In which there are sketches and revelations

AN: Ended up later than I hoped, sorry about that, but I think I solved the issue of a shorter chapter.

Replies to Guest reviews are at the end, as some of them were long and i didn't want to delay anyone's reading :)

-notes and teaser at the bottom-

I spar with some of the boys every evening that week. My sessions with Ben taper off. He says that just the matches with the others will teach me just as much as he could.

I know that they aren't really wrestling.

I've watched enough of them go flying through the sand during Box Feasts to know that they're going light on me, but given I'm still learning to spot openings, I appreciate it more than I'm indignant about it.

Zart, Dan, Lee and Stan all take turns, teaching me and cheering me on. Since realising the ligament down the side of my knee was a weak point, I've been able to guard it better, almost instinctively now. It doesn't get attacked again, though I still end up on the ground plenty.

Finally, I'm able to beat Dan.

The fire is just being started when I just manage to slip past him and force my weight into his right hip. His balance is just off, and he goes over.

He hits the sand, and for a beat, everyone goes quiet, and then Frypan cheers.

Dan gets up, shaking sand out of his hair and beaming.

He hugs me, not looking the least bit upset about his defeat.

Ben nods at me from across the fire pit. I smile back at him and mouth a thank you.

I'm not an effective fighter – and I don't feel like its something meant for me - but given that we don't really know what's coming, I feel better knowing I've at least learned something.

…

I spar against Newt once.

It doesn't go well.

We're both quick, and after months, we know each other too well to really get anywhere even though he's better than me. Then I make a real mistake. I manage to catch him; going for a strike at his ribs.

Faster than I can process, he uses my own momentum to twist me away. It offsets my balance and it's only his grip that keeps me from falling back.

We both go still.

His fingers are curled around my wrist, locking it, blocking me from attack with my arms. But I can easily kick out with my foot and take his weak ankle out. Because he's holding me up, he won't be able to dodge the blow.

It'll put him on the floor.

At the same second, I can see he's realised that all he needs to do is press into my knee with his free hand and I'll be done. It's the one I bruised; and I have no way of defending it.

Neither of us moves.

Frypan, laying out the night's supper dishes as the sun goes down, is the only one around. He shakes his head, smiling in an exasperated way and walks off, talking about predictable shuck-faces and most boring matches ever.

Newt pulls me upright and we head after Fry without a word. We'll help lay out the food instead.

I guess we are predictable; I didn't even think of it when we were talking and sort of ended up in the Ring. But with the others, if I win, it's because I've managed to get a legitimately lucky strike.

I didn't consciously decide it, but I know I'm never going to be able to use Newt's weak point against him.

I guess I'm not alone.

…

With supper done, the dishes washed at the pump and the fire crackling and blazing into the night, I wander through the tree line of the woods, hidden by its shadows.

There's a strange, nagging tug right at the back of my mind that I can't place or identify beyond knowing it has something to do with Newt. It's the place in my head that rolls over all the tiny touches; his fingers against the healing scratches, his thumb over my pulse, the way he gripped my wrist to keep me standing in the sand pit.

I'm not sure why they stand out, the memories returning to me when my thoughts are quiet, and it annoys me.

The hum of voices from Homestead grows quiet as I leave it behind and the boys around the fire decide to turn in.

I duck into Alby's hut and head for my section at the end.

The flickering golden light of a torch makes me pause at Newt's doorway.

It's just as I vaguely remember it, from the night I stood here, unable to sleep, but the firelight casts it in a warm glow. The hammock still sways above the woven reed mat and the dark leather harness hangs from the post at the end. The low crate rests along the partition, the small stone on its lid.

Newt sits curled over on the wooden stool and a soft scratching that I find familiar but cannot place fills the room.

I thought he'd headed off with Alby not long ago to talk shop, so I'm not prepared to find him here. Warmth swells in my chest and I fold my arms across myself tightly, as though that might hold the feeling down.

"Why didn't you do it?"

He starts, twisting around to look up at me. There's a strange expression on his face; a mix of surprise, wariness and something else I can't work out.

"My leg," I clarify, when his brow furrows in confusion. "It wouldn't have hurt."

Something flashes through his eyes.

"Doesn't matter," he says, quietly. "For the same reason you didn't."

And I know that's true, but I had to ask anyway. I nod, tapping on the wood that marks the doorway as I move on.

"Night," I say.

I see him hesitate, fingers spinning, his elbow resting on his leg, but he nods slowly and I slip into the shadow of my room.

There's no torch here and the world feels colder.

I kick off my boots and shed my jeans, dig my sleep shirt from the thin blankets in the hammock, and then – for no reason at all – my mind registers what was spinning in Newt's fingers just moments ago.

I take a quick glance at myself, but the hoodie is one that I've borrowed, so it falls long enough to still be decent, and I rush back to Newt's doorway.

He's gazing absently into the wall, fingers still spinning as he contemplates something.

"Who knows?" I ask.

He looks up again. Maybe I imagine it, but it feels like his eyes catch before they find mine.

"You told me you could draw," I say, keeping my voice quiet.

And he nods very slowly.

His fingers go still.

Resting between them is a thin wooden pencil.

"Just Alby," he says.

"Why did you tell me?" I want to know. He mentioned it so long ago, but with what happened after that, the conversation just got pushed to the side.

He shrugs. "You asked if there was something I'd know if I wasn't here. I think I'd know who taught me to draw. Or who I got it from."

It's at this point, belatedly, that I realise the worn book I once saw on his crate rests open on his lap, his curved body hiding the pages.

"What do you draw?" I ask.

Newt hesitates.

I watch him swallow, adam's apple bobbing at his throat, then he drops the pencil, lets it roll to the seam of the book, and he holds it out to me.

I step slowly into the room and sink to sit on the corner of the crate.

The book is lighter than I expected. The pages are smooth and yellowed. All the drawings inside are rendered in pencil. The pencil itself is whittled at the end with a number of slanted facets that tell me it's kept sharp with a knife.

Newt has sketched Homestead several times. When it was just two small huts against the woodland, during the construction of what is now the Mess hall and again later on with the collection of shacks that I've always known. Only the latest Hammock hut is missing; he drew this one after I arrived, but before the day the beam fell.

He's sketched the Glader Name wall, pressing hard to bring out shadows under the ivy and in the grooves of the names. He's sketched the field and the Lookout Tree; just a dubious platform at the top of a rope ladder, as it once was.

There aren't many, considering this must be something he's done since he arrived, but the drawings tell a story spanning three years and the evolution of a society.

And near the back of the book; leaving pages still unused, he's sketched a boy.

I don't recognise the face. He looks younger; maybe fifteen. His hair is rendered lightly; kept short, and his eyes dark. His jaw is still soft, the faintest smile pulling at one side of his mouth. His shoulders are a little too broad for his young frame and he wears a t-shirt with smudged pencil marks for dirt.

"Who is he?" I ask, stopping on this page.

"Nick," Newt says.

His eyes are sad as he gazes at the drawing opposite me, leant forward on his stool.

I remember that Nick died.

"You have his room," Newt continues quietly. "Then this-" he reaches out and turns the page. "Is George."

George is darker than Nick; the pencil pressed harder to depict him. His hair is a dark tangle, his skin a shade more tanned and freckles litter his face which is split in a bright smile.

The next page is a lanky boy with lightly shaded hair hanging in his eyes and carrying a short sword in his left hand. "Stephen," Newt says.

And there are others, too.

And there's Justin. The only one I recognise. Sketched with a slight smile, in his running harness, his dark curly hair spread across his forehead.

"Have you drawn them all?"

"The ones who we've lost," Newt nods.

His fingers flex and his eyes wander across the book. I hand it back over.

"You're good," I tell him. "Really good."

"They shouldn't be forgotten," he says.

I can't help smiling at the almost bashful tone. "Learn to take a compliment," I tease gently.

A very faint smile pulls at his mouth and I stand up. I brush my fingers across his shoulder as I head back for the door.

"Night," I say again.

He replies quietly, voice slightly rough, "Night, Eva."

…

It's the following evening when I begin to suspect I'm losing it a little bit.

We finished jobs early because of the baking heat. Summer time – though there's very little difference. So it's still light when I finish in the shower, pull on a fresh sweater and my shorts and then head back to the Homestead.

Chuck took what I said to heart, apparently, because the pranks have slowed up. People have only been grumbling about leaves in their hammocks a couple of times in the last week and there's been just one more shower incident.

But apparently the heat got to him, too, because while I seem to be lucky, I see Lee and Dan both racing for their hammocks from the other shower block as I make my way past the Kitchen. Both of them clutch their blankets around their waists.

"Afternoon, Evie," Lee says brightly, even though his wet hair is in his face.

I crush my eyes closed and wave blindly. "Hope you had a nice shower," I say in his general direction. I hear his laugh fade away as he runs onward.

I quicken my steps for the hut I share with Alby and Newt. Maybe I'll stay there until all the boys are done for the night.

I slip around the door.

I'm wholly unprepared to find Newt stood by his hammock, back to me and also wearing a long blanket knotted around his hips. His hair is still damp and water drops run between his shoulder blades. The long muscles down his back, lining the indent of his spine shift gently beneath his skin.

I let out a squeak that surprises me and clap my hands over my face, spinning around. It suddenly feels kind of warm.

"Eva?"

I nod into my fingers. "Hi. Sorry. You, too, huh?"

I hear him chuckle lightly. I can practically hear him rubbing the back of his neck, as well. He sounds a mix between amused and self-conscious as he says, "I guess so."

I was headed for my section of the hut, but somehow that's no longer an option. "I'm just going to go," I say. "I'll see you at supper."

I move blindly for where I think the door is and my shoulder buts into a beam.

I hear Newt chuckle again. Something's changed, because he sounds more relaxed.

The sound sends a burning pulse up my spine.

Really? What the heck is this?

There's a muffled noise behind me, and then I feel his hands on my shoulders, steering me to the left. My skin heats under the touch, like sitting too close to the fire pit at night.

I see the low sunlight as a burst of gold behind my closed eyes and let out a breath as I step out of the shadows in the hut. "Thanks."

And I jog off towards Homestead, nerves jumping with tiny shocks of energy. My heart is beating just a little too fast.

It's not far to the fire pit, but as I watch the Sloppers piling laundry into one of the wicker baskets and the others gathering on the field for games, I veer away, into the tree line.

It's been months, but I can find the tree I first climbed as easily as though it had a giant red X painted on it. I've grown fitter and more nature-wise over the intervening time, and I reach the same branch I sat on in less time, with no scrapes.

I sit quietly as my mind spins.

Newt is one of my best friends.

It started with him cropping up here and there as I found a place to fit. He was one of the earliest constants for me. And now I'm not even sure what my day is like, or life in the Glade would be if he weren't in it.

But for some reason, my brain is fixated on the scene in the hut. I looked at him for barely a second, but I can still see his slim frame, the cord down his neck and the line of his shoulders; all lightly sun-touched skin with a few scattered scars.

It doesn't feel nice to be having a startling realisation that your best friend is unfairly attractive.

But even with that image in my head, it's more like it was a catalyst for something else.

It's the person he is that I gravitate towards; the slightly broken soul, so desperately sad and angry and yet one that puts everyone else first, worries and cares for them all; drew the ones he lost so they wouldn't be forgotten. The person who didn't want me in the Maze, but let me choose for myself. The person who lent me a blanket when I was sick, who got so worried when it was my turn to protect him.

And that's what it is, I know now; that nagging feeling at the back of my mind that replays fragments of memories between us.

It doesn't feel nice to be having a startling realisation that you see more in your best friend than a best friend.

I don't like it.

Except…

…

The new sensation doesn't totally go away.

Newt wearing his usual white shirt and dark pants when I catch up to the group for supper helps a lot. And he seems to have forgotten the incident, too, which is also good. I think.

I eat with him, Dan and Zart, all of us laughing, and it's easier to think my brain had a momentary short circuit. I've seen Stan, Lee, Dan and half the others in nothing but their blankets with the same prank, and that didn't send me into a mental crisis, so this shouldn't either.

Zart and Dan decide to take a turn in the Ring, and not long after they start, and the crowd forms around them, Alby sneaks over to Newt and I in the shadows.

"Newt. Can we walk?" he asks.

Newt nods. His fingers brush across my knee as he gets up and walks away. The two friends are already muttering, heads close together and I turn back to the fire.

The skin on my knee feels ticklish in the wake of the absent-minded touch.

I spot Stan across the fire, and I can't explain it when something he said a couple of weeks ago comes back to me.

Blondes are more your type.

I feel something in my chest, like a bubble of anxiety, pop without warning.

Have I always felt this way?

I sit forward, my fingers pull at strands of my hair, absently braiding them together.

The Glade is a hard life; most of the boys here are attractive in a wide variety of ways, from Minho who is probably in the best physical condition, to Zart, who is always smiling and making the best of it. It's just not something that I've noticed before.

So what if I've suddenly realised this about Newt.

What importance is it when surviving is a daily chore?

Newt makes his way back towards me. His eyes are preoccupied again, and all I can see is my best friend. My mind settles and clears.

It feels easier to breathe as he drops back down next to me.

Nothing's really changed.

Sort of.

…

"Some of the boys were shucking around at the back of Homestead," Newt supplies without prompting when he's sat beside me, elbows on his knees and curled towards the fire. "The back wall of the Keeper's hut came down."

I wonder absently who hit that hard enough to take out the whole wall.

"So you and Alby are pitching in tomorrow?" I ask.

He nods, glances over at me. His eyes clear a little and a jest flickers in them. "And you can stay well away."

I laugh quietly.

The last time I helped out on a building project, I ended up crippled.

And despite whatever epiphany hit me earlier, I loop my arm through his and lean on his shoulder as I always do without any conscious thought.

He's fire-warm and his body yields to my weight in a way that makes my heart twist.

For the first time, I wonder if I'm not the only one of us feeling this way.

It's a heady, wrenching thought.

"As you wish," I say in reply. "Just try to avoid any murderous trees."

INFO

1. Yes, in my head, Newt is an artist. He doesn't really tell anyone and he keeps it to himself, but I always thought he'd be the type to document passing time and the people they lost, so that's why he's drawn Homestead over the years, and the boys who died.

2. FINALLY Eva's connected some dots and realised she has feelings for Newt. She doesn't exactly know what they are and is still a little confused by them - and yes, it took her walking in on him half naked to force her to register anything, but the poor girl's quite blind in this regard - but at least she's got a clue now. Don't hate me - we are still a liiiiittle way off for the next step, but hang in there everyone!

3. A note actually on the changing relationship - Its obvious to you, its obvious to Fry, Zart, Stan and basically everyone, but for Eva herself, and Newt (though being this isn't from his perspective, its harder to tell), things aren't nearly so obvious and are a bit daunting and confusing. She can't remember ever feeling something like this before, and she has to come to terms with it. At the same time, she's putting things together and starting to get the feeling that she may have actually had the feelings for a while. Basically, its a bit of a muddle for her and on top of all of that, their situation hasn't changed; they're still stuck, still fighting to keep going every day, and Eva's just more practical than romantic, so she's got no issues laying aside her emotional drama when she has to. Newt is much the same, which is another reason its taking a while. I'm sorry to all of you who just want progress already XD but they're just not the kind of people who will turn into sappy romantics, so their progress is true to them.

So - Replies! (if any of you have accounts, please do log in, as I like to properly respond when you take the time to review, and its easier in pms than in chapters)

Nutmeg: First off, thank you so much for taking the time to review, and for leaving such a thoughtful one! It's honestly such high praise and amazing to hear that you think its one of the best fanfics of this nature. I'm always very conscious with OCs that you're throwing in a character the readers don't yet know and I think it can be a tricky thing. To hear that you like the pacing and her way of coping is really great. Like you said, there's just some things she can't do, and she doesn't want to prove herself; that's not who she is as a person and she's just as clueless and scared as the others.

Chuck's crush – harmless and rooted in comfort rather than attraction – was something I wanted to explore. It seems like other fanfics have boys calling 'dibs' on a girl (which I hate, but that's another topic) or have a bunch of them infatuated with the girl. But while they're teenage boys, they're also in a very unique situation which would have caused them to mature beyond those things, I personally think. Chuck comes from a different mind set. And while some attachment can form between them, I do think that Chuck and Thomas' brotherly relationship is important, so I'm not going to be interfering with it.

I'm glad you liked the contraceptive issue! It can be a bit of a sensitive topic (though I appreciate you brought it up), but as you said the situation is either not touched on, or handled in ways I hate. This was my attempt at fixing it, and it does seem to have been received okay.

As for Eva and Newt – Thank you! You hit on exactly the concept I've been working with. None of them have any real reference for what love is. There are many kinds of it. The Gladers love one another as family, but being in love with someone is different (I believe). Eva's not looking for it, she's not even thought about it and is still figuring out who she is, so it makes sense to me that she probably just wouldn't recognise it for a while. But I think that people on the outside of a relationship have an unbiased view and so can see it for what it is, even if they have no experiences themselves. Their memories of their lives have been wiped, but not knowledge of the world. As for Newt's awareness of the situation…I always thought he was just a bit more aware, but similarly, he's not really processed it.

And this is where some parts from his perspective might be nice bonus features for the story. It works without, but sometimes its fun to see other people's thoughts. So as for that, I am planning a series of bonus scenes and some of them are definitely in Newt's head :)

Kat: That's okay – I really appreciate you reviewing when you got to the end of what's posted :) Thank you so much; it means a lot to hear such high praise on this story! I'm really glad you like Eva, too (while hot headed and impulsive characters can be well written and fit nicely, that's just not how Eva turned out to be). She does have her impulsive moments, but on the whole, she thinks things through, and it's very nice to hear that you see her kindness.

Her relationship with Newt is progressing towards a romantic one, but there are lots of reasons it's been done this way. I have a real issue with stories that throw relationships at you; I fully believe they should evolve on their own by letting the characters carry them, rather than the author directing them. And at any rate, in a situation like this, forming romantic attachments isn't a priority, which is another reason it takes them a while to process things.

As for your story…I'm honoured that reading this has made you think about it some more, but bear in mind that this story isn't technically a romance. It was primarily a story I wrote for myself to explore a society (as well as fix pet peeves I see in other fanfictions). I wanted to study life in the Glade, the good and the bad, over the passing of time. Because of that, Eva's relationships with all of the characters, as well as her reactions to the Glade, Maze and other things are all vital parts of the story (In fact, I'm a huge believer that everything in a story should be there for a reason, so everything in this is). If the story you want to tell is primarily a romance, while it's nice to flesh out the world, you may not need to focus so much on everything else. Intent and genre are important in finding what your story should bring to the fore.

Anyway, thank you so much for such a thoughtful review. I hope you continue to enjoy it and I'd love to hear your thoughts on future chapters!

Emma: Thank you again! I'm glad you like how the relationship's been handled, and it's even more amazing to hear you love Eva and my writing itself! Hope you enjoy this next bit!

Chapter 17 - Teaser

"You should head to the Infirmary," I say. "Clint's there. He can get it properly checked over. Don't let him amputate anything. Are you okay?"

-To be posted next week-