The highest branches of the trees barely grazed the sky with their wooden fingers, curling up towards the sun that never showed itself, the clouds that never appeared. Not tonight, not ever. Tonight, Tasha stood upon the tallest of the branches, the wood dipping beneath her weight, head peering through the canopy to the sky above, the walls being the only thing blocking her vision of the night sky. She remembers, albeit somewhat vaguely, how she used to stare at the moon, gaze cast towards the heavens, marvelling at the immensity of space, full of wonder about different life forms, if she would ever meet them. Someone lies beside her, lacing their fingers with hers, pressing a kiss to her temple, whispering about how everything's going to be fine; oh, she's crying in that memory, she thinks. She's grasping at it now, trying to hold it in her hands like silk being pulled from her fingers, too quick and smooth for her to latch , she stands, swaying precariously on a branch that was not designed to take even a toddler's weight, wondering if she could pause this moment forever. There was an almost painful serenity surrounding the deadheads, every sound from the bonfire floating to her world of almost suspended animation above the treetops.
"Tasha! Get the shuck down from there!" The voice she hears is panicked and distressed, and it takes Tasha a moment to realise that she's hearing a memory, that Newt's not pleading with her. She can't help it though, dipping into the black smog that clouds her vision whenever she's drunk and alone, the memories that she'd rather WCKD take away than leave her with, suffering and suffocating on the thick, slimy agony.
It was only a few days after her night in the maze, her sitting on the highest branch, one arm curled around the treetrunk, the other playing with a loose thread from the bandages around her ribs, breath coming in shaky gasps as her thoughts began to spiral out of control.
"No." She spat, harsher than she meant, lashing out out Newt when she would rather lash out at herself, hands trembling as she dug her nails into the bark. She swallowed thickly, eyes stinging from both the cold, night air and the tears slowly dripping from them. The stars were bright, they shone in her eyes.
"Tash, Tash please, talk to me." He pleaded, leaning heavily on his injured leg, palms pressed against the tree she inhabited. Tasha couldn't risk looking down, lest she break and decide to jump then and there - she couldn't… couldn't do that to Newt.
"I'm not meant to be here. I'm living on borrowed time, Newt," she slammed her shaking fist into the trunk and felt her chest tighten as the beginnings of a panic attack curled around her ribs. She pressed her forehead against the trunk and took slow, laborious breaths, trying to calm the erratic beating of her heart. It wasn't the heights, she didn't mind height. It was her own mind causing her pain and grief, her mind and that damn maze.
"Please, come down here." His voice was heavy, weary, as though he doubted his own potential to reach her. She couldn't hear him properly, with his own forehead pressed against the tree, as if by some miracle, the tree would grant him strength. "Tash, I need you here." She didn't hear him at first, and when she figured out what he said, she thought she had misheard, but no. It took her a moment, to focus on Newt rather than the pain in her hands and chest. She peered down, gulping at the distance, but there he was, peering up into the treetops, deep brown eyes focused on her. She moved slowly at first, getting into a standing position from the precarious branch she had inhabited, to shimmy down the trunk. It took her a moment to find the right words, he looked like he was going to hug her from relief, but he just took her small hands in his larger ones, such concern in her eyes that it made her heart ache and more tears began to fall.
"No, you don't." She managed without sobbing to get her words out and Newt was silent as he processed her words, holding her hands as her ribs ached, bruises painted along her arms and legs, slowly fading to yellow. He jerked back, dropping her hands and looking at her with horror in his eyes at her words, as if they were unthinkable.
"Don't ever say that! Don't ever think that!" He was aghast, his face a picture of betrayal, making Tasha's blood run cold with guilt. She didn't want to be that cause of Newt feeling betrayed, she never wanted to hurt him. Tasha couldn't help but begin hyperventilating, gasping sharply, tears now streaming down her cheeks as she reached for the waistband of her pants, pulling out the cold, metal gun that she had tucked there. She waved it almost carelessly, far too close to her head for Newt to feel comfortable - nothing about this was comfortable.
"Why do you think they sent this up?" Her voice cracked and she took a moment to swallow, squeezing her eyes shut and taking a deep breath, opening her eyes to see Newt's fixed on the gun in terror. "It was a test - I was a test," she cried, "a test to see how long you people could last, to see how long it took for you to crack. I'm a fluke, I'm not meant to survive." Her words hit home as soon as she had said them, and she almost crumpled then and there, only finally putting into words how little faith she had in herself. She didn't though, she stood, a smile on her lips like he had never seen, like she was gazing into the mouth of oblivion and laughing in the face of death. It was bitter and cold and it didn't reach her eyes - eyes full of sadness and despair. Newt knew what that was like, the realisation that maybe everything was in vain, that maybe they would never make it out and that there was no point to it all. She's looking him in the eyes, or, not actually in the eyes, but a spot between his eyes, to avoid looking directly at him at all. The gun shook in her hand as she rose it, not taking her eyes off that space on his head that allowed her to avoid the heartbreak of his gaze.
"Go." She told him, barely sniffling, pressing the barrel of the gun to her temple. She swallowed and Newt could see what she was about to do. With a burst of speed that surprised both of them, Newt leapt forward, arms out, shoving the shorter Runner into the tree behind her, arm going slack as she felt the bark against her back and Newt's hands on her shoulders. His left hand move slowly down her arm as he pressed his forehead to hers, eyes closed because he couldn't look at her, not now. Tasha's mouth was open, as if she was going to say something, some quiet exclamation, but she couldn't find her voice, It was like she was frozen, like her brain had stopped and left her body to fend for itself, but it was imploding. She didn't move as he pulled her hand, still clasping the gun, to press the barrel of the gun to his own temple, her hand had gone still while his shook. "You're such a shuck-face." Tasha whispered, tears in her eyes, finding her voice. Newt's own eyes flickered open and he managed to catch her gaze, her soul-crushingly broken gaze.
"Shoot." He told her, voice too level to be natural. They stood like that, Tasha pressed against the tree with Newt's hand on her shoulder and one pointing a gun to his head as he bent down, their foreheads pressed together, as if it were some sweet, intimate, non life-threatening situation.
"Why are you doing this?" She whimpered, finally. There was pain in Newt's eyes and it hit him that she couldn't even begin to imagine her own value. He smirked, though it was at odds with the current situation, and he let out a laugh, trying to release some tension.
"Bloody Hell, Tash, you're my best shucking friend. If you go, I'll walk straight into that maze and let the Grievers eat me alive." He told her, Tasha sucked in a breath and shook her head trying to squirm away, trying to pull her hand away from the gun, but he kept his grip firm over hers.
"There's no way out." She whispered, fingernails of her free hand digging into the bark of the tree and her tears now falling once more. Newt's expression softened at her defeated mewl.
"Then say that." He told her, rubbing his thumb across her shoulder, "Scream it to the world. Tell every other shucking Glader in this shucking Glade, I don't care." He let out a long breath and pulled back from her, letting go of Tasha's hand and the gun. Her arm and the gun fell, the gun landing with a thump in the shrubs by their feet. "Just don't try and make a way out where there is none." He said, despite moving his head and arms, he didn't increase the space between them. Tasha looked up at him and tried to sort out her thoughts.
"But you've got your place here, I…" She trailed off, her own argument weak and pitiful as it fell from her lips. She cast her gaze to the gun on the ground, sagging against the tree, letting out a deep sigh.
"You've got me. You've got Minho. You've got Alby. You've got the Runners." He told her, snapping her attention from the gun to himself, pulling her from where she was slumped against the tree and into a rough embrace. Tasha tensed up at the unexpected contact, before wrapping her arms tightly around him, despite her injured ribs, sobbing into his chest, finally letting go.
"There's no way out, Newt." She whispered, between sobs, her voice shaking. She knows it should be killing her inside, that Newt's seeing her like this, so broken and defeated, but, she thinks, perhaps I'm already dead inside. At that thought, she clutched Newt tighter, willing it not to be true.
"Maybe there isn't," He mused, unaware of the thoughts inside her head, before pulling back, arms still wrapped around Tasha, small smile on his face, "but maybe there is. It's that maybe that has to keep you going." His voice had gained almost an edge of authority and Tasha knew he was speaking with experience. It took Tasha a moment, staring into his deep, brown eyes, that something clicked. She realised that it wasn't killing her inside because she didn't mind him seeing her like that, that she wanted him to know everything about her; and she wanted to know everything about him.
"It's not the 'maybe' keeping me going." She said quietly, a new quality to her voice, he went to ask what it was, but she stood on the tips of her toes to press her lips to his. He made a noise of surprise, but he kissed back fiercely, bringing his hands to cup her cheek and pull her closer, Tasha wrapped her arms around his neck. It could have been seconds or it could have been hours, but everything in that moment just felt right.
Tasha, upon realising what she was doing, pulled back with a fierce gasp, confusion painted clearly on her face, trying to blink away tears that she didn't know had begun to fall again. "Newt, oh, Newt I'm sorry." She scrambled to get away, crouching by the base of the tree, tears dripping onto the foliage as she tried not to throw up. Newt, who, granted, was also confused, pressed his forehead against the tree, sucking in deep breaths of air.
"What the bloody shuck was that?" He huffed, bewildered rather than angry, panting slightly. Tasha gave a watery laugh, wrapping her arms around her knees and leaning against the tree.
"I'm so sorry." She shook her head, as if marvelling at her own poor thought. Newt frowned for a moment, leaning on against the tree with his shoulder.
"You don't need to apologise - I didn't not like it-" He was cut off by Tasha, who had always been poor at communication, standing abruptly. She swayed on the spot for a moment, whether it was from the blood rushing to her head or from being nose-to-nose with Newt.
"Here." She swallowed, leaning down and out of the direct contact, passed him the gun from where it lay beside her. Newt's hands were trembling, but he took it. "Take it back to Alby, tell him I took it, I deserve time in the slammer for all the trouble I caused." She laughed, bitterly.
"For all the time you've spent in there, you might have learned to bring a book." Newt smirked, though he still felt shaken up inside. His smile slipped as he tried with a softer angle this time. "Tasha," he began hesitantly.
"Can we just… not talk about this?" She asked, finally looking up at him and into his eyes, her own now red rimmed, but with no tears in them. Newt let out a short huff of breath and tipped his head to the side.
"We're going to have to talk about it some time." He reasoned. Tasha looked at the ground again, losing the connection that was so very brief. Newt felt his heart fall.
"Just not tonight." Tasha pleaded, taking his hand. Newt looked at where their fingers interlocked and swallowed hard, gun in one hand, Tasha in the other. He nodded, before giving a soft smile. They began to walk through the Deadheads, back to the homestead.
"You've never been good at communication." He sighed, looking over his shoulder. Tasha smiled, albeit sadly, and nodded once. "At least this; what are we?" He asked, turning back to her, frown on his face, stopping. Tasha swallowed once, eyes cast to the ground, avoiding his gaze again, lips pressed into a thin line. She swallowed, before looking up into his eyes.
"I don't know." Was all she said, in a faint whisper -
"Tasha! Come back, get down from there!" The call sliced so cleanly through her memories that it was jarring, forcing her to slam into reality and almost fall from her perch. It was Chuck, far below, calling up to her. He must have been sent by one of the other Runners as it was no secret that everyone else, even sweet, little Chuck, avoided Tasha as best they could, because the novelty of a girl in the Glade wore off once she started running from them all except the other Runners. Tasha climbed slowly from her spot in the trees, joining Chuck on the ground with a faint, sad smile on her face. "You OK?" He asked. Tasha nodded and gestured for him to continue along, back to the bonfire. They made it to the clearing, to which Chuck called out, "See, she's fine!" Tasha froze at the sudden attention and caught Newt's gaze across the fire; he raised his eyebrows from where he was drinking with Thomas. Tasha went to say something, but sighed, shook her head and shrugged, before joining Minho and his usual quiet aura that she enjoyed. Newt frowned slightly, but shrugged himself, and turned back to Thomas.
"You OK, Tasha?" The Keeper of the Runners raised a single eyebrow at her, Tasha let out a long sigh and knocked their knees together, giving a sad smile. Her voice was clear as she spoke and she hadn't been crying, so it hadn't been the worst night she had had.
"I will be." It took her a moment, but she barked a short laugh, "I just have to sober up. You know how I get." Minho nodded, despite that fact that she was avoiding looking at everyone, but gazing out to the maze with an almost distrusting glare. He simply bumped her shoulder with his and handed her a glass of water.