Chapter Text
After the sheer relief at making it to Safe Haven, the enormity of their freedom overwhelms most of them.
Thomas walks the beach, his hands at his sides, palms out, like he’s reaching out to touch someone. Gally watches to make sure that whoever he’s reaching for doesn’t guide him straight into the ocean, but he always comes back, and if Frypan and Minho aren’t concerned Gally figures he can let it slide for now.
Aris mutters to himself, startles like a starved cat at every wayward inclination thrown his way, as though his betrayal is still fresh on everyone’s mind.
Harriet and Sonya don’t leave each other’s sides, attached at the hip. Harriet still mean-mugs everyone like they’re going to turn into a crank at any second, or expose themselves to being a WICKED agent. At night everyone can hear her yelling and Sonya’s shushing. No one mentions it, because who doesn’t have nightmares?
Brenda looks around the island, slack-mouthed and trying not to be angry. She takes to berating Gally, because he can give as good as he gets, and he can take it without getting angry. Every wild threat they give each other seems to make her breathe easier. Sometimes she even laughs, and so does he. Still, Gally doesn’t know what to do about her digging the blunt tip of her dagger into the meat of her thigh. She’s trying to wake herself up from a dream, and he gets it, he really does, but he doesn’t know how much longer he can watch her do that to herself.
Then Minho comes by, gentler than Gally’s ever seen him, and wraps his fingers around her wrist. She looks up at him, fierce, but it melts away when she can see that Minho’s not out to pick a fight. She swallows hard, and after a moment where they’re doing nothing but breathing in time, she raises the dagger up for him to take. The whole interaction is silent, but there’s a lot being said, and Gally realizes once he notes Minho’s starstruck expression that he probably shouldn’t have been watching. So, the next time he sees Brenda, Gally hurtles threats at her like nothing’s changed — and she launches them right back — because she doesn’t need to know what he witnessed.
The Gladers can agree to do one thing, however. Thomas finds a boulder that’s large and reminiscent to the wall back in the Glade. He taps them all on the shoulder one morning, after he’s already walked up and down the beach, and tells them to follow.
“In order?” Thomas asks. In order of who came to the Glade? Gally worries, for a moment, that he doesn’t remember them all. That they won’t get all the names. That somehow, they’ll forget someone.
He runs through them all silently, counting with his fingers in his pocket. The names sink like stones in his stomach.
No. He remembers them all. Maybe that’s the one thing that Gally can trust — he will always remember them all.
“That’d…” Minho sighs. “That’d make sense.”
Thomas holds out a knife by the blade to Minho, and Minho swallows, already teary. Grabs the knife, and starts with Alby’s name.
Minho passes the knife back to Thomas. Newt is next. His name is hard to carve out with the knife, all angles, and Thomas tries to do it perfectly, and everyone politely gives him a moment while he cries at the sight of it.
Then, Thomas passes the knife to Gally, who writes down Ben’s name. He can still remember the way Ben screamed as he was pushed out of the walls of the Maze.
They go down the order, Frypan writing Winston. Clint and Billy marking a few of the other Med-Jacks and Slops. Then, they hand the knife back to Gally.
The next name is Chuck's. The next name is Chuck's, and Gally pauses. He knows he should be the one to put it up there. He knows, because it’s his fault that Chuck isn’t here. But he just —
“Give it a minute,” Thomas murmurs.
He expects to turn and see Thomas looking enraged. Gally would be mad if it were him. The audacity. The sheer shucking cowardice. But Thomas doesn’t look angry at all. Solemn, eyes red-rimmed from crying, but there is no hostility there.
He claps a hand on Gally’s shoulder, and for a moment, they breathe.
Swallowing the lump in his throat, Gally finishes out Chuck’s name, and presses the handle of the knife into Thomas’ palm.
Teresa’s name is the last.
They look at it for a moment, and in those minutes they’re in the Glade. The Grievers are outside screaming. Everything’s wrong and somehow nothing is.
Minho hugs Thomas and takes the knife back from him. Then he hugs Gally, and Gally is so stunned that he almost forgets to hug him back. Then Thomas grabs his arm, and he thinks that’s all it’s going to be, but then he’s pulled into a hug from Thomas too, and soon they’re all together in a huddle. Their band of brothers dwindled down to the few.
Then they grab Group B, tell them to mark down everyone they’re missing. Gally grabs Vince, tells him to put down members of the Right Arm. Jorge writes down his family. Brenda writes her’s right next to his, as though their families were connected by more than just them.
It’s not something that’s going to provide them shelter. It’s not something that’s going to keep them fed, or healthy, or safe. But it does provide closure, and that, Gally thinks, as he stands shoulder to shoulder with his Gladers, is a good start.
Safe Haven was hard won, and everyone wants to be happy because they’re supposed to be, but they’re aimless.
There are so many things they have to do to make Safe Haven more than just an island away from danger. It is the beginning of new civilization. It needs to be a home. It needs to take care of them and be taken care of in turn. Most of them don’t know how to do that. Not even Jorge and Vince, only good at making temporary solutions and rallying, but Safe Haven is for the long haul.
But Gally does know. As do Minho, Harriet, and Sonya.
After three days of letting people get used to their new reality, Minho calls the four of them to meet around a fire. Late into the night, after everyone’s gone to sleep so no one has to feel compelled to contribute. They’ll tell them all in the morning the plan, and they can argue then.
Minho is put as the general leader, and he will be the one to make the announcement. He also says he’s going to loop in Thomas and they are going to start running around the island. This might be where their group stepped off, but there could be a better place on the island to actually set up their encampment.
Harriet will make teams for hunting, fishing, and foraging. She also wants to start working with Frypan on what to gather so they can have food that doesn’t taste like dirt.
Sonya is the catch-all, the delegator, determining who will be in charge of gardening, of clean water, taking stock of what clothes and supplies they have and what they need to create, who will start tracking the weather, and getting the Med-Jacks into place to check everyone’s health periodically. She’ll also help Harriet with fishing.
Gally, of course, is in charge of the build. He needs to pick out a team that can start gathering materials. His plan of attack is to build quick-huts so that people aren’t sleeping on the grass or the beach and can be safe from the weather. Next, a set of baths so they don’t have to wash up in the ocean or walk a mile and a half to get to the lake Minho found. Then he’ll build a boat for fishing so the girls can get the island trained on that. Simultaneously, he wants to put up a temporary Mess and Main Hall.
Hours go by. Hushed discussion leads to drawing up notes on scratchy paper that Harriet had stuffed into her coat. Minho avows to recreate a diorama of the island, like he had of the maze back in the Glade. Gally collects what tools they brought with them to Safe Haven, traces the outline of each one on a roll of cloth so that everyone who grabs one will know exactly where to put it back, so nothing goes missing and nothing gets taken.
With the sun peeking out over the lip of the horizon, they’ve got a plan.
They stomp out the fire. In a few hours, they’ll begin.
No one argues with their tentative plan. In fact, most of them just look happy at being told what to do. They divy up the new workforce, with a few of the Gladers naturally taking up their old roles.
Minho personally walks up to Brenda to give her hunting gear: a bow and a quiver full of arrows. She also earns her dagger back. Minho mouths “okay?” and she punches him in response with a smile stretched wide on her face. Minho’s never looked so charmed, and Gally would tease them, but he figures there will be time for that. They should have their awkward happiness for now.
Aris and Thomas are the hardest to categorize.
Thomas will be running around the island with Minho, yes, but he and Aris are most useful spending their day going through all the documents that they have. Translating. Digging through all their archived information and picking out that which they can use, whether it’s making medicine or crop-work or developing tools.
Aris takes the books and leaves without a word, but Gally can see that Thomas feels itchy about it. He thumbs at the books that Jorge put into his hands, and looks guilty.
“But, but don’t you need more people working the camp?” Thomas asks. “It needs all the help it can get.”
“And whatever’s in there might help us expedite the process,” Minho says, tapping the book cover. “You were always creative, Thomas. We need you to keep those wheels spinning.”
It’s clear that Minho thinks these words will be encouraging, but he’s quickly proven wrong. The phrase make Thomas tense, the bones in his hands jutting out sharply against his skin as he grips the books hard. Minho frowns.
Thomas looks out at the ocean, and Gally gets that worry again that he’s going to walk himself into it.
“Don’t think you’ll be gettin’ out of all the hard work, Greenie,” Gally says, which causes Thomas to whip around and stare at him. “We’ll be pulling your nose out of those books often enough. You should be worrying about how to keep up.”
For a moment, Gally thinks he’s too gruff. Minho opens his mouth like he needs to do damage control, and a pit forms in Gally’s stomach. This might be too reminiscent to all their arguments in the Glade, and they’ll go right back to being opposed.
But Thomas nods. Laughs softly.
“Okay.” He relaxes the grip on the book and opens it, scanning the pages. “I’ll get to work, then.”
Gally claps him on the back and directs him to where the rest of the pages are stored, then leaves Thomas with Jorge so he can join his own crew.
Gally's team is inexperienced, and it shows immediately. They don’t know what half of the tools do, or how to operate them safely, and they certainly don’t know the difference between ‘good material’ and what is ‘worthless klunk’.
Everyone’s still sensitive and new, so Gally promises to be patient, but they aren’t his builders in the Glade. They’ve got some shaping up to do. And Gally’s patience only goes to the fifth water-logged branch being brought to him as ‘materials’ for weaving the roofs when he starts yelling.
In the distance he hears Minho laughing.
“That sounds familiar!” he shouts at him.
Gally laughs, too. Yelling at the builders is definitely familiar.
Everything seems to click into place as he steps into his role as Keeper of the Builders once again.
They get the Mess and their temporary Main Hall up, but not as quick as Gally would have liked. It took two weeks, and now they’re working on the huts which should be faster, but for some reason the builders having a lot of struggles. As though the huts being smaller is somehow more difficult. Gally’s constantly correcting their mistakes, staying up into the night to make sure what shelters they do have up aren’t in danger of collapsing.
A few people try to rush the process, bitterly whispering where they think his builders can’t hear them. Gally calls them out once, wrestles one of them into the ground during one of their bonfires, but he’s no fool. They’ve just started whispering out of his earshot.
It’s grating on his nerves. The builders are working as fast as they can. It’s not his fault that some of these materials are different from the Glade, and that they’ve never done this before. He has to figure out new things too. And yelling at the builders is only going to get them so far, they need time to simply get used to the work.
So, Gally commends his builders more often. They’re doing a good job. They’re trying their best, which is all Gally knows he can ask for. They’re slow, but he’d prefer slow and solid over hasty and shaky.
Still, morale is dipping, and he’s not sure what to do about it.
That is until one day, while Gally and Brenda are in the middle of their “worst threat” competition. Most people clear out of the area when they start this, the content a little violent, but Gally likes it. It’s all in jest, and Brenda is freakishly creative.
“Be careful Gally,” she says as she shoulders against him. “I’ll hack you up with that saw and make it look like an accident.”
Gally snorts. “As if anyone would believe I’d shuck up so badly with a saw I’d killed myself.”
She claps him on the back. “C’mon Gally, you know how convincing I can be,” she says with a wink.
That makes Gally truly laugh, but it’s cut short.
“I know right? We made a transporting camp faster. At least there we had roofs.”
It’s another group of people complaining. Gally sighs, picks up the saw, and nods at Brenda to head back to camp. Instead, Brenda furrows her eyebrows. She asks “what the fuck?” just as Gally says, “just ignore ‘em.”
“Fuck that,” Brenda says, and she goes straight to the source. Gally doesn’t know what furious look she’s giving them, but judging by the fact that they freeze like deer, it’s something else.
That is when Gally realizes that Brenda has been restraining herself in their little back-and-forth. He can’t even compete. Brenda’s shucking insane.
She asks Gally how good a sheet of skin would be for keeping them dry from the rain, and if bones would be strong enough to hold up a structure. He doesn’t answer, doesn’t know how to answer, but he doesn’t need to. She dives into detail on how Harriet’s said she’s exceptional at skinning rabbits, and she’d like to try on something bigger. It’s vulgar and disgusting and Gally kind of loves her in that companionable way when you realize someone just gets you without ever having to work for it.
She walks away from the pasty-faced gossips looking more pleased than ever. Winks at Gally, who laughs, because there’s no other way to react. He realizes he doesn’t have to worry about how people perceive him around the camp — Brenda will always be far scarier.
And in what Gally notices is becoming predictable, Minho knows about the complaints shortly after. If Brenda’s threats didn’t snuff out the comments, Minho’s guilt-tripping lecture does it.
A month goes by, and sometimes, Gally forgets where he is.
Safe Haven isn’t quite the forest that the Glade was, but it doesn’t matter. It’s the motions that bring him back. The feeling. Rising with the sun and working until the moon is a spotlight above his head. He gathers whatever’s available, cuts down younger trees for fire building if it can't be used for anything else. Weaves plants and bark into rooftops with his hands until his fingers are bloody. Yells at the builders until his voice is hoarse. He works the entirety of each and every day, so he sweats through his shirt until it’s clinging to him in a wet sop.
The familiarity is too much. His ears start ringing with the sounds of Grievers. On hot days where the distance is blurry, he swears he sees the wall of the Maze.
While Gally is working, Thomas, fresh off of his run with Minho and dripping with sweat himself, grabs him by the elbow.
Gally whips around, fast, fast enough that one of the builders flinches in the periphery, but Thomas doesn’t react. His grip gets a little stronger, an anchor point. Gally’s heart roars in his ears, because his mind knows that there’s nothing he needs to hit, but his body wants him to strike anyway. It’s too used to violence being the safest reaction.
“Frypan’s got food. Come on.”
Gally shakes his head. “I already ate. You go on, though.”
Thomas has a habit of skipping out on meals. He thinks he doesn’t need them because he sits and reads most of the day, but it’s a stupid argument and Gally’s one of the many people who’s not afraid to tell him so. Minho’s also taken to yelling at Thomas about it. Gally can hear their conversations at the beginning and end of their runs around the island. Their runs usually end with Minho pushing him to take better care of himself and Thomas telling him to slim his mouth shut.
But Thomas laughs. “I know you have, but you’re not eating enough.”
“We don’t have enough rations to feed people more, Greenie. Two meals a day. Can’t start bending the rules, we won’t have enough food for everyone.”
Now they’re really in the Glade. Gally lecturing Thomas about the rules, Thomas getting that defiant look in his eye. Greenie. This time, though, Thomas isn’t pushing him away, forcing him back. This time, he’s pulling him harder with with his hand that has now curled around his bicep.
“Gally, look at yourself,” Thomas says. “Can’t believe I’m saying this, but you’re a shuckin’ willow. Your clothes don’t even fit.” Thomas reaches and plucks at the waist of Gally’s shirt.
Gally frowns. He’d already noticed that. This already is a sized down shirt.
He doesn’t get it. He’s not doing anything different from the Glade, but he can’t seem to keep on weight. They don’t have the supplies from WCKD, so maybe it’s something about the food Frypan’s cooking. Either way, he’s cold at night when he used to not be. He’s had to get Sonya to ask the clothing team to find him shirts and pants that were smaller ‘cause there’s only so much adding more notches to a belt is going to do to keep his clothes fitting.
“I don’t want to take food from the others,” Gally mumbles.
Thomas drops his hand. Furrows his eyebrows, crosses his arms, and juts out his chin in a way that makes Gally feel chastised in a way most people aren’t brave enough to do to him.
Thomas always was the exception to the rules, though.
“Gally, no one, and I mean no one, is going to think that. That’s crazy.” He looks over at the builders, as if the offender is among them. “I mean seriously, if you’re not doing your own work, you’re correcting everyone else’s stuff. You’ve gotta be exhausted.”
There’s an argument on the tip of Gally’s tongue, several actually. This is his job. Everyone’s got their teams and their crews and their roles and Gally’s doing his. He likes what he does, too, it’s not a burden. For some reason, though, he can’t get them out.
Maybe he really is letting himself get weak.
Thomas nods his head in the direction of the makeshift mess. “C’mon. We’ll go together. Hold each other accountable.”
Finally, Gally can bring himself to speak. He wants to finish clearing this area, so he picks up his axe and slings it over his shoulder. “After —“
“Nope.” Thomas grins, reaching forward and taking the axe from him, slinging it over his own shoulder. Gally scowls, which makes Thomas laugh. “Picking up some annoying habits from Minho. If I’ve got to go right now, so do you.”
Thomas pokes Gally in the sternum, and Gally blinks at him.
They were never this familiar. Not once. Gally tried when he first showed up in the Glade and it didn’t go well, and Thomas tried after he figured out everything was wrong and Gally was too mad at him to give him the credit, so they never got there. Then Gally killed Chuck and Thomas rightfully left him for dead, and from thereon out Gally assumed that whatever partnership they had was born out necessity.
Except Thomas seems serious about the two of them going together. Doesn’t seem like he’s dreading it with any fiber of his being. He turns on his heel and starts making way back to the camp, but not without looking over his shoulder and gesturing for Gally to follow.
And maybe the similarities between here and the Glade are just in Gally’s head. In the Glade, Gally didn’t take orders from anybody, except maybe Alby. Here, he lets Thomas lead him back into camp. Watches him put the axe back on the cloth where the tools go, which reminds Gally of another job, which Thomas tells him to do later. Lets Thomas bring him back to the Mess. Listens to Thomas and Frypan chat, ribbing Gally for his baggy clothes, which ends in Frypan shoving a plate into his hands that’s stocked full and Frypan saying, “Didn’t realize you were a shuckin’ idiot, Gal — of course you’re thinning out, you’re burning through what you eat three times faster than everyone else,” and Gally feels strange. It’s all so eerily similar that every time he’s reminded of how different it actually is, he feels like he’s thrown into some sort of limbo where he shouldn’t even have a name.
They sit down on the logs by the fire, and Gally listens to Thomas talk about the patrols. About Minho’s new diorama of the island — it’s pretty intense, I think Minho just likes making these things — and about the book he’s currently translating that is about the fish in the ocean which should be useful. Frypan is whistling in the background, and it’s surreal.
The ringing sound of Grievers starts to get a little quieter. Gally doesn’t feel the tremor of the Maze shifting in his legs. They’re starting from scratch, not only in the fact that they have to build from the ground up, but the relationships too. The dynamics he had, they don’t have to be the same.
He and Thomas can be friends.
“You alright?” Thomas asks. He picks around at his own food, nibbling at it slowly. But he is eating, which is a start. “You’re staring.”
It’s not just that he and Thomas can be friends. He and Thomas already are, and he didn’t even notice.
Gally clears his throat. A grin he can’t hold back stretches across his face. “Yeah. Yeah, I’m good.”
Thomas looks a little concerned, but he smiles too. Gally asks him about the other books he has to translate, and Thomas shakes off any worry and starts on a long explanation about habitats and different animals that can be found there. He starts talking about estuaries, and Gally doesn’t really know what that is, but it seems to interest Thomas, so he listens closely and asks questions where he can.
Friends. With Thomas. Gally can do that. He just never expected to have an opportunity to do so, but, he can’t say he’s mad about it.
There will eventually be enough huts for everybody. Right now, however, they have to room together if everyone’s going to have a shelter.
The first hut piles in Sonya, Harriet, Aris, and a few of the other women from Group B, and they sleep on the floor. Next one groups up Jorge, Brenda, Vince, Lily, and the other members of the Right Arm. Another one fills up with four or five more of the settlers. The Gladers are the last to claim a hut, stubborn about being able to handle the outdoors.
Now they have a hut, though, and being surrounded by the Gladers in these close quarters hits a bit close to home. Gally suddenly wants to feel the walls shake from Alby’s god-awful snoring. The creak of Chuck’s hammock as he swings back and forth in his sleep. If he focuses, he can imagine Winston trying to hold a conversation with Newt’s sleep-talking again.
The ache of who is missing is a picked scab, bloody and raw again. They all look at each other, wordless, blank-faced and breathing shallow.
Thomas kicks his shoe into the floor, and turns toward the exit of the hut. Probably opting to stay outside, to go to the beach, to walk hand-in-hand with ghosts again.
Except Lily shows up with blankets, and Thomas is turning back around with his arms full. Gally isn’t sure how they’re going to set up, assumes that they’ll cling to the walls of the little hut, sticking to themselves. But Clint and Billy grab for the blankets and lay them out in the center in one massive pile, and the weight lifts.
Then there’s a weight actually on top of him, because Thomas tackles him into the floor.
“C’mon Gally, you did promise me a rematch,” Thomas says, breathless, devious. Gally pushes him off, and Thomas launches onto his feet.
Gally rises off the floor himself. “You really wanna go right now, Greenie?”
Thomas looks unsure for a moment, but Minho makes the decision for him. Laughs and pushes Thomas hard, and next thing Gally knows, Thomas is running at Gally at full speed.
Clint and Billy scramble out of the way. This hut really isn’t big enough for this, but the boys get into it anyway. Thomas is a quick little bastard and Gally’s missing weight is noticeable, let alone the fact he’s out of practice. It’s not as easy to keep Thomas down here as it was in the Glade. And in the Glade he got a few good knocks anyway, so Gally’s really going to have to be on his guard.
Frypan starts chanting, and soon everyone’s screaming as Gally knocks Thomas’ legs out from under him. Thomas rebounds quickly, grabbing Gally’s arm and pulling him to the floor. Gally rolls away from him, but Thomas jumps on top of him, straddling him, trying to pin him down onto the blankets. Gally forces his knee up, grapples Thomas and throws him off of him, stands up, but Thomas is back on his feet, too, charging him again.
Gally wraps his hands around Thomas’ waist, throws him toward Minho.
“Nuh-uh, you aren’t dragging me into this,” Minho snaps, pushing Thomas away. Except now he’s given Thomas the idea, and Thomas grabs at Minho, and they both shove at each other in Gally’s general direction, until Gally sidesteps their charge and the two collapse to the floor.
Then it becomes a free-for-all. Frypan’s got Billy by the waist and dropping him into the blankets, then Clint jumps on top of them. Minho teams up with Gally against Thomas. Minho’s fast enough to slow Thomas down, and in his hesitation Gally’s got Thomas in a lock around his head and is forcing him to sit on the ground.
“Think I win again, shank,” Gally says.
Thomas jerks his head up. “Not fair. Minho, you double crossed me!”
“Double crossed you?” Minho asks, pressing his foot into Thomas’ stomach to keep him pinned. “You’re the one who pulled me into it.”
“It really is the consequences of your own actions, Thomas,” Gally teases.
Thomas startles out a laugh, and they’re all laughing when the flap to their hut opens. They all stop what they’re doing, turning to look at the doorway. The only thing that can be heard is their panting breaths.
Brenda’s a silhouette against the stark path of moonlight on the ocean. The blue hues of the shadows curl over her features: her strong jaw, her rounded cheekbones, her crossed arms. Her hair a raven’s wing grown out into a braid draped over her shoulder. There’s just enough light to make her eyes bright, and show one thick eyebrow raised up, incredulous.
Whatever peaceful calm she brought is broken by the sharp sound of her voice:
“Boys! Be more obnoxious.” She steps inside and comes more into view, no longer caught in the contrast of the outdoors. Her gaze is trained on Minho, and something about the way she carries herself has Gally freezing into place. Maybe it’s the sway of her hips, her walk a little bit slower. Minho’s face is red from her presence alone.
Gally looks down at Thomas, Thomas’ raised eyebrows lets him know that he sees it too.
Minho is completely and utterly gone.
“I can’t believe you did this without me. Worried I’d kick all your asses?” Brenda asks, stepping up closer, hands on her hips. She braces herself for the challenge, for the fight. She grins at Minho, cuing him to go for it.
But Minho’s been struck some kind of stupid, because he stands stock still. Doesn’t utter a word. Gally’s pretty sure he’s actually stopped breathing. He just looks over her and getting redder with each passing second.
Minho. Never once timid in his entire life, suddenly all choked up over a girl.
Frypan clears his throat. Clint taps his foot. None of their subtle urges do anything.
Finally, it’s Thomas who gets Minho into action, and he’s not subtle at all. No, he shakes Minho’s foot off of him which almost makes him fall over, and then Thomas is kicking him in the hip. Minho lets out this gasp. For the first time since Brenda walked into the hut, Minho turns away from her and glares at Thomas.
He flips him off, and Thomas does the same.
Then Minho realizes that his attention is probably wasted anywhere that’s not on Brenda.
“You wanna do this?” Minho asks.
Brenda laughs. “Oh I’m sure. But you take your time. I know what a little bitch — hey!“ she doesn’t get to finish. Minho crouches and rushes at her, shoulder into her stomach, and then he stands upright so that she’s off her feet. She gasps, her hands grabbing at his back, and she starts giggling with sharp, wheezing breaths.
“Shit!”
“You asked for it!”
And suddenly they’re ramming through the flap of the hut, barreling outside toward the beach. Gally can guess what happens, judging by what he hears. Minho yelps, and Brenda’s giggling turns into breathless guffaws, and they can hear the sounds of the two hitting each other and throwing each other into the dirt.
But Gally’s got bigger problems than whatever Minho and Brenda are doing, because that’s when Thomas’ fist collides with his jaw.
Frypan lets out an ooh, and Billy snickers.
Stunned, Gally lets loose his hold, and Thomas is on him again.
“You should pay attention, Gally.”
Thomas works to pin him down, and Gally lets him. Lets him fold his hands with his and push down, lets him press his legs into Gally’s, keeping himself up off of him except at these pressure points. Thomas looks pretty pleased with the way he turned the tables, but Gally grins.
Gally may have dropped weight, but he’s still got Thomas beat. In a smooth motion, he pushes upwards at all the points Thomas has him pinned, bending his knees and pulling up his legs, and easily suspends Thomas in the air.
Thomas lets out a shocked noise, a squeak. “Whoa, okay,” he says, quiet.
Gally chuckles. “Nice try.”
Thomas seems to struggle with reining in his own shallow breathing, and he laughs. Like this, the only thing in Gally’s view is Thomas’ face. Its growing red and getting redder as he works to keep himself balanced on Gally’s supporting limbs. The redness goes down his long neck and over his collarbones, and is making the moles on his face and neck more prominent.
When Gally can finally muster up looking him in the eye, he’s already looking back. Thomas’ stare is all moon-eyed and reckless, almost the same look he got when he charged into the Maze, but there’s something else there. Gally’s pretty sure it’s the grin on his face.
Thomas didn’t smile before the Maze. He was too terrified. This isn’t frightening. Thrilling, perhaps, to be suspended like this, but he’s safe, and he knows it.
It makes Gally laugh. Thomas looks more boyish than Gally has seen him in a long, long time.
Gally realizes he should be throwing him, or rolling him down, or something, but he just looks at him. Thomas should be snapping down, trying to hit him with his head or push, at least break out of the grasp, but he’s not doing anything either. Simply letting Gally hold him up.
Thomas’ heart is hammering against the thin flesh of his palms, strong enough Gally can feel it. His thin fingers are bony against Gally’s callouses, a strange pressure that’s weirdly comforting. There’s these tremors in Thomas’ legs as they work together to keep Thomas balanced in the air.
Part of Gally wonders what Thomas can feel. Part of him wants to ask.
Then Frypan comes into view in Gally’s periphery, and he’s snapped out of whatever trance he was in, even if Thomas is not. Gally has to stop himself from giving Fry away with a look, but he manages.
In a blink, Frypan’s throwing himself at Thomas and knocking him down. Gally and Thomas’ grip breaks, and Thomas is rolled away from him, and Gally rolls himself in the opposite direction.
He’s breathless. Lays on the ground and looks at the weaving of the roof, because he needs something constant. Then Billy extends a hand, and Gally takes it automatically. Joins Billy and Clint in cheering Frypan on.
The fighting doesn’t last much longer than that. With a thud on the ground, Frypan’s got Thomas down, and Thomas is thoroughly beaten. Raises his hands up in forfeit, laughing all the while.
He’s got his gaze still on Gally, though, and Gally can’t look away either. Tries to catch his breath, but he can’t.
Frypan pulls himself off of Thomas, and Thomas grabs his hand in a conceding good-sported handshake. Frypan tugs him hard against his chest and hugs him, before dropping Thomas back on the floor and standing up with his fists raised in victory.
Minho comes in, then, looking a bit more ruffled than from just wrestling. A couple of red marks on his neck that Gally knows is from a bit more than a pushing of hands.
“Who won?” Minho asks. His voice is hoarse, and he rubs his neck, trying for casual and failing miserably.
Thomas doesn’t want to let him get away with pitting the subject off of himself, if the look on his face is any indicator. But Frypan is proud of his win, and raises his hand up to Minho.
Minho high fives Frypan, and says that they should all get to sleep. We’re going to feel like hell tomorrow, he says. Gally is nearly positive the order is to stop any chance of commentary on his and Brenda’s relationship, but he has to agree. They’ll probably feel a bit dead in the morning.
Rubbing his jaw where Thomas decked him, Gally can’t help but laugh. Thomas got him good. He’ll have to watch out for that, next time.
When Gally looks up, he sees Thomas staring up at him. He looks amused, but he’s got a sympathetic look on his face.
‘Sorry’ he mouths.
Gally shakes his head. “It was a fair shot,” he whispers.
Thomas huffs a laugh ending on a smile, and it’s soft and kind in the rare way Thomas never had beaten out of him by the Glade. He wasn’t there long enough, and it was a smile that used to twist Gally’s insides up in anxiety. Too soft, he used to think. That’s the smile of someone who’s going to get himself killed. Have to keep a close eye on him.
But he was wrong. He was wrong, wrong, wrong, and now, Gally can’t help himself.
He smiles back.