The Inventor

Chapter Thirty Three; "Natural Karma"

     As it turned out Chuck was interested in carving. Now he was too young to work a big job in the glade so he had to downgrade as a slopper but you made a point of pulling him out every chance you got and letting him hang around the workshop. He made you a small circular disk with your name engraved on it and you promised you'd return the favor.

     Chuck had been in the glade for a few weeks now, asking questions when he needed to, sleeping in the workshop frequently while you worked late. He was sleeping in even now while you ran through the glade with Newt, barging into the medhut after pushing through the crowd outside its entrance.

     The room was silent, completely cleared of other patients, just the med jacks and Alby standing around a bed.

     "We tried Y/n," Clint said weakly, "I think it was a stroke."

     You stopped dead at the end of the bed, staring at Nick's dead body. He didn't stir, eyes closed, skin dull. Alby looked sorrowful, the medjacks guilty and Newt stood by his friend, hand on his shoulder. Alby would be the new leader now, he would have to choose a second in command, he would have to run the glade. He must be feeling the impending stress on his shoulders now.

     And for you, well, you thought you did well to at least look sympathetic toward the people in the room but you didn't care at all. You had to refrain from saying something that would lighten the mood in your opinion but would make you look bad in front of these people. So, as a courtesy you went and checked his pulse, closing your eyes to hopefully look somewhat sad.

     Then you stood up straight again, "He's dead, sorry. Don't blame yourself Clint, can't save them all."

     Newt looked up and gave you a look, you shrugged.

     "What happened?" Alby asked the medjacks.

     "A stroke, we don't know how or why, he was rushed in here and we tried to do something but nothing helped," Clint explained, "I'm sorry Alby."

     Alby gave you a look and the rest of them looked to you, you caught on to the meaning quick enough.

     "You think I killed him?" You were genuinely insulted for a moment, then mauled it over in your head, "I mean, I wouldn't put it past me, the guy sucked, but it wasn't me, I've been with Chuck all night. If it was me there would be more injuries and he would have put up a fight, also, I would be in bad condition too. People just don't get murdered without putting up a fight," You looked at Nick and patted the headboard of the bed, "You know what I think happened?"

     "What?" Clint asked.

     You opened your mouth to say the words 'natural karma' but glanced at the expressions of the four standing there, all looking mournful, and you thought better of it.

     "I think he was overworking himself, he tended to do that," You finished, "Say your goodbyes and call the baggers over, I have to wake Chuck up."

     You walked out of the room, stopping to put a hand on Alby's shoulder, "I'm sorry you lost a friend."

     Then you left them to their own devices, knowing Clint could take care of it from there.

     This would be the correct time for you to say something about how he wasn't all that bad and that he was probably misunderstood despite your differences. But that wouldn't be honest because you weren't at all thinking that. You felt nothing for him, impartial to his death, it didn't affect you.

     There wasn't anything for you to mourn.

Present Day
     "Don't you think we would have noticed words if there were any?" Minho pointed out while you opened a box of maps to let Thomas take a look.

     "Maybe they aren't visible to the naked eye?" Thomas suggested.

     "What do you think? Invisible ink? A chemical induced hidden message?" You offered, "I could name a few that I've tried but none showed any differences in any of the maze patterns."

     Thomas shook his head, "No, I don't think that's it."

     "We've tried comparing them together, lining them up to see if they connected somehow, studying all of them throughout a period of days," You listed.

     "We lit one on fire once," Minho added.

     "That was not my idea, nor did I hold the lighter," You clarified.

     "That is a freaking lie you asked me if I wanted to burn a map to see if it would do anything!" He argued.

     "I do not recall that, I think your head is playing tricks on you," You smirked.

     "Don't gaslight me!" He huffed.

     "No one will ever believe you," You mocked.

     "Why wasn't I informed you were burning stuff?!" Newt interrupted.

     "Never mind," Minho backtracked.

     "You heard nothing," You went along.

     "Hair looks nice today Newtie."

     "Is that new cologne?"

     "Slim it, both of you!" He ordered.

     Minho saluted lazily, "Yes sir."

     "Sorry mom," You muttered. Minho snickered.

     Newt chose to ignore you, "Tommy, what are you thinking we should do about the maps?"

     Thomas was observing two maps against each other in his lap, his eyes shooting wide when he seemed to catch something.

     "Wax paper, we need wax paper!" He said.

     "We're making cookies now?" Minho asked snarkily.

     "We need wax paper, scissors and black markers," He continued.

     "Oh, we're doing arts and crafts then?" You chimed in.

     "I think we have glitter glue," Minho added.

     Both of you chuckled and looked at each other instinctively with smirks. In an instant you wiped your expressions blank and cleared your throats, glancing away.

     "Trust me, I think this is going to work," Thomas insisted.

     "I don't like that you used 'think' and 'trust' in the same sentence, I find that very counterproductive," You remarked.

     Newt let out a sound of exasperation, "We'll get it to you Tommy. You two-" He paused, looking at you and Minho standing closer than you had in a while, "-stop talking, it's like having double the chaos in one room, I can feel myself aging just by being bloody close to you. Go get the buggin supplies."

     "You look great for your age," You taunted.

     "Can barely notice the wrinkles," Minho agreed.

     "Get out! Get! Out!" He pointed wildly to the door and both of you quickly followed his orders, leaving the room to get what they needed.

     Minho held the door open for you and shut it when you left, leaving the lighthearted banter in the weapons room. Now, it was just merely awkward while you walked to the kitchens.

     "That wasn't even funny," Minho said after a while, obviously trying to get back to the common ground of hatred.

     "Yeah well your snitch," You shot back.

     "Gaslighter."

     "Five year old."

     He nodded, "Glad we got that covered."

     "Yeah," You muttered, "Glad it's covered."