Newt came back from the Med-Jack tent looking tired and tense, his hair a mess and an exhaustion that made the lights around him grow dark. "I don't know what to think anymore, Tash." He sighed, his voice quiet and intimate as he slumped into a seat beside Tasha. He still didn't want the other Gladers panicking, but Tasha was his rock and he needed to talk to someone. She had been eating dinner quietly by herself at the far end of the set of tables, most of the Gladers had opted to take some of Frypan's trademark soup, but she had bypassed it to make herself a sandwich, her appetite small despite the exertions of the day. She raised her eyebrows and wrapped her arm around him, pulling him closer and letting him lean on her. "That bloody Greenie… He's saved Alby, you know?" Tasha made a noise of surprise and offered him some of her sandwich, which he took a bite of. "And I just… there's things happening Tash, everything's chaos and I have to set it right." His thoughts flew back to Alby, shivering and gasping on the bed; Newt wasn't sure he would make it through the night, but he had to hope. He wasn't second in command anymore, not while Alby was out of order, he was in charge.

"Not on your own." Tasha offered, simply, her voice cutting through his bitter words. Newt's eyes were downcast, gazing at his fingers where he played with the strap of his pack absentmindedly.

"Not on my own." He parrotted forlornly. Newt let out a sigh, moved out of Tasha's embrace. She let him go without a fuss, but he started when she suddenly put her hand in his.

"Tonight's a bad night to be on your own." Tasha mumbled, and Newt lifted his head, looking at her curiously, there was compassion in her eyes, something he rarely ever saw, but it was there. "Can I stay in your bunk?" She asked and Newt didn't even hesitate to nod. It wasn't the first time they had shared a bunk, if they were being quite honest, it was almost on a weekly basis at this point, on the nights when being alone was bad and being together was good. They would just lay there, hearts beating in time, breathing quietly with only the sounds of the Glade to listen to… Those nights were not good nights to be alone, but they were nice together. "I love you." She muttered, kissing his cheek, before pulling her hands away and stepping over the bench they sat at. "I gotta go speak to Thomas." She told him. Newt nodded, knew the solidarity Tasha felt between Runners, it was the reason they had even become good friends in the first place, and didn't question it. She smiled at him, before making her way quietly over to the wooden jail they had built in the corner of the Glade. She had seen Chuck leave over half an hour ago and the place was shrouded in darkness. Tasha sat by the entrance, uncertain of what to say, waiting quietly.

"Thomas." She said, finally. Her voice neutral and devoid of inflection.

"Holy shit! How long have you been there?" He cried, and she could hear him scampering around in the dark. Tasha mentally berated on herself at her lack of forethought. No matter how the Greenie acted, he still was new, and she was still very weird. She should have given him warning.

"A few minutes. Maybe ten." She admitted, finally, her wince hidden in the darkness that surrounded them.

"Maybe ten?" He replied, his voice a mixture of confused and angry. "Are you a freak?" Tasha was hurt; it certainly wasn't the first time someone had called her that, and she was willing to bet it wouldn't be the last, but it still hurt.

"Maybe." She managed, quietly. They were engulfed in an awkward silence for a while longer before Tasha spoke once more, finally breaking into what she had come to say. It took her a moment, trying to choose her words, but it didn't happen as gracefully as she would have liked.. "People generally don't like me, Thomas." She spat out, Thomas snorted with laughter.

"I can't imagine why." If sarcasm didn't actually drip from his words, it wasn't from lack of trying. Tasha couldn't keep the wounded look off of her face, suddenly thankful for the darkness. She cleared her throat and continued on, as if she hadn't heard him.

"And I don't generally like people. But," the words felt heavy on her tongue, as if it were taking actual physical strength to get her to admit it, "I like Runners." She finally said, her voice clipped, as if she were waiting for him to laugh at her again. "The Maze is horrifying, especially at night, and-" she was cut off, mid sentence by the impatient huff from Thomas.

"But you don't know, OK?" His voice was a harsh yell, snapping at her. Tasha felt her hands beginning to shake as memories of Grievers and moving walls swam before her vision. "You don't understand what it's like out there! At night!" Thomas groaned. She was silent, the words I will not have a panic attack looping through her head as her hands violently shook in her lap. Thomas spoke up when she remained quiet, he sounded doubtful. "You don't, do you?" There was another pause, Thomas thinking over the odd and cryptic things that she had told him, that she had said to him and it all began to click into place. "You've survived the night."

Tasha swallowed hard, her whole body shaking as she tried to breath normally… it wasn't working. "Yeah." She huffed.

"Tasha," Thomas's voice was hard and defiant, but Tasha cut him off, quickly. Her breathing coming back under her control as she focused on what she had to say, pushing the thoughts of the Maze from her mind.

"Thomas, no matter what you've done in your past life, I trust who you are now, you who've seen the Maze at night. It's terrifying, you know that now, but you can survive it." She's glad at how little she stumbled over her words, and goes back to breathing deeply to calm herself.

Thomas's voice ruins it, or, more precisely, his words do. "But if you've survived the night," and Tasha's got memories of the night she survived racing through her head again, and the day after, where Minho thought it would be good to tell the Gladers. She shakes her head, even at the memory, despite Thomas's questions. "why would you lie to people for so long?"

There's fear in her voice when she answers and she can barely believe that this is happening to her, not here, not now in front of the Greenie. "You have to understand, I was an anomaly. I was convinced I was a fluke…" She doesn't say 'I wasn't meant to survive' but she thinks it loud enough for the tears to begin to well in her eyes. She wipes the away hastily. "What I'm trying to say," she takes a deep breath and spits out the point she had came to make in the first place, "is that if push comes to shove, I'm on your side."

Then there's silence, silence so loud it's practically deafening as it presses against her eardrums. Thomas is the first to speak. "So you believe there's a way out?" He asked, to which Tasha sighed.

"I never said that." She told him. Then silence, again. She makes a move to get up, but he speaks again.

"What do you believe then?" He asked. It takes Tasha a moment to process his question, and another to really consider it. She knows the answer, she doesn't run to get out, she doesn't run to stay fit, she runs because she has to.

"I believe that there are people I need to protect, that I need to fight for them." She said, simply. Thomas doesn't say any names in particular, but she knows that he thinks she means Newt. She does, to some extent, but it's more than that. It's Newt, it's Minho, it was Ben and the other Runners… Hell, even now, it's Thomas.

"So you fight for them and not for you?" He asked. Tasha's smile, hidden in the black of night, is thin and wry.

"Yeah." The word was barely a hum, but it was there.

"That's…" He seemed lost for words, well, not lost exactly, more that he does want to tell her he thinks it's messed up. But then again, she's well aware of it. She's too self-aware not to be. Tasha sighed.

"I know." There was a heavy silence and Tasha stood up. "I'm on your side, Thomas." She told him, her voice returning to it's neutral, clipped tone as she walked away, making her footsteps as loud as possible to tell him she's gone.

Newt was laying in his bed by the time she had gotten back, sprawled out across the vaguely uncomfortable mattress that was still better than a hammock. One of the benefits of being second in command was a bed of your own, which Newt shared with Tasha on several occasions. She stopped past her own bunk, slipping into her sleepwear, before crawling into bed beside Newt. He threw an arm over her, pressing a kiss to her shoulder blade.

"How did your talk go?" He mumbled, sleepily. One eye open to watch her face, the other pressed into the pillow. His hair was mussed, as if he had been running his hands through it anxiously, thinking over Alby's condition and the state of the Gladers.

"Not great." She admitted, her hands still shaking slightly as she pulled the blanket up and over them. Newt hummed thoughtfully, pulling her closer so her back was pressed again his chest.

"Goodnight, love." He murmured into her ear, barely audible even to Tasha. She smiled despite herself, snuggling in close to him.

"Goodnight."