Chapter Text
It’s been 429 days since they escaped. Just over 14 months. 617 760 minutes. Brenda gives him a weird look when he voices this, brow raised from where she’s lying beside him on the grass, head resting on his thigh.
Brenda is one of the only people he still talks to (willingly). They’d barely interacted when they first arrived, everyone still scared and unsure what to do next. Frypan must have asked her to talk to him at some point. Then she started hanging around him willingly. The guilt had been eating him alive, but every laugh, every smile brought him right back to the glade, the voices of people he’d never hear again, Chuck’s innocent little pranks that he swore he’d get revenge for.
Would he still have wanted to, if he knew just how much it would cost?
Brenda pokes him in the leg. She must have said something while he was lost in his thoughts. She’s shaved her head again, hair short and spiky. Her arms are covered in scars, prices for her years of survival in a supposedly unsurvivable place. For a moment, he’s convinced she’s someone else, her dark hair looks long and blonde, brown eyes turn green. Scars multiply, a silvery one stretching over her collarbone. A singular necklace resting against her collarbones. Then he blinks, and she looks like herself again.
‘You okay?’ she asks, picking at a few strands of grass. Not much grows here, but they get by.
He hums in answer. She looks at him knowingly, but drops it, starts talking about some people Gally can’t place, probably because he insists on having as little human contact with people either than Brenda, Jorge and on occasion Fry, as possible.
She already knows about HER. The little blonde girl who saved his life, dyed her hair bright colors and dragged him away from the edge, despite him fighting tooth and nail to be let go. Abandoned again, left to rot. She’d said no, crossed her arms and given him one of her murderous, soul-freezing stares, and that’d been the end of that discussion. Living in Hell’s Cradle hadn’t been easy in the slightest, but I'd been home.
Today marked nine months since he’d last heard from his sister. Nine months since what was most likely her death.
He still had some of her stuff, little bits and bobs she’d kept to commemorate things that she’d left for Gally to keep an eye on until they next met. A bracelet, or the countless drawings that currently resided on the wall above his bed. The legendary tampons that had cemented Gally and Brenda’s friendship when she’d gotten her period unexpectedly, and he hadn’t reacted more than to hand her the tampon-box, and ask her if she needed pain-killers (that he did in fact also have because of T.J)
Old hair-dye boxes littered the little bathroom in his house, hoodies and t-shirts that they’d spent so much time passing back and forth that they couldn't even remember who owned what. The silver snake-ring that currently hung on a cord around his neck, tucked safely under the collar of his long-sleeve.
‘I’ll find you again Gal, can’t very well leave my favorite piece of jewelry, can I?’ she’d said the last time he saw his sister alive, a running joke they shared every time one of them went on a mission or order from Lawrence without the other.
‘As long as you have a piece of me, I’ll always come back to you’
Except, this time she didn't.
The sun was setting, casting long shadows over the hills and mountains. Safe haven’s little village rested in the valley, a brisk walk away from the open ocean and guarded by towering mountains on either side. Brenda was still talking about Rob and Ted, gesturing wildly with her hands.
A twig snapped somewhere behind them, and despite almost a year and a half of ‘safety’, they still both whipped around, hands going straight to weapons hidden in sleeves and boots alike. It’s just Minho, dark circles under his eyes, and more pale than he should be, but Minho all the same. He informs them that dinner’s started, or, he informs Brenda, eyes slowly nearing Gally’s area before snapping back to Brenda, like he’s scared he’ll get caught.
Gally picks at the grass, and pretends he’s not there. If he sneaks glances at Minho, his shiny coal-black hair, and soft, brown eyes, well, that’s his business, isn't it? Brenda nods along, tells Minho they’ll be there soon, and then he’s turning on his heel, disappearing down the hill as quickly and silently as he appeared. Never in his life had Gally thought Minho could be silent, yet here they are.
Brenda’s grinning when he meets her gaze, wiggling her eyebrows up and down.
‘drop it’ he tells her, climbing slowly to his feet. The tone of his voice must give something away, because her easy joy melts off her face, replaced with sadness. He holds out a hand for Brenda to grab, hauls her to her feet, and together they meander down the hill and towards the settlement.
Dinner is nearing its end when they arrive in the dining hall, taking plates from Fry and settling at an empty table. Gally prefers it this way, less people to give him looks, ask him about his lovely childhood that he only remembers snapshots of, none of which are particularly pleasant, or to make meaningless small talk that drives him up the walls. Brenda insists on hanging around him, so she also usually eats later than most.
She doesn't flick food at him with the end of her fork, or stick her tongue out at him, but she’s funny and cuts the bullshit, so he doesn’t really mind. On occasion Fry will join them, serving dinner to the other residents for the day, and makes conversation with Brenda while Gally half listened and convinces himself to eat even though everything tastes like burned ashes.
Everything tasted like shit in Hell’s Cradle, but at least it tasted of something. It's not Fry’s cooking, which while at times still mildly questionable, has never actually been bad, but life seems to have taken on a grey-ish tint in every aspect. Joy feels hollow, the colorful plants somehow less vibrant. Food doesn't have flavor. It’s probably grief, or depression, or something.
Brenda and Fry worry enough about him as it is, and the only persona he’d really be able to talk to about it, is unfortunately the very one he’s mourning. If he doesn't eat they’ll have an ‘intervention’, which they’ve threatened with before, and he’s honestly rather happy not knowing what exactly that involves.
So, he eats, he ‘socialises’, if you can really call it that. He builds and fixes until his fingers bleed and his body aches, and Vince has to pry the tools out of his hands. Until Angy from medical has to bandage his hands for the 3rd time in a week, and Brenda has to basically kidnap him to their hill where they sit in the grass, and sometimes she weeds out short, quiet stories from his time in Hell’s Cradle. Sometime’s he’s so lost in his own head he can’t, won’t speak for hours on end.
Sometimes, Brenda calls him by her brother's name, and she’s the one who goes quiet. Sometimes, they share stories, joke about their lost family meeting in wherever is next, watching them and their stupid, traumatised asses missing them when they are so close, just beyond reach.
Sometimes they just watch the sun in silence, whether it's setting or rising.
Fry’s in the middle of a story, something from the glade, one of the early bonfires where Winston had almost fallen in and burned his ass, when Harriet strides up to them. She’s a stern woman, head always held high, shoulders back, like the entire world could fall apart, and she could take it. Maybe because it has, and she did.
Her braids are pulled into a tight ponytail, eyes settling on the trio. Her voice is quiet and smooth, and Gally understands immediately how she ended up the leader of the girl’s maze.
‘We’re having a meeting. All of you are needed. Meeting room in five’ she says evenly and without even a hit of what the meeting could concern. Brenda, and Fry glance at each other, then him. He shrugs.
Not like they can refuse.
Harriet goes to find Minho and Aris, leaving them to put away their plates and head over the short walk to the Meeting room, which is in fact a medium sized building filled with every document, book and map they were able to salvage and or bring with them. Gally'd argue about the very stupid name, if he thought it’d actually change anything.
Vince, Sonya, Jorge, Edith and Thomas are already seated around the large table that takes up a big portion of the room. Gally and Thomas are surprisingly on okay terms these days, not the kind of close that they seek each other put, but on occasion when they can’t sleep they sit together on the beach, alone in their company.
Vince’s face is stern, chewing the inside of his cheek the way he only does when he’s nervous about something. T.J. was scarily good at reading people, and while Gally does not possess her natural talent for it, she did teach him the basics. How to look for someone’s tells, what different ones can mean. Sonya’s blonde hair obscures her face, though from what Gally can make out, she doesn't look particularly pleased. More like she’s anxious, and trying to hide it.
Oh, this is going to be interesting. The kind of interesting that never ends well. That, Gally’s sure of.