IT STARTED WITH A MAZE - Newt x Reader (F)

- A FINAL DESPERATE SPRINT -

"I'm not here to hurt you," I say quickly, my voice firm but not threatening. I raise my other hand slightly, showing her I'm not aiming at her. Her brow furrows. She looks at me like I've lost my mind. Maybe I have. "Yes, you betrayed us. Yes, you did things differently than I would have." My voice tightens, but I push through. "But I don't think you'd lie to me about that."

I let the words hang, let her feel their weight.

Teresa slowly steps around the lab bench, hands still visible. She's tense, but something in my tone must have struck a chord, because she doesn't fight me. Doesn't yell. Just... stops.

"I wasn't lying," she says softly. "Your blood is different. The genetic sequence - it's like it cancels the Flare at a cellular level. Breaks it down completely." My breath catches. She gestures toward the vial in her hand. "This... this is it. Your blood. I collected what I could after removing your chip," Teresa confesses and I couldn't care less. "I've been trying to stabilize it, turn it into a viable dose. I've just started testing," she says quickly. "But I need more - stabilisers, catalysts - to secure it as something I can inject. Otherwise, the immune response could-"

"I need it now," I interrupt, stepping forward. My voice cracks under the weight of it. "Newt's not doing good."

Sirens wail in the distance - long, drawn-out howls that begin to echo through the metal bones of the building. A pulse of red emergency light flashes from the hallway beyond the lab's glass door. The chaos is catching up. Teresa's hands still for a moment, her eyes flicking to the noise. Then she looks back at me. "You should get out of here," she says quietly.

"Not without that cure," I answer, my tone sharp and unwavering.

She doesn't argue - not immediately. She just watches me. And there's something behind her eyes, something fractured. "You know," she says after a pause, her voice tight and too calm, "love makes people do impossible things." She turns back to the table, begins moving with purpose again, even as her words hang like mist in the air. "You think it's about bravery or logic," she goes on, "but it's not. Love... real love... it's desperate. It's irrational. It's terrifying," she utters. "It's something that tears you away from what you think it right and you don't know how to cope."

I stare at her, unable to speak. The way she says it. The way a part of me always knew- "You love Thomas," I say softly.

A breath stutters from her lungs. She nods once. Then looks at me with eyes worn thin. "Yet he always loved you." Her voice doesn't carry accusation, just melancholy truth. "That's one thing I remember clearly. Before the Maze. When the three of us were still working together," she goes on. "Even before the memories were wiped, he watched you like you were a question he'd never be able to answer." The silence that follows is raw. The only sounds are the hum of lab equipment and the distant sirens still clawing through the building. I stand there, frozen for a moment, caught in a tangle of thoughts. The weight of what she's saying. The truth I never really allowed myself to hold. She drops a stabilizer into the vial with a soft clink, the red fluid swirling like smoke in water. "And still you love Newt," she says finally, gently.

I nod. "I do love Newt." My voice cracks under the weight of it. I think maybe I love Thomas, too, but... not like that. I love him like I love Chuck. Like I love Minho. Like family. But Newt... My thoughts trail off, and I grip the edge of the metal table. Teresa watches me, silent now. "I need to save him," I whisper. "Because if I don't- if I let him fade out and I could've stopped it- I'll never come back from that." I swallow hard, my throat tight. "Love isn't just this warm feeling. It's not just the good parts. It's panic. It's choosing to stay when shit gets ugly," I add somewhat pointedly, acknowledging how she betrayed us all those months ago. "Shits really ugly now but love is reaching into the dark for someone and refusing to let go, even if they're already slipping." I look at her, eyes burning. "And that's where he is, Teresa. He's slipping. I feel it in the way he looks at me. The way he breathes," I utter. My chest expands with a deep sigh in order to control my uneven breathing. "I need this."