have chapter 10 by tomorrow, that's a promise :)
P.S. please no one come after me if that's not your tomorrow, I'm most definitely in a different country to you (probably about 7 people populate my country total) :0