Author's note ~ Hope you enjoy!
He thought about the hard, angry words he'd thrown at the man, the accusations, the insults. He recalled the tears of pain in Adrian's eyes. Every drop of blood drained out of his face as he finally understood.
"Oh God. What have I done?"
Alby strode out of the medhut, a man on a mission, his mind moving in a hundred directions all at the same time. Pity and grief for his damaged friend, disappointment over the childish pique he'd worked himself into, outrage and insult from Newt's apparent willingness to forfeit his life, it all crowded together in his head. He wanted to rail at the runner, sink his metaphorical teeth in and rip a wide bloody strip off of Newt for the overwhelming stupidity of his actions; it was best to walk away until he felt he could manage a more level headed discussion.
And on top of it all, he knew he was needed elsewhere.
Now in possession of all the pieces of the puzzle and better understanding the driving force behind the obviously difficult decisions, Alby felt nothing but respect and kinship for the man. Thinking of Newt's angry words during their own brief confrontation, he could only imagine how vicious the argument had gotten between the two before Adrian had walked out. Alby didn't have it in him to ignore the palpable suffering; he couldn't leave a brother to face the pain alone. And he knew the man was in pain – the devastated look on his face when he'd swept by outside the hut had left no doubt about that, empathy squeezing a tight fist around his throat as he headed directly towards the house in the woods.
He found the little cottage door shut and locked, the shutters closed up tight. He banged a fist rapidly on the rough hewn wood and listened carefully.
Silence.
"Adrian, I know you're in there, man. If you don't really feel like dealing with company right now...well, can't say that I blame you for that. I just need to talk to you for a minute. Open the door."
Silence.
"Okay, you're either sulking or not here. Either way, I'm coming in."
He grabbed the handle and jiggled it vigorously, rocking the door back and forth in an effort to shimmy the rustic lock out of place. His actions were rewarded with a snarled response, clear and withering even from behind the thick walls.
"What do you want, Alby?"
Alby ceased his attack, swiftly moving to one side and leaning up against the door jamb to speak more easily through the cracks.
"Just checkin' on you, man. Things were pretty damn tense when we left you two alone, and afterwards you ran off like you had a griever on your ass. I wanted to see if you were okay."
"Just fine and dandy, thanks for asking. Bye."
Alby shook his head at the scathingly sarcastic reply, obviously a dismissal. Refusing to let it go, he put a little condescension in his voice, intentionally provoking the man.
"Yeah, sure, whatever you say. I also figured that I should probably take a sec and remind you of your, ah, priorities – just in case your little spat with Newt has you thinking about doing something stupid yourself."
The door slammed open in front of him, revealing Adrian's pale, angry face. A vein in his forehead visibly throbbed as he spluttered,righteous indignation crippling his normal eloquence.
"In case I...?! You – "
"Ah, good, now that I have your attention..." Alby said evenly, giving the livid man a little shove to get him out of the way and strolling past him into the house. Adrian stood silently, unable to speak through the anger and outrage. Alby met the man's fire with cool composure and eyes that burned with compassion.
"You're pissed right now. I mean, hell, anyone with half a working brain could figure that out, right? But, the way I see it, you're not just angry – you're nursing a shuck-load of hurt to go with the mad. I won't make excuses for someone else, and I have absolutely no respect for those that do. I figure if you screw up; own up to it, and learn from it so you don't make the same mistake again. It's painfully clear now that Newt seriously screwed up. "
Adrian didn't respond, his face a stony mask .
"The only thing I'll say on the matter is this; whatever that idiot said to shake you up like this, whatever's rattling around in that slint head of his, he's never been the kind of guy to intentionally, maliciously hurt someone. He doesn't know, doesn't understand," Alby stated simply, "why you're so dead set to finish things your way. He doesn't get it."
"And you? You suddenly do?" Adrian demanded, his hands shaking. "You're giving me whiplash here; a week ago, you sounded just like him."
"Yeah, well, now I've filled in the blanks. He may not have heard your ramblings, but I did, loud and clear."
Adrian turned away, grabbing his head in his hands as though he could squeeze the ugliness out of his brain by brute force. Alby watched him steadily, wishing there was some way he could bark a command or throw out a joke and make everything right again.
"So be pissed, be hurt, work your way through it. All I ask is, when you're done, try not to hold it against him for too long, hey? Give him a chance to make it up to you. Take some time to think it over. That being said...if you're not in the mood for company, you might want to take off and disappear for a while until you sort things out. If you try to hunker down in here, someone's bound to come knocking sooner or later."
Adrian moved to the door without speaking, his turmoil so clear the leader could all but feel the anguish rolling off the man in waves. Alby held out an arm to stop him for one moment longer, speaking lowly and fiercely.
"For what it's worth...I speak for everyone here when I say you've changed our lives. Every glader would stand and fight for you; you're one of us, now. Anything we can do, man. We'll be right here beside you...until the end."
Adrian bobbed a jerky little nod of understanding before bolting off into the blissful anonymity of the thick trees, desperate to excape before he completely lost control. Alby closed the door behind himself and headed back to the glade, knowing he'd done all he could. He had no choice now but to give the injured parties some space, and time, and hope they could work out their problems on their own.
Even when he was an emotional wreck, Adrian's brain retained its shrewd intelligence. As he wound through the thick greenery, he could admit to himself that holing up in his house and hoping to remain undisturbed was no less foolish than a child believing they were invisible if they covered their eyes. Mentally berating himself for the stupidity of it, he purposefully headed to the most remote, least trafficked section of the glade.
He went to the deadwoods.
Seeing the greenery covered corner of their prison, remembering the feel of Newt's hand in his as he'd pulled the boy from the tangled plant, he had no intention of trying to conceal himself here. He grabbed the thickest, toughest vines he could get his hands on and started to climb.
About half way between ground and sky, the height was enough to make his head spin dizzily when he risked a glance below him.
Is this what the kid saw, just before he jumped from the walls?
Swallowing to ease his vertigo, he doggedly pushed himself upward, pulling himself higher and higher. Contrary to the many assertions of the gladers, the parasitic plant did indeed reach all the way to the top of the structure in multiple places. He knew there were a number of deterrents in place to convince the gladers otherwise and was so completely focused on his goal, he found himself fleetingly grateful.
If anyone else had pushed through, determined to climb to the top, would they have been allowed to survive?
Sweating, grunting, his arms trembling a little from the effort, Adrian dragged himself up onto the rough stone edge, crawling until he knelt in the very center of the man made cliff. Breathing heavily from the exertion, chest heaving, he stared down at the cold, unforgiving surface.
Utterly, completely, blissfully alone, he unleashed his rage and his misery. He shouted a string of obscenities at the crystal blue of the sky, ranting until he was hoarse, slamming his fists furiously and repeatedly into the stone beneath him.
He wept.
He grieved.
He let it all boil out of him, all of the fear and regret and bitterness, the pain, the guilt. After what felt like years, he collapsed in a heap in the middle of the elevated pathway, shivering from the effort of the brutal, but necessary, purge.
When his breath eventually began to even out, he crossed his aching hands under his head to cushion his throbbing skull. In the newly quiet air he identified the skitter of metal claws against rock, but couldn't find the energy to raise his head and look.
"Piss off." He told the beetle blade dully. "I'm taking a sabbatical. Find someone else to pester, you little monster."
He could hear the shutter of its camera opening and closing, focusing on him, studying him. Knowing what Newt had attempted, he probably shouldn't blame the creators for wanting to keep an eye on him, just in case he got a wild hair and followed suit. He wanted to feel insulted, or flattered, or even amused. All he felt was a kind of all encompassing numbness, an apathy that left him cold right down to his bones.
"I said, piss off. I'll rejoin the gladers when I'm shuckin' well ready to. Until then, just leave me the hell alone."
He could hear the shutter readjusting, as though the creature was actively considering his words. Then, the quick skitter of metal claws making a speedy retreat. Though he had no doubt that he was still being watched by other methods, the departure of the mobile camera satisfied him. Watching the sky dim and darken, without even his music to comfort or distract him, he welcomed the solitude like an old friend.
It was the longest night of Newt's short life.
He refused the pain meds Jeff and Clint tried to urge on him, shaking his head and telling them he was fine. Even when the aches became so intense it felt like his bones had been set on fire, he still grit his teeth and refused. He wanted a clear head, a focused mind to try and sort out the absolutely mess he'd made.
He'd been hard, he'd been cold, he'd been intentionally cruel.
He'd been the one who was selfish, thoughtless.
And he'd been wrong. Utterly, completely, undeniably wrong. That he could see now, with perfect clarity. All together it was one heavy, hard lump to swallow.
How badly was Adrian suffering now, because of him?
He'd never before felt such guilt, such self loathing as when he replayed Alby's words in his head, thinking of the devastated look on the man's face before he'd walked away. Here was a man who'd done nothing but support him, help him, protect him, and Newt had let him down. No, worse, he'd lashed out in the most painful, the most scarring way possible.
When daylight started to brighten the gloom of the office, Newt knew that if he didn't find some way to make this right with Adrian, he'd never be able to forgive himself. At the approach of footsteps, Newt propped himself up on his elbows and tried to find the words he'd need to repair the vast damage he'd caused.
God, he hoped he could fix this.
But it wasn't Adrian who opened the door – Clint walked in first, carrying an armful of rough white and brown strips. Jeff was close behind, lugging a pail of water and two long, unwieldy objects. Newt's heart thumped painfully when he recognized the crutches Adrian had built during his recovery from the bullet wound in his leg. Clint, clearly in charge (when did that happen?) set down his bundle and gave Newt a cool, professional smile.
"Lets take a look at that leg."
"Where's Addy?" Newt asked sharply, not caring how it sounded at the moment. Clint carefully unwrapped the bandages and splints from Newt's broken leg, ignoring the question.
"Surface is healing fine, the swelling's down. We should be able to pull these stitches today."
"Jeff, Clint, where's Addy?" Newt asked again, trying to soften his tone and tamp down on his frustration. Jeff looked away, discomfort on his face, as Clint picked up a sharp knife and quickly cut the thick suture thread zigzagging up the runner's leg. Newt winced a little as the thread was tugged loose from his skin, but he continued to stare at Jeff. The darker skinned boy shuffled his feet a little, ducking down to avoid the look by stuffing long strips of the whitish material into the bucket of water, slopping it over the sides and making a mess. Newt tried a different angle.
"Shouldn't Adrian be here for this? I mean, he is the most knowledgeable – "
"This is what he's trained us for." Clint cut in a little sharply, watching Newt with a hard glint in his eye. "He needed to be elsewhere today, but he trusts us enough to take care of a simple birch bark cast. He knows there's no need to hover and hold our hands."
Newt blinked, momentarily distracted.
"Cast? Like an actual, solid cast?"
"That's the idea. Now settle down and hold still." Clint commanded firmly, easing the padding out from underneath the injured appendage, making fresh sweat pop out on Newt's forehead. "The sooner we get this done, the sooner we can get you up on your own two feet again."
It wasn't easy for Newt to find the patience to get through the morning. It felt like waiting for the cast to dry took weeks, and listening to the medjacks going on and on about the need to take things slowly and no overdo took another year, at least. He thought he had finally reached the point where his sufferance would be rewarded when, sitting on the edge of the table and gripping the hands of the two watchful medics for support, he tried to pull himself up onto his good leg.
It wasn't quite the reward he'd pictured.
His strong leg tried to buckle immediately, and he would have ended up flat on the floor if not for the steadying hands of Clint and Jeff. His head swum dizzily, and he let our a gasping cry of pain as his body made its displeasure thoroughly known. He had no strength, his muscles trembling and rebelling, leaving him with little to no control of even the undamaged areas of his own body.
The office spun in lazy circles, and he was terrified that he'd either puke or pass out, or both, just from the effort of trying to stand.
"Easy now, let's just take this slow." Clint encouraged gently, him and Jeff supporting the majority of Newt's weight with their own strong arms. It took ten long, painful minutes, but together they managed to limp the woozy runner out of the office and over to one of the bunks in the general area, easing him down onto the hard surface so he could catch his breath.
And he was sweating now; sweating, shaking, weak.
He didn't need to hear the hushed conversation between the two healers to know what was being discussed; it was going to be a long, painful road to recovery.
Panting rapidly in ragged gasps after less than twenty feet, Newt despaired as he thought of how, only days before, he could have run for hours without breaking a sweat. Coming to the full realization of exactly how much damage he'd done to his own body, understanding it was his fault alone, he mourned the loss of his independence.
Adrian spent all day up on the top of the wall, unwilling to face the gladers, unable to even consider trying to talk to Newt. Dusk had fallen before he relinquished his solitude, shimmying down the vines under the cover of the growing dark. Resigned to the inevitability of unwanted company, he wasn't surprised in the least to find the leader loitering in the little meadow bordering his home, clearly waiting to speak to him.
You'd think he'd at least let a guy get home, get settled a bit before he comes calling, Adrian thought, mildly irritated.
"Hey, welcome back." Alby said tensely, a smallish white box tucked under his arm. Adrian only grunted and headed into the house, knowing full well the boy would follow him whether invited or not. He lit the candles and washed his face, changed his shirt, got a drink of water - ignoring Alby's presence until he was damn well ready to deal with him. Clean and feeling almost human again, he gave in.
"What do you need, Alby?"
"They sent up the supplies today; this was in there for you. I needed to bring it over."
The man took the box, mildly puzzled at the strange tone in the boy's voice. It looked the same as the others had, an ordinary carton of cheap cigarettes. Same size, same brand. He kept to fairly strict rations here, stretching a single pack to last three or four days. During his time in the glade, they'd sent up a new carton every month; it was his only true luxury. Adrian couldn't understand Alby's sudden concern.
"Why the sudden rush to get these to me?"
"Open it."
It did feel lighter than normal. Adrian flipped the flimsy cardboard top up, humoring the boy. Instead of the normal ten packages that fit inside the carton there was only one, along with a couple rolls of white paper for spacing and a small piece of card-stock with a single word written on it.
Enjoy.
He felt a shiver threaten to crawl down his spines as he instantly understood the threat – and the promise.
"What does it mean?" Alby demanded, obviously hoping for a different answer.
Adrian swallowed dryly, setting the box down on the table. He sat heavily, running his hands over his face as he tried to maintain his composure.
"Adrian. What. Does. It. Mean?!" Alby asked in an angry, clipped tone.
"They've decided to pull the plug." Adrian replied stoically, thinking of the mostly full package he was still working on and doing the math in his head. "In approximately one week, my time here will come to an end."
"A week? ONE WEEK?! No, that's not...we're not ready. They can't take you yet!" Alby lamented as he pushed to his feet, pacing the tight confines of the building. "What're we going to do?!"
"It was actually quite generous of them to give me so much notice. It should be enough time."
"Time? For what?" Alby asked, genuinely hoping the man had just one more trick left up his sleeve. "Do you have a plan? Of course you've got a plan. You have to let me help. Just tell me what to do!"
"You're going to organize a bonfire." Adrian answered, stunning the leader.
"A bonfire? Why the shuck would we - "
"Not we, you." Adrian corrected. "You're going to plan a bonfire. There'll be a celebration, feasting, music. You'll need to meet with the music makers, and Frypan, coordinate with the sloppers...if you have any burning questions, I'll gladly answer them; but the planning and organizing these kind of events is going to fall completely on you from now on. It's a lot, especially considering how much already rests on your shoulders. As a matter of fact," He added, thinking out loud now. "You'd do well to find yourself a second in command, one you can trust to make sure things get done."
"Adrian. I'm not going to run off and plan a shucking party when I...when you...I mean, when the others find out..."
The man looked at the upset, angry boy with a mixture of fondness and exasperation.
"You're a smart kid, well on your way to becoming a smart man. So answer me this – is your anger, your guilt, your denial going to change what happens when they call me back? Will you suffering magically make those bastards alter their agendas, and suddenly decide to give me a free pass? Is there any benefit in getting the others all riled up over this?"
"No." Alby replied slowly, understanding the inherent truth of the words even as the thought burned a hole in his gut. "No, it wouldn't change a thing."
"That's right. So, take advantage of my presence, one last time. Any question, any at all, ask. The release of a bonfire, the joy, the defiance...it's vital for them. It reminds them that there's more out there, more to life than just existing in this cramped little glade. They need to understand that, to believe. If you want to help me, then do your best to put together a kick-ass gathering. And personally speaking...I sure could use that one last bit of brightness before the dark rolls in. Consider it a last request."
A chaotic mix of emotions in his eyes, Alby couldn't think of any way to respond. He inclined his head, opening his mouth to say something before changing his mind and closing it again. He cleared his throat, took a deep breath, and managed a sickly smile before he left.
"I'll...I'll make it happen."
As soon as he was through the door Adrian closed and barred it, taking deep, calming breaths. He wasn't nearly as steady as he'd forced himself to appear for the leader, and needed to find his peace now.
There was so little time, and so much left to do.
He cleared off the table, sitting down with the large squares of lightweight packing paper and a spare pencil he had kicking around. He conscientiously worked for more than an hour, considering, refining, reworking until he was satisfied with the result. Clearing the surface again, he brought out the little recording machine he'd created and set it up facing his chair, sparking extra candles to life to provide better light before seating himself if front of the lens. He raked his hands through his hair once, twice, in an attempt to settle it into some semblance of order.
Here we go, now or never. Please, God, let this work.
He reached over and punched the tiny green record button, flashing a cheeky smile at the now live machine.
"Hey guys. Long time no see. I wish I could be there in person, but things...went a little astray. "
He kept the tone light, a facade of cheer for the camera.
"I have to believe you'll find this message, sooner or later. I'm afraid I don't have much time. I wish I could just tell you what I found myself, say it all out loud, but just in case this ends up in the wrong hands..."
He held up one of the sheets of paper, continuing to speak as he showed a cryptic message written in thick bold lines.
0?! :x9 7 3x?!3/
5*Uq1 x6 qxqxU*9.
91!k! 91!/ 7k! 733
.97U20U: 0U 7 kx-
"You know me – I know you'll be able to crack the code. When you have, when you understand...it'll change everything. I love you. I'm sorry. Goodbye."
Author's note ~
See you next chapter!
~Ruby