Losses

Summary: Jorge and his surrogate daughter have a conversation. Written for the paddle or ruler square in the Advent Holiday Bingo
Warning(s): Spanking; spoilers for The Maze Runner and The Maze Runner: The Scorch Trials; references to violence towards children and teenagers
Author's Note: I figured I'd try and write an entire bingo line focusing on one fandom. So yeah. Could be considered a sequel to More Than One Reason.
I may also do a separate follow-up to this with Jorge and Thomas, if anyone might be interested in reading it.

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They hadn't let him in to see Brenda. Jorge had ended up pacing around outside the tent, ignoring the suspicious looks directed his way by various members of the Right Arm.

How could she keep this from him? He wouldn't have put a bullet in her. He'd never have put a bullet in her.

It seemed to take an age before the kid, Thomas, stepped out of the tent. Jorge moved quickly into his path. “Well?” he demanded, fighting to keep his voice even. “Did it work?”

“Yeah.” Thomas swallowed, looking like he might have added more, but nodded instead. “It worked. I...It worked,” he repeated, almost like he was trying to convince himself.

Jorge was worrying too much to press the kid for details, even though he could see Thomas wasn't telling him everything. With a distracted nod, he sidestepped the kid and ducked into the tent.

She looked small and fragile, sprawled on the makeshift bed. Both descriptions were words he would never have used on her out loud. Her eyes were closed, but as he stepped over to the bed, she blinked them open. “Jorge.”

It was a relief to see she looked like herself and Jorge moved closer, carefully sitting on the edge of the bed. “How are you feeling?” he asked gently.

“Like a foolish idiot.” She winced. “I shouldn't have come here, knowing what was wrong with me.”

So she had known. Thomas had said as much, but Jorge had clung to the hope that she hadn't been aware. That she hadn't chosen not to trust him with what had happened to her.

“You're not happy,” Brenda whispered, eyes half-closed.

“Why didn't you tell me?”

Brenda opened her eyes, but didn't make eye contact with him. “Thomas seemed so convinced the Right Arm would help. I...didn't want you to worry....” Her voice trailed off and she whispered, “I thought I had enough time to shoot myself. If it was too late for me.”

Jorge sighed. “You thought I wouldn't take that step.”

“I know you wouldn't have taken that step.”

“I would have shot you. If I had to,” he answered.

“Liar. You're everything but my father in name.” Now she did make eye contact with him. “If it makes you feel any better, I couldn't shoot you either.”

It didn't. Not really. For all intents and purposes, she was his daughter. Maybe they wouldn't have met at all if the whole world hadn't gone to hell, but he couldn't love her anymore if she was his by blood. “You should have told me. Let me make that decision.”

“I'm sorry.”

Not taking his eyes from hers, he reached into his belt behind him and removed a thin wooden makeshift paddle.

“I can't believe you still have that,” Brenda muttered. She looked around the tent and then slowly pulled herself out from the under the blankets, yanking a cushion under her and rolling onto her stomach.

“I never know when it might come in handy.” Jorge braced his hand on her back. Rested the paddle against her bottom and tapped lightly before he smacked, catching both cheeks at once, but careful not to use too much force.

Brenda drew her breath in sharply, but otherwise didn't react. Jorge landed the paddle a second time, on her right cheek, and with a third on her left. The fourth and fifth caught the lower parts of her buttocks, overlapping with her thighs, and the sixth landed against her sit spots.

Jorge paused, listening to his daughter take deep breaths, almost gasping. He gently stroked her back and then repeated the pattern, this time causing a few whimpers and some wiggles, indicating the paddling was having an effect.

“You don't lie to me.” Jorge put a bit more force behind his arm as he swung the paddle against the middle of her bottom. “You don't hide things from me.” A second time and then he put the paddle down before wrapping his arms tightly around his daughter. “I love you,” he whispered. “You're all I've got left. I can't lose you.”

She cried now, twisting round in his embrace to hold on as tightly to him. “I'm sorry. I'm sorry, Daddy,” she whispered.

The End