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.*･｡. FLARES! .*･｡.
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028.
AMBER CASE.
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   Her top was itchy.

   It wasn't as worn as her old one — which, she wanted back. As soon as they had showered, new clothes had been waiting. They'd said their old ones were done with; trash, essentially. Kennedy did suppose her clothes were trash, but they were hers.

   They had been, for almost three years.

Perhaps they were battered and aged, and slightly too small, and maybe they were fraying at the seams and ready to totally fall apart.

But, in spite of all the holes and shreds, and the bloodstains, she liked them. They had belonged to her and they were loads comfier than what she wore now: a long-sleeved, baby blue top with three buttons by the collar. She had opted to have them undone, letting her neck have more space to avoid the itchy, stitched hem. It was a tad too big, swamping her slightly. They had offered to find her an alternative, something smaller, but she declined. As scratchy as the top felt, it was very similar to Thomas'. In fact, they were all in the various shades of blue. Kennedy liked feeling like they matched; it showed a sense of unity, that they were all together. They were the group of gladers that escaped the maze together, and they were an unbreakable unit. She liked it that way. So, she kept the baggy top, even if it was scratchy.

Her pants were decent: a pair of beige khakis; unflattering, but a lot more comfortable than the top.

Kennedy's old clothes had been different. She missed her nasty, battered, blue plaid shirt. She felt at home in it. In these clothes, it was as if she was a new person. Kennedy didn't like it, very much.

The best part was the shoes.

They were tennis shoes, white and clean, and they actually fit. It wasn't like her old boots, which were trusty were poor-fitting. They didn't rub her ankles and leave sore blisters, and they were comfier than anything she'd ever worn on her feet. Her feet were snug, and comfy, and her new socks were clean and warm, too. Admittedly, it could be said that Kennedy was fond of her new shoes. She wasn't able to take her eyes off them as she swung her legs back and forth to watch the white streaks of movement, perched up on the cot, all but occupied with the sneakers. They were pretty neat.

Kinda...

But, Kennedy wouldn't tell anyone else that.

   No chance.

   Lifting her line of sight from her swinging feet, Kennedy sighed and peered around the room with squinted, judgmental eyes. The group had been ushered in after their showers and divided; mostly given different stations, with different doctors.

Teresa was close by.

She had been given the section two down from Kennedy, out of the way from the rest of them.

Thomas wasn't far, either. He was in the station next to hers, on her other side. Newt was further down, but close enough that Ken could see him, and Minho was opposite her. It hadn't taken much; little time passed before he was placed on a treadmill. She couldn't quite understand why, but Minho had been pleased. He loved that runners feeling.

"Woah— what's that?"

"A cocktail."

"Huh?" Newt frowned.

Kennedy brought her attention away from the runner, instead to the blonde a few beds down. He was staring at his doctor with that familiar look of uncertainty, that he had.

The man was holding up a needle, and she could vaguely spot a crease in Newt's brows. He had never really looked scared in front of Kennedy, she failed to recall a time he had been; other than the incident, he kept a relatively brave face. But, seeing that syringe, as small as it was, made his whole body tense — he looked scared. So afraid of it, the tiny thing. His eyes absently searched for her and it soothed him to find she was already looking at him. That made his heart rate slow, a little. Kennedy calmed him down.

   However, if anything, she was more tense than he was.

She didn't like watching her friends be pricked, and poked with needles. What were they even injecting them with? Why was their blood being taken, by the gallon? Kennedy was positive they were on their third syringe of blood from Thomas, and Frypan's biceps were red from the amount of jabs.

   Kennedy held Newt's eye for a moment longer, until a tall body had appeared in front of her. They were wearing a white lab coat, and she assumed a doctor had finally arrived to steal her blood too.

    "Kennedy, is it?"

    "Yeah," she blinked, tiling her head back.

   Beyond the lab coat stood a woman. She was blonde with short, perfectly curled hair; she had a straighter nose than rat-man and a small mole on her upper lip, and an air of confidence radiating off her like an aura.

   Her accent was different, a twinge similar to Newt's but not that distinctive. The lady wasn't tall but she wasn't short, and Kennedy supposed if she stood up they would be similar in heights. When she had entered another woman had followed, same lab coat but a different doctor, and headed over to Teresa. Kennedy looked back, catching Teresa's eyes briefly before the curtain was tugged around her station and the raven haired girl was no longer in sight. Lips in a thin line, Kennedy turned back to the woman and watched as an interesting array of instruments were placed onto the trolley by the side of her cot. Most of them Kennedy hadn't seen before and she grew worried. The only thing keeping her calm was that she wasn't hidden by curtains like Teresa had been, so Kennedy could still see Newt, Minho and Thomas.

    "I'm Doctor Blanchard," this lady — Blanchard — introduced herself. She gave Kennedy a quick once over, "Nice to meet you."

    "Right," Kennedy deadpanned.

    "Not a talker?"

    "Are you?"

    "Conversation can be nice, I suppose." She said.

    "What's there to talk about?"

    "Touché," Blanchard hummed, nodding. Kennedy wondered if she had annoyed the woman yet, but the blonde didn't seem to be particularly off-put by her attitude.

   Perhaps they had warned her that, so far, Kennedy had been an awful handful. Trying to throw herself out of helicopters, giving it little time before refusing to co-operate with them — that, handful.

    "Feeling alright?"

    "I guess," Ken shrugged.

Not at all.

It was a stupid question, really. Of course she wasn't alright.

A lot had happened, in the last twenty four hours. Hell— a lot had happened in the last week! Too much, even.

   Kennedy thought asking if she was feeling alright was easily the dumbest shank question she had heard in a long time, and she had spent the last week with Thomas yacking on and on in her ears; all sorts of dumb questions were his specialty. Shank seldom asked not dumb questions. Not to the gladers, at least. And yet, this woman's questions seemed to top his. It was like achieving the unachievable.

   Watching her friends die was hardly alright.

   It was taking a toll on Kennedy, that much was obvious, but she kept herself together — all of her emotions bundled into a pile, a neat little bow looping around them. She didn't plan to show these people any more of her weaknesses.

    "I'm going to do a few tests, Kennedy." Blanchard announced, raising a brow. "Is that alright with you?"

    "And, if it wasn't?"

    "Tests are mandatory," the woman said.

    "Is the stick in your ass mandatory, too?" Kennedy shot back. She wasn't sure how much time she had spent with Minho to get such a sassy response embedded in her brain, but she could have sworn she heard him snort. Blanchard, however, looked relatively unimpressed — although, there was a flicker of something in her eyes. Amusement? Irritation? Respect? Kennedy couldn't place her finger on it, and so she grinned harshly. "Whatever you say, Doc."

    "Thank you for your cooperation," Blanchard retorted.

   Kennedy huffed and peered past the woman's shoulder, eyes on Thomas' station, where she found his eyes already on her. He had a stank eye as he watched the doctor near Kennedy.

   When he noticed the girl watching him, his cheeks flushed. Not in embarrassment per say, because Thomas couldn't say he felt at all embarrassed about glaring at the unknown blonde woman who stood a little too closely to his friend, but perhaps out of his natural response when Kennedy was watching him: he got flustered with a mere glance. Every time.

Their eyes met, and Thomas' mouth quirked up at the side. His smile wasn't full of life, nor was it enthusiastic, but it comforted a part of her that she hadn't known needed comforting. It was like it was made to reassure her, because he somehow knew why she had started to fidget and crack her fingers mindlessly—a habit that she had never been fond of, before. Thomas watched her pinched face ease, her shoulders lowered an inch, and she suddenly looked much less tense than she had over the past twenty-four hours. Both teens maintained eye contact for a moment, needing not say anything to be meaningful, and just as Kennedy's lips twitched, Blanchard took it upon herself to tug the curtain closed and shelter Kennedy from Thomas' view. His smile dissipated.

Kennedy blinked.

She could no longer see any of her friends. Rather, her view was replaced by a light blue curtain.

Brows knotted, she narrowed her eyes upon Blanchard. But, the woman seemed to not notice — that, or she didn't care. Either way, the blonde woman wheeled over a medical tray.

Kennedy peered at the instruments laid upon it and frowned, a deeper level of confusion passing over her. She had never seen any of these before and she wasn't exactly sure what they did, but they made her suddenly feel like a test subject. Like Blanchard wasn't in anyway concerned for how the glade might have affected her health and well-being, but interested in what she could learn from it. Ken wasn't sure where that feeling was stemming from, though she knew it was from the same place as her skepticism of this whole situation — none of this felt right, even if she wasn't fully sure as to why. Her gut told her to take the syringe and press it to Blanchard's neck, an incentive to tell Kennedy where they really were and what the heck was wrong with this place, but she restrained herself. Newt had her questioning herself, being that he was the little voice in the back of her head that was telling her to keep her cool. He wouldn't be very impressed if Ken began threatening all these doctors with syringes.

"Now, these tests will be rather simple. They won't be anything too invasive," the doctor told her as she snapped on a pair of blue gloves. It made Kennedy flinch, silently. Blanchard rose a brow, "I expect you to tell me if you need me to stop at any given point, but these tests will be quicker if you comply."

Kennedy narrowed her eyes, almost challenging her.

"Show me what ya got, Doc."

"Very well," Blanchard removed the stethoscope from around her neck and placed it in her ears. "I'm going to pull the back of your shirt up to check your breathing," she did as narrated, "Take a deep breath in,"

She did.

"Let it out."

She did.

"And in, again."

She did.

"Out, once more."

She did.

"Your chest sounds clear," Blanchard noted.

Kennedy said nothing, but stayed still as the woman went on to check her ears and her temperature, both of which were standard.

   She then proceeded to shine a light into her eyes for any sign of head injury, making her look from left to right, which had bugged Kennedy more than it probably should've. Her head felt fine, if she got hit by a griever she certainly hadn't suffered any consequences, and when Blanchard said she was clear of concussion, the girl had to resist the urge to roll her eyes.

    "Alright," Blanchard said as she unstrapped the arm cuff that strapped around her bicep. "Your blood pressure seems normal," she explained, placing it to the side. "And your glucose levels look good," she ignored the way Kennedy glared at her and sucked the prick on her forefinger.

    "Good that," she muttered, sarkily.

    "I'll just need a blood sample and then you should be good to go," Blanchard explained, grabbing the items from the table. She noticed the girl stiffen up, "Problem, Kennedy?"

    "Why do you need our blood?"

    "To make sure you didn't catch any illnesses," Blanchard said smoothly, "You were out there for a long time with the wilderness and no means of hygiene," Kennedy had a feeling she was getting that from the vague smell that still lingered around the group, "It's just a precaution, so that we can help you get better before it could get any worse."

   Her explanation was so good, that Kennedy almost believed it.

   Almost.

   Something about it was slimy.

   They had taken half a dozen vials of blood from her friends so far, plenty more than Kennedy thought necessary for a sample. An already skeptical girl couldn't be lied to — she wasn't sure why the doctors would lie about that, or what it was to cover, but she had a bad feeling about it and her suspicions were growing by a mile. All of this was so fishy. And yet, Kennedy still couldn't figure out what made it as such, or why. What were they covering up? Why did the supposed saviours really need their blood? Why so much of it? This whole situation was so suspicious, and she debated refusing to hand over her blood so willingly.

   But the woman was already tying an elastic just above her elbow and wiping down her skin, before she had the chance to.

    "Nice and still," Blanchard spoke.

   She tapped the crease of Kennedy's elbow with two fingers and fiddled with the syringe in her hand, looking around for a vein. As she did so, Kennedy watched with cinched brows, wasn't she going to go ahead and do it, already?

    "I'm having trouble finding a vein," she noted.

    "So...?"

    "It's likely dehydration," the woman stepped back and tugged off her gloves, "I'm going to grab you something to eat and drink, and I'll be right back. Don't go anywhere."

   Kennedy squinted but didn't disagree. After all, where was she going to go?

   She wasn't going to hop up and leave her friends behind. There was still the sound of Minho's boots on the treadmill from outside her curtain fence, so she knew they were still out there. Kennedy'd no intention to leave unless her friends were going with her. And it appeared that Blanchard figured as much, because she sent her an easy nod and ducked around the curtain, disappearing.

   The girl pursed her lips and huffed through her nostrils, staring at the way the woman had left, before glancing down at her elbow.

   It wasn't long of waiting before the curtain shook as a shadow appeared from the other side, and Kennedy turned towards them with a bored expression, having expected it to be Blanchard back and ready to drain her body of blood. But, rather, when her stare flickered to the curtain, Kennedy was pleasantly surprised to find Thomas ducking around the blue material and peering about as a means of making sure he hadn't been spotted by any other doctor.

    "Greenie," she observed.

   For a second, her heart stung. Calling him greenie reminded her of Chuck and the thought of Chuck plagued her in guilt. She put the thought to the back of her head and cleared her throat. It had suddenly gotten thick, a lump building at the back of it.

    "Ken," he turned, smiling bashfully.

    "What are you doing in here?"

    "I wanted to make sure you were okay," Thomas shrugged.

"'Course I am, Tommy."

Tommy.

There it was, again.

His tummy turned, and he felt his cheeks heat up. It was weird — how Newt called him Tommy didn't make him feel such a way, yet Kennedy saying it made him feel all fluttery.

Clearing his throat, Thomas arched a brow: "You sure? What're they even doing with you, back here?"

"Tests," Ken answered with a shrug. Her legs swung back and forth, and she noted how clean he looked — almost younger, now all the dirt had been wiped from his features. It made his face look rounder, slightly. Less chiselled, less stressed. But Ken didn't fail to notice that his shoulders had yet to drop, and were still rigid, like it wasn't time to let his guard down yet. Thomas was on edge, more so now than before, and she wondered what had happened in the last fifteen minutes. It was as though something had rubbed him up in the wrong ways, and her brows pinched together in scrutiny, "Why are you really here, shank?"

He sighed.

Thomas peered back around the curtain and then pulled it shut, sending Newt and Minho nods, tucking back into the cubicle. Ken watched him closely as he walked towards her, getting so close that their noses almost touched. His voice was low, hushed when he got to the point, "I just spoke to the rat-man, and I don't trust him."

"...what?"

"He was asking me all these questions about whose side I was on," Thomas continued, watching her eyes shift in recognition. "And what I remembered about the maze, and WICKED, and stuff that I don't think he should've known about."

"What did you tell him?" She asked.

"I used to work for them until they threw me into the maze," it was the truth, "That I'm on our side," he said, "Us and our friends,"

"Good," Kennedy nodded, slowly. "Why would he ask?"

"I dunno," he said. "But it didn't feel right."

"Something about this whole place doesn't feel right," she told him what she had already made clear, and he agreed with a lower mumble. "We gotta be careful."

"He asked me why they would put me in there," Thomas spoke with confusion, "As if I would know..." he sighed, snapping from it when she placed her hand on his shoulder. Thomas chewed on the lower of his lips, "I just don't know what to think of this place. He's saying they saved us from WICKED, but why don't we feel safe? If this is as good as he makes it out to be, then why—"

"—why doesn't it feel any different?" She hummed, nodding.

"Exactly."

"What is this place?"

"I dunno, but we're gonna find it out." Thomas told her, head tilted up and his voice suddenly very strong.

He grabbed her hand and helped her down from the cot, and it all felt very familiar to when they were getting out of the maze. He made a good leader, an inspiring one, and Ken felt immense relief.

He believed her.

Thomas didn't like this place, either.

He believed her.

He tugged her forwards and pulled back the curtain, only for them to spring back in fright and shock when they saw who now stood on the other side: Janson.

"Ah, Kennedy." He said.

She scowled.

"Just the person I was looking for," he smiled, tight.

Thomas squeezed her hand tighter and pulled her back an inch, to which Janson rose a brow at him and fought a displeased face. It wasn't very well hidden. "Thomas, I thought you might've been all cleared by now."

"I was waiting for my friends,"

"Lovely," Janson mused, hearing him spit the word with added emphasis. He looked back at Kennedy.

   She narrowed her eyes, "Why were you looking for me?"

    "I was hoping to have a chat with you," he explained. "Like I did with my friend Thomas, here. I'm sure he told you all about it, just now." Janson's eyes travelled down to their hands. "From what I understand, you're the leader of this pack— the go to. I think it'll be beneficial for the both of us if we sat down and tried to find an understanding. I heard you've been a little less... compliant, than the rest of your friends."

   Kennedy's eyes flickered behind him, taking note of the gladers. They were watching closely, confused but intrigued, and she made an effort to not look threatened or concerned about Janson. With a final squeeze, she let go of Thomas' hand, and nodded at rat-man.

    "Fine."

    "Fine?" He echoed.

    "Let's talk," she informed.

    "Fantastic."

    "Not so fast," their heads turned as heels clicked their way over and a blonde woman appeared. Blanchard stared at him with dark eyes, "I think you'll find she's still mine, Janson."

    "Tests should've been completed, by now."

    "She's an Amber Case."

   Amber Case?

   Looking agitated, Janson clicked his tongue; "Of course."

   Kennedy and Thomas watched the man relent to the woman's stare, and he slowly but surely backed off.

    "You and your friends will be cleared soon, Thomas." Janson told him, "I suggest you join them, and let Doctor Blanchard and Kennedy finish up with her tests." He looked at the girl, "I'll have someone collect you when you're done and we can have that talk."

Kennedy didn't say anything, keeping her cold gaze on the rat like man, figured if she stared hard enough then his head may go up in flames. Unfortunately for her, nothing happened. She tilted her head and found Thomas looking at her uncertainly, and sent a nod for him to go; if Kennedy wasn't going with their friends, then she needed Thomas to go with them. She trusted him.

A huff passing his lips, Thomas complied with her silent orders and, after one last look to make sure she'd be alright — which she definitely would be because Kennedy could hold her own —, he'd turned back to Janson. He shot him a warning look, getting rather close to his face, and then slinked past. Janson watched with a mild irritation dancing in his features, before forcing a smile and leaving the way he must have come from. She let her body relax slightly, it being less smothering when his beady eyes weren't watching her. If she was honest, he made her uncomfortable. There was something off about him; he may have others fooled, but she didn't fall victim to the act so easily.

"C'mon, Kennedy."

Kennedy glanced at the boys as Blanchard hurried her back to her cubicle, catching the eyes of Newt as the curtains were drawn.

He rose a brow.

She nodded.

She would be fine, on her own.

The blonde seemed reluctant to leave but followed behind the others when they were lead out of the room, and soon enough, it was just Kennedy and Blanchard. Alone. Charming.

"Have these," Blanchard passed her a small juice carton and a cookie, the straw already stabbed into the hole. "Then we'll try—"

"What's an Amber Case?"

"What?"

"What's an Amber Case?" Kennedy repeated.

"I'm not sure that I'm following," Blanchard frowned.

"You said I was an Amber Case. To Janson," she iterated, raising her thick brow when Blanchard's face twisted. "See," she pointed out, "You remember saying it." Kennedy watched the doctor pick out the syringe again, before walking over and prepping Kennedy like she had the last time.

"Drink."

"I want you to tell me—"

"Drink,"

Spitefully, Kennedy slurped at her juice box.

It seemed to vex Blanchard well enough, but the woman kept her calm and went back to Kennedy's arm.

"Are you gonna tell me?" The girl asked through a mouthful of cookie. A few crumbs fell past her lips and she received a look for it, to which she frowned; "What?"

Blanchard rolled her eyes and tightened the elastic around her bicep, and Kennedy felt herself growing aggravated. Was it hard to tell her what was meant by Amber Case? Was that a difficult thing to ask for? She felt like Thomas with all of her questions, and her pestering, but she couldn't help it. She had a right to know, after all. Kennedy wouldn't consider herself particularly special, so what on earth did this woman mean?

"What di—"

"Deep breath."

"What? I just wanna kno— ow!"

The girl spared her doctor a nasty look when the needle made contact with her skin. Blanchard seemed satisfied, "Found a vein."

"Ya don't say..." she muttered, unamused.

Kennedy watched as her blood flowed up the needle and into the syringe, slowly filling up the vacuum of air. For a moment she was mesmerised, amazed by the contraption and the fact that her own blood was now outside of her body, it was familiar.

Her stomach twisted, and her eyes flickered up to Blanchard. It seemed that she was familiar too, only for a second, and then Ken snapped out of it.

"What's an Amber Case?"

"Nothing for you to worry about," Blanchard replied.

"Worry?" Kennedy echoed, "Why would I worry?"

"You can trust us here, Kennedy." The woman sighed, slowly removing the needle from her arm and sorting out the sample of blood. "You don't have to be so skeptical of us. I know it's new, I know you've been mistreated for a long time," she explained, "But you and your friends are safe here. With us."

It was quiet.

"I don't believe you."

"I think that'll change, soon."

Before Kennedy could question how cryptic the doctor was, a hand abruptly pushed the curtain across.

"Officer Kane, here for Kennedy." He said.

"Just one shot—" Blanchard took advantage of her rolled up sleeve and plunged a needle into her arm, injecting her with that same blue liquid that Newt and the others had received. Kennedy flinched but kept her lips firmly shut, "—and she's all good to go."

Kennedy scowled.

But, she complied when the man escorted her out of the room and towards where she would be talking with Janson.

"I'll see you soon, Kennedy."

She glared at Blanchard as she stepped through the door.

"I wouldn't count on it."

Blanchard watched her leave, stare taking in the mild limp she had when she walked, and looked at Officer Kane. She nodded at him, "Tell Jansen it won't take long."

He nodded.

"She'll be with the others, soon enough."

━━━━━━━☆☆━━━━━━━

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