The Inventor

Chapter Forty; "Safe enough"

     "Please, please just keep Chuck in the weapons room with the girl, it's one of the safest places," You told Newt, sitting at dinner with him. People had already begun to file into the hogsmeade but he stayed behind just a little longer for you.

     "Yeah, yeah, I know, he's already there. I have a lot of loons here to take care of," He threw a towel at you, "Wipe your mouth and chew some gum, you don't exactly have toothbrushes down there."

     You wiped off your mouth in an undignified manner and got up with him, "I already brushed my teeth. Come get me when the griever attacks end, you know I won't be sleeping."

     "Good that."

     Silence, there was nothing more to say. You had trouble looking him in the eyes, not willing to bet on how well he could read them. When you glanced at him it made you wonder how you couldn't tell him, how you could have kept it quiet that he was safe from the griever attacks even after you saw how terrified he was of death each night. What was worse is you didn't tell him now, when he could be a prime target. He wasn't safe anymore and that's your fault.

     If he died tonight, you would be to blame. Your heart was strung tight at the notion, your throat constricting under the weight of it all.

     "Y/n?" He questioned, "Unless you want to come to a shucking party with the grievers you might want to get in that workshop. Or, what's left of it."

     "You sure you can't come?" You tried again, voice quiet, "Just a break for you, then you could come back tomorrow rested."

     "I'm the bloody leader here Y/n, with Alby not in charge I have to keep 'em all in line! If I go with you, everyone could lose their buggin' minds and have nobody to keep it under control," He explained, "I don't have a choice."

     "We all have a choice," You muttered. And you deeply regretted your own decision that now put him in harm's way.

     "Not many good ones," He tugged at your sleeve lightly, "Don't worry about me, yeah? Just don't bloody murder Minho."

     "I'll think about it," You mustered up a regretful smile and he gifted you with a small sad one back.

     Then, as if your minds came to the conclusion at once, you gave each other a one armed hug. His head rested on your shoulder, his fingers still grasping your sleeve. For one moment you shut your eyes and allowed yourself to bind your chest in worry, your breathing as weak as you felt.

     But when your eyes opened, you forced your breath steady and made yourself that too. You pulled away, holding his sleeve still.

     "See you tomorrow," He didn't say it as a question, it was a statement. It was a promise.

     "See you tomorrow," You said back, just as firm.

     He let go, and you jerked your hand away, allowing him to. You forced yourself to turn and walk away, not meeting his eyes. From the sound of his footsteps he did the same.

     You still had bombs, you would burn this whole place if they killed him or Chuck, maybe that threat could keep them safe enough.

     It was such a cruel thing to think, but you prayed for someone's death, for it to be anyone but them. But that's what everyone here wishes, for it to be anyone but themselves.

     You hesitated when you entered the bunker, hand in the latch, eyes flitting across the bland gray sky while grievers shrieked for blood. Then it was shut and locked, hesitation was not something you liked to do. It was a dangerous thing, but unavoidable.

     "I was considering just locking the door for how shucking long you took! Were you taking a klunk or what?" He taunted.

     You clamped your jaw shut, then released it to say, "Rot in hell."

     "Already am, clearly," When you turned to him you just caught his eyes rolling dramatically, "What's got you in a shucking bad mood?"

     You noticed the jar of moonshine in his hand, his eyes looking at you over its rim. He was sitting in your chair.

     "Get out of my chair," You demanded.

     He sighed but complied, sitting on the plain wood one instead, "Why do you get the nice chair?"

     "Because this is my workshop," You shot at him, sitting down with him only a few feet away from you, "And you're drinking my moonshine."

     You pointedly took his jar, taking a long drink from it and crudely wiping your mouth after.

     He faked a gagging noise and grabbed a new glass from the box of them, "Why was that so gross? You did that purposely."

     You snickered, finding relief from anxiety by tormenting him. Hopefully, with the alcohol in your system, there will barely be any anxiety at all.

     You needed that.