Day Seven Hundred

The body lay at the base of the maze wall, sprawled against the stone like a broken doll.

She could do nothing but stare at it, her entire body weighed down by a thousand bricks, pinning her in place. Someone was screaming behind her, or were they crying? She couldn't quite tell. Sound was muffled, her ears stuffed with cotton. Everything was moving in slow motion around her.

The familiar head of blonde hair was what she saw first. His face was angled away from her – a small mercy, truly – but his hair was recognisable enough, streaked through with red that didn't belong there. One arm was flat on the ground, outstretched towards her, fingers extended as far as possible as if reaching for her even in unconsciousness. His lower body, suspended by the ivy, was twisted from where his leg was suspended from the twists of green, broken and mangled and bleeding.

She knew this scene. She had lived this scene. All she needed to do was collapse to her knees beside him, check his pulse, put her head on his chest. He was breathing, he was fine.

Her body moved as if the thought had commanded it, sinking to the ground without her permission. She couldn't control her limbs when her fingers came to brush his hair away from his forehead. They were coated in blood, hot and wet, it seeped through her fingers and streaked across his skin.

Strange, she thought, she didn't remember there being this much blood.

Her fingers pressed into his neck of their own accord, streaking blood against his pale skin. It was cold, too. She didn't remember him being that cold. She waited for the thready thump of a weak pulse against her skin, for that confirmation that he was still breathing.

Nothing happened.

Her heart began to beat in earnest, making up for the fact that his didn't seem to be beating at all. She pressed her ear against his chest, but it was still. She waited for the rise and fall.

Nothing happened.

She said his name – or she thought she did, at least. The lightheadedness was worse now, the world swaying. There was red everywhere.

He wasn't breathing. But he should be, she thought. She and Minho had gotten to him in time, hadn't they?

Something crinkled in her bloodstained grip. A slip of paper, stained red. The words were fuzzy, written in the very red she felt sticking to her clothes, to her skin.

Your fault.

Someone was screaming again. His body was blurry, growing hazier the more seconds ticked by. Those two words were running around her head, getting louder and louder until all she could do was clamp her hands over her ears and -

Ada was jolted away by a hand on her shoulder, and gulped in lungfuls of fresh air as she bolted upright in her hammock. Her chest was tight, and when she reached up a shaking hand to clutch at her throat she could feel her pulse pounding away beneath her fingers. Terror rose hard and fast, and she was drowning in it.

The hand on her shoulder tightened, the heat of skin the only thing grounding her to the earth. If they let go, she was sure she would float away, or sink into the ground. Her breath left her in a wheezy exhale.

"Hey, hey." A familiar accented voice cut through the haze of panic, the fog in her mind receding enough to process the scratchy material of the hammock at her back, the softness of the blanket tangled around her legs. She was too warm suddenly, and kicked herself free of the material.

Newt looked down at her with the first shred of emotion she had seen from him in what felt like a lifetime. Although barely two months had passed since their confrontation in the map room, she could have sworn it had been years since he had looked at her with anything other than disdain. His expression was still shuttered now, his walls firmly up in place, but even he couldn't hide the glint of concern in his eyes as he frowned down at her.

"Newt-" Her voice cracked unpleasantly, and she raised a shaking hand to cover her mouth.

He didn't reply, simply pursed his lips and handed her a glass of water. She grabbed it eagerly, emptying the contents within seconds. The cool liquid sliding down her throat calmed her enough for her to notice that most of the other hammocks were empty, and that a great deal of noise was coming from the benches outside.

Ada closed her eyes and counted to ten. By five, her pounding heartbeat had started to recede, and by seven she felt the trembling of her body cease. Nightmares and dreams were no stranger to her – she greeted them every night with welcome arms, desperate for a reprieve from her life in the glade, good or bad.

Taking a deep breath to calm herself, Ada looked back up, a thank you on her tongue. But Newt was gone, already making his way over to the kitchens.

Ada sighed, rubbing any remaining tiredness from her eyes. His distance stung, but was to be expected. She had given in on expecting any other response from him – after weeks of apologising and trying to talk to him, Ada had accepted that Newt simply didn't want anything to do with her anymore. It still sent a stab of pain and guilt to her gut, as tangible as a physical knife, but she had stopped trying to apologise a while ago.

"Let him come to you," Minho had said, a month ago as she stood watching Newt walk away from her yet again. She had nodded, certain that he simply couldn't be mad at her forever. But forever was long when trapped behind walls, and each day the bars closed tighter and tighter around her.

The dream still itched in the farthest corners of her brain, unscratchable and inescapable. His still and lifeless body, broken and mangled, burned into the backs of her eyelids. The blood on her hands, streaked in his hair, on his skin. She knew it was nothing more than a cruel fabrication of her mind, a tortuous 'what if' that asked the questions she couldn't escape from months ago.

What if she and Minho hadn't gotten there in time? What if they had never found him? Or worse, what if they had found him, but it had been too late, and they had stumbled upon the mangled corpse of their closest friend?

No, Ada thought harshly, running a hand down her face. Newt was still alive and breathing, walking again, better than ever. She had felt the physical proof of his heart beating erratically under her palms, of his lips against hers, of him desperate and wanting and so alive in her hands.

"I don't think you and I could ever be a mistake."

Well, she thought almost bitterly, he most certainly doesn't feel that way now.

Slinging her legs over the side of the hammock, Ada shoved her feet into her boots before joining her friends for breakfast, lowering herself onto the bench and trying desperately to avoid the mounting tension surrounding her.

Time in the glade wasn't quite right. It hadn't been for just over a month now. The days and weeks that followed her and Alby's conversation seemed to drag, hauling her along with them until she collapsed into bed, night after night, exhausted. Every morning she dragged herself to the wall behind the homestead, carving another line in the tally, marking another day and wondering how it had only been twenty four hours since she had made the one before.

Breakfasts were a quiet ordeal now. The other gladers seemed to have picked up on the tension in the air, or could sense that something wasn't quite right, because although the laughter and chatter was still there it was hushed. Muted. Strained. None of them seemed to know how to fix it.

"Where's Newt?" Nick asked as he sat down beside her, bumping his shoulder with hers in greeting.

"If I had a dollar for every time I heard you say that," Gally muttered as he sat down on her other side, rolling her eyes.

"Kitchens." She replied without emotion, gesturing with a spoon in that direction.

"He with that Frypan dude?"

"Siggy," Ada corrected half-heartedly, "and probably, yeah. They've become quite friendly the last few weeks."

"No one here is gonna call him that." Avin shrugged. "Siggy. Sounds weird. Frypan is much better."

"Just because he became a cook doesn't mean that's his whole personality." Alby said as he joined them. He tapped her ankle with his in a private greeting, shooting her a lopsided smile that Ada tried her best to return.

"He hit himself round the head with a frying pan pretty much the second he entered the danger zone," Nick scoffed, "the nickname writes itself."

"Maze today?" Minho appeared out of nowhere, scooting himself onto the bench with two bowls of porridge in his hands. Avin reached for one eagerly, but Minho was quick to bat him away with a spoon. "Oi, keep your grubby mitts off. These are mine."

"You're getting as greedy as Avin." Alby said.

"I resent that." Avin commented, but didn't argue. Two empty bowls of porridge already sat beside him.

Flashes of her nightmare cut across Ada's mind. "To answer your question, Minho, no." Ada shook her head, shooting a look towards the maze doors. They had only just opened, and the entrance still looked as cold and oppressive as it did every morning. "I think I'm gonna sit out today. Show the new Greenie around or whatever."

Alby raised a disbelieving eyebrow. "Damn, think I should get you over to Clint and Jeff for a checkup. Must be coming down with something. Nick, check her temperature."

"Touch me and I impale you." Ada said, warding off Nick's approaching hand with her spoon.

Nick shot her a bemused grin, "Ada, sweetheart, that's a spoon."

"An effective weapon." Gally said idly. "Perhaps she's hallucinating."

"Seriously, though," Minho leant forward, dark eyes fixed on her. Concern twisted his brow into a frown. "Not like you to want to show the new Greenie around. Or talk to them. At all."

"You always say they're insufferable for at least the first three days."

"You'd think people were insufferable too if you'd been repeating the same things and answering the same questions every month for two years." Ada grumbled. "Shit grows tiring after a while."

Alby kicked her ankle again, and when she looked up at him it was to find him staring at her with a serious expression, eyes swimming with worry. You alright? He mouthed, cocking his head to the side. Ada shot him a tight smile that she feared wasn't very convincing and nodded.

He saw through her instantly and she knew it, but instead she looked around at their little group, missing the one person that helped tie them all together.

Avin, Nick, and Gally were laughing and talking in hushed tones, and Minho was slurping down porridge at an alarming rate, winking at her teasingly whenever she caught his eye. Alby watched over them all, arms crossed like a disapproving father.

Ada smiled properly for the first time that morning. Her mind may be warring with itself, and guilt may be her constant companion these days, but at least she had this. Had them.

She wished, in the days that followed, that she had taken the time to cherish that more.

—

She was right. New Greenie's were insufferable.

But it was very hard to be frustrated with said greenie when the boy was considerably younger than herself, looking up at her from inside the box with the wide and terrified eyes of a child pleading for a familiar place or face in the crowd. He would find neither here, she thought as he was lifted from the box by Zart and Jeff, and deposited on the grass in front of her.

A horrible smell came from inside the box, and she didn't need to be a genius to know that the boy that could be no older than thirteen had soiled himself.

Ada gave him as comforting a smile as she was able to as she sank to her knees in front of him, making sure her hands were visible at all times and the dagger she kept on her was carefully concealed by her jacket. The last thing they needed was for the newbie to see the weapon and panic more than he already was.

"Hey," she smiled gently, crossing her legs beneath her. "My name's Ada. You alright, Greenie?"

The boy looked so small and frightened, and tears streaked the black smudges on his face. Thick brown curls coiled tight around his head, ruddy cheeks chubby and flushed. He opened his mouth to speak, but only a choked sound of pure fear came out.

"It's okay," Ada said softly, pure protectiveness slamming into her.

In that moment he reminded her so much of Avin when he first came up. Same wide eyes, although his were brown and not blue. Same red cheeks, same curly hair, albeit a different colour. Avin's hair had lost its curls as he grew older, falling flat and scruffy on his forehead now, and his cheeks had hollowed out as puberty began to make itself known.

She hadn't noticed the changes much, the differences in the fifteen year old she saw every day and the boy she had first come up with twenty three months ago, but staring at the boy in front of her was like looking into a window to the past.

"Can you take a deep breath for me?" Ada asked, as soothing as she could, watching as the young teenager closed his arms around his chubby torso and began to rock back and forth.

The greenie nodded and inhaled shakily, eyes darting around the glade.

"Good," Ada smiled. "That's good, Greenie. Now, we're gonna explain everything, okay? But for now why don't we go get you into some clean clothes and get some food in you. You just missed breakfast, but Frypan and Charles make a great stew and I'm sure they wouldn't mind whipping up a batch for you. Sound good?"

The greenie hesitated, eyes still watery, before he nodded and accepted the hand she held out to him. His palm was clammy and hot in hers.

"Great," Ada removed her hand from his quickly, giving him space to breathe and also giving herself a moment to adjust. Touching people was something she had grown used to, had grown fond of, even. But that was with people she knew, her closest friends, her family. Strangers were still trouble for her and had her anxiety skyrocketing. "Can you remember your name yet?"

"N-no." The boy shook his head. He was shorter than her by quite a few inches, only around five feet tall. Ada looked down at him and took a few seconds to study his clothing – plain beige t-shirt, large brown overshirt, sandy brown trousers. They had a similar pair somewhere in storage, she knew, and quickly instructed Zart to go fetch them.

"That's alright," Ada shrugged, smiling down at him as they began the slow walk to the homestead. "That's pretty normal. Took me nearly a full day and a head injury to get my name knocked back into me."

The greenie looked horrified.

"Uh-" Perhaps she shouldn't have mentioned that last part. "It's alright, you'll get your name back eventually, no blunt force trauma necessary I'm sure."

When the boy only proceeded to look even more terrified, Ada winced and quickly looked around, searching for someone to bail her out.

"Avin!" She cried out happily, spotting the familiar figure sneaking out of the kitchen with a bread roll stuffed in his mouth and a half finished wooden carving in his hands. He looked up upon hearing her voice, grinning around the mouthful of food. Ada waved him over, thankful for the break in the one sided conversation.

"Greenie, this is Avin." Seeing the two of them side by side struck something hard in Ada's gut. They were both so young, they didn't deserve to be here. None of them did. "Avin, this is the new Greenie. He hasn't got his name back yet." She held out the fresh trousers Zart gave to her and jerked her head towards the outhouses. "Go with him, get him changed, and then maybe show him around a little? Help him pick out a good spot to set up his hammock."

Avin nodded excitedly, swallowing down the rest of his bread as he shot a toothy grin at new Greenie. "C'mon shank, you can put your hammock next to mine. We have the best spot, right at the back of the Homestead."

"What's that?" The greenie asked, eyes fixed on the figurine Avin was carving.

The slightly older boy smiled proudly as he held it up. "Do you like it? I'm making it for Alby. He's the boss, you'll meet him soon. I made one for Ada too."

"How did you make that?" The greenie asked curiously, eyes alight with awe.

Ada couldn't help but smile. Putting the two together was a decision she was quite proud of – the hesitant smile that lit up the boy's face seemed to chase away any lingering panic he was feeling.

"I'll show you." Avin said happily, tucking the figure into his pocket. "But let's get you showered and changed first. You stink."

—

The bonfire that night was as enjoyable as she could make it, but even surrounded by her friends and family she couldn't help but feel isolated.

Gally and Nick were blabbering on about something to her left, Minho and Alby in hushed conversation to her right, and Avin and the new Greenie had their heads bent together and backs against a log as Avin taught him how to carve little figures from the wood they had collected from the deadheads that afternoon. The two had become inseparable after only a few hours together, staying side by side all through the tour and through dinner.

She supposed it must have been nice for Avin, having someone a similar age in the glade. Whether they had meant to or not, for two years now Avin had been considered the baby of the group, and they had handled him with kiddie gloves despite his growing protests. Having someone younger and with similar interests would be good for him in the long run, Ada thought.

But despite the flickering flames, a familiar and comforting sight to her now, and despite the sounds of banter and laughter filtering in from all four corners of their home, that persistent feeling of sadness wouldn't quite abate. It had stuck with her all day, clinging to her like a second skin from the moment she was shaken awake that morning by Newt.

Her eyes sought him out without meaning too, that feeling only growing when she found him conversing with Frypan over a few jars of Gally's recipe. Newt hadn't really touched his – she could tell by the awkward way he was holding it and how the sips he took were small and infrequent. He never had been too fond of the stuff. Memories of their first kiss by the fire swarmed her before she could stop them.

Newt faltered off for a moment, lips pursing as his eyes flitted about the glade. Ada's heart slammed into her throat the second his gaze met hers across the flames. Anxiety rose steadily inside her – she waited for it, for the disdain to cross over his face, for him to scowl and look away quickly.

But he didn't, much to her shock. Instead, he studied her just as intently as she was studying him, watching the fire play over his face, teasing the shadows and illuminating the gold of his hair. When he finally looked away, it was with a small frown and his teeth buried in his bottom lip.

Ada tapped the rim of her mason jar a few times, debating going over to him – for what, she wasn't sure; to apologise again? To ask him how his day went? Just to be near him? – he wouldn't thank her either way, she was sure. Her drink was empty. The kitchens were right behind him.

Ada rose without thinking, shrugging off the inquisitive looks Alby and Minho shot her as she wove her way around groups of boys and hopped over logs and misplaced stones. When she reached the kitchen her palms were sweaty, and she wiped them inconspicuously against her cargos, praying she wouldn't drop her jar.

Newt no longer stood next to Frypan, instead leaning against a lopsided wooden beam, cradling a glass of water in one hand. The other beat an anxious rhythm against his thigh. The shoelace around his wrist looked more tattered than usual, a sure sign that he had been fiddling with it obsessively. He avoided her gaze when Ada dunked her jar into the giant pot of amber liquid, refilling it as slow as she was able to as her mind span with excuses or sentence openers that wouldn't seem to form in her brain.

He wasn't leaving, was the first thing she noticed. Usually, Newt avoided her like the plague the second she entered a room, finding an excuse to suddenly be as far away as he could get. Now, standing so close to him, she could almost smell that familiar citrus and earthy scent she associated with him, could almost feel the heat of his body warming her in a way the bonfire was unable to.

"You can't be mad at me forever." Ada said without thinking, not looking up from the bowl. Her eyes widened the second the words left her lips, cursing herself for uttering them in the first place and wishing she could reach out and grab them from the air.

It was a lie, of course. Newt very well could be mad at her forever, she knew that. Knew it, and yet prayed saying otherwise aloud would make it the truth.

When Newt didn't walk away, or dispute her claim, or say anything, she tentatively cast her eyes upwards in his direction, inhaling sharply when she realised he was looking right at her. Those eyes, those brilliant brown eyes, stared right at her in a way they hadn't for two months now. Two long and terrible months of having him near but not close at all.

She dropped her jar onto the counter with a thud that was a little too loud, staring up at him with wide eyes. Newt swallowed heavily, eyes mapping over her face, charting out the freckles and the slope of her nose, those determined yet vulnerable eyes.

"I'm not mad," he said after a moment, voice throaty. Ada's hands started to tremble. "I'm hurt," he said, and that was so much worse.

He looked down at his drink again, just once, before depositing it on the counter beside hers, his exposed forearm brushing hers as he did. He didn't look at her as he walked away, keeping his head down low and his eyes fixed on the ground as he made his way towards the Homestead, vanishing under the canopy and out of sight.

Ada watched him go, that empty feeling back, feeling worse somehow than she did before she had spoken to him.