Discoveries | TMR | Three

1:2

These evenings are always the hardest for Maggie to endure. The evenings after the fact. After another Wicked compound has been pilfered, ravaged, the guards inside killed and the building practically destroyed beyond recognition, with still not a mere morsel of information as to where Brenda and Travis are.

It is during these evenings that it all hits her again; like a train crashing into her, or a wall of bricks crumbling down on top of her. Like a bullet to the head, the reminder of their ongoing failings cling to her brain, embedding itself deep within her fragile mind and becoming unrelenting in its pursuit of trying to force her into a near catatonic state.

She tries to mask her emotional vulnerability with an artificial demeanour of hope, or at least a feigned glint of eagerness in her eyes, but on these evenings, not even Matt seems to be capable of wrangling out a smile.

The only thing that could possibly ease her struggles is burying her head deep within the endless paperwork that has been stolen from the compound, so that is exactly what she does.

Hours after they had arrived at this unusually Crank-free apartment on the far edge of the town, nearly every member of the group had succumbed to their exhaustion; tightly woven together in small bundles on each piece of furniture in this living room. Two armchairs, a sofa and footstool are only four of the objects that crowd this abandoned room. Four of the Gladers had commandeered the sofa from the second they entered, with Matt being left with one chair, Nick taking up the other - plus the footstool - and Rebecca being stuck on the floor.

Maggie, herself, sits by a dining table positioned in the corner. Isolated from the rest of the group, yet still able to hear the faint huffs and puffs of Rebecca as she grumbles about not being comfortable. It is clear to her that the mousy girl longs for a spot on the chair next to Nick, who is curled up beneath a blanket, though he is either ignoring her or completely oblivious to it.

Maggie believes it is the former.

Still, one would think that he would have the decency to, at least, offer her the footstool to rest on, so that the rest of them did not have to hear her consistent attempts at sympathy. Maggie has been becoming increasingly irate with her whimpering for what feels like the longest time, and frankly, is incredibly confused as to why Rebecca would force herself to be in the company of them all for two days... just for the sake of a boy whom clearly does not give a single fuck about her.

Rebecca surely must be aware that she holds no friendships within this group. Granted, Maggie is far more receptive to certain issues than some of the other members of this small team, but you would have to be a complete idiot not to notice than none of them really like her.

With her unfocused eyes gazing at the stack of paperwork on the table in front of her, Maggie's attention is snagged when Nick grumbles something under his breath. When he trudges to the dining table and plonks himself down on the chair adjacent to her, she tries to stifle a smirk.

"Stop smiling."

Though it turns out to be a futile attempt. Maggie allows the smirk to simmer on her lips as she leans across the table, until her head is only a few inches from his. "What's up, Nicky?" she asks, her voice nothing more than a whisper. "You don't wanna cosy up on the chair with Becks?"

"It's Nick," he swiftly corrects, mirroring her low tone. "And no, actually, I'd rather cosy up with a Crank."

Maggie sits up straight and tilts her head. "Whatever gets ya goin', I suppose."

"What?" A look of disgust worms its way onto his features when his brain registers what she said. "Ew."

They share a small giggle, though swiftly quieten their tone when Rebecca stands up and abruptly flings herself down on the now-free armchair. She nestles into it, covering herself and trying to soak up the lingering warmth beneath the plush blanket Nick had not moments ago, all the while, glaring daggers at the pair of them. Maggie is unsure if she heard their comments through the soft and gentle sounds of the other four Gladers snoring on the sofa, and frankly, she does not care.