You Expect Me To Carry On? (A Newtmas Fanfic)

Chapter Six: Explanation

They sat around an up-cycled 'dining table' (an interesting arrangement made up of an upturned bit of driftwood supporting a canvas-covered iron door) and waited for an explanation.

Minho, Thomas and Newt.

The trio, once a duo, now a re-united trio.

Thomas couldn't help the occasional smile. 

He was back. 

He was back!

When Newt started talking, he spoke slowly, steadily, as if just getting used to the action.

"The last thing I remember- before I blacked out- is you... Tommy."

Thomas blushed. He'd missed Newt's nickname for him.

Newt continued

"I don't remember most of the... fight- ya know... the struggle. It sorta came back to me in flashes of emotions. But I know that you tried your hardest to stop me Tommy but... it was what I wanted. I promise."

Minho looked down at his hands.

"You did the right thing."

Thomas felt an enormous weight lift from his chest as Newt resumed his talking.

"When I woke up, I was in surgery. It was bright white and I didn't take in much, I was in quite a bit of pain and drugged up on whatever expansive-arse crap they had me on.

"I remember blurred faces and masks and big lights and hushed voices. Then I went out again."

Minho spoke up

"So... they saved you life? WCKD saved you life?" he sounded astonished and slightly bitter, as if the thought of WCKD doing a good thing for once didn't quite sit with him.

Thomas couldn't help but feel a slight twang of leftover resentment towards him.

Why can't he just keep his mouth shut for once?

He wanted Newt to keep talking, and he didn't have to wait long.

"Yeah... I guess. Bloody shanks couldn't bear to lose their finest subject."

Thomas chuckled, and Newt met his eyes with a soft grin.

"Something funny Tommy?" he laughed

"Oh no nothing at all. Just the thought of you twig being wckd's favourite child."

Newt reached over and punched him in the arm

"Shut it lightbulb boy. You'd think that naming you after a genius would at least give you half a brain."

Even Minho laughed at that.

"My Apologies, your Twig-ness."

They went on making jokes and laughing for a good ten minutes, before Newt got his breath back and re-harnessed the seriousness required for his story. He continued

"ANYWAY," he began, shooting Thomas a pointed look.

"As I was saying. Surgery. So, when I woke up again, I felt fine and dandy. Seriously, it was weird. Like, as if I'd been shot in the head with a blank and not a bullet. I was on the floor of a berg, on some shucking stretcher, being carted off who-knows-where. Well, I know now, obviously."

He paused

"I wasn't unconscious, but I couldn't move."

This caused Thomas to squirm slightly in his seat. He didn't like the idea of anyone laying a finger on Newt, let alone rendering him immobile.

"I was slowly getting the feeling in my fingers back, and I was about ready to beat those bloody shanks to a pulp when some soldier stuck a shucking syringe in my arm. The last thing I remember before I woke up here was him saying, 'Sorry. Ava Paiges orders.' That's it. That's my story."

Minho and Thomas were silenced, processing the overload of information.

Dr Paige Thomas thought

She did this. 

She brought him back to me.

Newt was yawning, his eyes almost swallowed up by dark, creasing shadows, his skin scarily pallid.

This boy has been through hell and back- quite literally

Thomas stood and walked over to Newt's chair, placing a hand lightly on his back.

It could have just been his imagination, but he thought he saw a dark blush spread across the blonde's cheeks at the touch between the two.

Thomas felt a jolt of electric through his heart.

"C'mon." he said, pulling his friend to his feet

"You look klunk-tired."

Newt looked affronted.

"Oi!" he exclaimed, turning to look into Thomas's face

Thomas felt heat spread across his cheeks.

Their faces were so close he-

"You dare insult Your Twigly-ness!"

Thomas laughed, and Minho chuckled, standing and looping his arm around Newt's free one.

"C'mon you shanks." he said, grinning

"Let's get you both to bed."

"Good that." Thomas relied. He was exhausted.

"Yes mum." Newt muttered softly.

Thomas felt his breath hot in his ear, and he straightened up, trying desperately to keep a straight face.

Together, the three boys hobbled out of the shack into the early evening light, connected once more by their undying friendship,

Their undying friendsh-