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EDITED FROM HERE
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.*･｡. FLARES! .*･｡.
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019.
SCREW THE RULES!
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Kennedy inspected Chuck's guilt-ridden face.
He had been quick during dinner. Quicker than usual. Chuck loved Frypan's cooking, but he never ate it that quickly. The boy had stuffed his face and run, and Kennedy hadn't failed to notice that his pockets were as full as his cheeks.
While his hands were fast, Kennedy's eyes were faster. Sneaks like him never got past her, no matter how good at it they were.
Chuck was very good at it, actually. Alarmingly so. She briefly wondered if he had done this sort of thing before — which was against the rules, but she would never rat him out for it — since the rest of the gladers sat at their bench had hardly even noticed how strange he was acting. Newt was none the wiser, Minho had been too busy brainstorming what the griever can could do, and Frypan was too sweet on Chuck to have said anything even if he had noticed. Only Kennedy made the effort to follow him when he shot up from the bench with a rather hurried night guys!
"Did you sneak food and water, for Thomas?"
At the question posed to him, Chuck giggled nervously, then he shrugged his shoulders at the same time as shaking his head, gaze averted to the ground. The guilty party was obvious, for he wasn't very good at lying, and Kennedy was far too good at knowing when someone was fibbing — especially when it was little Chuck. His chances of being caught red-handed had been a solid fifty-fifty split.
"Chuckie..." she pressed, quirking an eyebrow. "Y'know— you ain't very slick, kid. C'mon, just fess up." Still, he remained quiet, blushing and red. "Guess I'll just go tell—"
"Okay— okay!" Chuck sighed, "You got me. I thought he'd run better on a full stomach."
Kennedy smirked when the boy shifted his weight from foot to foot, gaze on the floor. Bless, the shank! Did he really think that she would rat him out? Punish him? This was Chuck; Kennedy wouldn't even entertain the idea of punishing him. Especially not when his heart had been in the right place.
She clapped his shoulder, "Good on ya, shank!"
"Huh?"
"I said good job,"
"You did?"
"Yes, Chuckie."
"Oh."
Relieved, Chuck beamed up at her.
His damp eyes glistened under the light of her torch, blazing an orange hue, and her brows cinched in concern. Chuck was sniffly, she realised, and his nose was tinged red. Under the light, it almost looked as if he had been crying. The thought made her stomach twist uncomfortably, and Kennedy fought the urge to baby him as if he were a wee baby. While he was young, she doubted he would want her to fuss over him and make a big deal out of a few tears. Chuck was brave, one of the bravest kids she had ever known, and she was sure that he would come to her if he'd needed her: above anyone, Kennedy was the person he would go to for help. Plus, if he had just come back from seeing Thomas, she doubted the older boy would have upset him. He adored Chuck, like she did. Had he done anything to upset Chuck, she would have murdered Thomas with her bare hands. Even if it was against their rules. He probably knew that, too.
Anyway, Chuck seemed positive enough. He didn't strike her as upset, more so a tad emotional. Chuck had always been sensitive.
"Are you gonna go see him?" He asked.
"'Course I am," Kennedy winked, "Don't tell Gally."
"Cross my heart and hoped to die." With the promise, Chuck drew the cross above his heart with the tip of his index finger and hummed, "He really don't like him, does he?"
Her nose wrinkled.
"He just doesn't trust him."
"Why not?" It was a good question, one that Chuck had a few ideas for, but none definitive. After all, he wasn't in the council and he had missed out on several important details that could probably tell him why Gally wanted Thomas gone. To Chuck, Thomas was the best person in the world — other than his Kennedy — and the newbie hadn't done anything wrong. Thomas was a good guy; but, Gally didn't seem to see that. Not like they did, anyway.
"He has his reasons, Chuckie..." she sighed through her nostrils and brushed a curl from his eyes with her thumb. "Why don't you head to bed— yeah? Brand new day, tomorrow. Get some rest, my lil' greenie."
"I'm not a greenie," he grumbled despite his smile, "What are you guys gonna talk about?"
"What d'ya mean?"
"Y'know— with Thomas; what are you gonna talk, about?"
"Well..." truthfully, Kennedy hadn't thought that far. What was she going to talk to Thomas, about? It had just seemed natural to go and visit him, while in lockdown. She hadn't really planned a speech, or anything. "I've— I've gotta make sure he's prepared, for his big day tomorrow. Get him ready for some running, n'all that."
If she hadn't known any better, Kennedy would have thought that Chuck squinted suspiciously at her— knowingly almost, as if he knew something she didn't. But, it was gone very quickly after.
Phew!
"Alright," Chuck said, "Night, Ken."
He wrapped his chubby arm around her waist and gave her hip a squeeze, his head briefly snuggled into her torso. Kennedy didn't hesitate to squeeze him back, planting a motherly kiss to the top of his forehead, and ruffled his hair as he stepped away from her. His hold lingered, like he didn't want to let go, and her heart melted as he peered up at her. With a light stroke of his cheek, she pinched it playfully. He was cute when he was tired, and Kennedy was filled with a fuzzy warmth when she looked down at him and watched it make him giggle. Over the past month, Chuck had become a little brother to her — he was close to her heart. She hoped he wouldn't ever be at more than an arms length away from her.
"Sleep well, shank." Kennedy winked and gave him a playful shove towards the village. "Go on— you best get some sleep, kid!"
"I will!"
"Swear it?"
"Swear it!"
With a final wave, Chuck trotted his way towards his hammock with a sleepy sigh. Kennedy watched him go for a short while, as a small and content smile curved onto her lips, until he was fully out of sight. She was sure she wouldn't survive, without that boy. They were lucky to have him.
A life without Chuck seemed dismal.
When she couldn't see him anymore, was when the girl turned on her heel and finally made for the slammer.
No gladers were still up and about, only Newt and Minho over in the map room and Jeff and Clint keeping watch on Alby in the homestead, so Kennedy didn't have to worry all too much about anybody finding her talking to Thomas. Gally wasn't going to find out, and even if he did, there wasn't much he could say. What was he going to do? Throw her in the slammer, as well? She would like to see him try. Kennedy was the leader, right now — and, as much as the girl knew that she needed to stop twisting the rules in anyway she wished, they were still there for her to use and abuse when she felt like it. It wasn't the right way to treat her newfound role; Alby would have wrung her neck out; but that seemed so unimportant in comparison to Thomas — she may have been the one to decide his current punishment, but that had meant nothing. Not really. He wasn't in there because of her— he was in there because she said so.
Kennedy didn't want him to sit in the slammer, sleeping on the cold dirt all night. But Gally had demanded a punishment, and it helped keep them in order.
If it looked like rules were being enforced, no one would stray.
But, the punishments for breaking rules were still her decision; it was up to her; the cards were in her hands. Kennedy got to pick and choose, and she would if she wanted to. No one could tell her otherwise. Kennedy was going to visit Thomas in the slammer and no one could stop her. Even if they tried, she would only tell them where to go had they wanted a word with her about it. After all, in this day and age, Kennedy was in charge.
Screw the rules— ay?
It was a speedy trip to the slammer, and Kennedy tried not to cause much alarm, in the unlikely event that Thomas had fallen asleep. He struck her as an over-thinker, and it wouldn't surprise her if he was the type that let it come between him and his sleep.
She could practically see those thoughts whizzing around, inside his head, often.
Kennedy felt bad, making him sleep out here. It wasn't the first time a glader had to spend a night in the slammer, it was a routine punishment for basic rules, but she still didn't like the way it made her feel to see him sat on the floor, back against the rocky wall. He looked uncomfortable, and she wouldn't have thought sleep would be on his side whether he was over-thinking, or not. Nothing about the slammer looked suited for sleeping, and Kennedy could tell his first day running would be an incredibly tired one. And, from much personal experience, a terrible one. She'd run like that, too.
A part of her wondered whether she could succeed in sneaking him out and getting him back before Minho came to get him, but she decided it would be unfair. Thomas had broken rules, and that needed to be punished. No exceptions. If Gally found out, he'd kill the both of them anyway. It wasn't worth it.
If he died, then Thomas couldn't run.
Seemed illogical.
She rubbed at her arm with her palms. Kennedy crept closer to the slammer, vaguely thinking about how warm her bed would be.
Being that Teresa had no living quarters yet, Kennedy had been kind enough to offer up her room as a shared agreement. The girls were the right size to fit in her bed well enough, and neither had a problem with it. Sleeping arrangements was at the bottom of their list of problems; they hadn't expected a new greenie, let alone the greenie to be a girl, and so they were unprepared. But, amongst it all, Kennedy had cared little for sharing a bed. Teresa seemed nice enough, and whoever came up in that box became family, as far as she was concerned. From the minute you stepped foot in the glade, you were apart of their little family.
And that included Thomas.
Not that she'd be sharing a bed with him.
It made her blush.
"Psst!"
Frowning, Thomas' head shot up. He squinted, trying to see as far into the night as he could, but failed to spot anything. Perhaps he had simply been imagining the sounds, but he could have sworn he had heard someone, out there—
"Hey— psst!" There it was, again. "Greenie! You awake?"
A grin slipped onto his face, replacing the downturn of his lips, and Thomas left his spot on the floor and hurried to the fencing that kept him roped inside of his ditch. He knew that voice, and it lit him up like a tree on Christmas morning. Only two people in all this glade called him greenie, and that voice didn't belong to Gally.
"Kennedy," he breathed.
Boy, was he freaking glad to see her!
A visit from Chuck had been nice, it had fed him pretty well, but Thomas hadn't realised how badly he wanted to see Kennedy until she was standing right in front of him with a pretty grin.
It was a much better expression than the one she'd possessed the last time she'd seen him. Kennedy had been less than enthusiastic with his presence, that day. He wasn't an idiot — Thomas noticed her acting different around him, and he hadn't liked it. But the fact that she had shown up to see him, on her own accord, had lifted a lot of the weight from his shoulders. He didn't think it was possible to miss someone without them even being gone, but he had missed Kennedy. A whole damn lot.
"How ya holding up, shank?" Her tone was teasing as she sank to her knees, by his pen.
"Better," Thomas hummed. Dare he say it was because of her, that he felt better. He didn't. "What are you doing, here? Gally—"
"—won't find out," she shrugged. "What he doesn't know won't hurt him, right? Not like he can really tell me what to do, anyways. I'd like to see him try,"
He stifled a chuckle, "He'll be pissed."
"Imagine how pissed he'd be if he saw me do this," Kennedy wiggled her brows. While Thomas' face contorted in confusion, she spared a glance over her shoulder and, upon seeing no one in the near vicinity, stuck her torch into the soil. She reached over to the ropes and started to unravel them, letting them hit the ground one by one, and then swung the door wide open.
Much like his first day in the glade, she crawled a little further into the opening and perched on the edge, her lean legs hanging above the ditch. Swinging them idly, much like a child, she smiled down at him — it was so like that day. Apart from, this time, her eyes glowed with mischief and firelight, and her dark, brown hair reflected the amber hue, looking almost scarlet. Under the nights sky, Kennedy looked ethereal. Absolutely breathtaking, Thomas'd thought. When she patted the space beside her, Thomas couldn't bring himself to say no to the blush on his cheeks and hearts in his eyes. Even if they'd get reprimanded for it, he was willing to risk it. He'd risk a lot, for Kennedy. Anything she asked of him, he would do. Thomas would follow her around like a lost puppy, needing an owner. If she asked him to jump, he would ask how high? — he had dug himself deep; Thomas was invested in her, and he hadn't even tried to be.
Was it normal to feel that way? About a person he had known for only three days? Parts of Thomas told him that it was strange and unusual behaviour, but the rest of him knew it felt... he knew that it felt right. Totally and utterly right.
Not a lot had felt right to Thomas, in the glade.
He didn't fit in. He knew that much — without even asking.
Although, he supposed he hadn't really wanted to fit in. Sure, he liked Newt and Minho well enough, but the other gladers were all suspicious of him from the very second he'd arrived. Thomas was smarter than he often acted, and he was smart enough to know his presence wasn't welcome.
It was wrong.
It all had felt very wrong, the whole time he had been there. It wasn't normal. This life wasn't made for them, and he knew that they had to get out of there, he just knew. The only thing that had felt right was meeting Newt, Minho and Chuck. And Kennedy. For Thomas, he had never felt so right about anything in the glade — something about Kennedy felt right, more right than his own name.
Something about Kennedy. Even her name felt right, as if it were supposed to grace his lips. Kennedy, Kennedy, Kennedy.
Whatever it was that felt right about her, also felt familiar. He had felt that since he had met her— the familiarity that he could not quite pin, and the familiarity that she felt too. It was so close, and yet so far. Balancing on the tip of their tongues. What was it?
They were dying to know.
What was it?
"I hear Chuckie had you eating well," she snickered.
"Good kid," Thomas shrugged once he had snapped from his slight daze. "He's not gonna get in trouble for doing that— is he?"
"'Course, not." Rolling her eyes, Kennedy shuffled on her butt and ran a hand through her air. "No one else saw him; sneaky lil' hands, that one. No idea he even had it in him,"
"He was before me, right?"
"Yeah, been here a month now." Kennedy said, "He never shut up about not being the greenie. We all thought he was gonna pipe down and slim it. Now, he won't shut up about you." She scoffed in a playful manner, as if she had shut about him— which was a giant lie, but she wouldn't dream of admitting it.
Thomas' cheek got pinker, if that were possible. He rubbed his hands against his thighs as he glanced at her. Perhaps it wasn't the best time to ask, to find out more about Kennedy — everything he had wanted to know — but when was? What if there was never an opportunity that seemed like a good time to ask? And then what if he never found out? He wanted to know more about her; there had been plenty that he had been meaning to ask to soothe his burning curiosity, and there was only so much information that he could get through prying Newt until the blonde got suspicious.
"How come you were the only girl, Kennedy?" His tongue ran across his lower lip, nervously. Her shoulders stiffened. Thomas let out a sigh, "Sorry— I just, I dunno... I've been wanting to ask. I— I didn't mean to—"
"I planned those flares, everyday, for two years."
Thomas' brows cinched, but he listened.
"It came to me in a dream," her chuckle was dry. "Y'know— I thought this dream had given me the solution; the answers, to get outta here. Looking back, I think it could be more of a memory..."
His ears perked up.
A memory?
She got those, too?
"Do you remember, much else?"
"Nah— it was a one off, I think. Don't really remember what I was doing; where I was. I had no idea how it ended, or if any of those flares even worked. But, I mean— I guess this was probably how," a humourless laugh, "Absolutely nothing. Three days, three whole days, and nothin'." Kennedy gnawed on her lip, "No help. No other sign of life. Just a whole bunch of ugly nothin'."
She continued, "Every day I worked on them, I counted down until another girl joined me, in here. But, none of those ever came either."
"Must've been hard," Thomas' voice was quiet, raspy.
"I love these boys, Tom, but there was a time where I needed a girl to help me. I was desperate," Kennedy's shoulders deflated as she said it. He had never seen her look so low. "I really struggled, for a while. But I had Newt, and Minho, Chuck. And I had Alby."
Now, he was dying.
"If I ever meet the people who put us in here, I used to think I would ask them why. But I don't think so, anymore." Lips pursed, Kennedy finally tilted her head away from where it was angled up at the night sky and towards the boy sat at her side. He looked just as tired as she felt, and she imagined she looked just as awful as his puffy eyes made him out to be. Together, Kennedy and Thomas were a pair of exhausted little shanks. She wondered when the last time they had slept, the last time they had really slept, had been. "I don't know why it was just me here. I used to think I was some sort of mistake..." she smiled a soft smile, "But I'm not sure sure I was a mistake— maybe to them I was, but not to me. Not here." She sent him a firm nod, "These boys need me; how could that be a mistake? We're a family,"
Kennedy paused, briefly.
"Maybe I wasn't supposed to be here, but I am."
His head softly nodded, eyes warm as he looked at her. There it was again— whatever it was. Thomas felt it. Why was Kennedy so familiar? Thomas couldn't decided. Perhaps he would never know; maybe he would be asking the question for as long as time, but the thought didn't seem quite so bad to Thomas. Not if Ken was there with him. He was sure he would be happy enough to ponder it.
"You weren't a mistake," Thomas whispered.
"How do you know?"
"I can feel it."
Her lips tugged at the corners, "You're a sweet shank, Tom."
A second passed, of them just smiling at one another, before the girl's glowing eyes flickered away.
"Big day tomorrow," she said. "It's really not easy— you know that, right? Because I'm putting you in there with trust that you'll not let me down. I gotta to know you ain't expecting to go all easy."
"Have you ever gone in there?" Instead of answering her, he'd posed her a question. "'Cause you act like you know it, firsthand."
"Kids change jobs, sometimes." Kennedy shrugged. "Some of us can't do the ones we got anymore, so we change. Find new jobs that we're good at. I wasn't always a med-jack, greenie." She sent a sly wink his way and watched him wriggle in his seat, although his eyes never strayed from her face. He looked enchanted by her; like what she was saying were droplets of gold from her lips. "I'm a girl of many talents, shank."
"You were a runner..." the penny dropped, and Thomas wasn't able to stop gaping at her. It was shock and amazement. Kennedy was so suited to being a med-jack; he hadn't thought that she was a runner, once upon a time. He knew that she was swift on her feet from when they had been running from Ben, but she was perfect in the med-jack hut. Thomas really knew nothing about this girl. He wanted to change that. Desperately. God, how he wished they'd had more time to sit and talk about everything — he wanted to know a lot more than their time together would ever permit, and Thomas could already feel the end drawing near. He tried to utter shocked words, "How? I mean— why did you stop?"
All Thomas had wanted to do was be a runner.
Why would she give that up?
"My hips aren't... great." Kennedy said, "They don't work well."
When he looked confused, she continued: "When we started out running the maze, I was good. But after a while, my hips started to hurt — I tried to ignore it. I wanted to keep running, to find a way outta here." Kennedy's fingers ran over her hipbones briefly, "That was a big mistake; the more I ran, the more I regretted it. I didn't stop, though. Not at the time — we thought we were so close and I just had to keep going."
Thomas knew what was coming.
"I pushed myself too hard." The girl recalled, "On one of my shifts, I collapsed in the maze. I couldn't go on. I was in too much pain to even get up," her eyes were distant. "Luckily Minho found me and he carried me out. The damage was already done though, and I couldn't run anymore, after that."
"What's wrong, with them?"
"We don't really know, some kind of defect or condition."
"Does it hurt?"
"Sometimes," Kennedy was honest, "Most days."
He sighed, "Will they ever...?"
"Nah, I don't think they'll ever be good," while she didn't sound sad, she did sound regretful. "Ya know— sometimes I wish I hadn't been so stupid."
"What do you mean?" Thomas asked, frowning.
"If I hadn't pushed myself, maybe they wouldn't be in the state they are, now." Kennedy shrugged, "But then I remember that if I hadn't, I wouldn't have found my calling as a med-jack. Running... it was never really for me. I think I just wanted to get outta this hell, we were all stuck in. I wanted to get everyone out before..." there'd followed a silence where nothing came out.
A silence fell over them and Thomas rubbed his cold nose. He didn't speak; he knew that Ken had something else to say, to him.
"The maze isn't easy, Tom..." Kennedy peered over at him and sighed, "That kinda stuff haunts you, forever."
Quiet.
"Are you really up for that?"
"More than anything," he said. "I'm finding a way out."
His promise was too much. Kennedy couldn't bring herself to tell him that there wasn't a way out — not that she could see, that is. Deep down, Kennedy had a feeling they would never get out.
She breathed out shakily, "Can I trust you?"
"I think you already know the answer, to that."
A smile danced on her lips.
"Yeah— I think so, too."
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