*A/N: Dedicated to newtscarf my first Tewt shipper friend and the other Tewt shippers out there. You are not alone. This is probably the most depressing fanfic I've written. Ugh. I don't think I'll ever be able to write fluff, anyway.

Beta-ed by sheilove13. All disclaimers apply.

This story is also posted on my tumblr.

WARNING: Canon character death*

REMEMBER ME

The headache hits the moment he sees her.

The dizzying nostalgia slams into him so suddenly that he stumbles backward with the sheer force of it. He steadies himself, bracing his hands against the wall and struggling to catch his breath but his eyes remain glued to the figure sprawled before him. He can hear the jumble of voices above, all curious and inquiring. They huddle around the Box together for a closer look, their bodies casting shadows on the floor so that it blocked all light except the one shining down upon her.

Her.

Raven's black curls frame a delicate face the color of ivory, and beneath her own personal spotlight she looks ethereal, like a goddess cast down from the heavens.

"It's a girl" he sputters out; more for his sake than his peers', struggling to wrap his head around the fact the he knows her – or at least he thinks he knows her.

Phantom memories tug at his brain; whispers of the past that are barely comprehensible rising to the surface. The vertigo worsens and he clutches his head in a futile attempt to stop the sensation of almost remembering.

Suddenly, the girl wakes with a shudder, gasping Thomas's name like a prayer. She falls back into unconsciousness almost at once but for the briefest of moments he catches a glimpse of her eyes, blue and startlingly deep, and something within him jolts.

He knows her – he doesn't know how or why, but he does.

The headaches get worse, so much that he finally decides to see her, cursing himself every step of the way.

He arrives at the Slammer, crouching by its bars as he sets the lamp on the ground. She looks up at the sudden brightness and he sees her face illuminated by the lamp's warm glow. The vision induces another round of wooziness and he clenches his eyes shut for a second.

Get yourself together, you piece of klunk.

She peers at him curiously, her head cocked to one side. He stares back, unblinking, his mouth dry. He doesn't know what to say and suddenly wishes that he had planned this encounter before rushing down like a complete idiot. The silence gets heavier and he almost leaves before she blurts out, "Who are you?"

The tension leaves his muscles and he makes himself more comfortable on the ground. "Well, I'm just the guy you threatened to butcher with a knife a few days ago." he says, giving her a wry smile.

"Sorry 'bout that." she mutters.

"The name's Newt, to answer your question."

"Teresa. But everyone knows that, anyway." She purses her lips and stares at him hard.

"You might as well give it up. We've tried countless times before. You don't get your memories back unless you get stung by a Griever and go through the Changing. And even then, it's just partial."

She throws her arms up and sighs. "How do you people deal with this? It's frustrating."

"The first few weeks were hell. But we all got used to it, eventually. You will too. What were you trying to remember anyway?" Somehow, he knows the answer even before he asks the question.

"You'll find this weird but…I think I recognize you from the past. And I don't think it was intentional. I knew Thomas the moment I woke up – it's like his name was planted in my brain or something. But you– " she pauses and stares at him with the same curious expression as earlier. "I know you and I don't think that it's something the Creators did on purpose. And I think you sense it too."

He shrugs nonchalantly but his heart had begun beating wildly against his chest. "Can't say that I have."

Her eyes narrow. "What are you doing here, then?"

He opens his mouth to spew out some lie when he realizes that he doesn't have one. His hesitation lasts a second too long and she smirks in triumph. He swears. Damn this girl.

"What do you think we were back then?"

"Not sure, but by the way you were waving that knife at me, I'd say we were lovers." he answers, smirking.

The unexpected laugh makes him blink in surprise. Without warning, the sound triggers another dizzy spell and his grin contorts into a grimace. A shadow of recollection creeps into his mind, an odd sense of déjà vu telling him that his heart had soared like this before. He remembers the feeling of being this carefree, of being happy.

And then he forcibly pulls himself away from the euphoria that had begun to settle. Despite the nagging headaches, he doesn't know this girl or the reason why the Creators kept on messing with their heads; but he was damn well sure of one thing–he wasn't going to let them fool him into hoping.

In this world, happiness was nothing more than an illusion.

He stands up and walks away from her with nothing more than a curt goodbye.

The battle around him escalates.

Amidst the chaos, he catches a flash of long black hair and he whips around to see her. He screams at her to go back and help Thomas, to go back to safety, but his voice gets lost in the melee of screams and screeching metal.

As he watches her move, he can't help but think that she fights like the ocean that's inside her eyes – all rage and passion, casting destruction in a way that's terrifyingly beautiful. The dangerous thoughts were coming from somewhere deep inside him, from a place he doesn't even know existed.

Without warning, white-hot pain explodes behind his eyelids and he crumples to the floor in agony. A vision invades his mind and steals his sight.

He was in a bright hallway.

Guards clad in white uniform flank his sides as they march towards the laboratory at the far end of the corridor. A girl bursts out from the room and runs to him at full speed. He catches her by the waist as they collide with a soft thump. He can feel her body trembling against his, the slackening as she slowly lets him go.

"Leave us." she orders.

The guards nod and continue their march, leaving the two of them alone in the hallway. As soon as the echoes of footfalls vanish, she grabs him by the lapels and crashes her lips against his. He pulls her closer, kissing her with the same desperate fervor.

She pulls away with a gasp and he leans down to rest his forehead against hers.

"Newt I – I can't – I don't think I can –" she stutters.

He pulls her shaking fists away and smoothens them out. "For our friends, remember?" he says, smiling ruefully.

She closes her eyes and nods with a gulp. "Can you promise me something?"

"I'm not going to die."

"I wasn't talking about that."

He pulls away from her but a firm hand on his arm keeps him from taking another step further. "Teresa, we need to go." he says.

"Just one more thing." She bites her lip and he watches the emotions flicker across her face until a hard determination settles in her eyes. She leans forward, her lips barely grazing his earlobe.

"Promise me you won't forget this. Remember me." she whispers.

A loud voice pierces through the memory and reality crashes back down on him. Minho hauls him to his feet and drags him away, yelling you shuck-brained idiot and are you out of your damn mind. He lets himself get pulled because he doesn't want to see her – never wants to see her again. The past was the past; it can go screw itself for all he cares. He hates her now, blames her for fucking with his mind, for allowing this to happen to him, to all of them.

He hates her, he hates her, he hates her.

His heart says otherwise.

He's a Crank. He's a bloody Crank.

The news sinks in like deadweight. He barely hears the Rat Man's voice as he dooms the others like him.

That was it.

The last straw. The final insult. The cherry atop the mess that was his life. He feels nothing though, only a strange sort of numbness that left him hollowed out to the core.

"It's fine with us, you know. If you want your past back." Thomas says softly, looking at him with pity.

He shoots a look at Minho and sees the same grim understanding in his eyes. It's as if they expect him to go through the surgery, as if the sickness corrupting his nerve cells is a good enough reason to change his decision.

She approaches them then, apparently noticing the sullen discussion. "Thomas –" she begins, but the other boy cuts her off.

"We're not doing it. You can keep sucking up their lies for all I care but I've had enough."

Hurt contorts her expression for a brief moment before it hardens with anger. "Fine, then. If you want to throw away your only chance at getting our memories back then be my guest."

She turns to him. "Newt?"

He can see the silent plea in her eyes that her lips dared not say in front of his friends. "Please." she whispers it so softly that it is barely intelligible.

He gulps. He doesn't need his memories. In a few weeks, he'll be past the Gone and even if he gets them back now, he'll lose them all over again anyway. And he sure as hell won't let anyone who worked for WICKED get anywhere near his brain.

But she keeps looking at him in a way that makes his throat constrict, her blue eyes eager and pleading and familiar, so fucking familiar –

He makes his decision.

"Thomas is right." he says and turns away before he can see the look of betrayal written on her face.

He doesn't know how long it's been – how many days or weeks he's been drifting aimlessly across this scorched land. The delirium had stripped him of all purpose, leaving him with nothing more than the primal instinct to survive. He was quickly losing the battle for his sanity and the more he tried to cling to it, the more it slipped past his fingertips.

The sickness was like a cloud settling over his mind, casting shadows over his thoughts, befuddling truths he'd known his whole life until he could barely discern reality from fantasy.

Today is one such a day.

From the distance, he sees a familiar figure run towards him. This time, he recognizes the illusion for what it is because there is absolutely no way she can be here, no reason that –

She stops, barely a hairsbreadth away from him and he dares not move, not even to breathe.

This isn't real, he thinks. This isn't real, this isn't real, this isn't real.

But then she lifts a hand and lays it gently against his cheek and the feather light pressure grounds him back to earth. Her touch was enough to anchor him to reality and bloody hell, it's disturbing how much she can affect him even half-mad as he is. His clouds part for her like she was the sun itself and for the first time in weeks, his thoughts are his own.

"You're alive" she says, with a sound somewhere between a choke and a sob.

He releases the breath he'd been holding and allows his eyes to close because Teresa is here, she's here and she's real and he silently thanks the same universe that condemned him to this fate for its small mercies.

Another set of footsteps reaches his ears and he pulls away from her touch reluctantly. He finds himself staring right into Thomas. The shock and anguish in his best friend's eyes cuts into him and the reminder of what needs to happen steels his bones.

"Teresa. You need to get away from here." he says.

"No." she replies, shaking her head frantically. "Everything that's happened has been my fault and I'm not going to commit those sins for WICKED any longer. I won't abandon you. Not again. Not ever."

"You don't understand – that person you once knew – I'm not him anymore. This sickness –" he taps at his head, " – it's turning me into a monster, I can feel it and I don't want to hurt any of you."

"Then I'll go with you. I don't care if it's not safe." she grits out, her eyes burning with the same fiery resolve he had learned to adore. He knows that she isn't going to let this go so he shoots a helpless look to Thomas.

"Go back to the car, Teresa." the other boy whispers.

She turns her gaze to Thomas, then to him, then back to Thomas again. Her eyes fall on Thomas's white-knuckled fist, to the gun trembling from his tight grip.

He can almost see the pieces coming together in her head.

"No." she whispers, her face draining of all color. "No." She finally turns to him and the desperation on her face breaks him all over again. "Please. Please tell me that it's not what I think it is."

He stays silent.

"Newt, please."

"I'd rather die with my humanity intact, Teresa. I'm sorry." he answers softly.

An eternity of silence passes before she whispers, "You were right, you know. About what we were."

I know.

She levels her gaze at him and he stares right back, burning every contour of her face into his memory. The spell breaks and she throws her arms around him, her tears dropping on his shirt. He lets himself return the embrace, holding her tight against his chest.

The world could've folded into itself in that moment and he still wouldn't have let go.

Then she presses her lips against his ear and whispers two words, the same words she told him all those years ago, words that mean more to him than any declaration of love.

She releases him then runs back to the distance and he watches her until she disappears from his sight.

He turns to his friend and nods. Thomas raises the gun. Newt closes his eyes, her face still seared into his vision.

The gun goes off, and in that split second before he descends into oblivion, her last words to him come echoing back.

Remember me.

And somehow, despite the barriers of science and the sheer impossibility of it, he does.

He does.

He remembers it all.

*A/N: Reviews are very much appreciated :)*