Quiet is Violent {Newt | The Maze Runner}

26. Life or Death

It all comes bubbling to the surface, the tension, the panic, the blind fear curled within each of them; it all spilled over the edge with Chuck's final breath. Silent tears track their way down Tasha's cheeks as she stands, one hand pressed to her belly and the other clasped tightly in Newt's. Regret crashed through her like an icy tidal wave and she can't help but cry, forehead pressed to his shoulder as sobs wrack her body. It hurts to move, hurts to breath, hurts to think, but she's the first to turn and look when the doors behind them open with a groan, sunlight arcing through the doors and gleaming off of the tear-wet cheeks of the Glader. She recognises the people in the black outfits almost immediately from the video they had watched, though Thomas's cries of agony are reverberating through her skull and she doesn't try to make sense of it all. Tall men with guns shout louder than Thomas cries but she still can't hear them, so they push and shove with force enough to leave bruises, she certain. They tear her from Newt's grasp while she's kicking and screaming and crying, so she screams louder and doesn't think before bolting towards freedom, because that's who she is, that's what she does. She explodes through the doors and can barely register the scorch of the natural sunlight on her skin, but she falls to her knees, one hand still firmly pressed to her stomach, the other curled into the sand as she tries not to throw up. She is the first to fall into the helicopter they had waiting, having been manhandled in when she refused to get up, and so she crumpled against the furthermost door, knees tucked up to her chest and a fresh wave of tears falling from her eyes.

She feels Newt before she sees him, his arm pressed flush against hers as they sit in silence... there was nothing more to say. She still felt the terror and shock thrumming through her system, but the tears in her eyes were from the pain of her stomach, not that Newt needed to know the difference with her head on his shoulder. The helicopter whirrs to life with the deafening sound of it's blades slicing the sky. The men slammed the door shut, doing little to dampen the noise, but one removed his helmet; how he was grinning in such a time of despair, Tasha could barely fathom.

"You guys alright? You're safe now." He assured them. Safe? Ha! The lurching movement of the helicopter only adding to the fiery nausea that consumed her, forcing her to squeeze her eyes close or else she thought she might throw up. Holding out this long had been an achievement in it's own right and Tasha wryly congratulated herself. Newt's arm wrapped around her, pulling her closer to him and letting him press a kiss into her hair, his own eyes red-rimmed. Neither of them make a comment. "Relax kid," the man's looking at Thomas the was everyone had begun to look at Thomas, hopefully, expectantly, "everything's going to change." Despite the man's enthusiasm, his words lacked the comfort he may have been trying to achieve, however there really were no comforting thoughts to be had, no Med-Jack hut to wake up to, none of the bad dreams to forget. Nothing left but this cruel reality and the inevitability of death.

Tasha wasn't afraid of dying.

"Newt." Not more than twenty minutes into their journey, the walls of the helicopter had stopped spinning in Tasha's vision and she murmured into Newt's ear, quickly drawing his attention. He raised his eyebrows at her, morbidly curious, "I'm going to miss it." She confined, quietly. Newt nodded sombrely, gaze sliding until his eyes fixed on some distant point past her head. She didn't mind though, pressing against her wound harder when she felt the warm, sticky blood beginning to spread from her stomach; she could feel it coating her hand and was glad for the dark clothing that had hidden it from even the most cursory assessments, as that was all they were now. "How do you feel?" She asked, her eyes remaining large and inquisitive despite his incredulous look. It took him a moment to respond, sniffling as he considered his words.

"Bloody awful." He sighed, voice part resignation part resentment at something - W.C.K.D? Grievers? The Universe? Who was to say? Tasha barked out a bitter laugh, immediately regretting the decision with a suppressed wince as it aggravated her wound. "What about you?" He asked, his nudge bringing along with it a flare of pain. Her smile faded from forced to genuine and she kissed his cheek. The worst part about being shot, she considered, was most definitely the pain, everything else - the goodbyes, the regret, the death - was all easy in comparison. Despite herself, she knows that she doesn't regret any of her actions, she couldn't begin to regret them now. She had run all her life, she wouldn't run from this.