"Hey, Tommy." Newt begins awkwardly one evening while they were trekking through the Scorch. Thomas eyes the young Brit as he limps alongside him.

"You need something, Newt?" Thomas asks as he turns his gaze back to the dunes of sand before he almost trips over a rock. Newt chuckles at his clumsiness, one hand reaching up to grasp his shoulder. Thomas can feel himself grinning in the slightest at Newt's touch.

"Actually, yeah, I do need something. I want you to make a promise to me." Newt stares him in the eyes as he says this, his voice solemn. Thomas raises an eyebrow, but urges him on.

"If I die out here..." Newt begins, his eyes flickering out to the expanse of sand and sun. "Promise me that you will try and forget me. Promise me that you will not mourn for too long."

Thomas can't help but be startled by Newt's odd request. "N - Newt? You're not going to die out here - "

"We all know I am, Tommy boy. Come on, having this limp is not helping me much out here. If I don't die in the Scorch anyhow, I'll probably end up dying after this. So just promise me." Newt pleads, one of his hands grasping Thomas' in a firm grip.

Thomas swallows, feeling as if his throat was stuffed with cotton. "I - I promise."

"Thank you, Thomas." Newt breathes, his shoulders slumping in slight relief. Thomas can feel a cheeky grin forming on his face as he nudges Newt in the ribs.

"It's not a problem, Newt." He says in a cheerful tone, trying to break the tense atmosphere. Newt grins as he understands what he's trying to do and calls Minho over. The cackling asian races over, tackling Thomas into the sand while Newt watched with laughter in his eyes.

The loud bang of the gun reels Thomas out of his stupor. He looks at the blood trickling from Newt's forehead, resisting the urge to gag. He can feel tears prickling the corners of his eyes.

While he stands there, he remembers the promise that he made to Newt. Promise me that you will try and forget me. Promise me that you will not mourn for too long.

So that is why Thomas takes a deep breath and staggers to his feet. He turns towards the van and begins to walk over with the bloodied gun dangling in his weak grasp.

He doesn't look back.

I feel like such a mean person, wow...

Thanks for reading this far, I suppose? Wow, I think I'm about to cry now. If you're crying, then um... Here. Take a box of tissues. *holds out a box of tissues*

Also, I forgot to mention, I do NOT own TMR or any of it's characters. Thanks!