Emotionless »« Newt

TWENTY-FOUR

Thomas's eyes land on where Leandra and Newt are, the former now in the latter's arms as he pushes back her remaining hair, his grip tight on her as if he'd never let her go. Terror's etched in every inch of his face, but he meets Thomas's eye, giving a determined nod. "Go, Tommy. Just... please, go, save her. I can't let her die."

Thomas manages to give a stiff nod, knowing it's what he needs to do. "Minho's going to be here soon," he forces out of his lips, already starting to run. "Just– Hold on, Leandra. One of us will make it quickly, we'll be able to help. Just hold on!"

He's running, his feet hitting the gravel harshly with every step, erratic like Leandra's breaths and Newt's heartbeat. "I don't regret it," she bursts the moment Thomas is out of sight, but it seems to hurt her chest, some sort of tremor echoing in her head and making her flinch. He pulls her sleeve up, looking at the deep cut he caused, how it's already travelling up to her shoulder, and it hurts to see. He pulls it back down. "Listen to me, Newt."

"I am..."

"No." She snaps at him, then manages to fight it off and loosen her expression, gently putting her hand on his face and turning his gaze to her. "Listen. It's not your fault. It's not your fault, and I don't regret it. Not in the slightest. But you gotta make it up to me. You gotta go to the Safe Haven, keep safe, make sure to make a life for yourself. Okay?"

"I am not doing it without you!" He sounds in anguish, pulling her even tighter and closer to his chest, never having imagined this in his wildest dreams. "Why couldn't you only have given me half?" he counters, but his voice cracks in fear as his fingers tangle up in what's left of her hair. "Leah, love, you didn't..."

"It's not how it works, Newt," she whispers. "They were weak enough as it is. Harvested and tested and harvested again... it had to be all of them. It's a price I was willing to pay."

"But I'm not willing to pay it, damnit!"

Her eyes flash dark for a moment, terrifying Newt, but not because he's scared of what she'll do. It's because he's scared of what he might. It's painful for her, he knows that, but what can he do? Wait for Minho, wait for Thomas, all he can do is wait.

A moment later and they go back, but she squeezes them shut and lets out the quietest sound of pain Newt's ever heard, her fingers digging into his skin. It's uncomfortable, but he doesn't say a word about it. "How are you fighting it?" he whispers, broken. If he loses her... "How is it possible...?"

"Your emotions," she mumbles weakly back, not opening her eyes. "Don't think sad, or angry. Please. It helps."

"How am I not supposed to think sad or angry?" he retorts bitterly, tears pricking in his burning eyes, vision swimming painfully. "I refuse to lose you, I'm not going to lose you. I can't even carry you back. It's my fault this is happening, I never wanted–"

And before he realises, she's gently pulled him back down to her once more, their lips meeting, but this time it's different than before. This time her skin is burning but her lips are cold to the touch, and it's so much more gentle and delicate, lingering and secret as if they damned the rules and decided they were going to turn back time, change all of this, make sure Newt never got the Flare in the first place.

But before long she has to pull herself away, something heavy in her chest as if a boulder's resting on it, and she has to twist and wrench her body away from him, coughing deeply on the side as she struggles to prop herself up on her arm. Thick black liquid falls from her mouth, and that's when Newt knows that it's going to be too late. If neither of the boys make it soon, he's going to lose her all over again.