In which there is one last run

AN: Sorry for the lateness; I've been out on another all-day trip of househunting. Still no luck yet.

Yikes, guys - really amping up now and yet more answers are not far off :) Thank you again to all the endless and wonderful support this story has received, and continues to. I hope you enjoy this next bit!

Guest replies at the end, along with usual notes.

I don't know what wakes me just a few hours later.

The hammock sways slightly; a serene, lulling motion. I'm half curled in it under blankets that aren't mine and a dim blue light filters through the gaps in the walls.

There's a very soft, rasping noise not far off; familiar and soothing.

It's still very early.

I've been up at around this time before – when I was running through the Deadheads with my bow – and there's just a small window when it's light but before the Gladers wake for the day.

And then, out of nowhere, I realise the hammock feels kind of…empty.

And the second I look up, I realise why.

Newt is sharpening the blade of his machete with the smooth stone, sitting on his stool just a short distance away. He's already wearing his harness over his white shirt, and he's radiating a quiet vibe of resolve.

I watch the rhythmical shift of muscle across his back and shoulders as he works for a moment; the thin fabrics don't disguise his lean frame as well as I thought they did. A bubble of fierce warmth, something sharper than affection, swells above my heart. We've lost too much, and there's too much left for us still to survive. I shouldn't be thinking about it now. But it's there all the same.

I do need to talk to him. About this.

Then he looks up and his eyes – soft, unguarded – meet mine.

I watch his breath let out slowly. Then he sets the stone down and twists the machete in his hand, stabbing the point into the ground.

"Hey," he whispers. His tone is unfamiliar; has a hint of something almost reverent in it.

"Hi," I say, just as quietly.

Then I make myself sit up, letting the blankets fall into my lap, and I rake my hair away from my face with my fingers.

"Is anyone else up?" I ask.

Newt casts a quick glance to the door. "Fry," he says. "I saw him sneak into the Kitchen from here not long ago. I don't know about anyone else."

"Then we need to be up," I say. But before I actually abandon the hammock, I quickly braid back my hair, not caring if it's sloppy.

I'm tying it off when Newt speaks, and his words make me freeze.

"I know I kissed you, weeks ago," he says. "After the Kitchen. I remember that."

I look up at him, not daring to speak yet.

I was sure I'd seen that memory in his eyes, back when Teresa woke up, but hearing him say it feels finite in some way.

He sighs. The Machete turns under his hand, carving into the ground.

"There was never really a right time to tell you," he continues. "And when there was…I got the feeling you didn't want to push it. I know you remember; you weren't the one with a concussion."

I feel my breath rush out. "Yeah," I agree softly. "I remember. But I wasn't sure you did; not until Teresa was throwing the rocks."

Newt's eyes flicker and I figure he's piecing together his own puzzle. "You didn't want to put that memory on me, if I didn't have it," he says, realising for himself.

And I can only nod once, silent, because I'm struck – not for the first time – that he knows me as well as I know him. And I don't know when that started to happen.

"Would you rather I didn't remember?" Newt asks with something like vulnerability.

And that concept is sort of laughable. That memory is one of the most precious I have, and I didn't want to carry it alone. "No."

His voice is a little stronger, a deeper tone. "Would you rather I hadn't done it?"

And I give him a bit of a withering look. Even if I did carry it alone, I wouldn't trade it for the lifetime of memories that were taken from me. "No."

I shrug. "But you were kind of whacked out, so it's not something I want to hold against you, either."

He spins the machete again. "I kissed you last night."

I don't need reminding.

"That might have been me," I say. "And I think you get a free pass on that given we might have died."

I've spent so long keeping this to myself, that I haven't had so much time to get used to the idea that I'm not alone in wanting it. And I want to be sure that it's his choice, as much as it is mine.

But Newt's eyes are firm, locked on mine, and his voice low when he says, "I don't want a free pass."

I bite my lip. The pressing feeling of warmth in my chest feels like a wild hope.

Newt leans forward. "Do you?"

And I feel a smile start to pull at my mouth. I shake my head. "No." Silence gathers in the hut. But in the end, we've gone through too much for me to not be open with him now. "I think I want you."

I mean it in the most basic of ways. I want him in my life, however short it might be. I want more evenings in front of a fire, more chances to laugh with him; just his presence. A lifetime of stolen moments, if that's all we get to have.

And I think he gets that.

I didn't quite realise how strained and weighed down Newt was until I see something in him settle and lift. I can't work out what, but when he stands, a shadow in his eyes has gone. He's still tired and grieving – we all are – but my answer managed to change something.

It gives me the kind of bravery I couldn't find in the days following the Cake Explosion.

He pulls the side of the hammock towards him, and I feel the earth swaying.

"That's good, then," he says quietly. "Because I want you, too."

And I stretch up and kiss him.

It's gentle and searching – more like that day in the Medi Tent than last night. My heart twists, something I'm still getting used to but brings a sense of belonging and a rush of fierce heat that flares underneath my skin. I can feel my own pulse, a pounding rhythm, in the base of my throat.

But it lasts for just a few short moments before I pull back.

He steps away from the hammock, eyes rimmed with honey-gold.

The light is stronger, creeping towards a proper dawn as it filters through the branches of the walls.

And I know our time is up. We need to get moving.

Newt nods; he knows it too.

I jump to the floor, get my boots on and rewind the bandage on my arm.

"I'm going to find Minho and see how Thomas is," Newt says when I'm done.

I pick up my satchel and the bow I rested against the wall the night before.

"Go," I say. "I'll find the others."

"It'll be soon," he tells me seriously, and I know he's read Gally the same as I have; Thomas won't be allowed to hang out in the Pit while there's a vote – he'll just act. "Stay safe, okay?"

I swing the bow over my head, feeling the curve of the wood settle across my back. It doesn't tangle nearly so much in my braided hair.

It sends a warm shockwave down my spine when I reach up to him – standing on my toes to bridge the height difference – and kiss him once. I feel his mouth move softly against mine, even as I pull away.

"I'll find the others and stick with them," I try to reassure him, already moving past him for the door at a quick pace.

"Find Dan," Newt calls after me. I glance back at him.

He flips the machete around his wrist and arcs it over his shoulder, neatly into the scabbard on his back.

Show off.

"Just go," I retort lightly, smiling.

Newt shoots me a look that is a blend of amusement, exasperation, worry and something more like…genuine affection.

I don't stick around and my heart pulses as I run into the woods; a more covert approach for the Kitchen.

…

You've got to be shucking kidding me.

An offering?!

He's lost it.

I was with Stan, Lee and Dan just outside the Kitchen when Gally arrived with a posse of boys. I recognised a bunch of them as the Builders, and a handful of the Bricknicks, but also a couple of the Track-Hoes.

He didn't waste his time in declaring that people's – meaning Newt, though he didn't say it – judgement was clouded, and he was doing what was best. Thomas was being banished, and anyone who took his side would be banished, too.

Chuck, eyes wide, discreetly hurried away to update Newt and Minho.

And it all led up to the moment when we started to crowd to the Doors, because Gally had an unconscious Thomas dragged out. Only to drop the bombshell that he wasn't banishing anyone.

He's offering up Thomas - and Teresa, apparently - to the Grievers to placate them.

I can't quite believe he actually thinks it will work.

But then, it was something I learned about Gally a long time ago; the Glade is his home, and he takes threats to it very seriously.

I guess I just never expected him to lose it quite this much. He's never been hugely friendly or welcoming to me, and his default setting seems to be a mix of unimpressed and annoyed, but he's still been one of us; a scared teenager, doing what he can, and fighting to protect others in the Glade.

And this moment, as he argues with Teresa and demands that Thomas be tied up, I can't see that boy anymore.

Fear changes a person. For the better, or the worse.

But then Thomas is leaping up – apparently not unconscious, then – and Frypan is leaping in with his kitchen knives. Minho draws his blade and rests it on Gally's shoulder. Newt pulls his machete and uses the handle to knock a boy down. Chuck jogs behind them, rattling with all his hastily packed emergency bags as he hands out weapons.

It's over in moments; the coup of the coup was well arranged while the sky was still dark and the smoke still thick.

And this is what it comes to.

No longer an offering. No longer a banishing, either.

A choice.

Which is what Thomas effectively says; "At least out there we have a choice". He believes his words wholeheartedly. "We can make it out of here. I know that."

And maybe it's that blind, unfailing belief, but Winston is the first to walk forwards. I'm filled with relief to see him go, and to see the other Slicers start to follow.

Dan is stood by my side, and we both follow Winston into the shadow of the Doors.

After him, Jeff steps out and approaches us.

And then others.

They line up with us; Dimitri, Clint and Jackson; Lee, Frankie, Stan and Scott; Tim and a small huddle of the Sloppers; Jack and Rob with more of the Track-Hoes. Even Eric and Henry – apologetic – leave the Builders and trudge into our pack.

Until finally, despite Thomas' plea, all Gally has left to say is, "Good luck against the Grievers."

And I want to believe that a part of him means it.

He isn't coming with us. He was never going to.

There's nothing left for us to do, but turn our backs.

This is the last time I'll enter this Maze.

I won't miss it.

…

Minho and Thomas lead us a little way in, through a handful of complicated turns, until we stop between two walls to divvy up the emergency packs and share out the weapons.

Some of them are already prepared; Dan has a pack, Rob's clutching a trowel, Winston, Frankie and Frypan all have knives in hand and Clint and Jeff both have their usual satchels over their shoulders. I have my bow, pressing across my back firmly alongside the scabbard of arrows, and my knife, now tucked into the side of my boot.

"Okay," Thomas says when everyone's settled with their load. "Let's move."

"Whoa, wait," Minho says, throwing an arm across Thomas' chest to stall him. "Shouldn't someone give a pep talk or something?"

Thomas raises an eyebrow.

"For what?" someone asks, sounding dubious. "Motivation?"

Looking a touch amused, Newt says, "Go ahead."

Minho falters, casts his eyes across the waiting group, and I bite my lip to hide a smirk.

"Be careful. Don't die," Minho says.

"Great," Newt responds. "We're all bloody inspired."

I elbow him. He ignores me.

Minho shoots him a withering look. But Thomas seems to take the idea more to heart.

"Okay, look," he says, and eyes turn to him. "It's running from here on. We've got to get to the Outer ring of Sector 7. Stick together; if you trip or get tired yell out. No one's getting left behind today."

This sends a ripple of energy through the group.

Minho, Thomas and Newt all share a look, and then Thomas nods. "Alright. Let's go."

…

The pace is slow, compared to my previous runs.

Not everyone can keep up with Minho or Thomas, so we have to move slow enough that Chuck can keep up with his shorter legs, and Newt can keep up with his limp – though it doesn't seem to hamper him too much when running.

Thomas sticks at the front, leading us all through a winding route, while Minho brings up the rear to keep everyone together.

I'm sure that we're taking the most direct route, but it still feels more like a Maze than ever; there's left turns, right turns, ones that have us almost doubling back, or running in huge square patterns to reach openings to the next part. And that's just the Narrows.

I remember bits of the Middle Ring from my brief stint as a Runner. None of the paths come to mind, but the views do; the massive, long stretches of ground with the S shaped walls and weeds and creepers growing through the cracks.

Everything about the Maze feels forgotten.

We have to pause in a part of the Middle Ring to let everyone have sips of water and catch their breath.

I don't feel too winded, and Thomas, Minho and Dimitri look just fine. Even Newt, despite favouring his leg now we're taking a break, doesn't look exhausted by the run.

Without wanting to, I can't help but wonder which wall he tried to jump off of.

Have we passed it? Was it somewhere else?

Did he run into the deepest parts of the Narrows, thinking it was far enough he wouldn't be found?

I push the thought away as harshly as I can, swallowing a mouthful of water before passing the flask on to Jack.

When everyone is breathing okay again, Thomas, Minho and Newt fall away from their little pack meeting and rally the group.

Chuck's cheeks are still flushed red and a few people are still breathing deep, but no one asks for more time.

We pick up again.

The Middle Ring grows exhausting just because of its repetitiveness. This is exactly what Newt was talking about, and it makes me wonder if I'd have been able to handle being a Runner longer than the couple of days I did it.

The wide S bends we have to weave through feel longer than football fields and the concrete is hot under the sun, hard against our boots and sneakers.

Tim trips on a weed at one point, and Clint stops to wrap the graze, but we're moving again right afterwards.

And then the Middle Ring gives way to the Outer Ring.

We're in Sector 4, if the huge, somewhat weathered away number painted on the wall is any indication.

Out here there are large expanses of level concrete. There are no weeds. Perfectly straight cracks grid the ground that we run over and towering blocks made from dully shining metal are secured to the walls with concrete blocks.

I can't work out why, but something about the grid of cracks feels recent, and I don't want to know what happened.

We pass through, into the next Sector. I stop watching for the numbers.

One sector looks like an abandoned industrial site; walls at all angles, some overhanging others. One looks like a courtyard with tunnels off of it and slabs of concrete just waiting to block the exits.

Sector 7 is a very wide, open space. A flat concrete floor, surrounded by towering walls, and neat rows of tall flat panels, each mounted on a central post. The panels are made from the same dull red metal used in Sector 4, and the edges are filed like blades.

Thomas leads us across two rows and then up the third. Halfway down that, he slips between a row and runs on, only to change course again four panels later and run right down to the end.

We all follow.

Finally he leads everyone into the shadow under an overhang, right next to an opening in the wall.

It's an opening you'd never even hope to see unless you somehow knew how to navigate to the back of this Sector.

Thomas peers around the wall, and turns back to us with a tight, grim expression.

"Is there a Griever?" Chuck asks tensely.

"Yeah," Thomas confirms in a rush of breath.

"Shoot," Chuck barely mutters.

For some reason, I find this wild understatement funny, and have to swallow a laugh.

Minho extracts something from his pack. "You take this, Chuck," he says. "Stay behind us." It's a metal canister, with wire stubs protruding from one end. I'm not really sure what it is, but I remember Newt saying something about a Griever part – speculating over what it could be.

Right now, a tracker of some kind seems accurate.

Chuck eyes the thing in his hand with trepidation, Thomas' hand on his shoulder. Teresa ties back her hair with a piece of twine.

"Just stay with me," she says.

Thomas turns to the group.

"Once we're through it'll activate and the door will open," he says. "We stay close, we stick together; we get through this. We get out now. Or we die trying."

Adrenaline surges through my blood. I can hear my heart beating in my ears and the almost healed cut on my palm throbs under the wrapped bandage.

The faces all around look just like how I imagine mine; fierce determination mixed with hope and fear.

Thomas stamps his spear into the ground and leads the charge around the wall.

There's a walkway up the middle, with drops on either side, and at the far end is flat wall – a dead end, were it not for the deep grooves either side that imply it moves. Everything is made of stone, weathered by the ages, just like the Maze. Stamped high on the wall, half worn away are the letters W.C.K.D.

There is one Griever at the end of the bridge-like walk.

It seems to have been patrolling. Or lying in wait. And it wheels on us the moment we fly around the corner into sight.

Its hackles rise; the ugly mouth snapping and shrieking, the tail lashing around and the legs clicking against the floor as it stamps.

It charges us.

INFO

1. I'm quite fond of the first scene between Newt and Eva. Its actually undergone quite a few alterations since its first imagining. I'll explain more specifically when we reach the actual end of the story, but for now I want to focus on little bit of it. Both of them are being a little careful here. They're both aware that they care about each other, and that the feelings behind that are far more than platonic. But they're also both aware that the recent events and imminent danger can easily mess with your mind and the last thing they want to do is misinterpret each other. But specifically on the 'I want you' parts: I tried to make this clear but obviously, as always, however you want to interpret it is up to you. In my mind, there's two main ways you can read an 'I want you'. It can be a sexual thing, or something a lot more fundamental. In this instance, I think of it as the latter. While attracted to one another physically, that's not the focus of this conversation. Its very much about wanting each other's presence indefinitely.

2. Who's a Casper fan? I always loved that line 'Can I keep you?'. It doesn't translate directly, but I think that's a possible influence in that Neva scene. I always took that as Casper genuinely liking Kat; not because he had a crush on her (though, yeah, that's a thing in its own right) but because he liked her company and her spirit - she was someone he simply enjoyed being around. And he doesn't literally want to keep her; not like a toy or a possession or a prisoner. He wanted to keep her in his life. But he asked her first, and it was always her choice. (and if you're not familiar with Casper - heck, you need to watch it :))

So anyway, I hope I have some happy readers after that :)

3. On a less happy note, Gally. I've said before, and I still believe that he's not 'evil'. He isn't remorseless, cruel and sadistic. He's terrified. He handles fear and grief very differently to people like Thomas or Eva (who each handle it differently themselves), and in Gally, it manifests as a far more unyielding, proactive personality. I've always tried to write him that way, because I think to write him as a cookie cutter villain is an insult to him. He's far more complex than that, and his actions come from the mind of someone who is scared that everything he's ever known is falling apart. Instead of letting go and facing his fears, he's holding onto the shreds of what he knows. That doesn't make him evil. But even without being evil, and even if other characters can understand his actions, there are still ones they cannot forgive.

4. Totally unrelated. Started an Internship fic. 55 pages in since Friday. We'll see how it goes; not sure yet if it'll actually all fit together enough to share, but fingers crossed. (To be fair, I think anything after this story is going to feel less detailed and faster paced XD).

Guest Replies

Loving it: That's okay; I look forward to your reviews whenever you have time for them! And thank you so much for yet more kind words! I'm really glad you enjoyed the Griever Raid chapters, and that you liked how this story followed another part of the Glade through the night. As you said, its definitely better than just retelling the movie. And its great to hear you enjoyed Eva and Newt's moment, too. The poor guys probably had to wait long enough XD Hope you enjoyed this next part, too!

Little bird: Thank you so much! I'm so glad you like it so much and that you feel the pacing has been right throughout. I really dislike it myself when stories rush too quickly, or relationships are thrown at you, rather than allowed to grow, so I try my best to write the stories that I would want to read, and that's definitely true with this one. And its amazing to hear that this story has made you feel so much so far, too! Thanks for taking the time to review it - hope you enjoyed this next part if you decided to continue :)

Ashlyn: So first, thank you so much! Your praise on my writing means the world to me and its amazing to hear that you always look forward to reading the next bit, not to mention that it's your favourite fanfic (seriously; wow. I can't believe this is someone's favourite and it made my day to hear that).

Second, I'm glad you like the moments between Newt and Eva. In this story there will be no parts from Newt's perspective. Its a first person, limited narrative story. It was always going to be. That means that you go through the entire story in Eva's head only; you only know and learn the things that she does, when she does. Limited narratives can have lots of pros and cons. Personally, I love playing with them. But it does mean that you, as a reader, don't ever get Newt's thoughts on anything, unless he specifically talks about his thoughts where Eva can hear him. That said, I am working on a companion series of one shots that look at certain moments in this story, and those will be told from a variety of viewpoints, Newt's included. Scenes include Eva's arrival, Minho and Newt discussing her being a Runner, possibly the day she walks in on him after the shower prank, the Cake Incident, maybe the discussion around Newt's jump...

So effectively, while not part of this story, you may get those few insights into some moments/scenes. And I'm happy to take on ideas if there's a particular part you want from someone else's eyes. I hope that helps :)