Maze Runner Rarepair Bingo 🃏

~

The scorch is hot and dry and Teresa is restless.

More than anything, she attempts not to think about Thomas, in the constricted little room adjacent to the cave she is currently sitting in. More than anything, she attempts not to think about Aris, curled across from her with his knees hugged to his chest. More than anything, she attempts not to think about what she has done.

She's exhausted and sore and still shaky from the aftermath of the day’s event and yet, she doesn't seem to be able to fall asleep. She squeezes her eyes shut and sees nothing but Thomas’s tortured face, frozen mid-scream, printed onto her corneas, an agonizing reminder of the actions she has committed, of her betrayal.

She tries to calm down her shaking, running a soothing hand down her arm and feeling the goosebump that had formed too long ago, but in vain. She only trembles harder, her core rattling as she grinds her teeth together.

Aris doesn't seem in a better shape, and even from where she is sitting Teresa can see how pale he is, his cheeks a sickly shade of white. He's avoiding to look at her and Teresa doesn't blame him, wishing she could seal her eyes closed and erase the vision of anything that would remind her of what she had been forced to do. The idea of Thomas alone in that small cell with the conviction that Teresa and Aris had never cared for him makes her nauseous. It's far from the truth, maybe further than Teresa would admit, and they both know it. She wishes Thomas could know that too, wishes she could run to him and embrace him, press her palms to the small of his back and his neck and promise him that she never wanted any of this to happen, that all she ever wished for was for him to be safe. That she loves him.

She doesn't move.

Aris shuffles, and Teresa’s eyes mechanically flick to where he is sitting. They share one long, meaningful look, and Teresa cannot take it anymore.

Come here. She reaches out telepathically, the morbid silence surrounding them too thick to be disturbed.

Aris doesn't budge, fidgeting with his hands as he adverts Teresa’s gaze again, his eyes running over the artificially carved stone of the cave they are sitting in.

I can't, he eventually answers, and even in Teresa’s head his voice sounds terrified.

He's shaking, wrapping his arms around his torso to stop the tremors, and Teresa wants to be the one to hold him. She runs her fingers over the warm sand, draws lines and circles absentmindedly to avoid thinking about her situation as she chews on her lips, wishing she didn't have to go through it alone.

She breaks.

“Please,” she begs, inadvertently slipping into verbal communication. “I need you.”

Aris blinks, runs a hand through his hair, and sighs. He untangles his long limbs and stands, stretching onto the position. He takes small, hesitant steps towards Teresa, and when he's close enough she pulls him in, burying her face into the pale skin where his neck meets his shoulder, breathing him in. Aris flinches but lets her, smoothing out her hair with his free hand.

He doesn't say anything but Teresa knows he's thinking, and feels his hesitation. She drives the pads of her fingers over his pulse point and feels his heartbeat, fast and sharp. His body feels wrong against hers, all cutting angles and prodding bones, but Teresa can't bring herself to care. Aris places an arm around her waist, securing her, and Teresa is more grateful for the contact than anything.

Aris eventually breaks their silence. He will hate us, he says in Teresa’s mind.

She feels sick, near instantly, her heart pounding painfully in her throat, reminded of the boy sitting not far from them after having successfully erased him from his mind.

She's almost mad at Aris, wants to claw at his skin and beg him to shut up. She doesn't, instead curling up a little closer to him. He's pliant under her touch and Teresa can feel his dread, too similar to her own. Somehow she knows that he, too, would do anything to get Thomas out of there.

Somehow she knows things won't ever be the same.

~

~

The sun begins to dip behind the dunes of the scorch and Brenda is dozing off, her head resting over the pile of documents placed onto Jorge’s old wobbly desk. She takes in the semi-rest gratefully, eyes stinging from a lack of sleep she had accumulated over the passing days, drowning in work and effort and responsibilities, that burden only heavier due to the new arrivals. Brenda knows what she has to do and isn't afraid, but the amount of work she now has on her shoulders is tremendously absorbing and exhausting.

Her breath evens out as she rests her forehead inside the crook of her elbow, only for a second. Closing her eyes feels luxurious and she revels in it, the tension headache that had formed around the crown of her head so many days ago finally relieving. The reminder of the pile of work and the camp she has to take care of pulls her attention away from the well earned rest, a constant reminder that she cannot allow herself to take longer breaks.

She's about to get back to work when a sharp knock makes her jump, the loud sound of knuckles rasping against the wooden door pulling her out of her half-asleep state, her back snapping straight. She wipes the sleep out of her eyes and attempts to fix her hair, running her fingers through her limp strands.

“Come in,” she finally mutters, mentally cursing whoever has come to disturb her and bring more tasks for her to complete.

The door squeaks open and a head appears through the opening, a somewhat formal smile painted on a face Brenda takes a few moments to recognize as he leans casually against the doorframe.

Brenda lets out a sigh at the view of what she figures is the last person she would ever want to see.

“Piss off, Albert,” she rudely dismisses him, letting her attention draw back to her work.

Alby’s eyebrows shoot up to his hairline, clearly taken aback by the fact that Brenda had remembered his name from meeting him earlier, let alone his full name, one he barely used anywhere other than his official records. Brenda smiles to herself, pleased to see she’s still a step ahead.

Alby doesn't budge, much to Brenda’s annoyance, scratching the thinning paint off the door absentmindedly. Brenda attempts to ignore him, eyes skimming over letters she still has to answer. The amount of work she still has exasperates her, her responsibilities seemingly piling up to no end. Letters dance before her eyes, twirling on the page, and Brenda feels dizzy.

Alby clears his throat, and Brenda is seconds away from shouting at him and pushing him out of the door, unceremoniously.

Her resolve breaks. “What do you want ?”

He glares at her, gesturing to the concering sheets spread out on her desk, and Brenda really wants to strangle him. “You should sleep.”

“Nice try, maze boy.”

The words slip out of her mouth before she can think about them and Alby’s eyes widen. He barks out a laugh, crooked teeth peeking out from under his top lip, and Brenda isn't sure why she's staring so intensely. She considers grabbing something from the desk space and aiming it at Alby's chest. She isn't sure why she's having such violent thoughts, either.

Well, maybe she does.

Just when she had thought she couldn't get overwhelmed by any more work, a batch of starving WICKED refugees had practically showed up to her front door, begging for help after spending multiple days out in the scorch. Even that, she could deal with, having handled way worse than a dozen hungry boys, no matter how much they got on Jorge's nerves. They could be useful, anyway. But now one of those boys had the guts to show up in her space and tell her she should sleep when there is still so much work to do, most of which he had single handedly brought onto Brenda ? Somehow, she isn't sure if she wants to punch him, shove her papers down his throat, or have a nervous breakdown in his arms. None of those options really sound that great.

“You really should take a nap,” Alby insists, a scowl forming on his face.

Brenda wonders how someone can inquire about her well-being and yet look like an absolute asshole.

“You really should mind your own business and go look somewhere else to find any fucks I may give,” Brenda growls, her tone a warning.

Sleep deprivation catches up to her and makes her unnecessarily agressive, grumpy and quick to react to the tiniest of taunts. Alby seems to notice this, scratching his chin as he looks around the room thoughtfully. Brenda runs her fingers over the wooden desk, her nails catching into splinters and making her wince. She fiercely holds Alby’s gaze, standing her ground.

“Fine,” Alby finally concedes.

Brenda feels a wave of disappointment washing over her, and isn't sure what to make of it. Was she enjoying their disagreement ?

She attempts to maintain a straight face. “What ?”

“You have a lot of work, I get it.” Alby smiles, the full bastard grin of someone who knows very well what they are doing. “I don't. I'll keep you company.”

“Okay,” she answers dumbly. “Sure.”

As a proof of his intentions, he slides down against the doorway and extends his long legs in front of him, crossing his arms with a smirk, sitting against the wall and clearly not about to move any time soon. Brenda’s mouth opens as she attempts to come up with argument, than closes as she finds nothing. Alby's eyebrows raise in amusement and Brenda’s cheeks feel a little warm. It's been so long since anyone other than Jorge has cared for her, and she isn't sure what to do about it. It feels foreign but nice, a gentle feeling of comfort working itself into her heart.

~

Teresa takes a breath, prepared to recite her usual speech.

“This is what I do. Most places I’ve been to don’t have many people with medical knowledge, so I travel around and help where I can. All I ask in return is a safe place to sleep for a few days and whatever food you can spare. I’ll patch up your wounded, do general checkups, whatever you need. It’s my way of making my survival matter.”

That gets Beth to raise an eyebrow, curious but not enough to drop her guard. 

“Elaborate on that,” she asks, though it sounds more like a command.

“On my survival mattering?” Beth nods. “Well, I kind of got lucky with where I was on the day it all fell, I was remote with a lot of food. I figured if I was given the chance to live when almost everyone else didn’t, I had to make it count for something. And what I’m best at is healing.”

“But why not just stay at one settlement and help them? Why risk it by traveling alone?”

“People need my help everywhere.”

Beth purses her lips, as if she can’t quite believe what she’s hearing. Her eyes squint with suspicion, and Teresa is suddenly nervous. It’s getting late. She’d have enough food thanks to that house if she had to double back now, but only just. 

If they let her leave alive at all.

“I don’t get it,” Beth states. A breeze picks up and moves the loose strands around her head, her face aflame. “There’s no self-preservation in this. There’s no community, either. Who exactly are you doing this for?”

Teresa falters. “For everyone. Everyone who’s left.”