In which there is sponge cake and recovery

AN: Sorry for the late update, guys! In short, my family and I have been looking to move house for a long time, and the ball is finally almost ready to roll, so there's a lot of mania in clearing up the house this week so we can get it valued. Haven't stopped all day. So here we are - enjoy!

We pick up more-or-less directly where the last chapter ended. By all means re-read to remind yourself first :)

Guest Reply - Emma: Haha, well I'm really glad you're enjoying it, just hang in there!

-notes at the end-

The Kitchen is set to rights without too much fuss.

The smell of burning still lingers, along with the blackened tables and pans, but after a rather simpler lunch than was planned, Frypan and the Cooks returned to their stations.

I find - watching them all duck into the entrance - I'm mildly impressed with their ability to just carry on.

I figure I shouldn't be, given boys have died in this Glade, and the injuries today were nothing in comparison, but I feel it anyway.

Not long after everyone settles back into routine, I'm kidnapped by Lee and Frankie on my way back to the Medi Tent. They frog march me up to the Bloodhouse, telling me they're going to cheer me up and keep me from moving my hand.

So I spend the next few hours on a stool in the Butchery and they clean knives, tidy the worktables, decide on rotas for next week and have a spirited debate about the best way to cram a decent sized deer or cow into the Box, as Lee thinks he'd like that more than goose.

They basically drag up any chore they can so they don't have to cut up one of the animals while I'm in there.

And I'm grateful for that, not to mention laughing, when the sun drops low enough that it's time to pack up.

We all leave the hut and make our way down the field, meeting up with the Track-Hoes as we go.

The Kitchen looks fine from the outside, but I can still smell burning straw from fifteen feet away.

Giving Lee and Frankie quick hugs for stealing me for the afternoon, I leave the two teams to themselves and head back for the Medi Tent.

It's not until I get inside and catch sight of Alex that I remember he was told to take a break from work, too.

I glance in the other partition on the way to the end, and I'm not sure if I'm relieved or disappointed that Newt is gone.

"Eva," Clint greets me.

He and Jeff have spread out their day's foraging on the workbench. They're working to organise the various leaves and berries into piles. Empty jars stand by. I can't help a mental grimace as my palm twinges in some kind of strange sympathy.

"Tell me they didn't let you move that hand today."

I laugh and shake my head. "No, it was all very 'Doctors orders'," I say. And then, because the question is starting to burn in my throat, "Where's Newt?"

Jeff gives an odd little half-smile. "Minho dropped by as soon as he and Ben were back. Frypan told them what happened. Newt looks fine; says the moments right after the blow out are a bit fuzzy, but that's it. I told them both to go, and Minho said he'd keep an eye on him anyway."

I nod. That's good. I think.

"And Alex?" I glance back at his section again. "He's still looking a bit…"

"Definitely concussed," Clint says. "He's a little confused, a bit nauseous and has a thumping headache. He'll be okay, but it may take a day or so. Stan's going to come and get him later then watch him overnight."

"Near as we can figure, he hit the back of his head against the table when it went over," Jeff says. "But that's about it. We're almost finished here and you're still banned. We'll see you at supper."

Sighing – I really don't like being banned – I reluctantly duck out of the shack, leaving them to their organising.

…

It's getting dark when we all gather in the Mess hall for supper. I slide onto a bench next to Zart and Rob with my dish of broth.

"How's your hand?" Is the first thing Zart asks.

My eyes drop to the pale bandage encasing my left hand. My thumb doesn't move too well with it on, but at least I don't have to look at the cut right through the lifeline of my palm. That didn't make me feel too well.

"Not bleeding anymore," I say. "Still stings a fair bit, but I've got some anaesthetic stuff on it. Have you seen Stan?"

"Was back in the Kitchen to help serve up," Rob puts in. "I think- there he is."

I look over my shoulder and Stan is sitting down with Alex and Scott. They all seem to be talking quite lightly, considering they were all in the fireball earlier. Stan's hand is wrapped in a bandage that matches mine.

He looks up and smiles at me.

Smiling back, I turn to the Gardeners sat with me. "At least he's okay," I say.

"Alex looks better," Zart says. "I didn't think he'd be eating anything tonight."

In just in the last couple of hours after I left him with Clint and Jeff, Alex has started to look better. "He'll be fine," I say, and it feels like it's all I've been saying all day. "Stan's going to prod him awake all night and keep an eye on him, but most of the dizziness usually passes in a few hours."

"It was Gally's Brew?"

Dan slides onto the bench opposite me, spearing a lump of broccoli with his fork but leaving it in his dish.

I half shrug. "Yeah. They got knocked into the fire and we didn't know it was flammable, whatever it is. The Brew caught light and shattered the jars and everything just –" I make a rolling explosion noise in my throat to finish the sentence.

Dan shakes his head, letting out a long whistle. "Ouch."

"Well," says Frypan from behind us. "If this is bad, I can blame it on that."

I look around.

Fry is holding a massive flat platter of beaten tin, and on it rests an enormous golden sponge cake, with a layer of jam pressed in the middle.

My eyebrows go up. Zart and Dan's mouths drop open.

"Is that…a cake?" Zart asks, like he's being shown a map of the exit to the Maze.

Frypan's smile lights up the entire hall. "Yes it is. And considering the hell we went through to make it – you'd all better love the shucking thing."

His voice is loud enough to carry, and a cheer goes up all around.

The nights of laughing and cheer are still too few and far between.

Frypan bangs it down at the end of our table and plucks a wide knife from his apron. "Come and get your cake!"

There's a stampede.

Dan, Zart, Rob and I stay planted in our seats, laughing, as the boys line up around our table, holding out dishes that they've hurriedly scraped clean from supper.

It's just a cake, but you'd think Fry was offering flying lessons.

It's a wonder he's never thought to make one before.

"Has he never made one before?" Rob asks.

He's been here a shorter time, and Zart claps him dramatically on the shoulder.

"Dude, he's never made a cake before."

The line goes down, boys heading back to their seats with little slices of sponge cake.

Frypan dumps slices into each of our empty bowls before he gets up, taking what's left of the cake with him.

"I'm going to hide this," he says, casting his eyes around the room.

He moves past us, and on the way, he tips a second slice of cake into my dish.

"Give that to Newt," he says.

He nods towards the opposite wall, and when I turn, I can see Newt and Minho just sitting down with the other Runners. Minho looks more carefree than he does during the day, and Ben's saved a slice for him, by the looks of it.

"Sure," I say to Frypan, eyes still on the other table. "Thanks."

I feel him hurry off back to the kitchen through the side door, cradling the last pieces of his cake.

In front of me, Dan chokes.

We all look at him in surprise as he coughs, eyes watering.

"Dan?" Zart asks.

"Holy…" he winces. "Shuck, what's he put in it?"

I'm already laughing.

"Goat's milk and two eggs…that I know of," I say. "And…well, some of Gally's Brew was going in it, too."

Dan looks at me, his eyes still streaming.

Zart gives his cake a very dubious look, but takes a deep breath and stuffs a forkful in his face like he's eating a pinecone, rather than sponge.

His face colours almost instantly and he swallows hard, sucking in a breath.

I'm still laughing, trying to hold it in with a hand pressed over my mouth. Rob gives me a look torn between horror and amusement.

All around us, people are spluttering and swearing. Two tables down, I see Lee take a bite and promptly spray sponge-crumbs over Eric as he tears up.

"Maybe it's an acquired taste?" Rob asks tentatively.

Dan coughs again. "Sure. You'll acquire it when you're dead."

Zart blinks rapidly. His colour dies down. "S'not bad," he says.

He shovels another piece in.

I turn to my own cake, a little concerned, but I force myself to stop laughing and pick up my fork.

I'm one of these guys now. I can't not try.

I put a small piece in my mouth.

The sponge is dense and a little dry, but it's not a bad texture. I think there might be a bit of honey in it, and something like blackberry makes up the jam.

But it's hard to tell with your taste buds being fried by the very strong rush of toxic acid that is Gally's Brew. For the first time, I wonder if we drink it every night in a diluted form.

And this isn't it.

I start coughing, but I've already swallowed, and the trail of zinging fire races down my throat.

Zart pats me on the back and Dan gives me a sympathetic look.

"He's trying to kill us," I manage to say, through tears.

"Isn't it like a done thing, though?" Rob asks. He hasn't touched his cake. "To put alcohol in cakes? I'm not sure."

"You lace it," Dan says. He's finally talking normally again. "You don't drown it."

I'm laughing again.

"My tongue isn't working anymore," Henry says, somewhere behind us.

"Your tongue?" I think that's Frankie that shouts back to him. "This stuff is burning away my stomach acid!"

Not far from Henry, Gally sits, not affected in the slightest as he shovels in spoonfuls of cake and starts pinching bits from neighbouring dishes.

Though I figure it's not wise, I take a second bite.

It still burns – it's like someone's holding a sparkler in your mouth and you're breathing in chilli powder all at once. But my cough reflex doesn't kick in.

I wonder, as my eyes water again, if Zart has a point. It might get easier to bear with practice.

But still, maybe future cakes should leave out that particular special ingredient.

I use the back of my thumbs to clear the tear tracks from my face, even as I laugh some more at Dan and Zart, both fighting through the rest of their slices.

Glancing across the hall, my eyes catch Newt's.

He looks amused, which is always good to see on him as I know he hates this place like no one else. I figure that's because all the Runners around him are choking on their cake, but something in his eyes goes still as he looks at me.

A strangely warm feeling gathers in my chest that has nothing to do with the burning of the cake.

Making a decision, I turn back to the others.

"See you in a bit," I say. "Got to deliver this."

Dan smirks at me. His eyes are red. "That'll be good. If only they gave us a camera."

I start laughing again as I take my dish with me and slip between the tables.

I drop down sideways on the bench next to Newt.

"Nice, isn't it?" I ask the table.

Minho's eyes are streaming, which seems to be a common reaction. Doug's cheeks are dark as he winces and Ben hasn't stopped coughing.

"Amazing," Minho croaks. He tries for deadpan, but the crying spoils it.

"I love it so much," Dimitri rasps, face low over his dish and fist clenched around his fork.

Trying to at least keep my laughing silent, I push my dish in front of Newt.

"Fry said this bit's for you," I tell him. "Enjoy."

Looking a little bit alarmed, Newt's eyes dart from the dish to me, and then scan the room.

"You heard Minho," I prompt him further. "It tastes amazing."

He raises his eyebrows, eyes fixing on me now, and his expression clearly says 'You liar'.

"Don't be a chicken, Shuckface," Minho wheezes.

Newt, looking like he's doing it under extreme protest, picks up his fork.

Its nights like these where I can forget, just for a little while, that we're all trapped. It's the people that make a place, and this Glade is just as much a prison as it was yesterday, the week before, and on my first day, but the boys in it are family.

And having a family makes all the difference.

…

I quickly get annoyed with having to keep my hand relatively still.

"It has to scab properly," Clint tells me on at least three separate occasions over just two days.

I think I prefer having a bruise the size of a branch on my leg.

At least with that, I could still use both my hands without a second thought.

But each day when I get help changing the bandage and reapplying the salve, the skin is surely knitting together. I can move it more without that angry tug across my palm that reminds me of broken glass and too much blood.

…

Chuck begins counting down the days until the next Box arrives. There's less than a week to go and the kid is buzzing with anticipation whenever he's not actually asleep.

Frypan thinks it's quite funny. Alby thinks it's to be expected. Gally could care less.

Chuck pulls a few more pranks to let out the energy.

Frypan thinks it's hysterical. Alby finds it mildly amusing. Gally threatens to make a noose.

…

Frypan announces, three days after the Kitchen Explosion that he is going to make a second cake.

Everyone decides that just one was probably enough.

He's convinced to try pancakes instead.

…

"Is there any of Gally's Brew in this?" Newt asks, dropping down next to me that evening. It's dark already and we're all gathered around the fire pit by Homestead.

Newt holds out a dish.

There's a flopped over pancake resting in it, the surface nicely coloured with a generous drizzle of honey syrup over the top.

I've never before eaten a pancake - that I remember.

I'm just slightly concerned there's another secret ingredient in it.

I can only shrug helplessly as Newt lifts his dish, eyeing his own pancake like it'll cave under the pressure and admit how it was made.

"Don't know," I say, truthfully. "Haven't been near the Kitchen all day. Dan took the eggs and milk down because Lee got scratched up by one of the chickens."

Newt casts me a look. He's amused, that much is obvious, but there's a hint of something softer and quieter there that I recognise from the day of his concussion, but still don't recognise.

"We didn't have chicken tonight," Newt says, with a questioning lilt to his voice.

I shake my head. "Lee dropped it and they scattered," I tell him. "Frankie called him a wimp."

Newt snorts.

I steel myself and use the fork to break off a piece of the pancake, shoving it into my mouth before I can think twice.

Its just a little soft in the middle, and the edges lightly charred, but what it lacks in flavour is made up for in the rich honey. It's sweet, just a bit sharp and leaves a tang on my tongue all on its own.

And it drags my memory back to kissing Newt; the hint of honey and the woods I tasted in him.

The thought jolts in my stomach and I cast it aside.

"Fry should stick to pancakes," I mutter, forking another piece into my mouth and humming contentedly.

Newt makes a choked sound and I wonder if he's trying not to laugh.

He finally starts on his own dessert, and for a few minutes, we sit in silence, the fire crackling in the pit.

Eventually, he looks across at me, nodding towards the bandage still around my hand. "How's your hand?"

And I glance down at it, too.

"Aches," I say, truthfully. I'm sort of beyond lying to him, now. "Bled a lot at first, but it's really okay."

I haven't asked him about that day; about what he remembers and what he doesn't. I'm not sure how to. I like us as we are now just as much as I feel the yearning for something else send a pang through my chest sometimes.

So we just continue.

I throw off this thought, too, and look up at him. The cuts on the side of his head are healing over quicker than my hand, and they're just pink lines on his skin now, one just touching the corner of his eyebrow. They'll fade before too long.

"My head's fine," he says, eyes focused across the fire. A smile lingers on his mouth as he teases, "Bled a lot at first…"

I laugh and whack him across the shoulder. He sways away from the hit, chuckling and seizes my wrist just a bit too late, grip gentle on the bandage.

It strikes me again that somehow we've come to know each other without words; he didn't even need to look at me to know I was going to ask.

So I just nod and lean into him as always, turning my attention to where Minho and Alby are wrestling in the Ring.

"Good," I say.

For a heartbeat, I think he's looking down at me.

But then he shifts gently and lets out a long breath; the warmth of it flutters across my neck. I feel him relax, and the niggling feeling dissipates.

I still want out; I still want to leave this place; I want that freedom, and I want it more for everyone here. But I still wonder if I'll miss the moments like this; the moments when no one is dying, in danger, angry or scared.

And I wonder if it's okay to feel like I'll miss it.

And then I wonder if I care.

Because we will get out; and I can miss my hammock, the fire pit, the animal pens and these dark evenings with Newt if I want to.

INFO

1. No real answers yet on 'Does Newt remember?' Sorry about that, all I can say, is its all worked out, so do your best to hang on and enjoy it until we get there :) Eva may not be quite so oblivious but she is still human, and the last thing she wants is to damage her friendship with Newt for something unknown.

2. After a quite manic plot chapter, this is a quieter one that is more about character, again. Balance and all :) And I wanted to show that while Eva's recognised a change - and in fact something has changed quite significantly - that doesn't mitigate everything she and Newt have built so far; their scene by the fire is a very familiar one physically, even if there's a slightly different emotional tone. Heck knows if that makes sense...

3. The cake. Honestly, I don't think Gally's Brew is a dilution, but it could well be. Maybe something in the cake reacted, maybe Fry misjudged some stuff, or deliberately overdid it to give everyone a laugh. Its entirely up to you to decide exactly why it was quite so...yeah. Strong.

Sorry for no teaser this time - Can't find a good bit without giving away too much :)