Alright. Thomas is settled in front of her on a chair. There's an operation table beside him. Perfect for her to take his blood.

With a needle.

Great.

She has looked at it for a split second, and then looked right away.

It's so stupid.

"You don't have to. I'm sure there's other ways."

"Like what? Stabbing you to take some blood?" She spits out, frustrated. The girl sits down on the couch, hands sliding in her hair.

Gally plops down beside her, and wraps an arm around her body. "Instruct me what to do instead."

But she shakes her head. "I want to this. Only way of even getting over this stupid fear is facing it. And also, it's not like the needle will go in my skin. So it's ridiculous."

"I'll do it," Vince volunteers. "Not only my daughter but also my wife were familiar in the medical world. I'll manage, Joan, trust me. Just tell me what to do."

After a few more minutes of bickering, and assuring that they won't find her lame if she doesn't do this, Vince ends up taking Thomas's blood correctly, and she gets left alone so she can make the cure for Newt.

It's done after a while, and then there is the other struggle of giving him the injection.

She buries her head in Gally's shoulder. "How am I ever gonna become a doctor or a scientist in the Safe Haven if I can't even face needles?"

"Hey, come on now." He cups her face with a stern expression. "You'll manage. And if you don't, I'll do that work. Or you do science things that don't involve needles. But we don't have to worry about all of that now, alright?"

She sighs. "Alright. Vinc— Dad, can you give Newt the cure? Just inject it in his upper arm."

It feels weird to call him that, but somehow natural. She does remember him as her father, but it's the fact that she doesn't remember everything and that she hasn't seen him in such a long time that makes it weird.

Then Newt allows the man to give him the cure without a word, and also leaves without a word.

"Don't worry," Thomas says at their concerned expressions. Because of course, Thomas knows what's going on with Newt. "The Flare slowly makes you remember things before you forget them again and turn crazy. He told me some things that weren't exactly the happiest. And he told me something else after his outburst, which must've made him sad again."

Everyone except for Brenda, Jorge, and Vince in the room knows what he's talking about: Newt's leg, which he broke in the earlier stages of his life in the Glade.

Joan had remembered it and politely told Newt she now knew so she wouldn't be keeping such a private acknowledgment from him, and the rest had been there to experience the whole drama.

"I think I'm going to take a shower," she announces after a few seconds of silence.

Seems nice. A steaming, hot shower, with nice soap that'll relax her muscles before she throws herself into a death area tomorrow.

As she's lying her stuff down and puts on the shower in the bathroom they all share, she takes a look around.

Maybe not the best moment to say this, but she can't help it: "Gally, Thomas, Jeff, Newt, and Frypan... what hairs do you need razors for? You might've not noticed, but your cheeks are smooth like babies. Not manly."

A few groans. "Shut up."

With a chuckle, she returns to stalking what they use. There are multiple toothbrushes, all a different color with a different letter.

"Ahw, Gally, you have a pink toothbrush!"

"Not my choice," he grumbles from the living room.

She hums and opens a dresser. "I knew you did skincare, Fry!"

"We'll do face masks in the Safe Haven."

"Definitely," she agrees. "Is this hair gel a gift for Minho when we save him?"

"That's mine," says Brenda.

"What for?" Thomas asks, clueless, as always.

"To spread on my stomach so I can do the pregnancy ultrasound," she says, then sighs. "For my hair, you idiot. What else? I need a way to get those baby hairs out of the way."

"Cut them off."

"Jeff, I thought you were the Glade's barber and now you recommend to cut baby hairs off? Wouldn't recommend. You'll look like an idiot."

"I've always wanted to look like you guys, so it's okay."

"Woah, such a badass roast."

"So funny."

Joan puts her clothes down on the closed toilet seat, along with a towel. Then she—

"Jesus Christ!" At the sound of the door opening, she grabs the towel and covers herself, startled. "You could've knocked, Gally."

"Nothing I haven't seen befo—" but he sees her expression "—yeah, I should've knocked."

"What do you want?" She asks, not moving the towel from her body just yet. "And close the door."

"With pleasure." He locks the thing, then turns back around. "Well, I want a lot of things. But let's just start with a shower."

"I didn't invite you. Who said you can join?"

"Okay, you have a point. I'd just really appreciate it if you'd allow me to join."

She hums for a while. "Fine, then. But I'm taking an everything shower, and you're gonna suffer through it."

"I have no idea what exactly that is, but sure."

With a sigh, she looks up at him. "It literally means a shower in which you do everything. Scrub, wash, condition, shave..."

"For what? You'll be dressed in a suit and a mask tomorrow, so don't worry about Janson finding your legs hairy or your face dry or something."

"For myself," she says simply. "And partly for you."

"But I wouldn't care if you're hairy or don't scrub your body."

He says it with such innocence and confusion that it sends her laughing. "Okay. Only for myself, then."

As he undresses, he asks more. "Can I do it, though?"

"What part exactly?"

"Washing your hair."

Her heart melts, and she agrees faster than ever. "That would be awesome, Gally. Thank you. Now come on."

They step inside and— "Fucking hell!" He curses. "Why is this water boiled?"  

"Pff, it's perfect." She rolls her eyes, though she does lower the temperature a little bit for him.

Once they're both comfortable and satisfied, she tries to convince him to use some of the soaps she brought, but he insists that the all-in-one is way faster and better.

"Please? A one time thing! Maybe you'll like all the smells and scrubs. I made them myself!"

At that, he loses it. "Fine. Only because—"

"I asked nicely and you'll feel bad if you don't," she mimics, and spreads a lavender scrub on his back. "Well? How is that?"

"Very nice," he compliments.

She rinses it off. And just like that, she washes him with every single soap, and he washes her with every single soap. Whoever pays the water bill won't be happy.

"My fingers look like grandpa fingers by now," he complains. It's not the first complain, though. After fifteen minutes, he slowly started showing he got enough of standing under this water. Now it's been way longer than that, and he's done.

"You're still fine as hell, so don't bother," she replies. "Wash my hair now?"

He does seem a little excited about that job, and quickly gets to work. It's almost as good as the stomach massages— fingers and nails over her scalp, pressing and scratching a bit.

With a satisfied sound, she leans into him, and closes her eyes.

"I somehow knew you were gonna do something like that," she groans when his lips make contact with her jaw.

"Well, are you complaining?"

"Not at all."

As he continues trailing soft kisses from her jaw to her neck to her collarbone, she feels herself falling into deeper pleasure, and hums.

"Would it change the mood if I kiss your scars?"

Completely caught of guard, her eyes snap open. Yes, it probably would change the mood. Her mood. She'll probably start crying right here. Sobbing, maybe. Right on the shower's floor.

"If you're comfortable," he adds. "Sorry—"

"You may," she decides.

"Yeah?"

A nod. "Yeah."

He moves her hair to the side so he can reach her shoulder better. A Crank had bitten her there. Then he kisses the little scars she just gained now and then during her adventures in the Glade. Then a few of the bigger needle scars. The almost healed stab wounds. Anything that seems kissable, really.

And yup, these she goes, sobbing.

"I did not mean to do that," he says, taken aback. His mouth is half open as he pulls her into his chest, rubbing her back. "Don't cry— wait, do cry. Or, well, just do whatever feels right." Then he murmurs, "Man, I'm bad at words."

"You're awesome." She sniffs. "Not just in general. Everything is awesome." And more cries follow. She tries to stop, but then he makes one little movement or says one little thing that makes her burst again.

Her arms clench around him. "I love you so much."

"Cliche as it is, I love you more."

"No you don't."

"I do."

"I'd burn the whole world down for you. Kill anyone in my way for you," she states.

"I'd do the exact same for you. And so much more."

She exhales, not letting go of him. "Okay. We stand equally."

"Good thing to agree on."

"Yeah," her voice cracks at the memories those words brings. "Good thing to agree on."