It all comes bubbling to the surface, the tension, the panic, the blind fear curled within each of them; it all spilled over the edge with Chuck's final breath. Silent tears track their way down Tasha's cheeks as she stands, one hand pressed to her belly and the other clasped tightly in Newt's. Regret crashed through her like an icy tidal wave and she can't help but cry, forehead pressed to his shoulder as sobs wrack her body. It hurts to move, hurts to breath, hurts to think, but she's the first to turn and look when the doors behind them open with a groan, sunlight arcing across the space and gleaming off of the tear-wet cheeks of the Glader. She recognises the people in the black outfits almost immediately from the video they had watched, though Thomas's cries of agony are reverberating through her skull and she doesn't try to make sense of it all. Tall men with guns shout louder than Thomas cries but she still can't hear them, so they push and shove with force enough to leave bruises, she certain. They tear her from Newt's grasp while she's kicking and screaming and crying, so she screams louder and doesn't think before bolting towards freedom, because that's who she is, that's what she does. She explodes through the doors and can barely register the scorch of the natural sunlight on her skin, but she falls to her knees, one hand still firmly pressed to her stomach, the other curled into the sand as she tries not to throw up. She is the first to fall into the helicopter they had waiting, having been manhandled in when she refused to get up, and so she crumpled against the furthermost door, knees tucked up to her chest and a fresh wave of tears falling from her eyes.

She feels Newt before she sees him, his arm pressed flush against hers as they sit in silence… there was nothing more to say. She still felt the terror and shock thrumming through her system, but the tears in her eyes were from the pain of her stomach, not that Newt needed to know the difference with her head on his shoulder. The helicopter whirrs to life with the deafening sound of it's blades slicing the sky. The men slammed the door shut, doing little to dampen the noise, but one removed his helmet; how he was grinning in such a time of despair, Tasha could barely fathom.

"You guys alright? You're safe now." He assured them. Safe? Ha! The lurching movement of the helicopter only adding to the fiery nausea that consumed her, forcing her to squeeze her eyes close or else she thought she might throw up. Holding out this long had been an achievement in it's own right and Tasha wryly congratulated herself. Newt's arm wrapped around her, pulling her closer to him and letting him press a kiss into her hair, his own eyes red-rimmed. Neither of them make a comment. "Relax kid," the man's looking at Thomas the way everyone had begun to look at Thomas, hopefully, expectantly, "everything's going to change." Despite the man's enthusiasm, his words lacked the comfort he may have been trying to achieve, however there really were no comforting thoughts to be had, no Med-Jack hut to wake up to, none of the bad dreams to forget. Nothing left but this cruel reality and the inevitability of death.

Tasha wasn't afraid of dying.

"Newt." Not more than twenty minutes into their journey, the walls of the helicopter had stopped spinning in Tasha's vision and she murmured into Newt's ear, quickly drawing his attention. He raised his eyebrows at her, morbidly curious, "I'm going to miss it." She confined, quietly. Newt nodded sombrely, gaze sliding until his eyes fixed on some distant point past her head. She didn't mind though, pressing against her wound harder when she felt the warm, sticky blood beginning to spread from her stomach; she could feel it coating her hand and was glad for the dark clothing that had hidden it from even the most cursory assessments, as that was all they were now. "How do you feel?" She asked, her eyes remaining large and inquisitive despite his incredulous look. It took him a moment to respond, sniffling as he considered his words.

"Bloody awful." He sighed, voice part resignation part resentment at something - W.C.K.D? Grievers? The Universe? Who was to say? Tasha barked out a bitter laugh, immediately regretting the decision with a suppressed wince as it aggravated her wound. "What about you?" He asked, his nudge bringing along with it a flare of pain. Her smile faded from forced to genuine and she kissed his cheek. The worst part about being shot, she considered, was most definitely the pain, everything else - the goodbyes, the regret, the death - was all easy in comparison. Despite herself, she knows that she doesn't regret any of her actions, she couldn't begin to regret them now. She had run all her life, she wouldn't run from this.

"I feel…" She hummed thoughtfully, smiling as she tried to block out her pain, "content." She admitted, and it was the truth. In spite of all opposing forces, she wasn't upset with the outcome. She wanted to be nowhere else but by Newt's side, and though at first he looked as if he didn't believe her, her peaceful smile and relaxed shoulders spoke more words than she ever would. Everything about her was wrapped in her physicality and there was something so raw about the way she communicated, it was one of the things he couldn't help but love about her.

"That's probably the first time you've said that and looked like you've meant it." He finally managed, no longer crying, but the evidence of his tears still shining on his face as he smiled softly at her.

"Yeah." She mused, moving as close as she dared. Seeing two of your friend die would break anyone and she couldn't blame him. It broke them all, three years ended in three seconds and they were all meant to be functioning normally. The world was cruel and bitter, but she could hardly focus on that when her eyelid began to droop with exhaustion and she slipped into unconsciousness.

A sky full of stars glittered peacefully above the Glade from where Tasha was stretched out beneath them, ankles were crossed and head resting on her arms as she lay, belly up in the grass. "Can't sleep?" She gave a start, sitting bolt upright and looking wildly around for the amused voice coming from the left. Upon seeing the blonde boy she visibly relaxed, but her smile was still wary as she shook her head. "I get it." He murmured, plopping down next to her, which she took as her cue to lie back down, fixing her gaze once more on the stars. "I mean, you've only been here, what, a week?" Tasha hummed in confirmation, to which Newt continued, "Never the less, you've done bloody well for yourself." Silence stretched between them as he waited for some sort of response from her, but she remained silent, the ghost of a smile still on her lips. "You don't say a lot."

"I don't talk a lot." She corrected, quietly, vague annoyance conveyed clearly in her tone. Newt stretched out beside her, despite the frown on his face, and let his gaze roam about the stars.

"Well, I suppose you're right." He was quiet for a moment, uncertain of how to proceed, faced with the silence that was so ingrained in Tasha's aura. He supposed that's why the others quickly grew tired of her, why they were so quick to dismiss her. "Hey, are you OK? You like it well enough?" He tried once more, but Tasha remained quiet, eyes still fixed on the stars. He was beginning to wonder that she hadn't heard him, but then she turned, agonisingly slowly, hair rustling the grass enough for him to turn to face her, and she caught his gaze, looking him straight in the eye.

"People don't like me." She told him, bluntly. He opened his mouth to protest, however none sprung to his mind. She continued in spite of this, saving him from both embarrassment and offense, "It doesn't bother me, not like you would think. I know I'm too straight forward and I don't understand the value of tolerating those I don't particularly like." It's then when she looked uncomfortable, an emotion that looked odd and out of place on her face, almost as if it didn't belong. She always seemed so unflappable, even in the worst of situations, which often left the others wary of her. "You persist." She finally admitted, dropping his gaze. "I don't understand."

Moments went by in which Newt tried desperately to decypher what she had said, and upon his realisation, a smirk lit up his face. "What? I kept you up, love? Really -" She cut him off, her voice neutral, but rather strained.

"No. I don't sleep well anyway; I was just…" She shifted where she lay, forcing herself to look up at the stars once more before swallowing hard and huffing, "dwelling." She concluded, her arms uncurling from behind her head to rest beside her.

"Well, you're right about one thing." Newt's attention turned back to the stars after a few minutes of silence. Tasha frowned, her head tilting ever so slightly to look at him out of the corner of her eye as he lay beside her. "I do like you, Tash." She froze up, before smiling brightly, a sudden, unfamiliar warmth flooding through her, linked inextricably to belonging. Newt captured her hand in his and they lay, hand in hand on the grass beneath the stars.

"Good." Tasha mumbled, yawning, giving his hand an affectionate squeeze. "Because I like you too." The warmth of his touch spread throughout her, not like a vine, but a set of roots, curling through her whole being, from the tips of her toes to the point of her ears. Linked through hands and hearts, they knew they would never truly be separated.

Fog clouded Tasha's vision when she awoke… not true fog, but the fine line between fog and darkness that only she could see. Newt shaking her shoulders was what had awoken her, and she sat with his voice murmuring in her ear. "Tash, look at that." She could see him pointing, mesmerised by the beautiful lilac hues of the sunset mixing with the streaks of red and orange, but to her it was little more than an orange glow melting into shadows. She hummed quietly, happily. "Are you OK, Tash?" He asked, turning her to face him. Her vision grew darker with every passing minute and she was thankful that she could make out his features, cupping his cheek with her clean hand. The hand on her stomach remained in place more from habit than necessity; the pain had transformed into pure numbness and it was slowly pulling her under.

"I love you, Newt." She murmured, and he smiled at her, tiredly, weakly, but a smile none-the-less, that much she could tell. "Remember that." She whispered, her voice dying. With her final ounce of strength, she reached out with both hands, bloodied fingers sliding over his neck as she pulled him in to kiss him softly on the lips. It was sweet and chaste and Tasha smiled against him. Eyes closed she took a deep breath, feeling herself slipping under completely. Horror overcame Newt's face as Tasha's hand dropped away from his neck, still slick with blood and too weak to hold him close, the thick smell of iron pervading his senses. It wasn't difficult to find the bullet wound once he hand run his hands over her in panic, but it was too late and he shouted her name in vain, shaking her harshly. Her head lolled like a ragdoll. Lips numb, she barely managed to whisper her final words. Her whole body was numb and he listened, hanging on every words as if her life could be saved by that one action. It appeared that she had been right after all, her eerie mantra hiding some element of truth, there is no way out, not for her anyways… She closed her eyes to the already dark world, pinpricks of light forming behind closed eyelids. It was simple, of course it was, it's who she was. Tasha wasn't one for complex, rambling monologues, and Newt loved that about her. He just wished that for once she wouldn't stop talking… Five words. Five words and she was gone.

"I love you so much."