DISCLAIMER: I don't own The Maze Runner series or any other characters associated with it. However, I do own Grace and any other original characters that might pop up. And similarities to any other works of fanfiction are purely coincidental.

CHAPTER SEVEN

"Be not sick too late, nor well too soon."

Benjamin Franklin

"Bloody hell!"

Grace couldn't help but snort slightly as she watched Newt flop back gracelessly onto his bed, letting out a groan of frustration as he laid there for a long moment, just staring at the ceiling, allowing the new crutches to slip from his grip. "That's it," he said with a tone of finality. "I'll just never leave my bed. I'll stay in here forever."

This wasn't the first time Newt had fallen, and Grace was fairly certain it wouldn't be the last. The crutches were proving difficult to master, throwing Newt off balance and leaving him in predicaments like this.

"You won't." She assured, moving so she could peer down at him, grinning. "Clint already said you won't be restricted to these things forever. Just until your leg gets all nice and healed. You'll be able to walk without them, Newt. Then you won't fall over as much. Wanna try again?"

Grace had learned pretty quickly that skirting around the issue of his injured leg frustrated Newt even more, and so she had decided to act like it was no big deal. Newt didn't want anybody treating him like something made of glass, he had told her. He just wanted everyone to act normal. So she had, the others quickly following her lead and going about their lives as if this was normal.

"Yeah," he sighed. "Help me get on my feet and we can walk down to get dinner?" He suggested, sitting up and placing a hand on her shoulder to help stabilize himself as he started to stand.

"Good that." Grace placed an arm firmly around him, helping to haul him to his feet before swooping down to retrieve his crutches, handing them over. "Gally did a pretty good job on them at least, right?"

"Yeah," Newt agreed, taking a cautious step forward, Grace watching warily in case he started to tip backwards again. "Least I'm not gettin' splinters in my armpits. Remind me to thank him."

"I'll help you compose a really nice 'thank you' letter for him." She said with a grin before clearing her throat. "Dear Gally, thank you for the really beautiful crutches that sort of help me walk around. They're really amazing and you are equally amazing. Where would I be without your top notch crutch making skills, and I truly cannot repay the debt of this favor. I pledge my life and servitude to you. Love, Newt."

Newt snorted slightly, shaking his head. "Nah, I think that'd be laying it on pretty thick." He said. "Let's go with something more subtle."

"Subtle?" She raised a brow. "Yeah, I can do subtle." She lowered her voice, making it sound almost like a grunt as she said a said a simple "Thanks bro."

"What's that voice supposed to be?" Newt asked with a laugh, making Grace shrug slightly. "It was supposed to sound like a guy." She told him. He laughed again. "Sorry, that didn't quite come across."

Grace sent a playful glare in his direction, before slipping forward quickly to open the door to the room, pausing as she glanced back to keep an eye on him. Slowly but surely, Newt made his way towards her, his movements with the crutches restricted and it was obvious he was being overly careful for fear of falling again. Grace was dreading attempting to go down the stairs, but she knew it was something Newt felt like he needed to do. He wanted to be part of everything, not shut up in his room like some sort of recluse.

Grace wished suddenly that Alby was upstairs helping. He would be a lot more help getting down the stairs, she decided, because if Newt suddenly tipped forwards she wasn't entirely sure she'd be able to hold his weight to keep him from falling. He would have to be extra careful with the precarious descent down the staircase. Of course, she thought as she watched him, he already knew that.

"Any idea what's for dinner?" He asked as he passed her, stepping out into the hallway and leaving her to follow. "Roast beef." She said. "I talked Frypan into making it a few days ago." In truth, hardly a week went by without Grace attempting to talk Frypan into making her favorite meal, he rarely gave in, but he had been feeling generous the day before and besides, Grace had reasoned, it always made for good sandwiches for the runners in the few days following.

"Poor Frypan, always getting bullied into making food for you." Grace scoffed at Newt's words, flicking him lightly in the back of the head. "I don't bully anyone, shuck-face." She said with a laugh. He glanced back at her with a slight grin, before turning back, pausing when he reached the staircase. His shifted, adjusting his crutches so he could grip them tighter before taking a deep breath.

"Hey, you got this." Grace told him as she stepped up beside him. His grin had vanished, she noticed, and had been replaced with a frown as he stared down the staircase. "Yeah," he breathed, eyes round, expression nervous before he took his first careful step forwards.

It was slow going, waiting for Newt to work his way down the stairs, Grace always staying right behind him, just in case, green eyes attentive as she looked for any sign that he was going to suddenly tumble forward. Finally though, he reached the base of the stairs and visibly sighed with relief.

"Not looking forward to going back up them." He told her, staring back up the stairs. Grace smiled. "Hopefully then Alby will be around to help. Make the whole thing a little faster."

"Hopefully." Newt echoed, before starting forward on his crutches again, heading out of the Homestead. Grace trailed behind him, watching for any signs he was going to fall. This was the first time he was leaving the Homestead after what happened, his leg causing too much irritation for him to even attempt it. Clint had offered to fix him up a place down stairs but Newt had argued, saying he would prefer to sleep upstairs, in his own room, in his own bed. Grace couldn't blame him, and after a long while of arguing Clint had agreed as long as Newt didn't try to come downstairs until he was given the okay.

Clint had been very attentive, as far as Newt's leg injury was concerned, and had been taking great care to show Jeff, the newest med-jack, how to properly care for that. Newt would never be a Runner again, Clint had told Minho and Grace. Instead he would be limited to finding a new job inside the Glade. When his leg had healed of course.

To be honest, Grace didn't think Newt minded too terribly about not being able to run in the Maze ever again. He hadn't been to keen on the job in the first place, and Grace was certain that he did the job more because he felt obligated to do so.

Sweeping her gaze across the Glade, Grace was unsurprised to find it mostly deserted, everyone probably already eating dinner. Which was just fine. If Newt did fall, he wouldn't want everyone around to see it.

He was moving determinedly towards the Mess Hall, pushing his way in side with Grace following a moment later. The usual buzz of conversation that surrounded dinnertime immediately ceased, all eyes landing on Newt as a hush fell over the Gladers. Newt shifted awkwardly, adjusting his crutches.

"Hey." He said finally, raising a hand in a simple wave. Stepping up beside him, Grace glanced around at the others, narrowing her eyes at them until the majority of them looked away. "I'll go get our food." Grace told Newt, offering him a smile before hurrying to the dwindling line, catching Frypan's eye and gesturing over to where Newt was hobbling over to their usual table. "Look who dragged himself out here." She said. "All because he heard we were having Pot Roast tonight."

Frypan fixed her with a look, smirking slightly. "Oh is that why he's down here? My infamous Pot Roast?" He asked, spooning some carrots onto another boy, Louis', plate. "Oh yeah." Grace said casually. "He could smell it from his room. Practically floated on air down here."

"Maybe I should just give him the rest then. You wouldn't mind, would you Grace?"

"You can give him the rest over my cold, dead body." She joked, watching as Frypan loaded the two plates in her hands down with food. Offering him a grateful smile, Grace turned and headed over to the others, setting Newt's plate down in front of him before sitting beside him in her usual space, Minho across from her and Nick on her other side.

"Grace," Minho greeted. "Newt was just telling us how you carried him bridal style down the stairs."

She snorted, raising a forkful of food to her mouth, taking her time to chew and swallow before answering. "Yep." She said casually. "That's how strong I am."

Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Newt grab her plate casually, scraping the carrots onto his before replacing them with his roll. Smiling slightly, she brushed her shoulder against his. There was no denying the dynamic between them had changed, though in what way Grace wasn't sure. They felt like more than friends, but she had nothing upon which to compare their current relationship. But it was fine, she was comfortable, and whatever they had, it was nice.

A harsh coughing from her right startled her, making her look at Nick in surprise to see him coughing into his hand, the act itself wracking his thin body. She furrowed her brow slightly in worry, reaching up to place a hand on his shoulder.

"You good?" She asked, when the coughs finally subsided and he reached forward to take a drink from his water. He nodded slightly. "Yeah," Nick rasped. "I've just been coughing all day."

"Are you catching a cold?" Newt asked, peering past her at him. Nick shrugged.

"I don't know. I don't feel-" Another series of coughs cut him off, making him reach up to cover his mouth again as Grace rubbed his back slightly, looking at the other boys in concern. "Go get Clint." She advised Alby who nodded and stood, hurrying away to the table where Clint and Jeff sat with a couple of other boys.

Reaching up to lay a hand across Nick's forehead, Grace frowned. He was burning up. But without a thermometer there was no way for her to tell how bad his temperature was. "What's going on?" Clint asked, walking up behind Nick with Jeff trailing after him. Alby stood at the head of the table, eyes on Nick. "He's sick." Grace explained quickly. "A cold maybe. I don't know."

"Hmm...come on Nick. Let's get you up to the infirmary." Clint advised. Nick managed a nod despite the fierce coughing and stood. He had gathered the attention of many of the Gladers, Grace saw, most of them looking at their leader with mixed expressions of confusion and concern.

When the coughing finally subsided, Nick pulled his hand away, taking a deep breath, his eyes watering. Grace frowned, standing up when something caught her eye. She reached out, snagging Nick's wrist and turning it so she could inspect his hand, eyes widening when she saw that it was stained with blood.

By the next night, ten other Gladers had fallen sick, Nick's illness proving to be worse than a regular cold.

Clint had limited them all to bottom floor of the Homestead, hanging up sheets to hide them away while he and Jeff worked to figure out what was wrong with them. Of course, Grace didn't find any of this out until she had returned from her run in the Maze and finished her map, tucking it away and leaving to find Minho and Alby huddled together in deep conversation. They had told her then, Alby speaking in a low voice as he gestured towards the Homestead. He was trying his very best to be discreet, but if ten Gladers had gotten sick people would notice them missing. They'd start asking questions and it wouldn't stay secret for very long.

Still, things could have been worse, Grace decided but it wasn't until the following morning that the true gravity of the situation struck her when she caught Minho coughing in the Map Room, leaning against the wall for support as he covered his mouth.

She froze in the doorway, eyes stretching wide as she watched him for a moment, her stomach dropping. Not Minho, she thought. Please, not Minho.

She started towards him, the panic starting to rise but he caught sight of her, gesturing for her to stop. Grace hesitated, furrowing her brow as she stared at her friend who could only shake his head at her, still coughing. When they finally subsided he took a deep breath, wiping his mouth on his sleeve before looking up at her. "Stay over there," he instructed. "I don't want you to get sick too."

"Minho…" she started. He looked very pale, she noticed, just like Nick had. There was no denying it, Minho was definitely sick.

"I'm gonna go see Clint," he told her, his voice raspy. "And you need to get into the Maze. You do still have a job to do, Grace."

A job to do? How the hell could he expect her to do that when he was laid up in bed sick all day with an illness that they didn't know the first thing about? How was she supposed to focus when her best friend was sick and miserable and she couldn't do anything to stop it?

"Finding a way out is more important, Grace." He said, his voice more serious than she was used to hearing. She furrowed her brow, shaking her head. "We've been searching since we got here Minho, what are the chances that we'll find a way out toda-"

"And what if today is the only day that you can?" He asked, though from the look on his face he wasn't really expecting an answer. "Look," he added. "I'll be fine. Just make sure the other shanks do their jobs okay?"

"I know what to do, Minho." She snapped. "I've been doing it just as long as you. So why can't I send them out and then stay to-"

"No." He interrupted again, making her narrow her eyes. "There's nothing you can do here, Grace. Last time I checked, you're not a med-jack and-" He was cut off mid-sentence by the terrible body wracking coughs again. The door creaking open behind Grace had her spinning around, eyes widening almost as if this whole thing was meant to be a secret. Linus stood in the doorway, two other runners trailing behind him. His eyes widened as he stared past her at Minho. Sucking in a deep breath, she ushered them away. "Move," she ordered. "He needs to get to the Homestead to see Clint and none of us need to get sick." Casting one last look back at Minho she stepped outside with them, a heavy feeling settling in the pit of her stomach.

By the time Grace arrived back that evening, only minutes before the doors were meant to close for the night, chaos had ensued. Her heart rose in her throat as she looked around the Glade. Usually, around this time, most of the boys were finishing up their jobs and getting ready to head to dinner. Not today though. There were far fewer Gladers than she was used to milling around, and even then, none of them were working.

Standing there for a long moment, Grace was torn between heading to the Map Room to draw up her section of the Maze or finding someone and being told just what the hell was going on. Map first, she decided with a sigh, before jogging in the direction of the Map Room. It had been a long day, but less because of the Maze, that was exactly how it was supposed to be based on the schedule she and Minho had figured out once they had started noticing patterns and compared maps some months prior. No, she had been filled with a nagging worry all day. She wanted to return to the Glade, to find out what she could. But most of all she wanted to know that Minho was okay. Her worry over her best friend had been consuming her all day, and she had hardly noticed the Maze around her while running.

Pushing open the door to the Map Room, she was surprised to find the other runners milling around talking instead of filling in their map. "I think we can find something better to do with our time, boys." She said as she stepped inside, giving them all a stern look as she received her paper and pencil. She was here, ready to do her job despite everything that was going on, it was the least they could do.

"We were just talking." One of the boys, Wash, said. "If Minho dies do you become the leader of the Runners?"

She froze, sending him a fierce glare that made him visibly recoil. "Minho and I are co-leaders." She reminded him. "And nobody is going to die. So shut your shank mouth!"

Wash opened his mouth to argue, dark eyes blazing as he stared at her. "It was a fair question." Linus said evenly, stepping between them. His tone was cool, steady. "I mean...don't you think we should know, Grace? Think logically."

"There's nothing to know, shuck-face!" She growled, sitting down to begin aggressively drawing her section of the map. "Minho is going to be just fine! So is everyone else. Now can you all just please sit down and do your shucking job!"

Silence followed her outburst, the boys all staring at her as she hurried to finish her map. Nobody was going to die. Not a single goddamn person was going to die, least of all Minho.

"Grace, I-"

"No!" She snapped, standing up as soon as her, admittedly, messily drawn map was finished and refusing to look at anybody, least of all Linus who was the one that had spoken in the first place. "Get those maps drawn. I won't tell you again." Her words were cold, expression dangerous, and not a single one of them said another word as she put the map away before returning her weapons to the chest where they belonged. Without looking at any of them she stepped outside, immediately jogging towards the Homestead.

"Grace!" Her hand hovered over the doorknob as her name was called. She turned to see Alby approaching her, Newt hobbling along after him on his crutches. Relief flooded through her when she saw that the two of them weren't sick. That was something, at least.

"Can't go in there." Alby told her. "They're quarantined."

"I'm sorry, what?"

Where most of the boys in the Glade withered under her intense glares, Alby never had and now was no exception. He squared his shoulders, tightening his jaw and giving her a curt nod. "Clint's orders. He's sick too. Even Jeff isn't allowed in there."

"But Minho-"

"Grace," Newt said gently. "It's Minho. He'll be fine. And we don't need anyone else getting sick."

"But I-"

"Grace, no." Alby said sternly. "Nobody is allowed in. That's that." With that he turned to walk away, Newt sending her a lingering apologetic look before turning to start after him, leaving Grace feeling angry and dejected and annoyed. "Fine," she muttered, though nobody was around to hear her. "I'll figure out something else."

Dear Creators,

Look, I know we're in here for whatever reason and you shanks are enjoying playing god out there or whatever but in case you haven't noticed, the Homestead is full of sick people. I don't know if you sent the sickness, and the be honest I don't really care. We need medicine. Like...really need it. If these boys die that's all on you and I know the threat doesn't seem like much now but if they die when I get out of here, I will make you regret it. So...do whatever you have to do. Send in medicine or instructions on how to fix them or...hell send in a goddamn doctor. Just don't let them die. Please.

She stared at the paper in her hands for a long time, reading it and then re-reading it before finally sighing and folding it up into a small square before dropping it into the boxhole, watching it flutter down before it disappeared completely from her view. It wasn't the first time a request had been made to the Creators, though they didn't always answer requests. But Grace hoped they did this time. She really, really did.

Turning away from the Boxhole, she headed towards the Homestead again, slipping a hand into her pocket to toy with the second note she had written. This one wasn't for the Creators, it was for Minho and she didn't have to reread it to remember what she had written down in her messy scrawl.

Get better. Don't die.

She had stared at the paper for what had felt like forever, just staring at it, trying to figure out what to say to her best friend. The note was fine in its simplicity, but there was so much more she wanted to say. She wanted to tell him that she missed him, never mind the fact that she had seen him that morning. She wanted to tell him that he had to get better because whenever they found the way out, she wasn't sure it would even be worth it without him. But she couldn't say anything of those things, couldn't figure out the words to write down.

Sighing, she stopped in front of the door leading into the Homestead, pulling the note out before stooping down to slide it beneath the door. Hopefully somebody would notice it and give it to him. Standing, she gave the door one last lingering look before turning and walking away.

She wasn't sure if it was worry or just not being used to sleeping in the hammocks but either way, Grace hadn't been sleeping very well when she heard Jeff's voice, urging Alby awake a few hammocks down from her. Green eyes fluttered open as she leaned up, rubbing sleep from her eyes.

Newt lay asleep in the hammock next to hers, dead to the world, crutches leaning against a nearby post, and on her other side, Linus was snoring softly.

"What's going on?" She asked softly, rolling out of the hammock to stand, approaching Alby and Jeff so she could try and avoid waking anybody else. Her eyes flicked to the Homestead, worry creasing her face when she saw all the lights downstairs on. Shouldn't they all have been resting? The sun was starting to light up the sky but still, not even Runners got up this early, and there was no reason for any of those who had been quarantined to be awake.

Alby yawned widely, looking at Jeff tiredly, not quite registering the look of worry on their friends face. "Yeah man," he said. "What's going on."

"Niels is dead."

"What?" Alby spluttered, fully awake now as he stood. Grace's eyes widened as she exchanged a look with her friend. Niels had been one of the youngest boys in the Glade, small and scrawny with a head of wild blonde hair and brown eyes. He had been, at the most, fourteen, and had only arrived three months prior. He had been assigned a slopper, and had also been one of the first boys to fall sick, according to Newt and Alby.

"There was a note outside the door when I went to leave food outside a few minutes ago." Jeff explained hurriedly. "Clint doesn't know what else to do. We need medicine, or more people will die."

"Well we just have to depend on the Creators for that." Alby huffed. "We can't pull medicine out of our butts."

"And that's what we tell everybody else?" Grace asked, raising a brow at Alby as she crossed her arms over her chest. "Like 'Hey guys, we're kind of stuck on what to do. A bunch of us might die.' That is not going to go over well, Alby."

"We don't tell them anything." Alby said quickly, glancing at the sleeping Gladers around them. "We wait and see what happens. And we can't move the body until we have some sort of solution. I don't want anybody else to get sick."

"And now they have to stay in there with some poor dead shank? Things just keep getting worse and worse."

"Well there isn't much else we can do, Grace!" Alby snapped, glaring at her. She sighed, reluctantly nodding. "Yeah," she said. "I know." It didn't make her like it anymore though, and she definitely didn't like thinking about poor Minho and Nick stuck in there with a dead kid that they couldn't do anything with.

"As soon as those doors open, I want you and the rest of the Runners out there." Alby added. "We need to keep everything running as normal as possible." With a heavy sigh, Grace nodded. As much as she wanted to stay in the Glade to day, to be there in case the worst happened, she knew she couldn't. Alby wouldn't let her for one thing, and Minho would kick her ass for sure if he got better. When, she corrected herself. Not if.

Nick was dead.

Three days later, six other boys dead, and the last to go was Nick. Lucky number seven my ass, she thought bitterly as she watched Jeff enter the Homestead for the first time in days. The supplies had come up that morning, right on schedule, and with the usual supplies came the medicine she had asked for. Medicine that had come too late.

Nick was dead, and there was nothing any of them could do.

She lingered outside of the Map Room, where she had retreated when Alby had pulled her aside, expression solemn as he told her quietly of Nick's death. Alby was leader now, that went without saying, and Grace couldn't quite decide if she thought that was good or bad. Still, he had asked her and Newt to be his sort of second-in-commands and at least this way she could help with making decisions. None of it felt right though, and a truly somber feeling had settled over the Glade.

Graves had to be dug, Grace knew, and Alby was overseeing that in the Deadheads. She had tried to slip into the Homestead to see Minho but Jeff had advised her not too, turning her away and leaving her unsure of what to do. She wanted to see Minho, wanted to see him with her own eyes to make sure he was actually okay. She wanted him to tease her for worrying. Only then would she be able to relax.

"Everything's going to be okay, y'know." The sound of the familiar voice made her turn her gaze from the Homestead to Newt, who was looking at her with a sort of sad smile on his face. She leaned against the doorframe of the Maproom, raising a brow at him.

"I'm not worried." She said simply.

"You are," he argued. "Can't lie to me Gracie. You had that look on your face."

"What look?" Grace asked, raising a brow at him. He snorted slightly, shaking his head with a sigh. "The "I'm thinking too hard about something' look. You and Alby both have one. But things are going to be okay."

"Are they?" She bit her lip, turning her gaze back towards the Homestead. "We were helpless against the sickness. If the Creators hadn't sent up medicine we all could have-"

"But we didn't." He cut her off. "And we won't. If the Creators wanted us dead, we'd probably be dead, Gracie." He added. "But we're still here, for whatever reason. And they still need us."

"What a comforting thought." Grace muttered dryly. Newt rolled his eyes. "It wasn't meant to be. Now come on, we have a funeral to go to."

AUTHOR'S NOTE: Okay so this chapter took a little longer than I wanted, but in my defense it would have been out days ago if google docs had only participated. But in any case here it is, finally, and with this chapter we lose a very important character. I know Nick's death was sort of anti-climatic, it was meant to be. I should say that I definitely do like Nick, he was a cool guy but obviously he had to die.

Obviously I can't touch on every major event that happens leading up to Thomas entering the Maze, which will be happening in only a few chapter just so you guys know, but I do have the oneshot companion series to this one posted and will be adding to that gradually as time goes on. Anyway, what did you guys think of this chapter? I'm going to try to get the next one out sooner, but I'm also trying to figure out a schedule for writing fics and unfortunately, try as I might, I just can't write a short and quick chapter.