"Oh, Director Paige?" Teresa scurried down the hall after her, a bold movement that she never would have dared a few years ago, before she'd gained the privilege to come and go as she pleased, same as any other scientist under WICKED's employ. In just the few months since the Maze Trials had begun, both Teresa and Thomas had grown immensely, both emotionally and physically. The girl before her no longer resembled the tiny, traumatized toddler who'd come to them so soon after the Flare had first been released. Cliche or not, she'd burgeoned into a gorgeous young woman, all enormous blue eyes and enormous intellect.

"Yes, Teresa, what can I do for you?" Director Paige asked, turning fully towards her, watching for Teresa's small steps to stop. She spoke with confidence, but she did not yet move with it.

Tucking her dark tresses behind her ears, Teresa looked up, eyes alight with planning. "Well, I know this is a strange request, but… with so many deaths in Group B… and even Group A has had a few… I'd wondered if…"

Patiently, Ava waited. Teresa's self-possession had bloomed mightily as of late, and she suspected that the girl's newfound self-esteem had quite a bit to do with her handsome partner in crime and the success of her group in comparison to Aris and Rachel's. Eventually, Teresa proclaimed, not quite elegantly or eloquently: "Well, since we can simply erase the memories of candidates, I'd wondered if, rather than have them killed, we could transfer them to the opposite group. Like when Nicholas was... eradicated; rather than bloodshed, he could have "fallen" down the shaft and been transferred to Group B. It seems… more humane, really, and it's more pragmatic not to waste the life of our Immunes."

Considering this, Ava nodded. Clearly, this concept had been percolating in Teresa's mind for quite a while. "If you find that opportunity, you have my full permission to attempt it. I agree that needless loss of life hinders our study as much as it assists it, but if it becomes too complicated to remove a specimen from the Maze… well, I expect you can use your own discretion to make such a serious decision."

Eagerly, Teresa nodded, her hair flipping excitedly. "I've noticed that Group A has actually shunned several people into the Maze. Rather than have them killed, I'd supposed it would be kinder to simply collect them. That was more of what I was referring to; I spoke to Rachel and she said the same, and she would be willing to work with us if such a case arose."

With Teresa, it was always important to choose the right words to impart meaning. "I'm glad you are taking such initiative on this project, Teresa. I can see that you have thought long and hard about this, and you've always had such clarity of judgment. It's a quality I'm happy to see you fostering." It was all she could do to keep from beaming. With such active help from her department, a cure could be found. Anything was possible with such incredible minds at her disposal.

She watched the young girl demurely walk away, knowing instinctively that she was joyously sharing her news with Thomas mentally. Mercy was an excellent trait, to an extent. Particularly since she knew Teresa was capable of making decisions that needed to be made. There would be no sentiment involved, no favoritism. If a life could be prolonged conveniently, Teresa would do it. If not, Teresa would sit back and observe, just as she had done for a year.

Once she slid back into their small control room, Teresa grinned triumphantly at Thomas. "Hurry up, do it!"

"Already done," Thomas said, relieved, still typing code into the computer. It was only a few days until the next box would be dropped, and Group B was dropping a boy in. That boy, if they weren't too late, would be Stan.

"Hopefully, another memory wipe will make him less…" Teresa trailed off, torn between pity and disgust for him.

"Totally pervy?" Thomas offered wryly. "Here, I think we got to him just in time. The Grievers weren't even out yet; the Doors just closed around the Glade."

Sighing in relief, Teresa slumped down. "I almost didn't ask. I almost didn't know if I wanted to rescue him, of all people."

Turning to her more fully, Thomas nodded, using the odd expression he always did when trying to communicate with her, not saying aloud what he was thinking. Yeah, he's weird. What he did wasn't okay. And they didn't necessarily do the wrong thing. But if we can erase his memory, erase that trauma, and reinsert him into a situation where he can fully adjust… maybe it won't happen. And if it does, we have Beetle Blades.

Placing her hand gently on his, she nodded, appreciating his sentiments. She sympathized with everyone within the Maze, she truly did… but she was tired of killing where killing was unnecessary. There were only so many Immunes, and only so much time to find the cure they so desperately needed. She thought of Mark and Trina. She thought of Cranks. She thought of her family and the haphazard village they'd lived in. Memories that were cemented in her brain by trauma.

She watched, on screen, as Stan was sedated by a Beetle Blade and soon after, scooped up by a Griever, taken into custody to have his brain wiped once more. A new start. While her memories were what kept her strong, sometimes the thoughts themselves were what hurt you. Stan was proof of that.

x

After Stan, time went on. At first it was difficult. For everyone. A bunch of teenagers dealing with sexual harassment, violence, murder, and the omnipresent shadow of their prison meant that sometimes life was difficult. But more newbies came. And came, and came. Time passed. Not easily, but routinely. There were things to help pass the time. Welcoming parties for greenies. Bark. Saph's cooking. Gossip. Even amongst greenies, those who'd been there for less than two months, there was gossip. Those who didn't know what the older Gladers knew, who weren't privy to classified information or who simply didn't know the implied social hierarchy very well.

A common theme was wondering what the hell Hedy's job was. As far as everyone could tell, she wasn't a Keeper. Saph was the Keeper of the Kitchen, and everyone's favorite – the kitchen was always open to an upset Greenie, and she and Zora (and Laverne) were always lively and funny. Spending time with them was a privilege and a thoroughly enjoyable experience. Tim was the Keeper of the Gardens (or the Trackhoes, Minho dubbed them, albeit a little disrespectfully) and was always there, even after others had left, tending to the only thing that gave him a little bit of serenity. Tim worked harder than almost anyone, except maybe Clint. Meg was Keeper of the Animals (or the Slicers, Zora rudely called them, refusing to eat the rare treat that was fresh meat), and the animals all loved her like a mother, though it meant she always smelled a little bit like the stables, which could be a little overpowering at times. They shared knowledge and gossip, piecing everything together, to figure out the culture that seemed so distant from them.

They'd guess that Hedy was Newt's girlfriend, but someone else would deny it, saying if she had any boyfriend, it'd be a Runner. She was always sitting by the Gates at night, or during the welcoming parties, never drinking Gally's fermented tea drink that tasted terrible but made everyone delightfully lightheaded. Others would comment that she spent a good deal of time with Tim, helping him with his extra gardening. Some would note Saph's obvious devotion to the girl, or that she spent time with almost all of the Keepers, even Rosie, who they believed had the worst job of them all.

They'd all figure part of it out, though, or at least believed they did, whenever a shouting match broke out.

Everyone knew who Minho was. He'd make sure of it, charming and cocky, with a joke always ready and a sufficiently rude comment for those he wasn't as fond of. He was Saph's best friend, always creeping around the kitchen after the Gates closed, picking at Zora and trying to steal bites. And nobody really knew who Hedy was, except that she'd take them around the Glade on their first day, calmly sitting with them and listening as they cried and railed about the injustice of it all, confused and terrified and overwhelmed to the point of breakdown. She was so silent, rarely introducing herself as a Leader on those first days, and rarely introducing herself at all in the days after. Too much information didn't help someone fresh from the Box. Even if she did call herself Leader, it would be lost in the sensory overload. She gave nothing but a shoulder to cry on. Metaphorically, of course, being that she always made sure to maintain physical distance, except in the most extreme times.

So seeing the pair of them – or at the very least, hearing them – bicker in rising tones, an event that happened at least once a week (and even more than that as the Glade gained more and more denizens), the larger Minho clenching his fists and eyebrows furiously while the more composed Hedy crossed her arms and rolled her eyes. The matches weren't always intelligible or coherent to the observers, but in the end, there was a pattern. Minho would eventually relax, while Hedy would remain stiff and impervious to the jokes and smartassery that her opponent was known for. They didn't know who won, or who was in charge of the other, but they always definitely decided: Hedy was most definitely not Minho's girlfriend.

Usually, by this point, their gossip circle would be discovered by another – usually Newt, since he was in charge of the Newbies by default – who would stumble over their conversation, and roar at them to get back to their duties, but not before they could ask what was on all of their minds. Despite his kindliness, his gentility, his diplomacy, his size made him seem rather ferocious and terrifying to newbies who didn't know better. Or to ne'er-do-wells who dared break a rule.

"Y'wanna know who Hedy is? Hedy's the poor bloody shank stuck wi' the never-ending task of keeping you shuckheads alive!" he'd bark, and they'd all scurry away, too timid to ask their respective Keepers just what her job was, specifically, though Newt's answer shed little light.

Of course, a few days later, when Hedy would take the greenest of the Newbies to mark their name on the Wall, they'd look for her name, and find the small, neat letters printed inside the giant O that belonged to Minho.

Every few months, it happened, until an older Glader, usually Saph, found them and told them legends about her. Hedy, the one beautiful as a princess in a fairy-tale, had carried back a girl from the Glade, a girl who'd been wounded by a Griever, bathing in her blood like an avenging angel. She'd found Newt when he'd been hurt, saved his life, carried him back from the depths of the Maze, a feat of heroism that had ended as he'd pledged his life to her, his knight in shining armor. She'd climbed to the top of the Wall with Minho, a flying goddess. She birthed each cowering Newbie from the Box, a queen mother with grace and dignity.

She was their leader, and her stern face was not rudeness, but the struggle to hold all of the weight of her own leadership, the weight of Alice in her arms, Newt on her back, Nick in her hands, and all of them on her brow.

x

Straining on the medical bed, Newt broke out in a sweat. "I can't, mate, I really can't."

Hedy stood back, studying Clint and Jeff as they studied Newt's ankle. The physical therapy sessions hadn't been going well, and they'd finally figured out why.

"It's malaligned, but the only way to fix that is to break it and set it again," Clint said, looking up at Hedy.

"Don't look at her, look at me!" Newt growled at them. Neither boy flinched at his ferocious tone. Jeff actually rolled his eyes.

"He's right. Talk to him, not me," Hedy reminded them quietly. "I can't dictate his medical choices."

"It's your choice," Jeff acknowledged to Newt. "But I honestly recommend it. If we can reset it properly, almost all of your pain will be gone. You could walk… even run normally. But it would be shucking agony at first. And I'd have to get Gally to do it, he's the only one near strong enough, 'sides you."

"And crazy enough," Clint muttered. Hedy stifled a grin. Minho was definitely both of those things, but he'd just left for the day.

"Alright, you two. Come back in ten minutes," she ordered. "Go check on Tim's ingrown toenail or something."

"Whatever, I'm gonna go grab the Name-Tools from the Wall."

"You're so rude, all of the time, seriously," Jeff grumped, following Clint out the door. Closing it, Hedy turned to Newt.

"You already know the deal. Break it, and you're out of commission for even longer than the first time. A potential threat, and you could die. We find a way to make a break for it, we die. However, the probability of that is also really low. "

"And it'll bloody hurt," Newt said irritably. "Not sure if it'll hurt more'n I already do, though. Every step feels like the fiery agonies of hell, it does. Plus the pain of knowing it's Gally doin' the healin' by hurtin', as it were."

"I don't think he'll be a jerk about this," she said seriously.

"Well, if I don't do it, my leg'll never heal right, and I'll never Run again."

He didn't say it bitterly, but in a tone that was almost relieved, as if the only reason anyone would want him fully able and healed was to go back out there.

"I hate the Grievers," he paused. "I know you and Minho and… Alice felt the same way, as does Laverne now, and Ben, and Maya, but I bloody well hate them. I hate the Maze." As he said it, a little tremor of fear went up his spine. She looked over at him, saw the goosebumps rising on his arms. She leaned against the wall beside him, her own arm warm.

"It's scary out there," she admitted quietly. "But it's scary inside here, too. I feel so claustrophobic sometimes. Like… when we were first in the Box. Those first few minutes. That was when I was the most afraid. Someone was touching me, I don't know who. I think, maybe Nick. He's the only one tall enough, and I don't think it was Minho."

"It was me, maybe," he answered distantly, staring at where Alice's grave marker was through the little window of the MedJack tent. "I remember feelin' someone move back into me, and holdin' 'em steady. I'm sorry if I made you uncomfortable."

"Any discomfort I felt was definitely not your fault. I was just more scared than I ever remembered being. Except that day."

He didn't meet her eyes when she looked up at him. They'd never talked about it, not like this.

"Newt…"

"I don't want to talk about it, really."

"That was the scariest moment of my life, watching you fall."

He looked at her, a little darkly. "You saw me jump. Don't mince words, it doesn't suit ya, Heds."

"I didn't know what you were doing." She stepped forward, kneeling against him, resting her weight more comfortably than she'd ever thought she'd touch anyone, careful not to put too much pressure on him. "My heart stopped, really stopped. Like I'd swallowed it and turned inside out."

"The last thing I'd ever want to do is hurt you," he said, poignantly. It was believable, true. The last thing Newt wanted to do was hurt any of his friends. But it was so tiring, the unwavering cheerfulness he had to put off.

"What hurts me is how badly you were hurting." She pulled away now, and faced him, her legs criss-crossing. A rhyme went off in her head, randomly. Criss-cross-applesauce. She hadn't even had applesauce since she'd come here, couldn't really remember the taste and had no memory to place with the line. "Whenever you feel like that, I want you to tell me."

"It won't help..." he said it quietly. "Me admittin' to being a coward won't change a buggin' thing."

"You're not a coward," she promised him fiercely. She put a hand on his good leg, squeezing comfortingly, gently, like she imagined he would if the roles were reversed. "I can't help. I'm so, so sorry I can't help. But even just talking… it helps get everything off your chest." The words were painful. She wasn't Saph, who could conjure comforting platitudes and hug everything out. She felt awkward offering, and she knew Newt wouldn't take her seriously. The pain of rejection and of being uncomfortable overwhelmed her and she removed her hand, crossing her arms into her lap and looking away. "You know I'd do anything for you."

All was silent for a beat. "I just feel so helpless. Even when I was runnin', which is supposed to help us get a way out of here, be the solution… I just can't believe how empty it all is. How little we know. It's bloody insane, that we have to sit here and twiddle our thumbs and risk our lives. I want to eat a hamburger and have parents who yell at me for… I dunno!" he cried, frustrated that he couldn't remember anything. "Whatever teenagers even do!"

Quirking a smile and suddenly feeling relieved, she scooted back to him and held his hand. It felt oddly intimate – she'd held Minho's hand before, and she slept cuddled up to Meg and Saph and Alice when it was chilly at night, but despite having just carried him for over an hour, the touch of his hand combined with the rawness of his words felt intense.

"And now I'm afraid that you think less of me. You've been here just as long, watched Alice die, run the Maze… you and Minho've done it all, same as me, but I'm the buggin' coward who can't even get the job done properly."

"No!"

He didn't look at her, staring at his shattered ankle. "I can't believe you carried me back. I must have fifty pounds on you, and six inches."

"Newt… Shut up. It didn't matter how big you were then. I had a job, and I did it."

"You always do," he said it quietly, a little enviously. "You've always done what you've had to do for us all. Whether it be Gloria, or Stan, or Alice or me."

"And you're not a coward. That thought has passed through each and every one of our minds. Anyone here who says otherwise is a liar. Even Saph. Maybe especially her."

"This isn't real life." Newt said it so softly she almost thought she imagined the words. "This isn't a real life. It can't possibly be real."

"That's why we have to keep fighting, until we can get out. For Alice, who never got to get out. For us, so we can maybe remember."

"This place is poisonous." Newt said it with an odd observational tone. "It's killing all of us, real slow like, huh? Real bloody slow."

Before she could answer, Clint and Jeff returned with the tools and with Gally, who looked… almost apologetic. He was a rotten bastard, Hedy thought to herself, but he wasn't a bad guy. Perhaps she was biased because of the iconic punch, but really, he was dutiful, he was obedient, and he was quiet. Especially since the Changing. Ever since he'd been stung by the Griever, he was withdrawn and thoughtful in a manner she never imagined possible.

"What's your official recommendation, Prez?" Jeff asked cheerfully.

"I recommend he do it," she said, not breaking her eye contact with Newt, staring steadily into his soul. I recommend you face your fears. I commend your courage. You were brave enough to choose death, but now you're strong enough to choose life.

Newt looked back at her, the face she loved so much growing before her eyes. Over the two years, he'd become more solid, the hard squares of his face turning long and rectangular. "Aw, shuck. Let's get it on with, then, Gally," he sighed, throwing up his hands. "M'life 'n future are in your hands, so don't muck it up."

"No problem, shank," Gally answered levelly. Looking at Clint, he asked hesitantly: "Do we have any like… anything that'll put him to sleep?"

Regretfully, the Keeper shook his head. "We can knock him out, and we have stuff for the pain after, but no sedatives."

Newt reared back, yanking his legs close. "No bloody way."

"C'mon, just let him punch you," Jeff pleaded.

The idea of the violence made Hedy a little nauseous, but she knew it was for a greater good. Fixing Newt's leg meant fixing his self-esteem, curing his pain, and giving him a future outside. So while Newt was lecturing Clint, Jeff, and Gally about respecting their betters, she sucked in a deep breath, quietly took the metal first-aid box, and knocked Newt in the jaw as hard as she could muster.

Newt nearly fell out of the chair and she nearly threw up, dropping the box with a loud clamor. "Holy shit," she whimpered, guilt and fear and anxiety knotting in her stomach, barely registering the shock in the room.

"Hurry up, dude!" Jeff urged Gally, who sighed, almost as sick as Hedy at the thought. "Before he comes around."

She didn't watch; she wasn't sure how they got a clean break, or how they knew where to break, or if Gally did a good job. She heard the crunch, a pause, whispering, and a grunt; and then Newt's scream. Then, there was just rustling.

"So the fearless leader is pretty fearless after all," Gally observed, stepping over and proffering her a hand.

"I think I'm going to throw up," she admitted, trembling, feeling a hot sweat. She accepted his hand, and he all but picked her up. Her knees weren't cooperating.

"Well, you're in the right place for it. And if it helps any, I think you did the right thing. That took balls," Gally told her, seriously, and after a deep gulp of breath, she saw he was sweating too. "The element of surprise really helped too. I don't think any of us would have predicted that happening even if we could've taken a thousand guesses."

"You're pretty tough yourself," she answered, feeling the first inkling of respect and gratitude for the Keeper. "You three did good work."

He shrugged. "I'm just the muscle."

"You did perfect, Gally," Clint answered, still tending to Newt's foot, wrapping the bandages while Jeff fed Newt some pills. "It was my fault the bone didn't set properly in the first place. But this is a much cleaner break than what he had before."

Newt was sitting in the chair now, breathing shallowly. "Bloody… buggin'… hell…" he gasped out. Jeff screwed the lid back on a bottle of painkillers, looking as unwell as Newt did, and as bad as Hedy felt.

"Not as bad as you thought, huh?" Gally asked, a little devilishly.

Finally sitting back, Clint sighed. "This seems to aligned perfectly… thanks again, Gally."

"I just helped. I don't know how to set bones. It was all you, doc."

"Thank you, Gally," Hedy said, exhaling, relieved to not have vomited. Not just at Newt's pain, which she longed to take upon herself, but at the violence of the entire act. Knocking him out, breaking the bone, the pain of resetting the bone… his scream. She wondered if Gally felt as sick as she did at what he had done, regardless of whether it was for good or not.

A good lesson, though. Sometimes violence had its practical applications. Sometimes pain was a good thing.