One year ago, she survived a night in the maze. Tasha was running with Minho that day, Newt having begun to settle into his job as second in command within the glade, under Alby. It became very apparent to Minho that Newt wasn't kidding about Tasha being fast enough to take him on, as he had lost her after the first few hours, through the twists and turn, running through the maze until he just couldn't keep up with her anymore - or maybe she had lost him a couple of turns back, he wasn't certain. The sun had sunk low in the sky, a red glow gliding over Minho as he slowly made his way back to the entrance of the maze, retracing his steps.
His own footsteps echoed as he walked across the cement, a path he had walked many times in his three years of being a Runner. Every so often, when he pause for breath, when he stopped calling her name and listened, he could hear faint footsteps in the distance, the faint pant of breath coming from somewhere just out of range. He could never be sure if it was her around the next corner, or the echo of his own travels. He just called her name again.
Minho had only been by the doors for around ten minutes, having waited until the final possible moment to go back incase Tasha was looking for him. He wasn't sure what he was going to do if she didn't turn up, about himself or about Newt or about any of the Gladers, (losing someone was always hard on them), but he didn't want to think about that. He made it back to the entrance, hovering about it, waiting and trying not to arouse the suspicions of the other Gladers (mainly Newt). However, he was fairly successful in the last respect, with Newt buzzing awkwardly about Minho as they waited.
"I'm going to look for her." Minho said, his face serious. Newt was torn between 'No! The doors are about to close!' and 'Please, go find her!' However, it seems his decision was made for him, as they spotted Tasha coming around the end of the corridor as the doors began to grind shut. She was limping, her weight off of her left leg for the most part, teeth gritted in determination as she saw him run towards her.
"Run, Minho." She snapped, the doors were less than a metre away from Minho's sides; he hesitated, trying not to let Newt hear her words in case neither of the runners made it. The usually quiet Tasha sped up, as if she was forcing herself to distribute her weight evenly on both legs, lowering her shoulders in a position reminiscent of a bull, head down, right shoulder leading charging at its target. "I said run, you slinthead." She barked at the impact, so only he heard. Minho bouncing back as the doors grazed his elbows, stumbling onto the grass of the glade, he had made it from the maze out of pure shock and Tasha hobbled backwards, her limp once again remembered, to her closest safety from not being squished by the giant, stone doors - back into the Maze.
"Tasha!" Newt was beside Minho in an instant, hand reaching through the quickly narrowing gap trying to reach her, watching as she struggled to squirm back before the doors closed and she was trapped in there. Minho yanked Newt's hand back and Tasha's dark eyes were wide as she saw him standing there, tugged away by a distraught Minho, unable to go forward and pull her through.
"Sorry." She managed, and Newt was silent, his tongue heavy in his mouth, unable to even say goodbye. The doors closed with a low thud and the runner and former runner stood side-by-side. They sat together for hours, backs pressed against the wall, listening to the quiet noises of the glade, wondering if Tasha would scream like the others who were locked in there did. She didn't make a lot of noise often, maybe she's die how she lived; quietly. Whatever the case may be, it wouldn't be long until the grievers came out of the woodworks, from wherever they appeared from every night, to change her and chew her up. Maybe she'd survive but come out stung and twisted. Maybe they'd find her body tomorrow.
"She's fast." Minho said, his voice low. Newt knows he's beating himself up over it, know that Minho thinks if he hand just gone in there and stayed with her, this wouldn't have happened. Minho's not certain what he's trying to say, or whether he wants to just get rid of the morbid silence around them, either way, he finishes his sentence with a hint of uncertainty. He's not doubting her speed, he's doubting its usefulness.
"Yeah." Newt agrees, bleakly, rubbing his injured leg. He's not sure what else he can say, what else there is to say. They don't speak for the rest of the night, just sit in silence together, waiting for the inevitable, terror-inducing sounds from the other side of the door. Tasha doesn't talk much, her voice isn't usually loud, but they can hear her yells from where they sat.
"I said I'm sorry!" It jolted Newt from his stupor in the early hours of the morning, if he was to fathom a guess, it would somewhere around two or three in the morning. He sat bolt upright, mirroring Minho beside him. "I said run! I told him, run!" Her voice carried from within the maze, filled with regret and anger. "I'm sorry!" Newt's smart enough knows she's talking to him, 'him' is Minho and the grievers don't care. She doesn't speak again for the rest of the night, but then again, she doesn't scream either.
Minho and Newt jump when the doors start to move, scrambling to their feet and expecting the worst. Shuck the rules, Newt's fully prepared to run in and find her, whatever's left of her. The doors grind open with their dull, stony buzz and it's nothing like they expected; Tasha's leaning against the back end of the concrete corridor, legs shaking, sobbing, her limbs covered in blood.
"I'm sorry. I'm sorry. I'm sorry. I'm so shucking sorry." She was whimpering in a sort of rhythmic chant, not looking up from where her head was buried in her hands. Newt took her hands in his, lowering them, trying to assess how hurt she was. Her breathing was ragged and she winced whenever she moved her torso.
"Tasha, Tasha, look at me." He murmured, brushing his thumbs over her palms. She raised her eyes to meet Newt's and her stomach lurched; she could see him, the night before, staring at her as the doors closed, trying to reach out to her, to help her, and she didn't even say goodbye. "Tash, you're going to be OK." He told her, snapping her out of her thoughts. She pressed her lips together, moving her hands up to clutch at his wrists, before chanting her apologies with a new vigor.
They could hear Minho's shout of "I need a Med-Jack around here!" behind them and Newt wrapped an arm around Tasha, noticing every wince and every gasp of pain, helping her to her feet, helping her hobble along. Her voice was low in his ear, whispering apologies to him over and over. He doesn't think he's ever heard her talk this much, and its not a good thing.
"It's OK, love, you're safe now." He murmured to her as the two of them limped to the homestead. Laying her on one of the beds as gently as possible, Newt, Minho and the Med-Jacks worked to clean the cuts and scrapes littering her body, washing her of the blood. It seemed that one of her ribs was broken, which they bandaged quickly, but apart from that, there were no other major injuries, just wounds and bruises. She made a small noise of pain when Minho went to apply a small amount of pressure to her rib to test the damage.
"Misjudged." She mumbled at his questioning look. He nodded, somewhat uncertain still, but allowed her to be bandaged. The real relief came not long after, when it was made clear that she hadn't been stung.
An hour later, when Tasha's bandaged up, slipping in and out of consciousness, staring at the ceiling through half-closed eyes. It's not an opportune moment to ask these sort of questions, but Newt's always been curious and Tasha's his best friend, so she won't mind… If she answers at all. Despite their close relationship, Tasha still refrains from speaking. To be fair, around Newt, she really doesn't need to.
"How did you do it?" He's the only one left now, in their little room (technically his little room) Minho going to talk to Alby, and the Med-Jacks having gone back to the Slicers for the day. They're both on the same bed, Tasha laying on her back, arms laying on her stomach, not moving as to not jostle her wounds, Newt with his back on the wall behind the bed, arms crossed over his chest, ankles crossed and legs reaching half-way down the bed.
"Ran." Tasha sighed, quietly, not taking her eyes off of the thatched roof. He was silent for a moment, trying to decide whether to push her for answers or to move on. Tasha never really said much, but she always meant a whole lot.
"What's in there?" He asked, making up his mind. She was silent, which was not altogether surprising, but it was like she had seized up beside him, forcing him to turn and look at her. She lay there, mouth pressed into a thin line, eyes shut. Her hand reached out for Newt's and he stroked the back of her hand with his thumb while her other hand was clenched so tight her knuckles were turning painfully white.
"Grievers." She whispered. She opened her eyes, let out a slow, deliberate breath, and looked at him, he could see the pain in her heart and the fear that was radiating from her. "It's running and it's hiding and climbing up the ivy." She took a shaky breath as she tried to articulate in her sedated state. "But they're always there. I got hurt and I thought I would die. Jumped off a high ledge and miscalculated. Body slammed into the edge and that's…" she gestured to her ribs awkwardly, with her hand still laced with his. "Hit the ground and had to keep running. Found a hiding spot 'nd waited 'till sunrise." Her words were awkward and stilted, slurred in some places, with her drowsy state.
It's not until much later that they speak again.
"I'm sorry for making you worry." She yawned, the two of them both crammed into the bed together, trying to sleep side by side, Newt on his side and Tasha still laying on her back. Newt suggested a few times that he could get blankets and sleep on the floor, but Tasha shook her head and shuffled over as much as she could to make room.
"I'm sorry for not trying to save you." His voice was almost ashamed, his thoughts drifting back to the moments as the doors closed, Tasha's terrified eyes looking back at his. She swatted at his hand, gently, and he sighed.
"'Night." She told him, lacing their fingers together. Newt smiled softly.
"'Night."