"Get up, find Ben." Clint, who blocked out the steady light from the ever-blue sky, was the first thing Tasha saw when she woke up, not entirely hung over, but definitely feeling the after effects of drinking a helluva lot of Gally's brew. A headache made itself painfully aware in the base of her skull as she wedged her arms beneath herself in an awkward attempt to propel herself upwards. It, of course, didn't work, and she ended up flat on her back once more feeling as though there was a rubber band wrapped too tight around her skull.
"What?" Tasha mumbled, as she struggled to sit up in her hammock, a thick fog hovering over her mind. Clint took a deep breath and pinched the bridge of his nose, as if he was trying to harness some other worldly force to deal with Tasha's sleep-induced idiocy.
"Ben; we haven't been able to find him around the homestead and you're the only Runner left." Clint looked away from her, his gaze turning to the forest as he huffed out a sigh. "No-one's seen him around the Glade, so head into the Deadheads as soon as you can." There was silence apart from the whine of the ropes as Tasha moved herself into a more upright position. At her lack of response, Clint turned back to her, "Tasha…" He sighed.
"But food-" Tasha began, and subsequently avoided his gaze to look for the best way to get out of the hammock with the least movement possible. Clint sighed, giving her a pained look.
"Fine, OK, I'll get Frypan to get you some toast or something…" He shook his head, drawing Tasha's attention, and she finally diverted all her focus to him. He swallowed, sighing, "this isn't your fault I just… He's not the same. I think he was stung yesterday." Clint admitted, his voice low, as to not alert any other nearby Gladers.
"What?" Tasha's head felt clearer than it had ten seconds previously and her eyes narrowed. Clint took a deep breath, realising what he had said, and chose his next words carefully.
"I don't know for certain," He began, "OK, it's just… He's just…" He struggled for a moment, before he resignedly bit out, "Not the same." Tasha clambered out of her hammock, large, oversized shirt hanging off her shoulders as she clapped Clint on the back and nodded. Her mind raced to the maze yesterday, Ben being hurt, saying it was nothing; he barely let her help… It was that, she knew it was, he was going to die and it was all her fault. It took her a moment, where she frowned and tried to process her thoughts, before she looked to the doors of the maze, her hand fell from Clint's shoulder.
"Runners?" Her voice betrayed none of her own self doubt and anger at not realising Ben was unwell earlier; after everything, she would still blame herself for all of the flaws of the others. Ben's mood suddenly shifted at the question, to more jovial, almost knowing.
"Gone, Minho didn't want to wake you." He snorted, his own eyes followed her gaze to the stone entryway, before he walked off, satisfied that Tasha would be heading off to find Ben soon enough. Tasha shook her head and searched for her non-Runner clothes, stuff that she normally wasn't allowed to wear; tank tops and loose, drawstring pants, all in brown or cream or grey, whichever she picked up first. The creators never sent up any spare sets of clothing specifically for her, so she shared the smallest of the boy's clothes; usually Newt's. She slung her satchel over her shoulder, filled with only her water bottle and switchblade, thick, leather strap across her chest, instead of her Runner pack, watch on her wrist, glinting in the light.
Despite the rough look of the place, Tasha had realised during her first week that it was actually quite pleasant to walk across the entire Glade barefoot, grass between her toes. Frypan rolled his eyes at her, but handed her a slice of toast, which she took with a smile, feeling uncharacteristically pleasant despite her hangover. Newt gave her a small wave, as did Thomas, when she walked to where they were currently helping out the Track-Hoes for the day, trying to help Thomas decide on a roll within the Glade. Thomas seemed to be fiddling with the vines, unsure of what he was doing, Tasha nodded curtly at him, dropping her satchel onto the ground beside one of the other poles, before Newt wrapped his arms around her, perched his chin on her shoulder and took a bite of toast when she offered it to him. Tasha couldn't say she didn't enjoy the morning off, the freedom it granted her, despite the growing concern of Ben's whereabouts. But here, in Newt's embrace, the warmth of him pressed against her back, his fingers linked over her stomach and eating her toast (which, of course, resulted in Thomas getting instructions on his unsuccessful vine-fiddling filtered through a mouthful of food), everything felt right. There was another new Greenie, the sun never shone and the maze was still horrifying but it was familiar and it was right. She grinned, soaking in the serenity of it all. Then it was gone.
"So, Minho give you the day off?" Newt asked, untangling himself, smiling as he went and helped Thomas with his vine-fiddling. Tasha, for the life of her, couldn't figure out what it was Thomas was meant to be doing, but she didn't mind, simply leaning against the pole by her bag with her arms crossed over her chest.
"Med-Jack stuff." She said, and Newt nodded. His gaze became concerned and his eyes gave a cursory sweep over her body.
"Anything worrying?" He asked, offhandedly. Tasha shrugged and he went back to fiddling, having already read her 'all clear' in the shrug.
"Not me." She amended, before adding, quickly. "Ben." More for Thomas's sake than Newt's.
"Ah, where is the shank?" Newt asked, gaze roaming around the Glade, as if he could spot him just off to the side somewhere. There was no such luck, however, and Tasha leaned her head against the pole small, affectionate smile on her face, focused only on Newt.
"Walked off." She shrugged. Thomas snorted and Tasha rolled her eyes, looking away from Newt. She was hoping she wasn't blushing, but could already feel the tell-tale heat creeping up her cheeks.
"Better go find him, love." Newt gave her a smirk and Tasha sighed, moving away from the pole and brushing past the pair, leaving her bag and headed towards the deadheads. It felt as though her brain was trying to escape through a crack in her skull that was yet to form; it pressed against her temples, but she kept walking, knowing it was her own fault for drinking too much. It was an unfortunate and recurring feeling, every month after a Gathering, because Tasha was addicted to the darkness that the drink gave her, like a sweet reprieve from the life she was currently experiencing. Sometimes she liked to pretend that those moments of darkness brought clarity, that she would remember the entirety of her past life and that this was all a dream she could wake up from. But it never was, and in that forest, by the graves of the dead Gladers, Tasha sighed and moved forward, as she always did, as she always had to.
There was a flicker of movement out of the corner of her eye and Tasha stopped dead, before she whipped around. There, through the leafy foliage, Ben, pale skin and bloodshot eyes, spotted her too.
"Where is he?" Spittle flying from his lips, Ben lumbered towards her, slower than he usually was, but dangerously fast with the training of a Runner. Tasha swallowed hard, shaking her head, "I saw him this morning! That shucking Thomas! Where is he?" Ben roared, slowing as he came closer. Tasha's eyes went wide as Ben's fingers twitched in a way eerily reminiscent of someone strangling another person, and Tasha shook her head vigorously. Ben launched himself at her, blind fury in his eyes. "You're just as useless here! Tell me where he is!" He roared as he tackled Tasha. She had barely a moment to respond, but he reached out, trying to clutch at her.
"Ben, stop!" Tasha cried, kicking out and hitting him in the stomach, he doubled over, momentarily stunned, but he got back up, crazed smile on his face. Tasha was backing away faster this time, careful not to trip on roots and shrubs. Her mind was blank apart from one thought: neutralise Ben.
"He'll be the death of us." He shook his head, chuckling, "You think he's-" Tasha cut him off as he began moving closer to her once more.
"Ben!" She yelled over the top of him, "Ben, they're going to-" The realisation hit her, eyes wide and fearful, words barely making it past her lips and she tried not to throw up, doubling over, tears in her eyes. "Ben, the maze-" She wheezed.
"I'm not going into the maze! I'm doing the right thing!" He told her, straightening her up from her doubled over position and pushing her up against a tree, her feet dangling above the ground. His abdomen was pressed against her thighs and she could feel the warm blood from his wound - his griever sting - seeping into her pants leg.
"This is my fault." Tasha whispered, seemingly ignoring the situation at hand. "I'm sorry, I'm so sorry, Ben-" She struggled, trying to push his hands away, and failing. This is not your fault! The rational part of her brain tried to tell her over and over again, but the other, more dominant section was wondering if it was because she could get to him fast enough yesterday, that she left him for too long. Her breath came out in short, sharp gasps and she wiggled her legs, strength quickly leaving her as her headache became progressively worse, her palms sweating and slipping against Ben's already slick skin. She realised she was trembling all over, shaking like a leaf with Ben's hands on her shoulders. Images flashed behind her eyes, the hybrid of flesh and metal that came after her with a hideous noise that haunted her to this day, the darkness of the maze, the fact that there was no way out and she just had to keep running. She watched the maze move. She could barely form words, back in the present, her chest aching, her throat closing up, as though she could barely breath. "The maze-" She managed between barely gasped breathes, before Ben's face contorted with fury.
"You are of no use to me!" He yelled, suddenly slamming her against the tree, hard as he might, her head crashing into the trunk and taking off part of the bark behind it, sending leaves above fluttering to the ground. It took him a moment, to let go of her shoulders and watch her body crumple to the ground, to realise what he had done. Backing away slowly from the unconscious form of his teammate, Ben turned to search for Thomas, putting thoughts of Tasha out of his mind.