A friend pointed out to me that this could come across as Newt/Brenda. No pairings were intended aside from one sided Thomas/Brenda. However, feel free to interpret however you wish.
With the door propped open just so with a rusty soup can overflowing with mismatched nails and screws, the ongoing party was perfectly visible from the garage. Harsh white industrial light blasted away the dark, while the mellow illumination of the older bulbs mingled gold with the shadows. Every available table, chair, and desk was pulled from the dusty interiors of the shabby buildings and set up in semi-circles across the yard. Empty fuel barrels, overturned crates, weathered wooden trunks, dented plastic bins and anything else sturdy enough was repurposed for additional seating. It wasn't often that there was cause for celebration on such a large scale. But the latest mission had been a success, the supplies were restocked, the air was warm, and WCKD patrols had yet to venture this far out. And the Right Arm was taking advantage of the rare victory.
From her perch on the hood of the beat-up truck, Brenda could see Thomas. He was seated on a crate, a drink in his hand, and what passed for a smile on his lips. As people walked behind him, they'd reach out to tap his shoulder, his hair, anywhere they could reach. Congratulating him on his brilliant plan, showing appreciation for his leadership skills, demonstrating camaraderie. Next to him, in a chair of his own, Vince said something to Thomas that made the young man chuckle. Closing her eyes briefly, Brenda absorbed the sound, memorizing it, as his laugh had become nearly extinct over the months.
"What are you doing in here by yourself?"
The question startled her, and her eyes flew open to find Newt propped casually in the doorway, arms folded nonchalantly over his chest. Feeling a light flush of embarrassment warm her cheeks, Brenda slid off the automobile.
"Just working on the truck," she said, brushing flecks of rust from the back of her pants.
Newt arched an eyebrow at the angle that let her know he didn't believe her. Instead of commenting on her lie, he merely pushed away from the doorframe, tossing something at her. She automatically caught it, plastic packaging crackling noisily in her hands.
"Managed to snag that for you. Another minute and Fry would have eaten every last one," Newt explained.
Brenda glanced down at the Twinkie she was holding. "Thanks." She squinted at the snack through the wrapping. "Was this in the shipment?"
Newt nodded. "Apparently WCKD still has a sweet tooth." He stepped past her, stopping at the rack of tools hanging on the wall.
Brenda absently flipped the treat back and forth between her hands, looking back over her shoulder at Thomas. He was gesturing with arms spread wide, narrating some story or other for the gathered crowd. The clanging of metal pulled her attention to where Newt was positioning a jack under the truck.
"What are you doing?" she asked, curious.
"Working on the truck," he replied with a twinkle in his eye, inserting the handle into the jack.
Brenda huffed out a laugh at his subtle humor. Then she tilted her head. "How do you know how to do that?"
Spinning the crank, Newt barely looked up at her. "Jorge's been teaching us some car maintenance."
"So you had a couple lessons and now you're a mechanic?" she teased.
"I'm only changing a tire. It's not like I'm replacing the engine," Newt scoffed.
Brenda felt her gaze wandering outside again, settling on Thomas. No longer sitting, he was shaking hands with one of the men who had helped out on that morning's mission. The customarily tight line of his shoulders was loose, his posture relaxed. Brenda twirled a piece of hair around her finger, watching.
"You know, Brenda," Newt's voice drifted up from the garage floor. "You're a pretty girl-" he started.
She whipped her head around to stare at him. "Are you flirting with me?" she interrupted.
He snickered, face crinkling impishly. Brenda crossed her arms, not feeling particularly tolerant at the moment. He stood only long enough to fetch the spare tire from the corner of the room, before crouching down again.
"No. Trust me, you'd know if I was," Newt assured her. "All I meant was that you could have any guy you wanted," he told her between grunts as he switched out the tires. "Anyone here would be lucky to have you."
"What are you trying to say, Newt?" Brenda demanded.
Waiting until he had lowered the car and put away the jack, Newt finally turned to her, all humor gone from his face, leaving nothing but raw honesty in its wake. "I just don't want you to waste too much time waiting for someone who doesn't feel for you the way you feel about them."
He wiped his hands on a nearby rag, gave her a long, knowing look, and walked back out the door. Brenda swallowed and watched him leave, eyes tracking to Thomas standing across the yard.