Author's note: As promised, another chapter on this fanfic's second birthday. I hope you'll like the chapter, and if you don't, please let me know how to improve the writing for future chapters.

Chapter 37. Wait

The room was silent. Watching, waiting.

Thomas adjusted his new watch. The blue strap was made of some rough material that made his skin itch. He would get used to it soon enough. He was glad that they had given it to him when he'd gone to get fresh clothes from the laundry room. He could see the time in any room with a clock in it, but wearing a watch gave him a sense of security and control. He tapped the plastic clock interface, wishing he could speed up the time. He didn't see how it was necessary— waiting when everyone was in place. But when Joan said the meeting started at three, she meant it.

Two more minutes… They were there. All the Gladers and every Glenner, as was their right. The adults had chosen representatives. While the hostages kept by the Right Arm were their business, it was only that: business. No personal stakes other than to their research.

Just one more… It was respectful, at least, to let them all participate, sit at the table like valued members of the team. Although part of the team, it was a very distinct part. The groups sat mixed at one side of the table, the adults giving them some space besides. Joan had offered Alby a seat next to her, but he had sat down at the opposite side of the table next to his friends while glaring at her. Glaring at his mother, Thomas remembered, and he couldn't blame him for that.

Your attention, please," Joan finally began. "You all know why we're here. Brenda, please repeat what you told me earlier."

Brenda, sitting next to the older woman, cleared her throat. "The Right Arm will be traveling here by helicopter. When I contacted their leader, he said they should be fit for transport by midnight, and they'll start as soon as possible. The flight is around two hours, but I don't know how many helicopters they have. Definitely more than one, but that's all I know. I can't imagine them being very large, but then again… He also said that they would send the subjects here in groups, but he didn't say anything about the rest of them."

"What do you mean 'the rest of them'?" A burly man asked.

"They didn't say anything about it, but I think they're going to leave the main base behind, all of the Right Arm. They think they have this place, and the other one is falling apart. They will obviously send people with the subjects to actually conduct the research, and for some extra security, but I don't know if those people will be with them or behind them, and if they send everyone…"

"Then what?" Asked the same man. "We'll take the kids and shoot the scum once the helicopter's gone."

"No, you don't understand." Brenda shook her head in frustration. "The Right Arm isn't made up of soldiers alone. Most of them are normal people who didn't know where else to find a roof over their heads. We can't kill them."

"Then what will you do with them? We can't let them send warnings to their friends, and in case you missed it, our cells are full to bursting with them as it is."

Thomas decided that he didn't like the man who was arguing with Brenda. His cold eyes and sneering mouth, the fact that he actually called the Right Arm 'scum'…

"We'll stall them, then," Teresa piped up. "We get them to wait in their other base —the one nearby— until the hostages are all there. Get them to send them first and try to keep as many of the innocents as possible behind. We can do an ambush, like Thomas, Harriet and Alby did earlier. If their guards don't fit in the holding cells, maybe just leave them outside or something. They won't get in with all the security, and they won't have any leverage."

"Brenda, can you call Vince and tell him that WICKED can detect flying vehicles around this building, or something along those lines?"

"To get them to the second base?" She asked.

Thomas nodded. "It's like Teresa says, if we have all of our friends there we can save them at once. That way we won't risk anybody getting away."

"Hold up," Joan said. "How are you going to convince them to wait there for hours on end?"

Thomas, who had no idea, sank back in his seat, leaving it to Teresa. But the spark she'd had when suggesting the plan had gone out. She looked off into space, deep in thought.

The unpleasant man from before took that as a cue.

"See? It doesn't work. I say we let them come here in their groups, and then we gas them, take the Gladers and the Icers to safety, and kill the soldiers. If there are kids we can take them in, reeducate them, or if not, we kill some of the prisoners in the cells now and put them in there."

"We don't have enough gas," Joan said through gritted teeth, trying to remain objective and not show her contempt.

"When we run out, we hide and shoot them. I'm sure we can find someplace to put the bodies. It's only temporary."

Although most people looked rightly disgusted, there were a few nods.

"They'll keep causing trouble if we just leave them," said one.

"The time for peace is over," mumbled another solemnly.

"Stop. How can you forget the Flat Trans?" Brenda asked. "You can get more gas and send the prisoners away."

"Don't you know?" Wondered a man in a lab coat. "With the amount of energy it takes to use it… I don't know if we can even open it one last time, and we need it for mass-outbreaks and emergencies."

"This is an emergency," Brenda pointed out.

An argument broke out between those who agreed with Brenda and those who thought killing would be much safer.

"I've got it!" Teresa said. The brawling people paid her no heed. After a minute of Joan trying to break up the fight, silence was mostly returned and the attention fell on Teresa.

"We send Brenda to their second base," she said. Brenda made a surprised noise.

"They still trust you, don't they?" Teresa said. "You go there and tell them that the area around the building is a minefield and that they'll need you as a guide. They can't expect you to walk back and forth all day as the groups arrive, so you can wait until everyone is there."

"And how do I convince them of that?" Brenda questioned. She shook her head. "It's still no good. They think all of their people are here. It would look weird if I went there alone. They don't trust me on my own, since I worked for WICKED."

"Then make up a story," Teresa suggested.

"I've got an idea," Thomas said. "There's a man who was with the Right Arm when they chased us through the forest. He could have caught me, but he let me go, and he told the others not to hurt Newt and Teresa. It's not much, but I think he might help us if we talk to him."

People whispered, many sounding surprised or disgusted.

"Enough of that," Joan said. "This man, he's in one of our holding cells?"

"Yeah, his name is John."

"Brenda?" Joan prompted.

Brenda thought for a while. "Not the most pleasant guy, but he's more reasonable than some others. He hates the Flare more than anything, far as I know. We could use that to convince him."

"Joan, you can't trust the Right Arm, don't you know that?" Asked the man from before, angry disbelief plain on his face.

Joan sighed. "It would be a huge risk. He might overpower Brenda and warn the others." She looked at Brenda. "I cannot ask you to take such a risk."

"I can handle it," Brenda promised.

"Look, we don't have much of choice if we want to avoid a shootout," Alby pointed out.

"Fine, we can bring the man out to discuss," Joan relented. "If it doesn't work, we might have to send Brenda alone. And Brenda, you might need to gain the trust of the kids, in case they try something on their own. Bring a video-screen with you to show them their friends here."

Brenda nodded.

"Good. Now, for the preparations…"

Two hours had passed by as they worked out the details of the plan. The trap would be set up as it had been by Thomas, Harriet, and Alby, except in the lobby and the adjacent corridors. Brenda —and maybe John— would leave in a few hours. And Thomas would sit around, waiting for the large group to be detected on the cameras surrounding the building. Normally, he might've been burning with impatience to do something to help, but the long meeting left him weary and drained.

He stayed in the Big Room after the meeting was over, steeped in idle conversation with his equally tired friends.

Another two hours and he sat, just as tired, with a spoon in his hand, stirring the vegetable soup in front of him.

"Stop playing with your food and eat it," Teresa said, fed up with him.

He was saved having to come up with a witty comeback when Brenda entered, followed by John.

"I just called Vince, and he bought it!" Brenda smiled. "And we've got this guy." She pointed behind her at John.

"I'm with whoever finds the Cure," he said unenthusiastically.

The two ate quickly and went to gather supplies for their trek through the dark forest.

Thomas stood with Newt and Teresa, watching as Brenda and John were leaving. Brenda shook hands with Teresa and nodded at Thomas and Newt. John glared and disappeared through the open door. Brenda joined him, melting into the darkness of early evening. Although she closed the door behind her, a fine layer of snowflakes was melting on the floor. The cold wind that had blown inside through the gap was still present when Thomas went to lock the door.

"And now we wait," Teresa said.

"I hate waiting," Newt grumbled.

"We could do something fun. That ought to make time fly," Teresa suggested.

"How about a nap? That's time-consuming," Thomas said, punctuating the sentence with a yawn.

"It's not even eight pm, old man," Teresa teased.

"It's been a long day," Newt reasoned.

"I'm not gonna stop you. Go sleep if you like. Maybe everyone will be back when you wake up."

"That would be nice," Thomas said.

"Yup. I'm gonna go find Harriet and Sonya. Later, lovebirds." She left as blood rushed to Thomas' face.

"Did she say 'lovebirds'?" Newt asked.

"Yeah —I mean, I think so. Her idea of a joke," Thomas said, wishing the color out of his face.

Newt's lips twitched in a momentary smile, but his eyes stayed serious.

They started to walk back to their room, and Thomas could not get Teresa's throwaway line out of his head. She had asked him, back on the train to the Right Arm's second base, whether he had some form of crush on Newt. He hadn't thought about it much since then, but as before, he sensed a possible truth to the idea. He remembered the warmth of Newt's hand in his, and he would not at all mind feeling it again. He thought about the sunshine smile that made him feel happy himself, and the bravery and resolve that kept Newt going through the Flare, and how he admired it. He didn't look half bad either, especially when the run through the forest had been cleaned away. His hair had been cut to his shoulder and looked clean and soft.

But what was he supposed to do about it? What did it matter that he liked Newt if he didn't do anything with that knowledge? Under normal circumstances, revealing it would be nerve-wracking, but this was a circumstance involving the Flare and high stakes. Having his feelings unreciprocated would be horrible, especially if Newt distanced himself as a result, but there was more than that to be worried about. Thomas would need Newt's trust to ensure his safety while they were looking for the cure, and he certainly didn't want to cause any emotional turmoil. If Newt, like Thomas, hadn't given it much thought, he might spend a lot of time thinking about it, and such complicated matters would involve the brain activity which sped up the Flare.

He would wait until they were safe, he decided. Then he would say something, or maybe kiss him and hope he didn't get pushed away. He knew that he wouldn't hold it in forever, that he would tell Newt in some way at some time.

That was what he thought about as he lay in bed, and peacefully drifted off to sleep.

Waking up, he knew where he was, had no idea what time it was, and was instantly aware that he was alone. He dispelled the tendrils of dread that had tangled around him in his drowsy state, sitting up to clear his head. First: Time. Although he felt rested, his watch pointed straight at the three. His internal clock was offset by the odd hours as of late, but he was certain the time had not yet reached pm. Then where was Newt? It was much too early to be up and about, and too late for anybody else to be up. Was he downstairs with the other Gladers? It would be reasonable, but Newt was the one who had led the way to the smaller room when Thomas said he was tired. If he intended to bunk with the other guys, why wouldn't he want Thomas there? It made little sense that his friend would have left him asleep in a potentially dangerous place without as much as a mention of where he was going.

He was overthinking. He told himself to stop overthinking. He fell back on the bed and shut his eyes.

Even if he had been tired, he couldn't have slept. Newt wasn't some porcelain vase that could break at any point. He could more than handle himself. But the Flare —lways the Flare— planted doubts in his head, immunity be damned. It was unpredictable and sudden. No behavior out of the ordinary should be taken lightly. He had no idea what was out there in the building, but the Maze had taught him that danger could lurk behind any corner. A Crank, an angry guard… Newt himself was a danger, with the Flare in his mind especially.

He was out the door in a blink, headed to the basement. Rather safe than sorry, though safe in this case would be embarrassed. The fluorescent lighting had a dimmer glow for the night, but he would have preferred to walk in the light of the moon. If he ever got out, he would get himself a house with windows everywhere.

He slowed down as he neared the stairs. What would he do once he got there? Stare at the sleeping people in search of his friend, all creepily? He would prefer it if someone was awake, so he could ask, but the other boys already thought he was strange without him going to their room in the middle of the night to look for his friend.

He was saved the situation altogether when he heard faint footsteps. He followed them hurriedly.

He was about to ask Newt what he was up to when he turned a corner and saw somebody who was not Newt.

The man whipped around, hand going to a weapon at his side, but he relaxed when he saw Thomas. Just his luck, it was the man he'd seen before during the meeting, who had wanted to kill everybody in the Right Arm, and had continued making snide comments about it as the details of the plan were discussed. His name was Martins according to the name tag of his uniform. Thomas guessed he was out patrolling.

"Can't sleep?" Martins asked, much more kindly than Thomas would have expected. "Guess you've had a rough couple'o weeks, eh?"

If he was playing nice for some reason, Thomas might as well ask him.

"Yeah, I was looking for my friend, Newt. He's tall, blond—"

"I know. Even us guards know y'all by name. Not much else to do but watch and listen."

Thomas had an image of Martins and his buddies sitting down in front of a tv and eating popcorn. As the Gladers ran from Grievers.

"Sorry. We're all rooting for ya, if that helps."

"So, have you seen him?"

"Seen him? Darn kid near gave me a heart attack. Some people hang in the gym into the night, and you've got your early risers of course, but no one is there at three in the morning."

"The gym?" He hadn't heard of a gym before.

"Yup. I went to check that the lights were off, and then I open the door and see a person in there. They did too good a job on the soundproofing. I didn't hear nothing from outside."

"Where is it?" Thomas asked, impatience building up.

"Two lefts and then at the end of that corridor. But I think it'd be best if you went back to your room to get some sleep while you can."

Thomas ignored the last bit, mumbling a quick thanks before taking off. It was strange that the guard had gone from devising indiscriminate murder plots to being conversational. He supposed all bad people were not bad in all ways. The thanks still felt bitter leaving his mouth.

Turning the doorknob and pushing the door, the sounds of footsteps and machinery became apparent. He stepped inside, closing the door behind him, and was faced with Newt, who had just stepped off a treadmill.

"Tommy? The bloody hell are you doing up at one in the morning?"

"I came here to ask you what you were doing up at three. I woke up and wasn't sure where you'd gone."

"What are you, my babysitter?" Newt sounded annoyed.

Thomas swallowed. "I was just worried. The world's a dangerous place. Did you at least get any sleep before going here?"

"What, you don't think I can defend myself?"

Thomas began to feel embarrassed. "Of course you can, but what if you'd run into a Crank or something?"

"You think you could get a crank that I couldn't? I could knock you out in two seconds."

"Newt…"

"What, you don't believe it? Come on then, Shuckface." Newt had his fists clenched and looked intent on a fight.

"No. I don't want to fight you, I believe you," Thomas said hastily, backing away. Newt had always been strong, that was one of the first things he'd noticed about him. Though the two of them had gotten more even over time, Newt's height would give him an advantage, and if the Flare was playing its games, he wouldn't hold back.

Newt shook his head and went back to the treadmill, ignoring Thomas.

Thomas watched as the machine sped up. Though Newt kept up with the pace, his limp made the run awkward. Thomas wondered if it hurt, but decided not to bring it up.

"Why go here of all places?" He asked instead.

After the ensuing silence, he did not expect a reply.

"Don't you feel different?" Newt asked, slowing to a jog before stepping off the machine again.

"Different how?"
"Physically, from the Maze 'til now. It's not the same."

"I hadn't thought about that." Thomas had been in good shape upon entering the Maze, and felt much the same now, if not a bit stronger. "It's been a while since then. We were in the simulation for longer than we think."

"The simulation…" Newt said thoughtfully.

"Yeah, it'd be strange if being in some sort of coma wouldn't affect us at all. In what way do you feel different?"

"I'm weaker. I don't understand why. It doesn't make sense. It's… I don't know how to describe it. Not the same."

"You know how we were in large tanks of water while we were in the simulation. We must've been able to move in real life, or all that space wouldn't be necessary. They did the third trial while they were adjusting the technology, and we would've probably been still before that. I was in that trial for four weeks and exercised and stuff. Maybe your trial started later. I don't know. How long were you there? I don't think you told me anything about it."
"Not now."

"What about the time? Can you tell me that?"

"Not now!" Newt said sharply.

"Sorry," Thomas said. "Maybe it's the… um… The Flare. The brain is the control center of the body, so it could offset any number of things with the Flare. The Flare in there was fake, but what happened could have had some small effect on your real body."

He remembered Newt's pitiful appearance during their final encounter of the fourth trial, with his torn-out hair and thin body. He didn't look near as bad now, or even right after waking up from the coma. Still, he looked different from when Thomas had first met him in the Glade. Still tall, but more hunched over. His arms were still muscular, but didn't bulge as much. He was still captivating, but sadder.

"So you're here feel more like yourself?" Thomas asked.

"And it's easier not to think about the others. You said it's three in the morning. When did Brenda say they would start flying people over?"

"Midnight, and the route takes two hours."

"That means the first group has arrived. The Right Arm's pilots are halfway back to get more of them. They're just sitting there, waiting for something to go wrong and somebody to get hurt. Getting everyone there could take a day or more. There are so many things that could go wrong. And what are we doing? Waiting. Doing nothing to help them. How am I supposed to sleep when they could be killed at any moment?"

"Sleep deprivation won't help anyone."

"Lying awake for hours hoping to be wrapped up in nightmares won't help anyone either. At least now I'm doing something."

"I'm sure there's a way to fix—"

"Tommy, enough. You can get some sleep if you want. Just leave me alone. I don't want you here."

Thomas didn't argue. The only thing he'd gotten from the conversation was embarrassment and the sting of his friend telling him to go away. He wished he'd just gone back to the room after Martins told him where Newt was.

'What are you? My babysitter?' Newt had asked. He'd sounded so annoyed, so tired of him. It wasn't like Newt never got annoyed at him, or angry, if provoked. There was a difference. In a normal case, it was only brief and might result in some minor frustration. The Flare brought out the worst truths, and he'd told Thomas that he didn't want him there. Thomas would admit to being overly protective, but that was because he had to, wasn't it? At least during that time. It wasn't that he felt some need to be with him all the time. He was worried, and his worries had strong foundations. Newt could protect himself from many things, but not the Flare, it was clear after what had happened in the simulation. He had no desire to deprive anyone of the space they needed, but he knew that it would be infinitely worse to give time to lose hope. He wanted to be there to remind Newt of the future when he couldn't remember it on his own. Unfortunately, the reasoning was only fully understood by Thomas, who was nothing more than human and bound to make some mistakes. He told himself once again that he needed to persist. Keep going. Endure. Wait.

He would not wait uselessly, though. He knew that he would not be able to sleep more, so why not dig around a bit? The Gladers had been observed by video footage, but the conclusions of those observations and the plans for them had to be documented somewhere. The most useful stuff would be found at the main headquarters, but they had enough here to be able to do research, meaning there would be copies or at least separate discoveries.

The problem was that he didn't know where to find anything useful. He wasn't sure if there was an archive, and guessed the labs would be the safest bet unless he could find one. It would probably take hours of fruitless searching, but he'd rather know there was nothing to be found than wonder if there was something important he'd failed to learn.

He started off with the room he and Teresa had been in for the tests the previous day. While he'd been too tired to follow the scientists' conversation about the new results, they'd sounded excited. Hopefully, they had left their conclusions somewhere in that room, and it might be more coherent than the frantic discussion if he had any luck.

He felt like a thief, sneaking around the room under the cover of night. He wasn't a thief, though. He had every right to the information gathered from himself. He'd closed the door so he could turn on the lights, but the closed door made him anxious. He wondered how WICKED would react to finding him there. He was sure they wouldn't have left anything too sensitive laying about, but they might not realize that he was aware of it. He didn't want to cut their trust off when he finally had some freedom. He decided that being locked in a cell would be worth it if he learned something new before that happened.

He rifled through the drawers, trying to find anything of note. He made sure to put everything back in place when he closed the drawers in disappointment one by one. If he was found, at least he would not be accused of making a mess.

Half an hour's search led him to something promising. It looked like a pile of normal journals, but as he took one and flipped through its pages he immediately found a pattern. Each page had lines of computer text in the exact same spot, with handwritten notes underneath. He stopped to read and saw that the computer text said things like: 'Blood Value' and 'Difference in patterns'. The cursive underneath gave numbers and short answers. He'd found the results of WICKED's testing, it seemed. The dates on the tops of the pages were irregular, but fairly close to one another, dating back a few years. He looked at the measurements and how they had changed over the years. The only thing that consistently stayed a zero was 'blood value'. It was believed that the curing enzyme would eventually reach the bloodstream. Maybe it was referring to that. And they hadn't gotten any closer in almost a decade, it seemed. He looked for a name, to see who these values belonged to. Inscribed on the back of the book was 'Subject A1' in small letters, which he recognized as Teresa's title. He was sure she would be interested in the study if he told her about it, and glanced through it one more time in case he couldn't show it to her later. He worked his way back, noting the slight changes in brain patterns. His eyes, used by then to the identically structured pages, stopped on a page from a few weeks ago. There was another title, which read 'Telepathic ability'. 'Link to A2 weakened for reasons unknown' the text underneath said. He looked at earlier entries, but found that the researchers didn't seem to know anything about telepathy other than that it was there. Why had they stopped document it all of a sudden? Had they given up? Hit by an eerie feeling, he looked at the dates again. If the latest entry was made the previous day, then it was currently December. That wasn't what bothered him. What bothered him was the times of the other pages. Some of them had been written while Teresa was in the Maze and the Scorch. He wondered how they could have measured Teresa's blood while not being close to her, and decided that he didn't want to know.

He put down the book, looked at the others. There was one for Newt, another for Minho, and a few others as well. There were only a few names, and he wondered if that meant only they were studied or that their results were elsewhere. He hastily read through the one with his name on it, noticing that the notes on his telepathy continued throughout the book. It was strange. Teresa was more successful at the communication than he'd ever been. The newer entries on his ability said only 'weak connection', not exactly intriguing. Like Teresa, his blood value was zero, although the newest '0' had something more written beside it. 'Soon. Just wait.' That had to be a good sign, right? He put the book back in the drawer and closed it. It was late enough now that people would start to wake up, and he'd rather be gone by then. He'd spend the day trying to distract himself as he waited for Brenda and John to return with his friends. He was encouraged now, though. Out of all the information, those three little words at the end were what mattered. Soon. Just wait. They were close to a breakthrough. Now I just wait.