Writing

“I didn't. And it's not fixing the house. It's replacing wall plugs.” His eyes turned off the drill they were using to search yours and you watched as they darted around behind your head, looking for something. It was one month and a day since you told him to leave, asking for space, so you supposed this emotional drop-in was not completely strange. It was bound to happen eventually. “Do you want to come in?”

“Into my own house? That I literally pay the mortgage for?” He muttered while stepping in, kicking off his sneakers immediately. 

Following you into the house, noting its unusual spotless state, Elliot clocked the small plastic Menards bag on the kitchen table next to a glass of wine. As if he was half fire-breathing dragon, a huff fled his nostrils as he took the outlets out and examined them.

“It's the two in the bathroom. They stopped working a couple days ago.”

Elliot diligently nodded and went to work, going to the garage first for his tools and then taking over the bathroom. As soon as he went in, the scent of your body lotion rushed up his nose and the fire in his belly flickered lower. He wasn't angry at you for asking someone else for help. He was just hurt. The corner of the sink countertop stabbed his hip, reminding him that this bathroom was not made for a man of his size. He didn't fit in the tub, but sometimes insisted on joining you in there even if it meant throwing his leg over the edge uncomfortably. The bathroom was meant to be the first renovation when you two bought the starter home, but other projects and expenses always popped up. It occurred to him now that it may never be scratched off his to-do list. It could become someone else's task.

Changing the electrical plugs was a straightforward swap. Elliot estimated he was crouched down in the bathroom for less than a half hour. It was enough time for him to calm down. The distraction of using his hands and an screwdriver lowered his blood pressure. In fact, he felt sort of proud that you had purchased the correct ones by yourself instead of focusing on the fact that that meant you might not need him. Hardware store runs had always fallen under his jurisdiction even if you sometimes came along. He was the one calling the shots up and down the aisles even in the plant nursery. 

Once upright, Elliot put his tools away in the bed of his truck. He wasn't enjoying staying at his sister's place, but he figured the least he could do is be useful while he was there and take on some of her home repairs. It would mean less time spent as a human jungle gym to his nieces and nephew. 

“All done.” He walked right to where the living room and kitchen met and reported to you, looking at the old plugs in his hand. 

“Okay. Thank you.” You had to swallow your sip of wine quickly to answer, lips wet at the center from doing so. 

“Why didn't you call me?” Perhaps, someone who didn't know him as well would miss the note of agony in his voice.  They would just hear a simple question. It rang out to you above his baritone, impossible to ignore. “You're still my -” He stopped himself, catching the word as it reached his glistening teeth. Elliot swiped the bag off the table and peeked at the two white outlets inside. “This is still my house.” He corrected himself. 

“I didn't call Erik. I ran into him at the store and then he offered.” Obviously, he had been told that you and your husband were taking a break. “I'll call him and tell him it's done. That his help is not required.” Putting down your wine glass, you turned for the phone that sat by the coffee pot and ceramic sugar container. “Thank you again by the way. It'll be nice to go to work with dry hair tomorrow.” 

You were signing him out, a monotone signal that said: ‘You know where the door is. See yourself out.’. 

Elliot began to leave, but he didn't even make it past the coffee table before he was stomping back toward you, crossing the threshold between rooms.

“Can we talk?” Three words he had never arranged in this order leapt from his mouth. “You said I don't communicate….” He attempted to explain, hand in front of him assisting as you slowly turned around, looking at him like you were concerned he had lost his mind. Your husband had never asked to talk before, but he had asked if you two could stop talking many times. “I'm here. I'm trying to talk.” 

Placing the phone back on its cradle, you leaned against the counter and gestured to the laminate tiles as if to tell him he had the floor before picking up your wine again.

“I know my job is a problem. I’m away a lot and I get moody before deployment,” He was leaving in a month to Iraq and, while being a Seal seemed to give him both pride and purpose, the time leading up was difficult. “And you have to hold things down alone…and then I come back and it takes a while until I’m settled…” This was not rehearsed. He was going off the fly, trying to open up as you had asked and begged him to for ages. His mouth felt uncomfortable and his words were jumbled. It seemed like both of you weren’t sure where this was going to go. Elliot trailed off before widening his eyes at you and throwing out a finger, “You know, your job isn’t great either.” This was more familiar territory. Elliot could only focus on his own wrongdoings for so long before turning the situation around. “You think I like knowing my wife is rubbing down other guys all day?”

“Yeah, you’ve said that.” You two had had this argument before, usually in his truck when he picked you up from work and one devastating time at the beach when you ran into a regular client who was glistening in the sun like he was born from it with a body so perfect that it could have been the first draft of Michaelangelo’s David. He had felt instantly aware of every hair on his body as this poreless guy in short red swim trunks enveloped you in a hug while going on about how you were the only person who could work the kinks out of his lower back. ‘Your wife is a goddess’, he told Elliot with a smirk so cocky that it was clear he had no idea how close to being punched in the face he actually was. “It’s really insulting to me when you make it sound like I give tug jobs for a living. I was in massage therapy school when we met. It’s in-sane that you act like this is a new thing.” Eventually, you were going to want to sit down and have a conversation with your husband about the next steps. The separation phase was never supposed to be permanent. It was just breathing room. Unfortunately, now you were fighting and that conversation felt even more open-ended. 

Elliot didn’t have anything to say, biting at his gums, he watched as you stalked over to the fridge to pull out the bottle of wine for another glass. You reached up on your tip toes out of habit, not necessity and he cracked his neck to the side, watching your breasts momentarily jiggle as you moved. 

“Are you seeing someone?” 

“What?!” You wanted to ask him if he needed his head checked, but the question was clear in your eyes. “No, Elliot. We’ve been separated for a month.”

“I don’t know. Your outfit, the wine.” His chin like a laserpoint, he gestured to both.

“Yeah, I was going to woo Erik with my nine dollar bottle of pink Moscato, you caught me.” He hated when you were sarcastic with him. Disdain from you was reserved for your friend’s narrow-minded husband or the employees at the DMV, not him. “And I wouldn’t wear this on a date. You should know that. You dated me.” These were the secondhand Lululemons you commonly wore to work and a tank top that you only used for sleep and yardwork. Turning around, you began to pour yourself a very generous glass.

“That’s not fucking funny.” He was almost in your face now, removing the polite space you two had been keeping from one another. “Don’t joke about getting together with one of my friends-” You would never. Erik would never. Logic wasn’t exactly computing for Elliot right now. 

“God, Elliot, I haven’t seen you in a month and you pick a fight!” Putting the twist-cap back on the bottle, you whined. “I will call you when I’m ready to talk, but you have to -”  

His hips pressed into you, sandwiching you between his weight and the counter. Your hands flattened against it as he huffed in your ear, “I don’t want to talk. I want you. I want my wife.” He was growling, low and dour, a large hand sliding over your hip and then holding your stomach. Elliot felt like a mess and he could not stand it. The idea of being deployed without knowing if he was coming back to you or his sister’s couch (or worse, a soulless apartment complex by the river) was driving him crazy. You weren’t squirming underneath him, instead he felt your breath steady and your head move back, hanging just slightly to his shoulder. It felt so good, so comforting, to know he wasn’t the only one who missed being this close. “You smell so fucking good.” Biting down on his molars, he groaned before burying his face where your neck met your chest. His unkept facial hair was like sandpaper against your skin as he sucked and pecked at one of your most tender spots. He had discovered it when you two first hooked up and the way you gasped now sounded exactly the same as it had that night on his couch. “No, you haven’t been with anyone. Nobody’s touched you…” His hand gripped at the center of your shirt, balling the material together in his fist and yanking it down, allowing your breasts to spring free. “Still mine.” He breathed and licked at what he could reach of your clavicle, his hands both going down to your thighs and then your ass, reclaiming curves that he had marked as his a long time ago. 

“E…” 

“Say what you want. You got to tell me what you want.” 

You were panting under his touch. It was too much for words to break through. Elliot took one hand off your thigh and gracelessly put his four fingers in your wine glass before directing them into your mouth, only three digits making it in, “Tell me, baby, tell me what you want…”. The sugar sweet taste of the pink wine was mixed clashed with the texture of his calloused fingers, but yet it was so satisfying. He wiped his fingers on your chin before down to your chest, feeling his way around you. 

“I want you.” Softly, you managed to say. It was a mystery to you as your brain was not present. This was strictly desire and feeling. “God, I want you.” If he hadn’t been at the ready before, you could feel it pushing against the small of your back now, Elliot’s determined arousal, large and confident. 

He tugged on your pants and brought them down to your knees, taking his palm wet from wine and your mouth and reaching into your underwear, grinning like a Chesire Cat at the warmth he found. He slipped one finger in, but you shook your head.

“No, just fuck me, Elliot. I want you to fuck me right now.”

He had never been precious about foreplay before, so he wasn’t about to start now. He slapped at your breasts as you bent further over the counter and went straight to undoing his belt and the rest of his jeans while you stepped out of your pants completely. He pumped his shaft, one-two-three, and then slid it inside you - slow at first and then all at once. A string of delicate whispered yeses danced out of your open mouth as Elliot held your hips sturdy and railed into you. More than he missed this, he had just missed you. His wife. It was as if he was trying to pull you two together so tightly that it would be too painful to come apart. 

“You are my wife.” He wasn’t reminding you because you hadn’t forgotten. It was a declaration. “My. wife.” He gasped before bowing his head to yours, sealing your open mouth with a kiss that he was starving for. “Fuck.” Loudly, he grunted before his wet cock slipped out. He rushed to turn you around, helping you up onto the counter with both hands under your bum. Once precariously placed, he admired the snug spot that he had just been pounding into. Elliot slanted forward and kissed you again, your pussy pressed against his shirt before he stood back up at attention and spat at your already sleek slit and reentered, holding one of your legs as the other rested over his shoulder.

“Cum. Cum for me.” He directed while looking back and forth between your wide eyes and your middle finger rubbing at your clit. The sights only encouraged him to buck into you faster, heavier. “Come on, baby. Cum for me.”

Instead, you came together. Elliot had intended to pull out and spray his load over your mound or your stomach, some sort of visual that you were still his, but it felt so good to be connected again, together, that he let himself go. Slowly, you slid off the surface with his help and felt the cold floor on your feet. You slid your hands under his shirt as you two rocked from side to side together, just for a couple beats while you came down. 

“Oh my God…” Sighing, you wiped at your face. He was watching you,  waiting with eager eyes for you to say that all was forgiven and any issue was now resolved. 

“We’re so good together…” He whispered, his hands on your back to keep you from swaying away, looking down at your breasts as he stepped on the discarded clothes on the floor.

 “Sex has never a problem for us.”

“Let me come home and work on what the problem is.” He moaned, head back in a second of frustration. The silence felt like porcelain as it took over, like if he dared to test it it would immediately break into a hundred small pieces. He blinked rapidly as he swore he saw you nod your head, like a kid who just heard the word ‘Disneyland’ or something. Softly, you laughed and nodded again.

“Okay, if you really mean it, that you will work on it before you deploy, yeah, come home.” 

Smashing his mouth against yours, he kissed you deeply, tasting the Moscato that he usually never wanted a glass of for himself. Right now, it was exactly the right flavor. He held you close in the kitchen and made a mental promise to himself that he would do everything he could to put you two in a good, strong place before he left. He was going to renovate the bathroom. He was going to work on opening up and not being a dick about little things you couldn’t control. 

“Shit.” Interrupting his planning, you hissed over his shoulder. 

“What? What?” Elliot turned his head and tried to find what you were looking at. It didn’t take long for him to see through the living room window that Erik was getting out of his car. 

“The window is open.” Through grit teeth, you stated, really wishing you used the blinds more. “We’re naked and it probably smells like sex in here.” 

Lessons continued while the Builders worked on the space. Over the sound of hammers against wood and grumbling voices, you read the class, Frank Baum's The Wonderful Wizard of Oz. A beat up paperback someone had brought along on the journey to the Safe Haven had become a favorite of the Lost Children. Evidently, it was a favorite of one of the Builders. The tallest one. The one who was easily annoyed until story time started, then he was focused and quiet. Gally. You caught him leaning away from the beam he had his hand on, straining to hear, or laughing at the same part the kids did. When Dorothy angrily tossed a bucket of water at the Witch, the Builder hissed in pain. Accidentally, he had hit his index finger with his club hammer because he had been paying more attention to the story. 

“Would you like me to make you a copy of the book?” The kids were gone and the Builders were beginning to pack up for the day themselves. It was the perfect time to approach the guy who was still shaking his hand out in an effort to minimize the pain. “I am going to write copies for the class anyway.” What was one more?

“Why would you do that?” He was asking in a way that suggested you were crazy for asking. 

“It seemed like you were enjoying it. We're going to start The Secret Garden soon. It's too bad you guys are almost done.” 

Gally inhaled deeply, hastily trying to hide the flush of color growing across his face. A whistle sounded through his teeth as he inhaled. 

“I don't care about your kid stories, okay?” He huffed, arms crossed over his chest. He sounded defiant, but not at all convincing. Still, you had been spending most of your days surrounded by small children. You understood when not to push. 

“Understood.” A simple nod seemed to soften him.

A few mornings after your terse exchange with Gally, you were sitting at breakfast with your crew of kids. They had become something of an extra limb, but not an anchor. They couldn't wait to swallow their porridge before asking the new questions that had come to them in the morning. 

A rare second of silence granted you enough time to put a spoonful in your mouth, but a delicate barely-there tap on your shoulder interrupted as soon as the cutlery was between your lips. 

“Teacher.” The little boy, Malcolm, sputtered instead of calling you by your name like you had told them they could. With a full mouth, you simply gave him your full attention with an enthusiastic stare. “Gally has a question. He told me to ask you -” His arm outstretched, he pointed right at the Builder hunched over his own breakfast two tables away. Gally appeared mad, but you detected it was embarrassment tightening his jaw. “But I forgot.” It was Malcolm's turn to look embarrassed. 

“If the question is important enough to him, Gally will ask me himself.” Gally was no longer looking over at your table, but you were willing to bet he overheard. 

*****

As the kids in your class grew closer, it was easier for them to let their guards down even with only select people. Grown adults still struggled with night terrors whether they had survived a maze, a medical facility, or life through the Flare so it made sense that the kids were scared to fall asleep. You were sharing rancid moonshine around the fire with a friend when three of your students scampered over, taking turns jumping over sticks and small designs in the sand on their way to you. 

It was all they could think to do when one of them was crying from a nightmare: Go find teacher. 

Three hands pulled you along, back to their tent, as you swallowed over and over to try and replace the putrid flavor that had instantly dried out your mouth. If you hadn't seen the jar with your own eyes, you would have sworn your friend gave you something from the laundry to drink. 

Holding the sniffling little girl, Ada, up on your lap, running a hand down her long braid as she leaned into your cheat, you started to weave a story aloud for all the kids. It started with the Cowardly Lion, a character they particularly liked from The Wizard of Oz, and he had to go on a journey with his friends not unlike the one they went on down the yellow brick road, but despite all they had been through, the Lion was still afraid. 

As Ada began to drift off on your lap, you looked up to see how many others had been lulled to sleep. It was then you saw him. Gally. A jar of moonshine in hand, leaning against the beam he installed and listening intently. He didn't break your stare. He didn't pretend to be doing something else. This time, he stayed completely still and just listened. 

It took a couple minutes to tuck every kid in and you waited one more to be sure they were actually asleep. Stepping around their cots and hammocks carefully, you made your way to Gally with a playful insult about his moonshine on the tip of your tongue. 

“How does it end? You didn't say what happened to the Lion…”

“I thought you didn't care about my kid stories.” 

“I don't.” Instinctively, the answer popped out like a button leaving the pants of a man they no longer fit. “You know a lot. It's intimidating.” Reluctantly, he caved before taking a big sip. 

“I intimidate you?” It made you laugh. Gally was large and loud and seemed sure of himself.  

He wasn't laughing though. He was looking off over your head, drinking. Tilting your head to the side, you led him away from the kid's quarters. 

“I'm intimidating, you were saying…”

Maybe, that was the wrong word, Gally wasn't sure. He wrestled with his head before the liquid courage took control, “You’re smart.” People always said Builders were good with their hands, not their heads and that stuck with him now that he was out of the Glade. “You’re literally teaching those kids to read and write and count…”

“I wouldn’t know where to begin with building these structures. We all have our roles.” It was the truth, but you could tell that it did little to comfort him.

“I can read and write okay, like, I wrote Chuck’s name in the rock.” He explained as you two walked side by side towards the water, the sound of the waves softly meeting the shore calling to you. He offered you his jar, but you shook your head. A clear ‘no’. “I just…I was in the Glade a long time. I don’t know a lot that…other people do.” He was turning his throat into linen, taking a sip with every embarrassing piece of his confession. He noted your feet walking along where the water met the land like you were walking along a tightrope, moonlight dancing down the part of your arm exposed from your fallen sweater. He reached over and pulled it back up over your shoulder, nervous by how much he liked what he saw. It made you pause and stare back up at him. “I do like your stories and I like when the kids tell me stuff they’re learning from you. I guess I’m…I’m not jealous, but -”

“Gally?” It seemed like if you didn’t interrupt, he might talk himself into a circle. “Do you want private lessons?”

“What?”

“We could get together and we can read or you can help me make copies of stories for class. Nobody has to know.” The last part seemed vital to the Builder so you held up your hands as if you were being held at gunpoint, trying to mime that you had no malintention. 

Gally sat on the offer while you kept tip-toeing over the wet sand, arms out at either side for balance. He took a long sip of his drink before nodding.

“Okay!” He called to your back. “Yeah, I could that.” He jogged to catch up to you again, once again lifting your sleeve over your shoulder. “When?”

The bonfire was still roaring in the distance, but there was no chance Gally would have his story time on full display like that. The key to successfully tutoring him was the privacy aspect. Checking your surroundings, it took a second before an invisible lightbulb flickered on above your head. As if Gally was one of your adorable students, you grabbed his hand and pulled him toward your classroom. 

It was pitch black, but Gally could hear you closing cupboards and shuffling around. Being there reminded him that you had asked for desks for the kids, but it had been waved away at the time. It crossed his hazy mind that he could do it himself after hours. 

“Aha!” Pulling him from his thoughts, you lit a white candle. Carrying the flame chin-level, Gally was mesmerized by your features. He supposed he might actually make a decent student considering how much studying he was doing at the moment: noting the three different shades he saw in your eyes and the fluttering of your lashes, taking a mental picture of mouth as it curved into a smile when you waved him over with your other hand. 

There was a comfortable corner with cushions and blankets, a place the kids liked to sit when they were having a tough time focusing. You rested the candle on a stool while Gally spread out his legs. He didn’t leave much room for personal space, so you folded your legs behind you and opened up the book to the first chapter. 

Your finger stroked the page, gliding beneath the first few words, “Can you read that?” Gally’s lids were heavy though. A hard day of work and a plethora of moonshine made it hard to resist the comfort of the pillows he was resting again.

"I was sort of hoping you could tell me what happens to the Lion in your story..." Gally admitted, putting his jar off to the side and leaning deeper into the soft nest. 

Curled up like an oversized child himself, blanketed by a small flame, it seemed Gally wasn’t so tough and you couldn’t help, but feel genuine care for him. The offer to tutor him came out naturally, but looking at him now, it didn’t feel like extra work. It was something you wanted to do.

You wore the blanket like an oversized shawl, holding it together at your chest, and took his hand. The usual nighttime soundtrack of the glade made up for Gally’s silence: crickets, low wind between blades of overgrown grass, and light snoring from your fellow Gladers fast asleep. Gally’s footsteps leading you around the outskirts of the forest was the only added note. 

“Are we going to talk about it?” Finally, you interrupted his stewing and asked. “Secret’s out - you’re upset.”

Gally walked a little deeper into the trees, sighing as he tried to decipher how to even go about expressing himself. It was easy when it was with his fists with the other guys, but talking was a novel concept. He didn’t let go of your hand, but he leaned himself up against the trunk of a walnut tree and sighed with his head bent back. The moon illuminated his face through the branches, softening his face that was otherwise tight from the tension he was carrying. His eyes opened slowly on you and he put his fingers between yours. It occurred to you now that he seemed scared. He was holding on tightly. 

“Talk to me.” You tried again, taking a step closer to him. The words were trapped between his teeth though, locked between molars. “Is this because Thomas thinks he found a way out of the maze?” It wasn’t a promise. He and Minho had simply found something new: the Griever's entrance.  

“I've been here three years. We had made peace with being here. He comes along and now, three days later, everyone's itching to get out -" His nose scrunched up as his eyes narrowed, casting his anger away from you and toward whatever was tangled up in the shadows of the forest. 

“It's just hope. For the first time, they feel -”

“Yeah, don't think I didn't notice how you lit up when he made his big announcement.” Gally snarled. He felt your fingers loosen in his grip and Gally adjusted his posture, standing at attention, trying to make out your expression. “What? You did.”

“Yeah, I did. Wouldn't you want to be out there instead of trapped in here?”

“We don't know what's out there.” He snapped, almost hissing as he pushed off the tree and toward you. 

“Change is scary, Gally. I know that, but if there's a chance-”

“A chance for what?” He snatched his hand away, gripping at his hair as his eyes dilated wide as if he needed to make them as large as possible to make you understand, to get through your head. “We're here. Our lives are here. I built us our own place. We have community. We have what we need.” His voice was getting away from him. Gally stopped to try and compose himself, running both hands down his head while taking a deep breath. He returned to you and pulled you closer, both hands sliding under the blanket until they were rested at your side. It was as if he was attempting to anchor you both to the Glade. “If there's something else you want, name it, I'll make it. There's nothing out there for us.” He kept his voice down, but barely. 

The silence felt as heavy as the darkness you were both standing in. The only thing you could think to say was the one thing you knew Gally did not want to hear. 

“But what if there is a chance -” His groan cut you off as he stomped away, his calloused hands off you like you were suddenly made of flames. “No, listen to me…” Following behind him, you pleaded. It was hard to catch up. He had long legs and knew the forest was better. You didn't want to trip and land in God knows what. “I have thought about a life outside of this. With you. A real bed or a home with a door. Or, I don't know, a morning where I get dressed without you standing watch…” Gally had to admit that would be a perk, one less responsibility. “Don't you want to know where you came from?” It had been the hardest part of adjusting to the Glade for you, having no answers to the past. Who were your parents? What had been your life? Did you have siblings? Pets? Good friends? You used to close your eyes as tightly as you could to conjure up a memory but there was nothing, just phosphenes.

“Not anymore.” Gally turned around and made your shape out under the crescent moon's glow. “Not since you got here.” Six months and three days ago. “I don't long for anything now. I'm happy here.” Maybe, it wasn't happiness, but he was satisfied. “You make me happy. This is enough for me.” A beat passed and you thought, maybe, he would walk over to you again. “I guess I thought I was enough for you too.” 

He pulled at his groin and then flattened his palms against the cot, leaving you to undress him. 

“Open your mouth.” 

The instruction struck him as strange, but Gally didn't question it. Immediately, he dropped his jaw and waited.

He wasn't sure what he expected to taste, but as soon as the sweet earthiness hit his tongue, his eyes popped open. You could plainly see fireworks exploding in them as you lightly tapped his chin and helped bring his lips together again. He swallowed the sugary treat as it melted in his mouth. 

“Helen showed me how to make it. It's chocolate.” Gally followed your eyes to the small brown squares sitting on a piece of cloth in your hand. “The crops she needed for it finally grew. Isn't it so good?” They hadn't had it in your maze so you assumed correctly Gally hadn't any memory of it either. 

“I thought you took me away so you could go down on me again.” Gally admitted with a laugh, helping himself to another square.

“This is better than that!” Popping a piece into your mouth, you declared.

Gally had to think about it. It was delicious. It tasted special somehow. Looping a finger into the pocket of your pants, he pulled you between his legs and helped bring your lips to his. The taste of sugar and cocoa beans coming together as he kissed you. 

“It's a close second. I’ll give you that.” He teased. 

You wore the blanket like an oversized shawl, holding it together at your chest, and took his hand. The usual nighttime soundtrack of the glade made up for Gally’s silence: crickets, low wind between blades of overgrown grass, and light snoring from your fellow Gladers fast asleep. Gally’s footsteps leading you around the outskirts of the forest was the only added note. 

“Are we going to talk about it?” Finally, you interrupted his stewing and asked. “Secret’s out - you’re upset.”

Gally walked a little deeper into the trees, sighing as he tried to decipher how to even go about expressing himself. It was easy when it was with his fists with the other guys, but talking was a novel concept. He didn’t let go of your hand, but he leaned himself up against the trunk of a walnut tree and sighed with his head bent back. The moon illuminated his face through the branches, softening his face that was otherwise tight from the tension he was carrying. His eyes opened slowly on you and he put his fingers between yours. It occurred to you now that he seemed scared. He was holding on tightly. 

“Talk to me.” You tried again, taking a step closer to him. The words were trapped between his teeth though, locked between molars. “Is this because Thomas thinks he found a way out of the maze?” It wasn’t a promise. He and Minho had simply found something new: the Griever's entrance.  

“I've been here three years. We had made peace with being here. He comes along and now, three days later, everyone's itching to get out -" His nose scrunched up as his eyes narrowed, casting his anger away from you and toward whatever was tangled up in the shadows of the forest. 

“It's just hope. For the first time, they feel -”

“Yeah, don't think I didn't notice how you lit up when he made his big announcement.” Gally snarled. He felt your fingers loosen in his grip and Gally adjusted his posture, standing at attention, trying to make out your expression. “What? You did.”

“Yeah, I did. Wouldn't you want to be out there instead of trapped in here?”

“We don't know what's out there.” He snapped, almost hissing as he pushed off the tree and toward you. 

“Change is scary, Gally. I know that, but if there's a chance-”

“A chance for what?” He snatched his hand away, gripping at his hair as his eyes dilated wide as if he needed to make them as large as possible to make you understand, to get through your head. “We're here. Our lives are here. I built us our own place. We have community. We have what we need.” His voice was getting away from him. Gally stopped to try and compose himself, running both hands down his head while taking a deep breath. He returned to you and pulled you closer, both hands sliding under the blanket until they were rested at your side. It was as if he was attempting to anchor you both to the Glade. “If there's something else you want, name it, I'll make it. There's nothing out there for us.” He kept his voice down, but barely. 

The silence felt as heavy as the darkness you were both standing in. The only thing you could think to say was the one thing you knew Gally did not want to hear. 

“But what if there is a chance -” His groan cut you off as he stomped away, his calloused hands off you like you were suddenly made of flames. “No, listen to me…” Following behind him, you pleaded. It was hard to catch up. He had long legs and knew the forest was better. You didn't want to trip and land in God knows what. “I have thought about a life outside of this. With you. A real bed or a home with a door. Or, I don't know, a morning where I get dressed without you standing watch…” Gally had to admit that would be a perk, one less responsibility. “Don't you want to know where you came from?” It had been the hardest part of adjusting to the Glade for you, having no answers to the past. Who were your parents? What had been your life? Did you have siblings? Pets? Good friends? You used to close your eyes as tightly as you could to conjure up a memory but there was nothing, just phosphenes.

“Not anymore.” Gally turned around and made your shape out under the crescent moon's glow. “Not since you got here.” Six months and three days ago. “I don't long for anything now. I'm happy here.” Maybe, it wasn't happiness, but he was satisfied. “You make me happy. This is enough for me.” A beat passed and you thought, maybe, he would walk over to you again. “I guess I thought I was enough for you too.” 

After going to the washroom, you poked Benny's name in your phone and held the phone lazily to your ear while going to the kitchen. There was left over pad thai desperately calling your name in the fridge. The opened glass container was just in the microwave when he picked up after five rings. 

"There's my girl." His smile had a sound through the phone, relieved and tender. Benny was surprised how much he was missing you. It wasn't as if he hadn't gone away for months at a time before, almost a year once, and those were situations where he couldn't actively keep in touch with emails or phone calls. Why was he struggling with four days away? He and Will had just driven down to Columbia, South Carolina for a fight. He was going to be back Monday night. 

"Yeah, sorry. We were in bed when you called." Under your breath, you laughed while stepping out of the kitchen to focus on the phone conversation. 

"We?" Perplexed, Benny asked before you could check in to see how the drive had gone. Will and Ben might have meant the world to one another, but they could scrap like junkyard dogs. "Who is we?" He sounded downright suspicious and the high pitched beep of the microwave in the background only made it worse. Who were you about to dine with?

"The baby." With your empty hand, you reached down to the very small bump that had just begun to make itself visible beneath your baggy grey t-shirt that had once belonged to your boyfriend before you claimed it for yourself. It didn't appear like a protruding beach ball yet, but the mothers you worked with had all made sure to mention that you finally popped. It made the change feel even more real to you and Ben. "I fell asleep pretty much as soon as I got home." 

Exhaustion had been the leading lady of your pregnancy symptoms. There had been a minute of nausea, huge bouts of scent sensitivity, enough breast soreness to make you sharply shriek when Benny played with your nipples during your first trimester, but more than anything else, you were just tired all the time. 

Benny relaxed at your explanation, pressing his cell phone closer to his ear as if he would be able to feel you against him somehow, and sighed, "They're not giving you any trouble, are they?" Since the change in your body had become more apparent, he had started to constantly check in. He hadn't felt any kicks yet and it wasn't as if he could have a shift of carrying the baby. Ben wanted to be as included as possible, not just the guy with deer in the headlight eyes at doctor's appointments. 

"Nothing to report. I'd text you if something exciting happened." You were eager to feel a hiccup or a little kick even though you knew it might wind up being annoying.

"Put them on the phone. I want to tell them to wait until I'm home to make any sudden movements." Benny might have sounded serious, but you could hear his crooked smile. “Put the baby on the phone." He insisted. 

It took a second, but you put Ben on speaker phone and put the phone to your stomach before walking back into the kitchen area of the apartment, [b] "Go for it."[/b] Amused, you let him know.

"Hey bud. It's Ben - no, no, it's Dad." He started off, voice a little gravely in it's seriousness, but playful out of the giddiness that the prospect of being a first time dad brought him. It was strange how something that scared the absolute shit out of him also made him feel lighter than air. "I don't want to miss anything exciting so while I'm off with Uncle Will, getting him through his shit, you got to sit tight, okay? Mom's going to let me know if you don't, okay?" He could hear you laughing in the background and it satisfied him more than landing a right hook on any opponent ever had.  "I miss you, girl." He moaned into the phone. 

Quickly, you rushed to take him off of speaker and hold your phone back to your ear.