Two Turtle Doves

One

(Thanks to TalonTracerFTW for reminding me about this)

You woke up gasping for something other than the stale, dry air of the helicoptor. You had been dreaming -- of what, you didn't know -- but the thud of the landing helicoptor peeled you back to reality.

Newt was shaking you, trying to wake you up faster. You looked around to see what was going on. All of the Gladers were scrambling around, jumping one by one out of the helicoptor and into whatever unknown was beyond the aircraft.

Suddenly, you didn't feel drowsy at all. You sprung up, lungs burning due to the lack of fresh air. You scrambled out of the helicoptor, shoeless feet hitting something cold and rough. You looked down to see what it was. Sand flooded the spaces between your toes, spilling onto your cracked skin. You looked around to see that you were in a desert that stretched for miles. Near you, men with guns fired at something outside the small valley formed by the sand dunes. 

Newt jumped from the helicoptor, reminding you that you were supposed to be running. You started to run forward, surprised that the sand seemed to be an easier surface to run on than the concrete of the Maze.

Not soon enough, you reached the doors of a large metal building. The silver reflected the moonlight and you could barely see your reflection. For the first time, you were able to see what you looked like. Of course, you had looked into the water of the small pond in the Glade, but the moving water was nothing compared to the still metal. You stared for what felt like a half hour -- although it couldn't have been more than a few seconds. 

You admired your (H/C) hair, which complemented your (E/C) eyes well. Your face was covered in dirt -- which you had never bothered to wash off after long days in the garden -- and sweat -- which must have been amassing throughout the day. 

Newt pushed you inside the metal doors, wiping you out of your trance. Inside, the Gladers stood in a large huddle, looking around. You were in a large warehouse-looking place, with people scurrying around in every direction. Nobody seemed to be paying attention to the group of filthy teenagers that had just entered.

The room was filled with things you couldn't even name -- some computers, some machinery, hundreds, if not thousands, of wires snaking aroung the walls.

You watched as the last Gladers bolted through the metal doors just as they slammed together, creating a sound that was too similar to that of the closing doors of the Glade. You winced at the memory of the place that you had been trying to forget.

A man's voice boomed through the room.

"You kids alright?" 

Everybody turned to see who had spoken. You saw a man standing in a doorway nearby, leaning against the hinges casually. His hair was grayed and untidy, but he couldn't have been older than forty. He was tall and lean -- but muscular. His face looked like that of another animal -- a rat, perhaps.

"Sorry about all of the fuss. We had ourselves a bit of a swarm."

You noticed that Newt had stood up and grabbed your wrist as you walked toward the man. He was about to say something when Thomas did instead, "Who are you?"

The man shook his head slightly, as if you should have already known. "I'm the reason you're all still alive. And it's my intention to keep you that way. Now, come with me. Let's do something about that smell."

He walked out of the door and down a hall. The Gladers exchanged looks, wondering whether to trust him. You didn't think they should. The man didn't seem trustworthy. Something about his condescending demeanor and the voice that you could place in a memory of your past told you not to. But did you really even have a choice?

A few people shrugged and walked forward, following the man closely. Once everyone was out of the room, he spoke. "You can call me Mr. Janson. I run this place" -- he gestured openly to the hallway, still filled with busy people and computers and wires -- "You can think of it like a home between homes."

Thomas spoke again. "That mean you're taking us home?"

Janson sighed before he answered the question. "A home of sorts," he replied. "Sadly, there wouldn't be much left of where you came from. But we do have a refuge for you. Outside of the Scorch. Where WICKED will never find you again."

The Scorch. WICKED. The words were foreign and you couldn't process them all at once. You realized that you were tired -- drowsy and tired of this man speaking. Hadn't he just promised you a shower?

You reached for Newt's hand. He took it, holding it tighter than you had expected him to. You followed Janson as he continued walking. The way he walked -- like a strut, almost -- annoyed you. You figured he was trying not to seem so condescending but it was just in his nature to be.

He led everyone to a pair of identical doors.

"Boys on this side" -- he pointed to the door on the right -- "Girls on this one" -- the left -- "And don't take too long, it's nearly dinner time."

You looked for Teresa, still clutching Newt's hand. She looked back to you and shrugged. 

You placed a small kiss on Newt's cheek and let go of his hand. You didn't want to leave him. If you were to be honest with yourself, you were scared and he took half of the fear away. But you really needed a shower and new clothes. 

You imagined the warm water washing away months worth of sweat as you walked away from the group and through the left door.

The bathroom was nothing grand like the room you had been in earlier, but its shiny white-tiled walls made it seem larger than it actually was. There were showers lining the wall on one end. You had never been more eager to get somewhere faster.

The clothes that these people had given you were soft and warm. They smelled tangy and bitter, but it fit well with the soft fabric. They had just been washed.

You looked at yourself in the mirror, able to get a better look at your proper reflection. Your hair, which was wavy with water, was unbrushed and tangled. You had been able to pry apart some large knots in the shower. You saw minute red veins running through the whites of your eyes, like small vessles had popped open.

When Teresa brought you back to your senses by asking you if you were ready, you whipped your gaze away from your reflection.

"Yeah," you mumbled. As you both headed toward the door, you ran your hand through your damp hair. You wished you had been able to dry it, but you were given no choice other than to let it soak the back of your new shirt.

Outside the door stood the rest of the Gladers. Almost immediately, you saw Newt rush toward you. He pulled you into a tight hug, breathing onto the top of your head heavily.

"Hello to you, too," you laughed into his shirt. It smelled like yours did: fresh and clean.

"Are you okay?" he asked, placing a hand on the back of your head. You felt some of your hair fall over your shoulder and get his shirt wet. If he cared, he didn't show it.

"Yeah. Why wouldn't I be?"

"I don't know," he replied. "I just want to make sure."

You doubted he expected a response, so you didn't give him one. Instead, you pulled him closer to you. You listened to what the other Gladers were saying.

"What took so long?"

"We've been out here for, like, fifteen minutes."

"Typical girls."

You ignored them all and focused on the smell of Newt's shirt, even though the unfamiliar scent didn't do much good at settling your subtle nerves.

You hadn't thought much since the last night the Grievers attacked. You had just ran and ran, only to run some more.

We're done running, you thought. We're safe now.