Quiet is Violent {Newt | The Maze Runner}

23. Entrance or Exit

Tailing the group as they headed further into the Maze, Tasha and Newt's every step was fuelled by adrenaline and anticipation though they still lagged behind with Newt limping as he always had. It was just second nature to Tasha now, whenever she and Newt were together she would adjust her speed to compensate for his limp. Minho ran just ahead of them, casting glances back at them to make sure they didn't fall too far behind. Of course, he knew Tasha wouldn't, but it was more of a habit than anything else and she appreciated it all the same.

"I'm sorry." Her quiet voice was unexpected, startling Newt from his thoughts halfway through their journey. It took him a moment, but he simply frowned in response. "About worrying you." She explained, her voice low and intimate, though her apology was met with a chuckle from Newt.

"I'm just glad you're OK." The smile on his face shrivelled and died, turning into another worried, rather sour expression as he looked at her out of the corner of his eye, "You are OK, aren't you?" He asked, concerned.

Tasha savoured her words before she spoke them, deliberating over what she chose to speak. Technically, yes, she was fine. Busted lips and bruised cheeks were cosmetic wounds at best, and so she was OK. Emotionally, it was harder to define; she felt numb, now simply waiting for the inevitable shock and fear to crash down upon her, wave after debilitating wave. For now, though? For now she was fine... or so she told herself.

"Yeah, but I feel like hell." She admitted, quietly, looking at her feet as she ran. Newt took one of her fidgeting hands in his and gave it a reassuring squeeze..

"You sort of look it." He chuckled, quietly, light humour laced throughout his words and Tasha snorted out a laugh. She didn't look up, trusting Newt to follow the group as she tried to sort out her thoughts, examining her own black tank top. The night before had not done wonders for her clothing, leaving her covered in burns and rips, not too big, but enough to make her look scruffy. To be fair, all the Gladers were scruffy, it was just a part of their life... Which they were leaving behind.

"Is this the right thing?" She asked him, trepidatiously, her face falling. It took her a moment to reevaluate her statement before adding, quickly, "I know they wouldn't lie, but..."

"Tasha," The concerned murmur of Newt's voice cut her off and he swallowed hard before continuing, "you know if you don't believe them, you could have-" She knows it's killing him to say this, to give her the option of going back, of running away. She's run away from everything, it's all she knows, but now... now she's got Newt and she doesn't need to run.

"It doesn't matter whether or not I believe in them," she muttered, less bitter than her usual tone of voice, but the statement still gave Newt a heartbreakingly crestfallen expression, "but I believe in you." She breathed, smiling her genuine smile that crinkled the corners of her eyes and made her shine with happiness, the one she only used around him. Sweeping her into his arms there and then probably wouldn't be a good idea, but he wanted to. But they couldn't fall behind, and settled for grinning back, fingers laced with hers. "I love you." She told him.

"I love you too." He murmured back, knocking shoulders with her as they picked up their pace at Minho's amused yell.

"Hey, lovebirds, keep up!" He crowed, making Tasha laughed. She finally felt free and happy, her hand in Newt's, escaping the hell that she had been confined to for the past two years. The walls were flat and grey, taller than she had ever seen; they were still made of concrete and built like a fortress but Thomas had found the crack in the defense and it meant they were getting out. Pain, guilt almost seemed to wash through her at the knowledge that this would be the last time she would run through these corridors. She wasn't complaining, of course, for all the peace and solidarity the Maze offered, it was still the setting for some of the worst times of her life. In her mind, she could still see Newt's body, limp at the foot of one of the walls, ankle twisted at a painful angle, his breathing shallow.