In which things are surprising

AN: One of my wonderful reviewers on this story has coined the 'Neva' ship name, and I felt it was too good not to share. So there we are; thanks to Eurwen de Vrill for that :) And apologies in advance for yet more unanswered questions (though that's half the fun, surely?)

-notes and teaser at the end-

Chuck is put to work with Zart in the gardens on his first day. Alby walks him there personally and we all figure that he feels just a little more responsible given the age difference.

But he is apparently all thumbs and not really sure what he's doing, so the following day he's moved promptly on to the Kitchen. Even that seems to be a bit much for him with the amount of preparation needed each day to keep everyone fed.

Winston reluctantly decides he shouldn't trial with the Slicers. The slaughter of animals in the Bloodhouse, not to mention the knives are probably not smart to expose a twelve year old to. And he doesn't seem the type of person to work with animals too well.

Similarly, Gally decides after half a day with him that Building won't work. He can help with small chores, but he doesn't have the strength needed for the heavy lifting, and most of the team feel they're too busy watching out for him rather than working.

So he ends up with Tim and the Sloppers on the afternoon of his third day.

The tasks aren't exactly challenging, but the team welcomes him in and it's easier to watch out for him doing laundry, clearing up Homestead and repairing hammocks than if he was loose anywhere else.

Chuck settles into it, and slowly, the panic leaves his eyes. He doesn't jump every time someone speaks to him, though he doesn't look all the boys in the eyes. And then he starts to smile and laugh more.

…

The summer period is truly setting in, now.

Obviously, whatever regulates the environment in the Glade means there's not a whole lot of difference, but the grass is greener; the goats all get a little fizzy on the fructose – which is something that I know without knowing how I know it. Whatever little breezes there sometimes are seem to taper off leaving a slightly muggy feeling in the air.

It's not too bad to adjust to; out of the direct sun around Homestead the slight increase in heat quickly becomes the new norm.

The only real tell is in the Builders and Track-Hoes, who work out on the field a lot, and for a couple of days, adjust by deciding to shuck their shirts.

"Summer's here," Zart says wryly, on his way past me one afternoon when I've dropped by the Gardens to pass a message.

He's still wearing a wife-beater, dusted with dirt and grass stains as he pulls along a rickety wheelbarrow crafted entirely from wood.

He jerks his head to his team, indicating at least five of them who are now at work, either in the corn field or the allotments without their shirts on.

I bite down on my lip and just shrug.

Don't say anything.

"Well, it's warm," I say.

So much for that.

Zart rolls his eyes.

"Enjoying the view, then?" he teases.

And I laugh. I really hadn't thought of it like that. And it feels a little odd to try.

"Sure," I reply, anyway, happy to laugh about it. "Are you joining in?"

Zart cackles as he trudges on with his wheelbarrow. "Not a shucking chance."

…

The heat settles, and the Gladers return to using their clothes again.

The mugginess still lingers heavy in the late afternoon, but no one really reacts to it after a couple of days, and I assume that this happens every year as the slight temperature variation evens off again.

Life has returned to its fully-clothed normality when I drop by the Bloodhouse for my usual chores two days later, only to find Alby, Dan and Newt out in the animal pen trying to rebuild a broken piece of fence.

"Whoa," I exhale, even as I slip through the gate. There are at least two rails in near splinters.

Alby is hammering in a new post with a powerful, swinging motion, and Dan's arms strain as he holds it in place. Newt is using a second hammer to lever old nails from the now useless pieces of broken wood that used to be in the fence.

"What?" Dan asks, absently, apparently not quite catching my mutter. "Oh, Hi, Eva. Come for the goats?"

I just nod. "Yep. What happened?"

"They've all gone loopy," says another voice.

I spin around, only now spotting Chuck sat behind the water trough.

His cheeks are full of colour, and I'm not sure if it's just the heat, or something else, but his eyes slide away from mine when I look at him.

Newt snorts and my eyes sweep back to him as he stands straight, still holding the hammer.

"They're just a bit fresh," he says. "Pepper kicked out half the rail when Frankie tried to catch her earlier."

I have to bite back a smile when the name Pepper comes out of his mouth.

"Well then this will be fun," I say.

I leave them at the top of the pen and head to the far end where the goats have been shut into the little shack. They are a little quick on their feet, but they're more than familiar with the ritual of being milked now, and used to me doing it, so its no harder than it usually is.

"Maybe limit their grass," I suggest, walking back to them when I'm done.

Dan shrugs. "They'll settle," he says. "They go a bit hyper on the grass every year, but it's only for a week or so."

"Okay then," I say, wondering absently how many fences they've repaired over that time thanks to the frisky goats. "I'll leave you to it."

"Hey, Eva," Alby calls, making me stop before I reach the gate. "How about taking Chuck with you, back to Homestead?"

I glance at Chuck in time to see his eyes go wide. His cheeks flood with colour all over again.

Confused, I just nod to the chicken run. "Still have to collect eggs," I say. "But the milk shouldn't sit in this heat too long." I move over to Chuck and crouch next to him. "Think you could take these down to Frypan for me?"

Still red-faced, he nods jerkily and stands, reaching out to heft the jugs into his arms.

"Just keep them upright and don't run," I tell him. "Thanks, Chuck."

He ducks around me and strides off for the gate, which Dan holds open for him. He doesn't run, but he hurries off across the field without a single backwards glance.

Still confused, I leave the boys to their project and go to sort out the chickens.

Maybe it's just been a weird day.

…

"He's got a crush on you."

"What?" I ask.

I haven't really been listening.

Jeff and I are in the Bloodhouse. Lee got a long cut down his arm when a knife slipped and Jeff came to fix it. I was finishing up with the geese, so I stayed. As Lee was being patched up, Winston asked about how Chuck was doing.

I kind of half tuned out until this statement cuts through the job I've given myself. I've stopped cleaning the blades to repair a knife handle; using leather laces to bind the wood over the tang.

Winston smiles, like its funny, but his eyes aren't joking.

"He has a crush on you," he repeats. "Chuck."

I frown. I've barely talked to him; I'm always volleying between the animal pens, the kitchens and the Medi Tent and I've just seen him in passing over the last week. Most of what I've said to him is a fleeting hello, or to check if he's okay. Other than the one instance the day before in the goat pen, I can't once remember him replying; just bright spots of red rushing to his cheeks as he hurries on.

He can't even know me, let alone have a crush – that's mad.

"That's mad," I say.

"Doesn't make it any less true," Jeff says.

"You too?" I ask.

He shrugs. "Something happened to make him think you're not the same as the rest of us."

"Yeah, she was born a girl," Lee laughs.

But I know that's not it. I remember being asked to stay and try to talk to him just minutes after he arrived. Newt telling me that I make people feel better.

I'm going to kill him.

"Shuck-face," Jeff says. "Not that. He's not afraid any more, and that means he has more time to be a twelve year old boy."

"And twelve year old boys," Winston says, like I should have seen this coming. "Have crushes on pretty girls."

…

"I'm going to kill you."

I say this to Newt as I arrive in the Mess hall for supper and he looks up, startled and amused. "Just fair warning," I add cheerfully.

"Why?" he asks.

It's a fair question.

"Because, according to Winston and Jeff, Chuck has a crush on me and it's because you got me to talk to him that first day. So it's technically your fault."

Newt's eyes light up with amusement. A smile pulls at his mouth.

"This is not funny."

"It is a little," Frypan puts in. He's setting down the pot of broth not far from us.

"Thanks, Fry," I call to him. My eyes don't leave Newt.

Amused as he looks, there's no surprise in his face. Not even a bit.

"You knew," I say.

He gives me a very slight guilty shrug.

I pick up the nearest empty dish and go to whack him with it. He catches my wrist before I get close and tugs the dish away. His thumb brushes across the sensitive skin over my pulse. I don't know if it's an accident.

I hope he doesn't notice when it jumps.

"Trying to attack another Glader," Newt teases.

Newt doesn't tease. I don't think I've ever seen him this light-hearted.

"Oh shut up," I laugh at him, yanking my arm back. "How could you know and not tell me?"

"I didn't want it to bother you," he says. "He'll grow out of it as he gets to know you."

I raise an eyebrow. "Thanks," I say, dryly. "So once he knows me, he'll stop liking me?"

Newt hesitates. He rubs the back of his neck and then he says, simply, "You have a crush when it's an unrealistic infatuation. When you get to know someone, that infatuation either just goes away or gets replaced with genuine affection."

I stare at him.

He shrugs, eyes sliding away from mine. "The crush will go away because he won't see you as that stranger who calmed him down; he'll start to genuinely like you as a person. I don't really know how anyone bloody couldn't."

For some strange reason, all I can think about as he turns to start laying out dishes is the way he kissed me on the forehead around two weeks ago.

The memory of that day is clouded with a fair bit of pain, but I remember that moment. I remember the fear that surfaced as anger in him when I intercepted the falling beam, and then later, how he'd been very quiet and gentle as his lips pressed into my skin.

It felt like words just wouldn't work to express that amount of fear and relief.

Genuine affection.

I shake my head and nudge him lightly as I set about helping.

"I like you as an actual person, too," I tease him, smiling.

Newt snorts.

We start spooning broth into the dishes without saying another word.

…

I'm a little amazed, when I think about it just a couple of hours later that I never realised.

Supper is finished; the night has drawn over us like a cape. The fire casts a dancing golden light at the front of Homestead as the boys chatter, sprawl in the grass, wrestle and sneak leftovers from the pot of broth by the Kitchen.

I sit with my legs stretched out towards the fire, leaning against one of the logs, and can't help watching Chuck as he hangs out with the Sloppers.

He smiles far more easily now, and I watch him laugh as he swipes Tim's spoon when he turns his head. He hides the spoon, even as Tim starts checking on the ground for it.

When he looks up and catches my eyes, he flushes and quickly turns back to his team.

I'm not sure how I just brushed off this behaviour as him adjusting. But then, what do I have to go on? The concept of someone having this infatuation with me seems – well – insane, to me. I mean…why?

So maybe I didn't see it because I just never thought it was a possibility.

There's a thump to my right, and Newt collapses beside me.

Unlike normal, he twists and lies back on the worn earth, one leg bent at the knee as he rubs his forehead with a hand. He looks kind of exhausted.

I frown. "What did he make you do?"

Alby dropped by our table at supper, asking Newt to help him out as soon as he was done. I hadn't seen either of them since.

Now, Alby strides into the group the other side of the fire, slotting easily into a space with the laughing Track-Hoes.

"One of the pipes in the shower block broke," Newt says. His eyes are closed as his hand drops away, resting across his stomach. "Had to try and fix it so nothing leaks when they're next used."

The showers, like the main pump in the Gardens are sourced from underground; a limitless supply from the Creators.

They'd rather the Grievers killed us than dehydration.

But having the block flood or leaving the pipe work to rust isn't good. So of course it was something they needed to fix as soon as they could.

"And?" I ask, my voice quieter than I'd planned.

"Not quite," he says. He shifts on the ground, a flicker of discomfort passing through his face. "Too dark to see properly now."

"You're getting sand in your hair," I say, changing the subject and already planning a midnight trip out of my hammock.

Newt opens his eyes – the fire reflects in them, flickering gold - and looks up at me. "What do you suggest?" he asks, starting to smirk.

Apparently, tired as he is, there's still some piece of his earlier teasing mood left in him.

"Get a pillow," I joke.

But he goes still.

I can read his face and see the instant he decides, and then he shifts again and he settles with his head on my lap. His eyes close and a smile plays over his mouth.

I laugh quietly, but I don't protest. I use him as a pillow often enough. Instead I shift my weight a little so my legs don't go to sleep.

"Better?" he asks, voice ringing with weary amusement.

I nod, though he's not looking at me. "Much," I say, smiling. "Just don't go to sleep. I will leave you here."

He breathes out a laugh.

"Seems a bit mean, Love," he says, voice playfully mocking.

I smile at the so easy way he uses the endearment; attached to the end of his words with no inflection or weight; just there. One of those British language quirks of his that just slipped out in his tiredness.

"Shame, that," I say, playing into his mood.

A soft laugh breaks out of him, dissipating into the firelight.

I look up again, letting Newt fall into silence. Chuck is back to smiling, though Tim has his spoon back. Alby has moved away from Zart's bunch and is talking to Dan and Winston. I can just make out their flickering forms through the wavering air and plume of smoke above the fire.

Frypan and Stan are hauling away what's left of the broth and Billy is wrestling with Jackson in the pit, which is where most of the boys are gathered.

My mind drifts and I breathe in the heady smell of wood smoke.

Jackson goes flying into the sand. A cheer goes up, sounding oddly distant. Minho and Ben take to the Ring.

Ben is due to start teaching me some very basic fighting tomorrow. I'm looking forward to it just as much as I'm really not.

"Who taught you to fight?" I ask, the words forming before I've really thought about them.

But Newt's voice sounds more awake than I'd been expecting when he replies, "Not sure anyone did. Alby, Minho and I used to wrestle around a lot back then. It's just instinct and self preservation." I see his eyes open again, and I look down at him. "Ben's taught Billy and Stan and a bunch of others. You'll be fine, Eva."

He says it like he knew I was thinking of my approaching lessons.

I just offer him a smile. "I know," I say. "I'm kind of looking forward to it."

Newt's expression is a mental headshake; fondly exasperated, and his eyes close again.

The tension has slowly seeped from his shoulders; his frame relaxes into the ground and he's a warm weight on my legs.

I suddenly realise my fingers are combing through his hair and I'm a bit perplexed when I can't remember starting to do it.

Frowning at myself, even though my movements don't stop, it takes me a second to realise Alby's left the Slicers and is striding around the fire towards us.

That's his 'we need to talk shop' face, which means he's coming for Newt.

My eyes fly up, locking on him.

Alby looks back at me and he must see the defensiveness in my expression, because he falters.

I just shake my head.

He hesitates, his eyes drop to Newt, and he nods.

He walks away.

I feel my heart thump in my chest. Newt's been all over the place already today, and then trying to repair a pipe in fast failing light has apparently just caught up to him.

Just leave him alone for a bit.

Across the fire, I'm sure I'm not imagining it when I spot Minho – standing by the Ring – give me a small nod. I'm not sure if it's thankful or even approving, but I don't dwell on it.

"Was that Alby?" Newt asks.

I look down at him.

How could he know with his eyes closed?

"If I said no would you believe me?"

He chuckles.

I relent. "I guess he decided it could wait," I say.

Newt's eyes open again, and he breathes in before lifting himself up. I draw my fingers away from the space he left. He curls forwards; stretching his back then looks at me across his shoulder. The weariness in his face has faded. "Thanks," he says, quietly, and I think he's probably guessed I didn't just sit here while Alby walked off on his own.

He's a good leader, but I think he can get a bit single minded.

I don't reply. I just shrug off the thanks as we both settle back against the log.

Already my mind is back on the broken pipe.

…

I'm getting good at lighting torches, so when I'm away from the Hammock huts well after turn in time, I strike one up and traipse around the back to the shower block.

I've never looked too hard at any of the pipe work. They run up the outside of the stalls themselves and they've not been a concern before, but now I stab the torch into the ground next to the busted pipe and start to inspect it.

It was a long shot – I knew that. The chances of me being able to fix it alone in the dark are slim to none, but I wanted to try.

And then, studying the break and the different parts, I shock myself.

It feels like climbing a tree, or making a bow, or holding a knife.

I spin the tap to lock off the water supply, pull the pipe from the connector in the ground, reposition the rubber seal and get to work.

It takes around an hour and a few trips to one of the store units. I throw myself into it without much thought, relying on the dancing light of the flame and feel alone.

In the end, having found some plastic tubing, more rubber seals and a very old valve that is still in better condition than the one I remove from the busted pipe, I manage to jerry-rig a new section of the pipe work.

There's grime on my fingers, the torch is burning low, unused connectors, copper lengths of pipe and rotted through rubber seals litter the grass around me at the back of the block and the moon is high enough now that it's almost brighter than the flame beside me.

Then, when I twist the tap back on to check for leaks, I suddenly stop.

How in the world did I know how to do any of this?

Climbing trees feels like one thing; nothing too complicated about it, really, even if it did come strangely natural to me. But this?

This is something I've never done before in my life, that clearly requires a bit more of a thought process.

Not for the first time, I wonder who I was before this.

More and more, I wonder if we're really two different people.

…

Alby can't work out what happened the next morning.

I see him muttering to Newt and making frustrated gestures at breakfast. Newt, bemused, glances over at me.

I know it won't be long before I'm asked about it. I don't figure too many of the Gladers knew about the problem in the first place, and probably even less would have bothered to try fixing it after the bonfire in the dark.

So I'm not in the least surprised when Newt and Alby approach me before I start work for the day. Newt, at least, has already guessed I did it, even if exactly how I managed it is still a mystery even to me. And from the appreciative expression on Alby's face, I'm guessing he's taken Newt's theory as truth.

But still.

I tell them faeries did it.

INFO

1. I hope Chuck trialling jobs sounds okay. Being so young, and still freaked out, I just think a lot of the jobs would be...unwise. Knives and heavy lifting, for instance? So this is my interpretation of how he may have ended up as a Slopper (which he is in the canon world, and I'm trying to stick to that in every way I can).

2. 'Summer period'. There is very little climate change within the Glade, being that its all artificially regulated, and the Sun Flares mean it doesn't ever get cold anyway. But I figure there's a slight variation in seasons (touched on briefly back when the bug was going around) very much based on my own ideas again. There might be a shift in the warmth and for a couple of days, the boys mainly working out in the field - Builders and Track-Hoes, rather than the Cooks and such - might work shirtless just while they adjust to the heat, but then it would pretty much carry on as normal. Someone mentioned a saddening lack of shirtlessness in the film, but this is my thought on why; its just normal for them to work in the heat and a lot of their clothing looked fairly thin anway.

3. Newt's endearment. Okay. This. I've read fics where he uses the word a lot, just as a quirk in general speech, and I really kind of like it. At the same time, the way my version of him has developed, he doesn't use endearments very freely (probably just sarcastically, if at all). So I kind of liked the idea that when tired out, he doesn't think through his words so much, and he might slip. Hopefully that's believable for you, as I debated including it at first. Feedback is always good.

4. The pipes. Yep. This is the bit with no answers just yet as we're still just beginning to explore one of the overarching themes of the story (if you can guess what it might be). Also I always spell faeries that way. Sorry.

Chapter 15 - Teaser

I grasp Zart's hand and he pulls me up. We stand in the sandy pit, facing each other.

"Whenever you're ready, Evie," Zart says. His smile goes from one ear to the other. "I'm looking forward to actually winning a match."

-To be posted next week-