Two Turtle Doves

Three

A/n: I forgot that Y/n's wrist is supposed to be broken so . . . oops.

Not long after dinner, night had fallen. You didn't have a watch with you, but you assumed that if you had been in the Glade still the Doors would have closed hours ago.

All of the Gladers had been thrown into the same room except for Teresa. You didn't know where she was and you really hadn't given it much thought. With everything that had happened -- from eating to Fry's last meal to almost getting killed to a Griever to being rescued by people you weren't even sure you could trust -- that day, you were worn out and wanted nothing more than to sleep for days straight.

But sleep didn't come. You lay on the bottom of a bunkbed, knowing Newt was probably sound asleep right above you. Every time you lost the ability to hold your heavy eyes open for a moment, the darkness was replaced with memories -- watching Alby pitch himself over the Cliff in an unsuccessful attempt to save the Gladers; the flash of light reflecting off of the knife as it soared into Chuck's chest, forcing him to push out one last sentence that he was unable to finish; the men and their guns when you arrived, firing at something that was surely threatening to kill you; and just the uncertainity of it all. That last one ate away at you the most. Were we saved or did we fall for a trap?

You found yourself deep in your own thoughts, trying to make sense of it all, when the soft sound of moving metal brought you back to the room. You were certain that it had come from the bed above yours: Newt's.

Half asleep and not really knowing what you were doing, you pushed the blankets off of your legs. You realized that they were coated in sweat, clinging to the fabric of the pants you were wearing. A sudden wave of cold air rushed over your body, sending a shiver down your spine. It was relieving, in a way.

You forced yourself up and off of the bed, almost falling back down when you did. But you were able to stand up and reach for the ladder connecting your bed and Newt's.

The cold metal of the ladder felt like stepping onto blocks of ice with hundreds of little, tiny pins poking out the top. But the cold was a good thing -- it stimulated your mind a bit.

You were wrong -- Newt wasn't fast asleep like you had thought. He was lying down on the mattress, eyes half open as he vacantly stared at the Gladers sleeping below.

You laid down next to him, on top of the thick blanket because you had not yet cooled off entirely. He shifted his gaze to your eyes and you forced yourself to smile. It was shoddy and unconvincing, but it was a smile all the same. He didn't return the look.

"Can't sleep?" he whispered. You shook your head. "What's wrong?"

You sighed. "Everything." The whisper was quiter than you intended. The intense drowsiness made it feel like someone else had spoken the word, but the sound had come from you.

Newt placed a hand on your arm, rubbing small circles as you forced your eyes to stay open. They were becoming heavier by the second.

You were about to give in and let your eyelids close when the sound of whispers filled the air. You couldn't make who the voices belonged to or what they were saying. 

Probably just some guys who can't sleep. But your interest was piqued and you couldn't stop yourself from looking to see who was talking.

You propped yourself up on your elbow and turned your neck at an angle that could have been considered inhuman. Your eyes had adjusted to the darkness by now, and you could see the beds of the Gladers clearly. Many of them held visibly sleeping Gladers tucked under the thick blankets. Some of them snored lightly. You thought about how, for some of them, it was their first time sleeping in a bed in years. You tried to imagine the incomprehendable feeling.

You scanned the beds one by one and many of them looked normal -- occupied by a Glader. But one of the final ones was not. The blankets were tossed over the side, half draping on the floor. Its sheets were wrinkled, like someone had left the bed in a hurry. You couldn't remember who was supposed to be sleeping there.

You examined the rest of the room, hoping to find them wandering around. Sleepwalking, maybe. But everybody else was asleep.

You studied the faces of the sleeping Gladers and noticed that only one was missing. Of course, you thought.

"Thomas." You hadn't meant to say his name out loud.

"What?" Newt mumbled, shifting around on the bed. "What about him?"

"He's not here."

"Y/n, turn around." Deciding there was nothing more to look at, you turned back to face Newt. He was lying on his back, eyes focused on the ceiling above. "Go to sleep."

You laid down next to him, resting your head in between his arm and chest. The clothes he was wearing had begun to smell like him, but they still carried the scent of a washing machine.

You had become even more tired, but now Thomas was missing and you didn't think you'd be able to sleep at all.

"Where do you think he is?" you asked Newt, hoping he would provide some sort of logical explanation for why Thomas was gone and why you shouldn't worry about it. Maybe that would have helped you sleep.

"With that buggin' kid, it's hard to know," Newt replied. That did nothing to settle your nerves. Newt sighed when he realized that. "If there's one thing I've learned about that kid, it's that he can take care of himself. You don't need another thing to worry about."

He had a point -- Thomas was certainly capable of being self-sufficent -- but that was only the cherry on top of the sundae of problems you had. You figured, though, that Newt didn't want to listen to you talk about Alby and Chuck and the people who had saved you, so you moved closer to him and laid your head on his chest.

"I love you, Newt," you whispered. Even though you had said it once before, the three words still filled your stomach with a swarm of butterflies and plastered a smile across your face.

"I love you more," Newt countered. He had begun to run fingers through your hair, pulling apart small knots in the soap-scented tangles.

"That's not possible." You allowed your eyes to close. This time, the darkness was just darkness. No images of Alby or Chuck or Grievers filled your mind.

"It's not possible to love something as much as I love you," Newt concluded. You were going to respond -- with what, you would never know -- but the lack of horrifying memories allowed you to succumb to a dreamless sleep that you wished would just never end.