Pairing(s): Newt/Thomas.

Universe: Alternate canon to The Death Cure.

Word Count: 1,332

A/n: I love reviews, even if it's something as simple as "cute".

Thomas could feel his vision swim, dark lights dancing across his sight and a groan that sounded more like a whine left his lips. He has an inkling of an idea of what it feels like when Minho had been electrocuted - his limbs still weren't entirely his own, pain scissoring through him and pain causing him to tense and try to clench his teeth, of which came as another sore weight. He collapses against the floor, which felt like a cold compress against his chest.

"That's it!" Jorge's voice yells from somewhere beyond Thomas' range of sight. "Grab his butt and drag him in!"

The world spins in dark colours as he's picked up by the back of his shirt and legs, and the feeling of air rushing beneath his body greets him. He feels nauseous from the sensation, but he doesn't spill out his innards over the poor fellow just yet. He feels himself settle along the floor of the Berg, almost painfully, but it is dulled compared to the low pulsing that still roars through his nerves.

"Sorry, Tommy," comes Newt's voice from above, a dull sensation of weight settling along his back. "I could have been a bit gentler, I 'spect."

Thomas' head met the darkness like an old friend.

He awoke, staring listlessly ahead, eyes wandering around slightly. The Berg is dark, and there's no nauseous feeling that he expects when the Berg has begun its ascent. He's almost recognized the sensation by now, but as of now, it was absent. He breathes out a sigh of relief, could feel whispers of an ache in his side and from behind his eyes, like a pounding headache.

He hears the deep breathing sounds of sleep and knows to be quiet when he shifts onto his side, but a jolt runs through him - both of pain from a bandaged leg - and from seeing Newt's dark eyes peers at him from beneath the covers of a cot opposite the Berg. Thomas' breath comes out in short bursts of surprise, "Hey, Newt."

"Tommy." Newt's eyes are tired, but he manages a slight upward twist of the corner of his mouth. His blond hair is splayed across his pillow, the blanket tucked tightly beneath his chin, and he looks incredibly comfortable there. "We didn't expect for you to get up so soon." He yawns, fingers moving to block the exhale of air, but then he seems to give in, regardless. "How're you feeling?" his dark eyes close for a moment before slowly opening again, one eye at a time.

Thomas snickers at the motion, "I'm okay. Leg hurts."

"Join the club, Tommy," Newt says, voice thick with his accent and Thomas rolls his eyes fondly. "Sorry for not being sympathetic, but really, you'll live."

Thomas thinks about asking Newt about his own limp then, but the words die out on his lips, thick in his throat until he coughs weakly, causing Newt to open his eyes in consideration and watch with an unimpressed look. "Yeah, I'm glad I'm alive," he decides on saying instead, expecting for Newt to echo the sentiments, but the blond remains quiet. He doesn't try to think about what that implies. "Hey, Newt?" Newt makes a 'hmm' noise in consideration, and Thomas squirms slightly before offering up into the otherwise quiet air, aside from the low hum of the heaters going. "Thanks for saving me."

Newt offers a sigh as a response, rolling onto his back to peer up at the ceiling. Thomas traces his cheekbones with his eyes, almost missing the response. "Which time?"

"Every - every time. I just .. wanted to thank you. Also in general, for helping me out back in the Glade, when you didn't have to and..." his voice trails off, his fingers working the duvet beneath him. "Just, thank you."

"I don't need no bloody thanks," Newt responds, rolling onto his other side so that his back is presented to Thomas. Not taking it as the cue for an ended discussion, Thomas' voice fills the void again.

"Hey, Newt?"

A sigh. "What is it, Tommy?" Thomas' mind drew a blank. He just wanted to listen to Newt's words, wanted to hear the familiar accent grated on his ears, wanting to melt in the warm mocha that was his voice. "If you aren't going to say anything.."

"Did you grab my butt?" A stunned silence fills the air, and Thomas hears Newt turn around, but he decides to focus on the floor between their beds, trying to pay attention to the pain that ran through his leg still. Newt's breathing was deep, but he could feel the other's eyes on him, so he was aware that the blond wasn't asleep, not yet. "Jorge said 'grab his butt and drag him in', didn't he? You ... pulled me in, right? So, did you grab my butt?"

"Thomas, I pulled you inside. I saved you. I don't think touching your skinny butt was on my mind, exactly." Thomas could feel his chest swell with affection at the words - Newt could have had an opportunity if he was interested in Thomas, but instead he only focused on saving his life.

"Okay," Thomas hums, and pulls the blanket up around his face, closing his eyes and breathing loudly through his nose.

".. Did you want me to ..." Newt's voice fills the air again, voice quieter, softer, like back in the Glade before this whole mess spilled out onto their hands, back before their friendship became strained. "Did you want me to touch you?"

Thomas opens his eyes, seeing the tall blond staring at him with furrowed brows, moving the blanket aside, letting it pool around his waist, clean clothes pressed against his skin. He looks slightly confused, open with his emotions displayed on his face, blond hair tangled up in knots. "If it matters any," Thomas decides to say, "you'd be the only one I'd let touch me." Newt's eyes are dark and wide, going blank for a moment. He wants to say that Newt's concern about needing to be gentler isn't exactly justified - that the blond could be as rough as he wanted to but the thought of even saying the implication brought Thomas's face aflame.

"Yeah?" is Newt's response, his tongue darting out to lick his lips.

Thomas brings up the edge of the blanket higher, fingers curling as he draws his knees up, offering a slight smile. "Yeah," he murmurs. "Does that .. does that change anything between us?" Newt offers a shrug, eyes still curious. "Is it too late for something to happen? Between us."

Newt lets out a sigh, the creak of the bed alerting Thomas to his actions. "No, it's never too late, Tommy." He says, carefully setting his feet on the ground and discarding his blanket. Thomas could see the bandages wound across his calves and ankles, along his biceps as well. Nobody had escaped from WICKED unscathed. "We just have to make up for lost time, that's all." Thomas tries not to think that they won't have much time left, not with the Flare, but instead lets himself trust him. Newt's smile is almost as warm as he is, when he walks across the room and slips into Thomas' bed, hands gentle when he pulls Thomas to his chest and for once, everything feels okay.

"Hello, Tom." Thomas jolts awake, knee knocking against another as he jerks away in surprise at the curtain of dark hair that fell across his face. "Did you have a nice sleep?" she asks, voice soft as she looks over towards the blond next to Thomas' side. Thomas could feel Newt close to his side, and his movement caused the taller boy to grunt in surprise, eyes blinking blearily over at Brenda, who stood over them, a knowing smile touching her face.

"Yeah, you could say that," Thomas says, and feels more than hears Newt's quiet laughter. It helped him believe that everything was going to be fine again.