Subject A250: The Fallen

Twenty: Cargo Hold

A/N: I've watched TDC. That's enough about that.

This is a long chapter but it still seems rushed/messy so I'll probably rejig it (in a couple of years, knowing me). As usual, listen to the song.

And, as usual, I'm sorry.

Trace grabbed Newt's wrist and pulled him along behind her, rushing back towards the cockpit with a hiding spot in mind.

"What are you doing?" he asked her, in a hushed whisper.

"We're hiding," she explained. "I don't exactly think those are our friends, back already."

"So?"

Newt stopped suddenly, pulling Trace back with him. She turned to stare, wide-eyed, as he pulled his hand away. He stared at her, expecting an answer. "Why are we hiding? What's the point?"

Trace folded her arms across her chest and glared at Newt. "The point is that we don't get found. I don't want to shipped off to some temporary holding place until I lose my mind."

"Isn't that exactly what we're doing here? Being held until we lose our minds?"

Trace couldn't believe what she was hearing. Newt was serious about this. He wanted to get caught. "We're waiting for our friends!"

"We're going mad, Ace! By the time they get back one of us will have killed the other!"

"That's not true. We've got time. Besides, we have our plan, right? We've got weapons here. They left a couple behind."

There was a sudden bang from the back of the Berg and the two of them jumped at the sound. Newt stared into Trace's eyes, conflicted, conversing with her through that eye contact alone. They stood there, listening to the sound of more thudding, the clanging of metal against metal, and then footsteps.

"Fine," Newt muttered, eventually.

Trace called that a win and grabbed his hand again, pulling them to the cockpit. Just inside was a small door that opened into a tiny closet, big enough to fit two--maybe three-- people at a crouch. Trace opened the door and filed in, pulling Newt after her. He closed the door quietly behind them.

"Nut," Trace muttered, daring to speak before whoever was after them got any closer. "We can't give up. Not yet. Not on their terms."

Newt just grunted, and Trace knew what he was thinking. In fact, she was thinking the same thing. She knew what was ahead; she couldn't risk her friends seeing her lose her mind. She couldn't risk hurting them. Newt was right-- they had to end this soon.

"Nut," she muttered again, reaching for his chin in the dark, pulling his face towards hers. "Our terms, remember? They won't have weapons for us where they're going."

Newt's arms wrapped around Trace, pulling her into a hug. "I know," he said. "Our terms. I was just being cynical."

Trace nodded and leaned in against Newt's chest. Her attention was stolen by the sound of his heartbeat, pounding steadily against her ear-- fast, but rhythmic and somewhat calming. Trace squeezed her eyes shut; she didn't want to lose this moment.

They could hear footsteps again-- louder. Voices called out, but were too muffled to understand behind the door. It sounded like they were in the cargo hold, where Trace and Newt had just been.

Then she heard them clearly.

"Someone was definitely in here."

"Recently too. Look at this."

There was a moment of quiet before somebody confirmed their own thoughts. "Blood."

Blood? Trace was faintly aware of a stinging sensation on her leg-- not something she'd even noticed with all the chaos from earlier. Newt leaned back to give her room and Trace reached down to feel the sore spot. It was wet, sticky, warm.