Author's note ~ Hope you enjoy.

"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."

Three days. It took Newt three long, painful days before he was strong enough to hobble around on his own, using the shortened crutches from Adrian. Three long days of sweat, weakness, and gritting his teeth. Three days worth of blisters on his hands, constant throbbing in his healing ribs, and agonizing burning across his shoulders as he learned how to support his weight on the sticks.

Three days with no sign of Adrian.

Whenever Newt asked either of the two medjacks about the absence all that they would say is that Adrian was working on something or was busy elsewhere. They would rush to assure him that they were fully trained and prepared to help him, that they knew what they were doing, that he was safe in their hands.

That was beside the pont. Their competence wasn't the issue.

If Adrian wouldn't come to him, he'd go to Adrian. That was all there was to it. Determined to have his face-to-face with the man, he continued to push himself every day until he dropped. Midway into the first week of his recovery, he managed to limp his way into the dining area around mid breakfast; it was the first time he'd made a public appearance since his disastrous solo trip into the maze. Sweaty and in pain, all but gasping for breath, he still felt a heady rush at the achievement and a flush of success as he approached the familiar gathering spot. The trip may have taken him ten times longer than it normally would, but he'd made it, and without his dithering caretakers to boot.

The gladers, milling busily around the tables and lining up for their breakfast, spotted him coming down the path and waited silently for him to join them. As he took the last few awkward hops into the area the boys cheered, and he'd never felt more welcome in his life. The other runners rushed him, slapping him on the back and all but carrying him to a table, the other boys reaching out and patting him wherever they could reach, lobbing fond wishes and happy exclamations his way as he was swept along. Minho's smile was as wide as one of the gates by the time Newt was shoved onto a bench beside him and reached he over, punching the blonde lightly on the shoulder in affection.

"Son of a bitch, look who finally decided to join us. I knew you were just milkin' it up there, lazing around and being waited on!" Minho crowed, grabbing Newt in a one armed embrace. "You're looking fine and fit and ready to run again, isn't he guys?"

Newt winced a little at the punch, snorted out a chuckle through the hug.

"It'll probably be a while before I'm even up to thinking about running. I've gotta get the hang of walking with these bloody sticks, first! "

Laughter erupted around them, and a plate of food was shoved in front of him. He dug in, starving. If there was one good thing that came from pushing himself through the last few days, it was that his normally subpar appetite had been boosted – he found himself to be constantly famished, and voraciously gobbled up anything he could get his hands on. After all, sweat and pain burned a startling amount of calories.

Weak and aching but buoyed by the feeling of unconditional camaraderie from the gladers, lifted by the company of his friends, he half listened to the lively conversations around him as he shoveled the food into his mouth. Turning his head this way and that, drinking in the faces around him, his spirits dipped a little when he was unable to spot his prey, though truth be told he was also a little relieved. He had a number of things to say to the man,none of which needed to be shared with the others.

"Adrian already been through, then?" Newt asked, trying for apathy and failing miserably.

Minho rolled his eyes at the predictable question, but it was Ben who piped up to answer.

"Yeah, he hasn't been surfacing til lunch or later, lately. Probl'y working on some special, secret project." Ben speculated. The other runners around them groaned and grumbled, obviously tired of hearing the same old song and dance, though the sentiment was new to Newt.

"Secret project?"

"Of course, why else would he be here?"

"Get serious, Ben." Jack sighed, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand.

"I AM shuckin' serious!" Ben asserted, his eyes just a little wild. "Maybe...maybe he's some kind of spy, sent here to, I don't know, do experiments on us. I bet that's it! He's just waiting, biding his time, lulling us into a false sense of security as he works on gaining our trust and then...BAM!" He banged his fist so hard on the table that the plates and forks all jumped, as did a few of the neighboring boys who'd been listening in on the unusual monologue.

"You've got klunk for brains, Ben." Minho groaned. "You been listening to scary stories the slicers cook up again?"

"Yeah doofus, you been sniffing glue or what?" Jack pitched in.

Newt forced himself to laugh along with the others, trying not to be irritated with his fellow runner or take offense to Ben's paranoid words. What right did he have, really, to get pissy with Ben when he himself had hurled far worse insults?

Intentional dawdling, Newt lingered far longer than necessary over a second portion of food, waiting until the other tables had cleared out and he was sitting alone with Minho.

He'd worked with this boy, run with him, bled with him for almost two years. He knew Minho's face, his expressions and moods, understood the way his brain worked. He couldn't deny that the keeper was thrilled to see him up and about, but a current of underlying anger had gradually began to poke through the smiles during the meal; Newt figured that it was best to take his lumps now and just get it over with.

"What's on your mind, Min?" Newt asked neutrally, giving his keeper the perfect opportunity.

"Just curious about something, maybe you can clear it up for me." Minho chirped in a dangerously sweet tone. "Exactly, pray tell, what the hell were you doing out there in the maze? Did I not JUST INFORM YOU that you were off the active list? Did I not specifically tell you to take some time and get your head back in the game? What the shuck were you thinking?"

Newt grimaced at the biting words, glancing around to see if anyone was close enough to hear. He really, really didn't want to risk any glader just wandering by and getting in the middle of such a sensitive discussion.

"I wasn't bloody thinking, that was the problem." Newt said lowly, a bit of a challenge in his voice. "Look, I did something stupid, okay? And paid for it by completely bollocksing myself up. I screwed up, I'm sorry. If that what you want to hear?"

"What I want to hear is the damn truth." Minho hissed. "What the hell happened out there? Why did you go out there in the first damn place?"

"I wanted to...try something." Newt hedged, uncomfortable with the idea of discussing something so personal is such a public place. It wasn't really lying, he reasoned, if he allowed Minho to jump to his own conclusions. "An idea that came to my head. But...I buggered it up, okay? I'll be the first to say it, I was wrong, shame on me." Newt said carefully, intentionally being as vague as possible. "I'm not some thumb-suckin' greenie with something to prove – I tried, I failed, I'll know better than to try it again."

"What was it? What did you – " Minho asked suspiciously, before Newt cut him off.

"What does it matter? It didn't bloody work, did it, so there's no point in talking about it. I don't even want to think about it, to be honest." Newt added softly, appealing to his friend's well hidden soft side. "Let it go, Min. Please, just let it go."

Minho visibly struggled with it for a minute, before relenting and doing as his old friend had asked. The worst of his curiosity and anger faded away as he eyed Newt, soothed away by the the runner's company. Minho said a silent word of thanks in his head, grateful that he wouldn't have to add Newt's name to the others on the wall any time soon.

"You're lucky you didn't crack that empty head of yours wide open. Although, a good thwack on the noggin isn't all bad; it might've done the rest of us a favor and knocked some sense into you." Minho teased easily, wrapping an arm around the blonde's neck and yanking him (as gently as he could) into a loose headlock, grinding his knuckles into the already disordered hair.

"Oi!"

"Serves you right." Minho chuckled, feeling lighter than he had since the day he'd barred Newt from the maze. "You best learn to think before you act, shank."

"Okay, okay, I got it! Leave off!"

"Just wanna make sure it sinks in." Minho laughed, stopping the torment but leaving his arm around the injured boy's neck a moment longer as a sign of affection. Newt sighed and stayed still himself, basking in the brotherly bond. He waited until they had extricated themselves from the odd embrace to speak again.

"Min, I wonder if...could you give me a hand with something?"

Adrian made a point of keeping busy, knowing there was no point in dwelling on what waited for him at the end of the week. He'd intentionally kept away from the medhut, unwilling to deal with another highly charged emotional scene, giving the injured runner and the working medjacks plenty of space. And, if he was willing to admit it, he was still angry, still hurt himself. He didn't know if he was ready to face the kid, and with the pressure of a very short time limit on his hands, wasn't sure if they'd be able to come to a resolution before his time ran out.

It was just another item on the long list of things that occupied his mind during the long, restless nights.

He sat in the soothing calm of his little home, carefully and systematically carving a little piece of wood as he thought his way through the last couple of days.

He'd burned the cryptic note he'd written for his recorded message and buried the little memory chip, carefully wrapped in plastic, ten steps from the water barrel behind his house. Now he could only hope that the right hands found it, and had the fortitude and perseverance to push through until they could decipher the information.

He'd organized most of his personal things into a couple of smallish boxes, storing them under the bed and leaving the rest of the house furnished only by generic, necessary items. He'd pulled both Alby and Stephen aside separately, making arrangements for the dwelling and contents to pass on to Stephen, Alec and Brandon in the event of his departure or death. Stephen was horrified at the morbidity of the conversation, not yet understanding why something so macabre even had to be discussed. Alby was merely resigned, sadly accepting the request without question or argument. Knowing that his wishes would be followed gave him some small measure of solace, assuring him that his beloved 'girls' would have a safe, private spot to continue their essential work in the glade.

He'd watched Alby running around steadily, urgently trying to put together all the elements of the upcoming celebration, going to meeting after meeting, haggling, negotiating, dictating. He'd come to the man a couple of times with questions, or needing clarification, but appeared to be learning the rhythm and flow of the planning stage with admirable speed. Adrian was confident that after this event, the young leader wouldn't have any further need to doubt his management skills, and would be fully ready for whatever the gladers asked of him. With the bonfire looming, Adrian was satisfied that after tidying up one or two more little details and chores his affairs would be fully in order.

A knock on his door pulled him out of his rambling reflection; he didn't feel like dropping his current project just at the moment, so he absently called out.

"Yeah, it's open."

Not bothering to look up, he focused on the last couple of delicate lines on the piece he was carving.

"Have a seat, I'm almost done."

"...Hey Addy."

At the hesitant, shy voice his shoulders tensed, and he whipped his head up only to see the newly mobile runner standing in his doorway, Minho a half step behind him with a hand lightly on his back in case he stumbled. Adrian tilted his head toward the couch, frustrated, knowing there would be no way to get rid of Newt now.

He'd have to face him.

He turned stubbornly back to his project, seemingly ignoring the pair as they shambled their way over to the couch and Newt eased himself down onto the soft surface with a sighing groan. The silence was thick, just their combined breathing and the soft scritching of Adrian's knife on hard wood to fill the air.

"You can step out now, Minho."

The words, coolly delivered, made Newt shiver a little. The keeper jutted his chin out defiantly.

"Sorry, but if it's all the same – "

"It's fine." Newt said, far more calmly than he felt. "If we could...have a little space, here, Min. Please."

The protective boy jerked a shoulder grumpily, rolling to the balls of his feet before walking out the door, slamming it behind himself and leaving no doubt as to his feelings on the matter.

Breathing. Scritching. Newt swore he could hear the sound of a single bead of sweat, slowly running down the back of his neck. Still, he held his tongue, allowing Adrian to finish up whatever it was he was working on before he turned to the runner, his eyes dark and inscrutable.

"What is it, kid?"

Oh, how Newt wanted to cringe at the cold, distant tone. How his guts twisted at the dismissive, aloof words, the man's apparent reluctance look him in the face. He deserved every bit of it and more, for how he'd acted.

"I wanted to see you." He said softly.

"Why?"

The man obviously wasn't going to make this easy for him and nor, if Newt was perfectly honest, should he. He sucked in a deep breath and spat out the words he'd been working on for days.

"After you...left...Alby came by, sorted me out on...a few things. I need to tell you that I was wrong, completely out of line with what I said to you. I know you care about us...about me. You've done nothing but help us since you got here, done so much for us. I don't really think you're selfish. I know...I know you'd stay if you could. I was right pissed, totally done – but that's no excuse for the things I said. I'm sorry, Addy, so bloody sorry for acting like a stupid bloody shank. I'm sorry."

Adrian got up from his chair and walked to the one window he'd left open, looking out into the green, his back to the boy.

"You sucker-punched me, kid."

"I know it." Newt conceded, anxious over the lack of inflection in the words. "I wanted to hurt you, likeI was hurting. It was an awful, angry, selfish thing to do."

"What you did, what you said...it gutted me. It would have been less painful if you'd slid your knife between my ribs."

"I know. God, I know. Shuck it, Addy, I can't take it back. If I could, I'd stuff those words back down my throat before they could crawl out and get to you. But I can't. I don't know what I can do to fix this. If I did...whatever it is, I'd do it in a heartbeat. Please, tell me how to fix this."

"Even I don't know that. You're going to have to learn how to find your own way; you won't always be able to come to me for an answer. Before long, I'll be gone – "

"You won't. I won't let them take you. I swear, we'll figure something out, find a way to – "

"Stop! Just...just stop." Adrian placed both hands on the window sill and hung his aching head, trying to find the words he knew the boy needed to hear.

"You have to stop fighting this. It's going to happen, whether you like it or not, whether I like it or not. It's hard enough...you're not making it...just stop. I don't have the energy to fight with you over this anymore, okay? You're going to have to accept the fact that one day soon, I'm not going to be here. That's just the way it is."

"How can you just accept that? How can you be so calm about it?" Newt mumbled, his heart twisting at the idea.

"Calm?"

Adrian turned to face the boy now, and Newt saw a look in his eyes he'd never seen before – a look he recognized well.

"Calm? I'm terrified. I keep my hands busy so I don't start screaming. I lay in bed and lose myself in the music, sleeping as little as possible, so I don't drown in the nightmares. I don't...I can't..."

The pain, the dread, the fear on Adrian's face smoothed away all the jagged thoughts he'd had about the man's apparent lack of desire to fight. He wordlessly held out a hand, waiting until Adrian walked over and took it, tugging the man down to sit beside him on the couch. Leaning over a little he pressed his good side against Adrian, commiserating, comforting and taking comfort. They sat, stone still, for what felt like a long time before Newt broke the silence.

"You talked to me while I was asleep, kept me company so I wouldn't be alone in the dark. I couldn't make out the words, but I remember your voice. Alby told me a little about your...family. I missed the stories the first time around; could you...would you tell me some of them now?"

When Minho had collected Newt after their talk, Adrian found himself vastly relieved that they'd been able to come to terms. Adrian breathed easier in the following days for having settled things with the boy, grateful that the majority of the tension had been dispelled while they still had the chance. Though the hateful words still gnawed at him from time to time, though the pain from the argument still stung, he was able to move beyond his anger and sense of betrayal and interact with the boy much as he had before the whole fiasco.

It wasn't quite the same, though. Each evening since he'd found his feet Newt asked if he could sleep over at the man's house, but Adrian denied the requests by citing projects or meetings. Newt appeared to take the refusals with good grace, though the man could see the wounded look that briefly flashed into his eyes before the boy could change the subject.

It couldn't be helped. Adrian wasn't in the frame of mind to accept company, at the moment.

The evening before the bonfire, Adrian headed directly back to his home after dinner – after denying Newt's request, yet again. With what he had planned for the evening, there was no way he could have the boy hanging around. He barred the door, shuttered the windows, lit the candles. Pulling one of the boxes of personal items from beneath his bed, he set it on the soft surface, a resigned expression on his face. He knew he'd been putting this off, but he couldn't leave the scales unbalanced.

He had debt left to pay.

He pulled on the support pieces, the padding, the dress, the contour changing cincher. He painted his face, reddening his lips, darkening his eyes. He tied back his hair and eased on the hand made wig, pinning it carefully in place. He tied on the thin, lacy black mask, looking into the small polished surface that served as a mirror.

Althea looked back at him, one more time.

Tucking the rest of the paraphernalia away neatly, he took a deep breath and headed out into the night.

Alby was frazzled, tired, cranky. As the sky grew dark he leaned up against one of the supply buildings by the cook hut, halfheartedly listening to the grumbles and complaints from Gally and Fynn about how shorthanded they were, with half their boys working on projects for the upcoming evening. He'd been running around for days, stressing over details small and large, busting his hump to try and pull together the extravagant celebration by the deadline that loomed over them all. Not that the other gladers were aware of this – Alby had kept his word, holding his tongue and allowing the others to maintain their blissful ignorance while he sweat and worried and lost sleep.

In and among all the party planning, the running around, the back and forth, he'd made himself spend a little time with Newt every day. They'd had a short, deep and illuminating conversation the day after the runner's fallout with Adrian, and while there was a level of trust that would take a long while to redevelop, Alby had sorely missed the companionship of his friend and was glad to have him back. He was also relieved to see that the duo had apparently managed to mend fences in an acceptable way, once given the time and space to do so.

Now, if only he didn't know what came next, maybe he could just relax and enjoy the benefits.

At the very least he could use a break, a couple of hours of no thinking, no stress, just peace.

"Excuse."

As though he'd wished her into existence, Althea stepped out of the woods and into the circle of suddenly dumbfounded boys. Alby almost swallowed his tongue at the sight, the tiniest prickle of heat in the back of his eyes. After the last time, he'd never expected to see her again. And yet here she was, walking directly up to him and taking his hands. If he could have blushed, his face would be red as a poppy.

"Excuse." She said again, that charming accent thick and exotic. "We are needed to be elsewhere."

Without further explanation she took Alby's hand, briskly leading the befuddled – and thrilled – leader past the sealed western gate and deep into the woods. Saying nothing, she navigated the barely discernible paths as though she could see in the dark, her steps sure and without hesitation. Her intentions unclear, her mood deadly serious, Alby's nerves got the better of him and he broke the silence.

"What's going on Althea?"

"I have...need of your company." Came the low, even reply. He halted, pulling her to a stop in front of him, the silhouette of her back all he could make out in the lack of light.

"What happened, all of a sudden, that you – "

She spun on her heal without warning, sliding her free hand up his back to grab a handful of his shirt, pressing that tall curvy body up against him and resting her head on his shoulder. He hesitated for only a fraction of a second before wrapping an arm around her and holding her close, breathing in her scent.

"What...what's going on?"

She turned and captured his lips in a quick, hard kiss, the fierce edge of it tinged with sadness and desperation.

"I have need of your company." She said again softly. "Will you give to me?"

"Of course." Alby whispered, his head spinning.

She released him and, still gripping his hand, led him to the little house in the woods, pulling him inside and barring the door against unwanted visitors. Once inside, she peeled off her mask and sat at the table across from him, her face naked, her eyes sharp on his face.

They played a game of chess, then another, talking little. They shared a jar of alcohol, not enough for either to get tipsy, but plenty to take the nervous, tense edge out of the air. When his gentle questions continued to elicit vague unsatisfying answers Alby stopped asking and just sat, drinking in the sight of her and trying to content himself with her company alone. She looked so vulnerable, so tired. When she moved to set up the board a third time he couldn't take it anymore and reached out, taking her hand, waiting until she looked up and met his eyes.

"Why am I here, Althea? What do you want from me?"

A long, pregnant pause.

"You are smart, kind, generous man who care for boys, keep safe. Keep happy. You work to bone for them, neglect your care for their happy. You need night, no worry. This, I can give. I need give, for last time."

His fingers tightened on hers, his chest constricted painfully.

"I...I know that you won't be...here much longer. I know that you have to...go. I wish – "

She let go of his hand and got up, coming around the table and straddling him, sitting down in his lap and linking her hands behind his head. His blood danced gleefully out of his head, despite his efforts to remain focused on the difficult, painful conversation. Her nose just inches from him, her smile was older than time, and just as sorrowful.

"Do not wish for what cannot be. You are strong man, will keep boys safe. Live in now, only now; tomorrow is tomorrow, no wish can change this."

She closed the distance and kissed him deeply, his hands finding her hips and sliding up to run across her back. He expected her to pull back as she always did, before things went to far, but to his shock she dove deeper, moved closer, grinding against him until he was the one who gasped and broke the kiss. Feeling her lips against the skin of his neck, shivering when her tongue darted out to taste the flesh, his eyes widened as he suddenly realized something.

She'd called him a man. In her eyes, he wasn't a boy any longer, he was a man.

She levered herself off of him, her breath uneven, and held out a hand. He took it, and she led him to the bed, pushing him down onto it and tugging off his boots before crawling in beside him. Though both remained clothed, when she straddled him, he decided that if he died now he'd leave behind no regrets, and would go out with a smile on his face.

She couldn't give him everything. She couldn't fully give him her body, couldn't fully take his. But for tonight, for the patient, caring, selfless leader of the glade, for the boy who'd grown into a man, age be damned, she could give him the night. She touched and tasted, allowed herself to be held and pressed close, stayed with him and took him to the end. When he lay, exhausted, spent, she curled into his warmth, and his arm pulled her protectively close. Allowing someone to stay, remaining with him through the night would have been a mistake under different circumstances.

Tonight it was the only thing she had left to give, so she gave it to the one who needed it the most.

And in the giving, took a little comfort.

Author's note ~

See you next chapter!

~Ruby