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.*･｡. FLARES! .*･｡.
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008.
ACTING ALL TOUGH BUT
YOU STILL NEED A BANDAID.

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"Ow!"

   Kennedy released a sharp sigh, inspecting the cuts and scrapes littering her elbows. They were sore, as was the back of her head, and the red scuffs stood out in contrast to her pale skin. Kennedy grunted when she dropped a bandage to the floor, "Ah— shuckin' thing... stupid, stupid, stupid!"

   She was feeling tetchy.

   After successfully retrieved the bandage, Kennedy returned her attention to the state of her skin. It really wasn't looking too great.

   Terrible, actually.

Surrounding the small incisions were fresh bruises; blossoming like clouds, with patches of blue and yellow. It almost looked like her arms were moulded, and Kennedy wondered how hard she'd had to hit the ground for them to appear so quickly. Her body did ache, but she couldn't recall it well enough to know the impact to it's full extent — a lot of it had been a blur, especially when she hit her head. Most of that part was hazy. Though, Kennedy supposed she was lucky. They were all minor damages, aside from that achy, thumping at the back of her head, and the slight pain of her hips; but, Kennedy knew she would live. She was going to survive, there was no doubt about it, and she was rather glad. Any more damage, and Newt would have flipped — Minho was already seething. Upon coming back without Ben, then finding out what he had done while he was out of his mind, Minho nearly lost it.

   Kennedy succeeding in talking him down rather than letting him strangle Ben with his bare hands. Because, that was it — Ben had been completely out of sound mind.

   He was controlled by the sting in his system, not his own brain.

   Minho soon realised that, and felt bad about what he had said about strangling him. They all knew the sting was nasty, and vile, and ruined a shank's mind. Besides, like she had said to him over thirty times, Kennedy was fine. Enough so, that she would survive.

Thomas had ended up far worse, anyway. She recalled the cuts on his wrists, and the bruising on his neck, and cringed to herself. Really, Ken had gotten out of that with incredible luck. Sure, sight had been non-existent for her, temporarily, and a lump had come up on the back of her head, but she was brilliant in comparison to Thomas. Thomas. Kennedy still wasn't used to his actual name, nor had she figured out why it seemed so familiar to her,

Poor greenie had taken quite a beating, yet had still managed to get up and run for his life. He had even pulled her along, even if he had dropped her — which, was a complete accident. Kennedy was fine, anyway; she didn't blame him for letting go of her hand. The boy had gotten everyone else's attention through it. Plus, it wasn't like Thomas had thrown her on the ground and left her for dead! Not at all. But her hips weren't up to par, and she hadn't been able to stop herself from tripping. She got a mouth full of grass and an array of scrapes on her knees but other then that, Ben hadn't done much harm. Maybe the red finger prints on her shoulders were an annoying detail, but he hadn't been after her; he had been going at Thomas, and Kennedy had no idea why.

They were just lucky they hadn't ended up any worse. Although, Kennedy couldn't quite say the same for Ben.

Kennedy felt bad for him, if she was honest. She couldn't really believe that Alby wouldn't let her help him, even slightly. While he had been dangerous, he also couldn't control himself. Ben had just brought harm to another glader, yes— but he was ill, not of sound mine. Ben had been stung.

No one else saw it, that way.

Even the mere thought of it had filled Kennedy with anger. Ben was very deserving of help, in her eyes. Perhaps that was the guilt complex she had found herself with, but her point stood.

   Ben deserved better. He was deserving of help and deserving of a fair trial. There was more to the story; context that Alby tended to ignore. Something else was going on here, something bigger. Who got stung in the maze, in broad daylight? That had never happened for as long as Kennedy could remember. Grievers weren't supposed to come out in the day. They never had.

   What changed?

Grimacing, Ken dabbed at her injuries with a damp cloth. She was used to patching up other gladers, not herself, so it was an odd experience. Her hands were less smooth tying the bandages around her elbows. Strange.

Clint and Jeff had checked her for a concussion, to which she'd brushed them off and insisted she was fine. There was no present dizziness, and she didn't feel half as sick as she had done before, so they let her off and told her to get some rest. Newt had wanted the boys to patch her up — or so god help him, he would attempt to do it by himself — but Kennedy had kicked everyone out the medhut with the excuse of a headache. It wasn't a lie, but it was convenient enough for a means of getting them to leave. Kennedy didn't like, not want, want to be fussed over; they were only allowed to return when they had stopped. She didn't think it was worth any fuss; the girl was fine. Peachy. Her own injuries were the least of her worries.

She needed some time to think. There was a small part of her that hoped she could find a way to get Ben out of his punishment before sun down, but she was no idiot.

   Hopeful? Yes.

   Stupid? No.

   There was nothing she could do. Her hands were tied with this one. Alby had made it clear there would be no arguing; Kennedy had no doubt he would flip if she even tried to argue it, again. That was out of the question. She didn't fancy being banished with Ben when she was trying to stop any banishings, at all.

It wasn't like Alby to reprimand his she-bean. Of course, it was definitely not the first time that he had grown irritated by her battle over authority — she never undermined Alby, she respected him to the highest degree, but Kennedy didn't just nod and obey.

When Alby was in the wrong, she was the person to tell him. No matter the case, Kennedy always told him straight. He was wrong.

That was how it had always worked. Over two years, they had spent in that glade, and since she had met Alby, they had found a mutual respect. Maybe it was because he had been the first boy in the glade, and she was the only girl, so they both knew how it felt to be alone. Or, maybe it was because they felt a responsibility for the rest of the gladers. As if it was their faults, if something was to happen to them. Alby and Kennedy shared that feeling: the loud, glooming anxiety that came with leading a band of boys. While it had never been appointed to her as a role, everyone knew that the girl of the glade was of higher power.

   Kennedy just was.

She had fallen into it, naturally. Alby trusted Kennedy with their lives, as did Newt, and every kid in there. She looked after them, all the times she didn't have to. Kennedy wanted to. She adored them.

Both Alby and Kennedy would have done anything for the boys. And, even if they weren't always able to see eye to eye, they trusted each other. Both of them knew what it was like to bear the burden, and that was why Kennedy was usually the one to convince Alby if he needed to change his mind.

Not this time.

Irritated all over again, the she-bean todsed the damp cloth into a bucket of old rags. It was covered in blood and dirt, so it proved little use in cleaning up the rest of her. Only her elbows were clean and bandaged, but she didn't really care. The rest could wait. That was always something she disliked — patching herself up was a big bore, and nowhere near as gratifying as patching up someone else; however, the idea of someone else patching her up seemed worse, so Kennedy sucked it up.

She blew air into her cheeks and kept it there, lips pursed. That morning had been rough enough already, without their near deaths, and Kennedy was sleep deprived. Having been attacked, as well as lacking sleep, the exhaustion she felt had turned into physical and mental pain. Kennedy's mind was frazzled with her concerns, and worries, and her hips were aching more by the minute. There had been a moment where she debated calling it quits and taking that long-awaited nap, but it quickly passed when there was a knock on the door. Half-predicting it to be someone she didn't want to speak to right now, Kennedy didn't bother turning around. She muttered something under her breath and sorted through the cloths, finding a clean one, and dipped it into the bucket of water.

"Uh— hi..."

The voice pulled her from her messy train of thought, the puff of air slipping between her lips as she turned her to face the them.

Unsure of whom she had expected to see — probably Newt, or Minho — Kennedy still found herself surprised to see that it was Thomas who had entered the homestead. It made little sense to be shocked, considering the events that had just occurred. Maybe she was an idiot...

He had just been attacked, duh!

Of course he was going to visit the med-jack hut.

    "Thomas!" Kennedy acknowledged, a bit too enthusiastically. A hand brushed through her knotted hair, and knitted together with the other in a mix of fingers and thumbs. She smiled at him, "Hi,"

    "Hi," Thomas repeated without thinking much of it, as though he hadn't said that first — which, he had done. Mentally scolding himself, Thomas wondered how he could have been so stupid as to embarrass himself like that, "I already said that."

    "You did," she nodded.

    "Great."

    "It is?"

    "Not really, no."

   His cheeks had gone pink, but she didn't seem to notice. So, he continued, "You're a med-jack— right?"

Kennedy nodded, eyes twinkly.

   "That is why I'm here."

    "Jesus..."

    "Still Kennedy,"

    "Ha."

Thomas was starting to think that he couldn't go even a single minute in her presence, without saying something stupid. He was never a smooth talker, but was this the best he could do?

    "Of course, you're a med-jack." He nodded, "Obviously..."

    "Obviously," she echoed.

   Kennedy'd tone was as light and as playful as always, but he still felt embarrassed. Thomas continued to linger in the doorway, and wallow in mild self-pity. The events of the day had not been kind to him. Not only had he still no clue where they really were, nor what was happening or who had put them there, but he was attacked by a rabid teenage boy yelling it was your fault! What that had meant, he wasn't sure. Neither was Alby. But he felt bad for causing some sort of stress within Ben — though, it was impossible to have been his fault, whatever it was. Thomas had only been around two days, and he had hardly spoken to Ben in that time.

   Not only that, but Thomas had dragged Kennedy into all of the commotion. Sure, she had already been there, but she'd probably have gone unnoticed if he hadn't been talking to her. Without him the girl probably would have come out totally unscathed. That was his fault, again.

   And there he was now: being an total loser in front of her.

   The only girl around; the one that he couldn't figure out; and he was making a fool out of himself. His day had not been kind to him.

    "So..."

    "Mhm."

    "You good?" She asked.

    "Totally."

"Right," Kennedy smiled. "Ya gonna come in?"

   Thomas thought.

    "I think it's best I just stand here, for a while..." he sighed softly, tapping his warm cheeks to try and rid the red. "Where I can't go and embarrass myself, even more."

   She giggled.

"I meant, come in to get checked over." The danced from of her tongue, the tone sugary sweet and yet so teasing. It pulled him out of his empty trance, and another blush tickled his cheeks. Thomas was slowly figuring out that he was the type of person to blush; he couldn't remember whether this was normal and happened in his past life, but either way, Thomas was sure that Kennedy made him blush more than healthy. "That's why you're here, right?"

    "Right— yeah!" Thomas nodded and shuffled inside of the hut, nearly tripping over his boots as he did so. Again, with the endless embarrassing himself! "Alby told me to come get patched up," the boy waved a wrist, awkwardly.

Kennedy grimaced as she recollected previous events, although she couldn't not be curious as to what else Alby had told him when he had pulled him away from the crowd. She knew Alby wasn't an inherently bad guy, and he seemed to like Thomas well enough — more than she had ever thought he would — but it was unlikely he hadn't said even something to the boy. Ben had constantly shouted at Thomas that it was his fault, whatever it was, and the fact had made Thomas out to be awfully suspicious. Even from her viewpoint, that she tried to keep unbiased, it did seem suspicious, and she had been the one to see Ben attack him for no provoked reason.

   What did it mean?

Wiggling her fingers as she waved a hand, something that made Thomas' lips twitch up at the corner, Kennedy signalled to the cot before her and sent him a soft smile. He followed instructions to sit and rested his elbows upon his knees, hands folded together as she silently inspected his injuries. The movement had exposed most of the damage done to his wrists, and the blood surrounding the little crescent shaped wounds now crusty and dry.

    "Looks pretty nasty," she said, moving around the hut to grab a rag and some bandages. It had been a stating the obvious, but she wasn't too sure what else to say.

Speaking to greenies always came so naturally to Kennedy, but something about Thomas was different. Perhaps it was because he wasn't as naive as they tended to be during their first days. There'd been something totally different about Thomas, from the very start.

    "So do your elbows," he frowned.

"They're fine," she shrugged.

"Debatable."

Thomas resisted the urge to reach out and touch the bandages, his lips pursed tightly.

   He watched with soft eyes as she moved with purpose, and then realised how in her element she was. He hadn't been around long, so Thomas hadn't seen her working until now. Kennedy was swift on her feet and hardly spared thoughts to what supplies she would need to patch him up his wrists.

"Sorry," he said.

    "What for?"

   Thomas was taken aback by her words, didn't she hear?

Supplies in hand, Kennedy moved to perch on the edge of the cot next to him. She hadn't really wanted to stand up, knowing it would only put more pressure on her hips. It wasn't too bad, now.

    "Well— apparently it's all my fault, so..." his voice teetered off at the end, and his honey eyes stared at the cloth.

"Alby said, that?"

"Nah— he didn't have to."

"Ben," she figured.

"Yup."

The muscle in his jaw feathered, whether it be frustration or in misery, she couldn't quite tell. Thomas' tongue ran over the pink of his lips, and her eyes flittered down to the movement for a split second. Her stomach flipped.

   Kennedy allowed her stare to follow the edges of his face, gaze counting the freckles and moles like a pattern of constellations. A fragment of sunlight hit the high angles of his cheekbones, which made the slight grub on his skin looked sun-kissed. Plenty of boys had come up in that box, but Kennedy had never seen a boy that was like Thomas. She had only just noticed that this boy was very attractive, good looking — most of the boys were like her brothers, all very unappealing for that reason, but Thomas wasn't the same. She hadn't the chance to really look before, but now she was, and she liked what she saw.

She didn't like his new frown, though.

Kennedy sighed.

    "Look, Tom—" the name had passed her lips so perfectly, that she hadn't even noticed it. "—you've been here two days, and Ben wasn't in his right mind. Nothin's your fault,"

    "Then, why does it feel like it is?" Thomas whispered.

   Kennedy had no answer for him. She gave him a once over with her eyes, "Does anywhere else hurt?"

Thomas shook his head, and she nodded.

   Reaching out, Kennedy gingerly took his hand in her own, and pulled it to rest on her thigh. His hands were bigger than hers, she noticed, as she gently turned it over to see the underside of his left wrist. The water from the damp cloth ran down her fingers as rain drops on a window would, as Kennedy gently began to wipe away the mixture of dirt and blood. White slowly turned to red, while a silence took over the hut.

Thomas was transfixed by the she-bean — as gladers seemed to call her — as she patched him up. Her fingers moved so delicately across his skin, tender and timid. It was a feathery light touch that had him entranced. She was good at her job and, even if Thomas was only seeing her in action this once, he could tell that she cared.

   Kennedy cared. About him, about every boy in the glade.

   He could tell that Kennedy cared, so damn much.

    "What's gonna happen, to him?"

She stilled, momentarily. Her hands fumbled to tie the bandage and her teeth sunk down into her lower lip, tugging it harshly. The truth was, Kennedy knew what would happen to Ben. She knew; it was an inevitable fate.

   His sanity was gone, Ben had been stung and had already lost so much, but harming Thomas was only going to lose him more. You never hurt another glader; it was the golden rule, and Ben was the one to have broken it. Although, Kennedy supposed she had to, in self-defence.Kennedy finally looked up at him

    "Nothin' good."

   It was the response that Thomas hadn't wanted, even if he didn't know exactly what it meant, he didn't doubt her words.

   Another silence fell upon the pair, and Kennedy busied herself with tending to his wounds. Once she had wrapped his wrists, she moved on and inspected the rest of him for injuries she may have missed. Despite Thomas saying he was fine, Kennedy was adamant that he needed a full check up — she even went as far as taking his temperature, which was unnecessary in his eyes, but she'd opted to just ignore him when he spoke against it. This was mandatory; the med-jacks had to do it, no matter how much their patients tried to claim they were alright. It was kinda hypocritical, considering she'd objected to any kind of help herself. But, what Thomas didn't know couldn't hurt him. Plus, he would only complain more that way. His reluctance was already annoying.

    "I'm fine, Kennedy." He said, "Really."

    "You're not fine," Kennedy opposed, eyes settling upon the dark rings around his neck. Her stomach dropped and her hand moved to touch the bruised skin.

   His breath hitched.

   Oh, god.

   Thomas could hardly feel the tips of her fingers as they touched his skin, following the marks like a pathway down his throat. While the touch was light, the sensation that was left behind wasn't, and it lit his whole body on trembling fires,

   Skin tingling, Thomas dared to look at her. He hardly knew this girl, and he had no idea how she could make him feel such a way. It was a feeling that he hadn't known could be felt — something in his gut that felt so... foreign. Of course, Thomas remembered little about his life before the day prior, but surely he would remembered a feeling like this, if he had ever felt it. He didn't know what it was, but he didn't want it to go away. Thomas liked it an awful lot, even with how scary it was. It was a good scary, to him.

   While the feeling was unfamiliar, he welcomed it. Because there was something about Kennedy that was familiar— he couldn't put his finger on it, but he had felt it from the moment he had seen her and he wondered if she felt it, too. Kennedy was like a dream; or a distant memory.

    "Kennedy."

    "You..." she sighed.

   He reached up and gently grabbed her hand, holding it.

    "It's okay," his voice was only above a whisper, and she spared him a look. "It doesn't hurt."

    "Doesn't mean it's not there," she responded.

    "Bruises fade," Thomas said, which was a fair point. But it was only in hopes of settling her worry, and resolving the conflict that he saw in her eyes. She looked troubled. "It'll go away, real soon."

   Kennedy squinted playfully, "So, you're one of those guys, huh?"

    "One of what guys?"

    "The guys that act all tough," she teased. Poking him in the side childishly, the girl watched his lips twitch. "Like Minho, you are."

    "I don't act tough," he chuckled.

    "You do!"

    "No, I don't—!"

    "You definitely do," Kennedy shrugged her shoulders, "Doesn't make you tough, though — no one in this glade is as tough as my lil' Chuckie."

   Thomas' eyes shone at her words, how adorable.

    "Your Chuckie?"

    "Yeah," raising a brow, she mocked a look of challenge with him. She had seen Thomas and Chuck hanging out the day prior, seeing as Alby had made it the latter's job to show the greenie the ropes, and Thomas seemed taken with the kid just like she was. It was hard not to like the kid; she didn't know how anyone could be mean to him, not when he was so... Chuck. "He's my Chuckie. You got a problem with that, greenie?"

   He raised his hands in surrender, "He's all yours. Only ever talks about you, anyway. I'll never be his favourite."

    "Good that," she grinned, "I'm everyone's favourite."

   Two days into the glade, and Thomas knew that she wasn't even remotely wrong. It was already clear to him that all of the gladers adored her, and he wasn't surprised. The more he got to know this Kennedy, the more he liked her too.

   Maybe Newt had been right.

   Damn, Newt.

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