Day Five Hundred and Seventeen

"Would you do it, if you could?"

The question came out of nowhere, distorted slightly, as if underwater. Ada looked up at the boy beside her, but his face was trapped in a beam of light reflecting off the glass, and she couldn't quite make it out. "Do what?" She asked. Her own voice sounded alien to her, something not quite right, but hers nonetheless.

"Get out of here. Go somewhere else." The boy gestured to the window, where an open sea of scorched land stretched for miles in front of them, blackened in places from the sun. Something red gleamed around his wrist. "Escape."

She scoffed. "Is that a trick question?" Ada glanced around at the pristine white walls of the facility around her, at the overbearingly sterile coldness that clung to her. The scratchy fabric of her plain shirt itched at her skin as she looked back at the wall of windows in front of them, thick enough to stop a bullet.

Or something worse than a bullet. They'd all heard the stories of what was out there.

"I'm serious." The laughing tone she usually associated with the boy was gone, his accent slightly more prominent. He looked down at her, and she caught a glimpse of deep brown eyes, threaded through with caramel. "If you could get out, would you?"

"Well, where would I go?" She asked. "They told us that there's nothing out there but death and destruction. I hate this place, but it sounds better than that."

"What if there was somewhere safe? Somewhere where those things don't exist. Would you go then?"

"That depends," Ada shrugged, "would you be there? Would you come with me?"

What she could see of the boy's handsome face twisted into a frown. "Maybe. Maybe not."

"You'd want to stay here?" She asked incredulously.

"Of course not." He replied instantly. "This place makes Hell look like a relaxing sauna. I just meant that... that maybe I wouldn't be able to join you, right away. Like, maybe they only send small groups there at a time or something."

Unease rose in her like a tidal wave. "Newt... what aren't you telling me here?"

"Nothing." He smiled, his face fully coming into focus now, younger and happier. "Just overheard the lab techs talking about a glade, somewhere green and full of life. It just made me wonder if that was something you'd... you'd be interested in."

"What glade?" Ada frowned, turning to face him fully. "Are they sending us up there? Did they tell you that?"

"They didn't tell me anything. But I heard them talking about a list-"

"A list? Of names? You said small groups, am I on there?"

"No." Newt shook his head. "No, no. Forget I said anything, really. I was just curious. Honestly."

"Newt–"

Someone was shaking her, a gentle touch of fingers pressed into her shoulder, just hard enough to shake her from the dream. Her heart was pounding hard and fast against her ribs, and when she looked up and saw the same face above her as she had in her sleep she wondered if she was still dreaming.

But Newt was older now, cheekbones slender and eyes more haunted, a slight dimple decorating his cheek as he smiled down at her. "Ada," he said softly, retracting his hand, "c'mon, wake up. Charles is serving up dinner, and I know you haven't eaten since this morning."

Ada hoisted herself into a sleeping position, rubbing at the crick in her neck from the angle at which she had been sleeping. "I fell asleep?" She asked in disbelief, fighting back a yawn. "How did I get here? I could have sworn I was in the map room..."

"Alby carried you back when you fell asleep leaning against the door." Newt shook his head, an exasperated but fond smile gracing his features. "I would have done it, but... well." He gestured down at his leg, at the bandages still wrapped tightly around it.

The splint was gone now, and he was walking mostly fine. But carrying strenuous weights was too much pressure, and he had to sit down after any more than fifteen minutes of movement. But just over four months after his accident, after days turned into weeks turned into months of peace, his ability to move unhindered was a blessing that he refused to take for granted. She had seen the strain that it had put on him to be so useless, so unable to help, unable to even move without assistance.

She, Alby, Gally, Nick, and Minho had been happy to assist, with even Avin wrapping skinny arms around his middle to support him along every now and again, but she knew it had bothered him to not be able to do something so simple as move by himself.

"The slinthead couldn't put me in a position where I wouldn't wake up feeling like a wrung out sponge?"

Newt chuckled, stepping back so she could swing her legs off the side of the hammock and clamber gracelessly to her feet. Now that she was more awake, she could smell the distinct aroma of Charles' chicken and vegetable stew, and her stomach grumbled loudly with longing. "C'mon you," He said as he nodded his head towards the dining benches, "let's get some food in you."

The others were already seated when she arrived, and she plonked herself down next to Avin and Alby, effectively cutting off their conversation. "Nice bedhead." Alby snickered. Like the mature woman she was, her only reply was to toss a bread roll at him.

"Hey," Charles scolded as he walked past, shooting her a stern look, "I spent all morning making those. Pick it up."

"He started it." She grumbled as she bent down to do as he said.

"What have we got in here today?" Minho asked idly, picking at his stew with his fork. "Carrots, tomatoes, green beans, cauliflower... and potatoes. Lovely." He shot an unimpressed look at Newt, who was sitting beside him. "You couldn't have grown some peppers at least to spice this thing up?"

"When we get pepper seeds then sure, Minho." Newt rolled his eyes. "If you're gonna be that picky then take it out on the creators, not me. I don't control our food supplies."

"It's a good thing, too." Nick said around a mouthful of bread. "If you did, we'd all be living off parsnips."

"What's wrong with parsnips?" Newt asked defensively.

"What isn't wrong with parsnips?" Avin seemed to have a personal vendetta against the vegetables, though no one knew why.

"You enjoying the life of a track hoe, at least?" Alby asked, steering the conversation towards safer waters. "Not as active as running the maze, but I can imagine it still has its charms."

"It's alright." Newt nodded. "Calming. It's quite nice, actually. Didn't really appreciate it enough the first time I was doing it."

"It's shoving seeds in the ground, what's so exciting about it?" Minho grumbled.

Ada leant forward, reaching for her own bowl. Newt had changed jobs to join the trackhoes only a month after he had woken up, finding the smell of the soil and the constant fresh air to be soothing. It helped him, she thought, though she didn't question why. She supposed it had something to do with the repetitiveness of it, of being productive without too much physical strain. There was always a job to be done there, whether it was harvesting crops or planting new ones, or simply organising seeds. It was a good way for him to stay busy even on days where his strength failed him and all he was able to do was sit there.

"What's on the agenda for this evening, then?" She asked. "Did you guys finish mapping, or do we need to get that done?"

Newt cleared his throat. "Actually, Ada, I was hoping I could borrow you for a bit tonight." He rubbed the back of his neck nervously, cheeks flushing a pale pink that had Minho snickering and Gally raising a very judgemental eyebrow. "Just to talk."

"Yeah, sure." She nodded. A strange jittery feeling exploded in her stomach that she tried hard to ignore. "After dinner."

"But, uh, we can help with the mapping afterwards." Newt directed at Alby, who was staring at them both with amusement.

"No need, we finished them earlier whilst this one was fast asleep." He kicked her shin under the table. "But you crazy kids go have fun. But not too much fun. I will be checking in after half an hour."

"Checking for what?" Avin asked.

Alby quickly changed the topic. "But there was actually something I wanted to talk to you guys about anyway." He looked around the small group, leaning in slightly to avoid any passing tables from overhearing. The other gladers seemed distracted by their meals and conversation, but they all leant in regardless. "I think I'm gonna pull out of being a runner."

Ada dropped her spoon. "You what?"

"But... why?" Minho asked, gobsmacked.

"We've mapped a lot of it by now. And the map room in shambles. Newt, you're great and all, but seriously what the hell are you doing to that place, man?"

"It's not that bad!" Newt said defensively. "I cleaned it yesterday!"

"You did not." Alby huffed. "There's maps all over the place, the model hasn't been updated in almost a month, and honestly with all the time we're spending in the maze we're not keeping things as updated as they should be."

"So you're, what, abandoning the squad to clean things?" Ada asked incredulously, trying very hard not to be offended.

For almost a year and a half now her and Alby had run the maze together, the one constant in each others lives. Even when other runners joined and left, he had remained with her, a steady comfort. Although he would be in the glade waiting for her everyday after her shifts, something about the thought of him not running with her anymore didn't sit right with her.

"Someone needs to keep a proper eye on the glade, and there's a few jobs where things are slacking because they just don't have enough people. I want to help out here as much as possible."

Minho swallowed, looking extremely apprehensive. "Ada makes a point though, Alby. Ennis is dead and we just lost Newt as a runner, if you leave too it's down to just Ada and me. Are you sure that's smart?"

Alby smiled placatingly at them. "I have every faith in the two of you."

Ada rolled her eyes. "Well I'm glad someone does."

—

The rest of dinner passed with few words between them, a slightly tense atmosphere hanging over them after Alby's decision. Ada tried not to let it bother her, but as the sun set and darkness stained the sky the heavy pit in her stomach refused to abate.

When the rest of the gladers removed themselves from the tables and wandered off to amuse themselves, Newt stood up and smiled down at her, offering her his hand with a curious expression on his face, as if he was testing something. Ada hesitated before slipping her hand into his, the heat of his skin burning into her own, and removed it instantly the second she stood.

"So, where are you whisking me off to?" She asked playfully as he led her away from the inquisitive and teasing eyes of the rest of their small group. His route became all too familiar as they headed towards the back of the glade, towards where the council hall stood proudly in the corner, blanketed by a half circle of dark trees. "The council hall?"

"You'll see." Newt smiled hesitantly. "Do you trust me?"

Ada nodded instantly, with an ease that nearly shocked her. "You know I do."

She thought he blushed, but perhaps it was the low light casting shadows.

The council hall was dark, the shadows at the edges pitch black, the only light the slithers of dying sun creeping in through the uneven roof. Newt grabbed one of the torches, lighting it seamlessly and shoving it into the ground at the centre of the room, creating a small circle of light for them to sit in, protected from whatever lurked in the dark.

"What are we doing here, Newt?" Ada asked, waiting by the door as he clumsily lowered himself down onto the ground, wincing as he laid out his leg. The walk over must have tired him, she realised, the strain of mild pain making itself known in the creases of his forehead and the crinkle of skin beside his lips. Newt looked up at her, gesturing to the ground opposite him. She followed willingly, settling across from him on the dirt. "Why are we here?"

Newt opened and closed his mouth, not knowing where to begin, that pink slowly creeping back into his cheeks. "I wanted to- I needed to say– damnit why is this so difficult?"

Ada huffed out an amused laugh as she watched him struggle.

"Don't laugh at me," Newt huffed, "I'm trying to help you here."

Now he had her attention. "Help me?" Ada rose an inquisitive eyebrow. "How?"

"Ada..." Newt picked at the red shoelace, a nervous tick she had grown to recognise. "You have helped me so much over the past few months. Before I... before I jumped, you helped me then, too. Even if it was just seeing you smile or joke around with Alby and Minho. You were always so light. I guess it reminded me of why I should keep fighting. And even when it all got too much for me, when I thought I couldn't do it anymore, you still stayed by my side and fought for me. You didn't judge me, you didn't yell, no matter how much I could tell you wanted to shake some sense into me. You were always just there, giving me a reason to keep going."

Ada took in a shaky breath, tears pricking at her eyes.

"The life I have here, with you, and Alby, and even Minho, it's good. You showed me that it was worth fighting for, and I don't think there'll ever be a way for me to repay you for that."

Ada shook her head, wanting more than anything to reach out and touch him. "You don't have to."

"I want to, though." Newt reached inside his jacket, drawing something out of his pocket. The gleam of leather flickered enticingly in the light from the torch, the firelight illuminating the shape of something supple and black. "I had a lot of spare time when I first woke up. I couldn't do anything to help the others, help find a way out of here, but then I had an idea for something I could do to help you."

He held out the object, and Ada took it with trembling hands.

A pair of thick black gloves unfolded in her palm, made from smooth leather and cut artfully to hug her palms and leave her fingers exposed, likely to make holding weapons and tools easier. They were clumsily made, clearly not done by an expert tailor, but the amount of care and love that was in every slightly jagged line and baggy crease was obvious.

She could practically see Newt in that hospital bed whilst she was asleep or in the maze, pouring over these gloves, that concentrated frown creasing his forehead as he struggled with the precise movements. Ada toyed with the material between her thumb and forefinger, a warm feeling rising up in her.

"You... you made these for me?" Her whispered voice cracked as she spoke.

"I had help." Newt smiled bashfully. "Avin's surprisingly handy with a needle and thread. I don't want to tell you how many times I stabbed myself trying to sew them together."

"You made me gloves." Ada whispered, cradling them in her palms as if they were the most precious thing in the world. They might have been.

"I know you don't like touching people." Newt said. "You've never told me outright, but I could tell. Every time you so much as brush fingers with someone you tense up and lose all the colour in your face. But you seem fine when it's through clothing, when you put a hand on someone's arm and they're wearing a jacket, it doesn't seem to bother you as much. And I look at your face every time, and I can see that you don't want to feel that way. It's like you want to be able to touch people, but your body stops you."

"Not with you." She said softly, her voice barely audible. "I don't know what it is. But when we touch I'm not scared like I am with the others. I feel safe."

Newt swallowed, obviously affected by her words. "I want you to feel that way all the time. I want you to be able to touch your friends without being terrified. I thought maybe those would be a step in the right direction."

"Newt, I... thank you."

"I also, uh–" He hesitated, choosing his words carefully. "I thought maybe practising would help. Slow steps, building your way up."

"How would I do that?" She asked, carefully laying the gloves over her thigh.

Newt slowly outstretched his hand on the dirt beneath them, palm down. Ada watched it, tension in her shoulders, but slowly did the same. Without the adrenaline that came with near death experiences or hushed arguments by the watch tower, that ever present fear began to well up inside her, nausea threatening to creep up as her finger brushed his.

Slowly, Newt linked his pinkie finger with hers, the other digits settling over hers tentatively. "Tell me to stop at any point, and I will."

Ada nodded shakily, staring down at their hands, trying not to let the panic overwhelm her. Maybe it's because she was so focussed on it, maybe it was because there was nothing to distract her from her pounding heart and the images flashing through her head, but the press of his skin against hers had her desperate to recoil.

Images of bloated flesh, roped with corded black veins, pressing in on her from all sides, assaulted her senses. She whimpered, eyes closing of their own accord, but she didn't pull away.

"It's okay." Newt said, slowly rubbing his thumb across the back of her hand. "You're doing it, Ada."

His palm covered the back of her hand, and she yanked it away without thinking, reaching for the gloves and tugging them on hastily. "I can't." She said throatily. "I can't do it."

"Okay." Newt pulled his hand back instantly, jaw clenched. "Okay. It was a bad idea. I'm sorry."

"No, I-" Ada ran a hand through her hair, mussing up the already tangled strands. "I want to be able to do this. I should be able to do this, I don't know why it's such a problem for me."

"It doesn't matter why," Newt said, "it just matters that it is. I will help you with this, Ada, but only if you want me to."

She hesitated, staring down at her hands, watching them shake with fine tremors she couldn't stop. She was so tired, all of a sudden. Tired of watching her friends walk on eggshells around her, never knowing how to respect the distance she put between them without alienating her entirely, tired of watching them shove each other playfully and hug and touch in the smallest ways that she was desperate to be touched in. She longed for the ease of it, that small intimacy that seemed so far beyond her reach.

"Okay," she nodded. "Okay... where do we start?"

—

Her footsteps pounded on the concrete, a thudding rhythm she felt echoing in her body as she kept one eye on the sky, tracking the colour that was slightly darker than it should have been. They were playing it risky today, she knew, the threat of the doors closing looming closer and closer until it was a shadow that chased her, biting at her heels. But the unknown corridors and new territories were too hard to resist, especially when they were making such good progress, cutting through the last few corridors of section eight.

Minho huffed slightly a few steps behind her, a thin sheen of sweat shining on his forehead. "We should really head back soon. Sky's gonna get dark fast."

Ada tucked the flyaway strands of sweat soaked hair away from her face, glancing back at him fleetingly. "How is your hair still quaffed?" She panted.

"You will never know my secrets." Minho winked teasingly at her, running a gloved hand along the side of his perfect hair.

It didn't even move.

"Okay now you're just showing off."

"I know my hair is marvellous and truly deserves to be admired in a museum," they rounded the corner, another endless slab of grey and green stretching in front of them, "but seriously, Ada, we need to think about getting back soon. We've covered a lot today, I'm sure Alby will be more than happy with our progress."

They rounded another corner, and Ada opened her mouth to agree when she stopped dead in her tracks. Minho almost slammed into her, stopping so abruptly he had to steady himself against the wall.

"Ada what the hell?"

She didn't respond, instead staring at something painted on one of the tall walls, her face as white as bone. Static sparked in her ears, a buzzing she couldn't get rid of, and she placed one hand on the wall to ground herself, putting all her energy into not passing out.

"Ada?" Minho asked, waving one hand in front of her face with a concerned frown. "Ada, what is it? You alright?"

Ada lifted her hand and pointed at the number one spray painted onto the grey stone in a glaring red.

"That's not possible." Minho scrambled for his backpack, ripping out the runner's paper, mapped full of lines and drawings that detailed their progress for the day. "Did we miss a section? Make a wrong turn?"

"No," Ada shook her head. "No, we were so careful." And it didn't matter if they had, she had long since memorised the halls and pathways of the maze that they had already covered, committing every infernal corridor and clearing to memory. They haunted her as she slept, plagued her dreams with the creatures inside it.

"But..." Minho leant back against the wall, looking confused and terrified all at once. She wanted to comfort him, tell him it would be okay, but she knew it would be a lie. "If this is section one, then that means eight was the last section of the maze. And if we've covered all the sections then that means..."

All the corridors and hallways, all the false doors and failed escape attempts, all of them lacked the one thing they were looking for: a way out.

Ada sank down against the wall, lowering her head into her hands. Her words were muffled into her gloves when she spoke. "There's nothing left to map."