"V?" I hear Newt ask from a few feet away. Frypan, who'd been sitting next to me keeping me company, looks up at him, his hand tightening against mine ever so slightly. I look up, meeting Newt's eyes. "Can we talk?" 

I nod, looking over at Fry. He lets go of my hand, watching me stand up and walk out of the room with Newt. The blonde leads me down a hallway, opening a door at the end of the hallway and letting me walk inside first. The room looks as if it's been mostly deserted. There's a small, twin bed, an old dresser, and a bookshelf, which is slanted and leaning towards the right side.

Newt closes the door gently, flicking on the lights in the room. I turn towards him, keeping a few feet between us, my arms crossed across my chest. 

"Look, I'm-" he starts, but I cut him off.

"What happened back there, Newton?" I ask, my tone sharp. I don't want an apology. I want answers. "You've never yelled like that, you've never gotten in anyone's face before, and you sure as hell haven't ever pushed someone like that." He looks down, avoiding eye contact with me. "What's going on with you? What happened?"

He lets out a long, pained exhale, fiddling with the right sleeve of his shirt. I raise my eyebrows, waiting for his response. He runs a hand over his face before messing with his hair. 

"Is it Thomas?" I ask after the silence, deciding to start guessing if he won't tell me what's wrong. "Is it his soft spot for Teresa? Or... is it Minho? Is it just stress about getting him back?" Newt shakes his head. I throw my hands up in the air, frustration bubbling up inside of me. "Then what is it, Newt? I can't help you if I don't know what's wrong."

"You can't help me at all," he finally mutters. 

I furrow my eyebrows. "What the hell are you talking about? Of course I can-" The look Newt gives me is what cuts me off. The pain and heartache in his eyes is enough to make me stop. He's never looked at me like that before. "What?" I ask, my voice soft, dreading the answer to come.

Finally, he gently pushes up the sleeve of his shirt, exposing his right arm. Newt takes a step towards me, holding out his arm. I immediately feel sick to my stomach, stumbling away from him in horror. His eyebrows are knit together at my reaction. My eyes are glued to the long, spidery, black, blue, and purple veins creeping up his arm. They stem from a dark spot at the center of his forearm. He's infected.

Silence falls in the room, so quiet you could hear a pin drop loud and clear. All I can think is, not Newt. Not him too. Anybody but him.

"V-"

"No," I mutter, shaking my head. I blink over and over again, hoping that, when I open my eyes each time, it might've just been a trick of the light; my mind playing tricks on me. He's not infected. He's not. He's Newt. "No, no, no."

"Venny-"

"No!" I cry, pushing him back. Not him. Not him too. He stumbles. I push him again. "No, no, no!" Another push. "You're lying! It's a trick! It's not real!"

"Venus, I'm-"

"You're not infected! Don't say that! Don't lie to me!" My pushes are becoming weaker. Why him? Not him. "Don't you dare lie to me!" Finally, instead of shoving him anymore, I wrap my arms around his torso, holding him tightly against me. Not him too.

His response is immediate. He wraps his arms around me, rocking us back and forth slowly. I feel the way his body trembles, and I wish I could do anything to take this from him. So I pull away from him slightly, placing my hands on his shoulders and pressing my forehead against his.

Newt closes his eyes and inhales deeply, leaning slightly into my touch. I close my eyes too, thinking about this moment; storing it in my memory. It won't be our last moment together. I won't let it be.

"Give me half," I whisper. When Newt's lips part to ask what I mean, I say, "give me half the pain. Give me half the heartache and anxiety and sadness. Give me half of whatever negative feelings you have."

Newt starts to protest, pulling away from me slightly so that he can look at me properly. "Venny, it's not your place to take those feelings. I don't want you to-"

"Talk to me about it after we get you the cure," I interrupt, my voice cracking slightly. "Until then, give me half. You don't have to do this alone. Let me carry this with you."

Newt hesitates before ultimately pressing a kiss to my forehead, placing his forehead back against mine. I know I should tell him that I'm infected too right now. It would be the perfect time to, after all. But something about it doesn't feel right. It would be pointless to. If there's a chance I won't even turn, what would be the point? This is Newt's moment. I shouldn't take it away from him, no matter how awful the news is that comes with it. He's spent too long putting himself aside and taking care of everyone else; taking care of me. It's my turn now. I need to be here for him.

We both pull away. Newt smiles at me, and I think it might be the saddest thing I've ever seen. And, looking at him now, I wonder how I couldn't have noticed something was wrong before. He has dark circles under his eyes, his hair, which he has to push up and out of his eyes every few minutes, has grown out quite long and shaggy. He's much thinner, his clothes hanging on his frame a little loosely. He's pale and sickly looking, his lips pale and chapped. I guess I just figured that he was too busy keeping everyone else together and forgot to take care of himself. It's not like it's an uncommon thing for Newt. But, I wonder how I didn't notice it. Why didn't I say anything? Why didn't I check in? Have I been too wrapped up in myself- in my own self-pity and drama- that I just haven't been paying attention to anyone else? 

"We'll get you the cure," I finally assure him, pushing my thoughts away.

He nods. "Tommy's gonna come up with a plan. He said we'll discuss it tomorrow."

"Even better. The sooner we can get it to you, the better," I reply, trying for a reassuring smile.

"This is about Minho, Venus. I don't want to make this mission about me and this virus."

I shake my head. "It's about both of you. It's about saving my two best friends, because I can't lose either of them, okay? You and Minho both."

"I'll be fine. Let's just focus on-"

"You're damn right you'll be fine, because we're getting you the cure. End of story. I don't care what I have to do to get it, Newton. I'm not letting you-" My voice breaks before I can finish the sentence. Newt taps me under the chin, offering me another sad smile.

"You'll be okay, V. So will I." My heart drops. My last conversation with Ben rings throughout my head, his words echoing in my memory.

"You'll be okay without me?"

I think about the guilt I'd felt afterwards for saying yes; for not thinking through what I had been saying at the time, even if the words didn't mean what we thought they would at the time. But I refuse to let that happen with Newt. I refuse to let him have the chance to believe the notion that I'd ever be okay without him, even if the thought would never cross his mind.

"Not without you, Newton," I say after a moment, my voice soft. "I wouldn't be okay without you. I can't-"

"You won't," he quickly interjects, cutting me off. He gently takes my cheeks in his hands, his thumbs running softly against my skin. "You won't, okay? I promise. We'll get the serum and I'll be fine." He holds out one of his hands, his pinky finger extended. I let out a small laugh, wrapping my finger around his despite the absurdity of it all.

🪐🪐🪐

I don't even attempt sleep that night. I know all too well that it would be interrupted by nightmares, which, although it's something I've grown accustomed to, I don't want to risk the chance of seeing Newt and Winston as Cranks or Ben after he was stung.

I think about my family; my mother, Thomas, the father I never knew. I think about the family I made; the boys in the Glade who loved me and protected me and threw themselves in harm's way so that I wouldn't get hurt. Minho, Newt, Ben, Gally, Chuck, Logan, Alby, Winston, Clint, Jeff, Fry, and, of course, Thomas.

And then, I think about how many of my family are dead. Ben, Chuck, Logan, Alby, Winston, Clint, and Jeff. Only five remain, and I can barely even look one of them in the eyes right now. I'd never handled loss very well. It was always a tricky thing for me to grasp. Going from laughing and telling jokes with a person one day to having to accept the fact that you'll never see their face again isn't an easy thing to grapple with. But grief is a funny thing. At first, it doesn't feel real. How can they be dead? I just saw them yesterday. You go on with your day, almost forgetting about the fact that someone you love is dead. 

Then, when it catches up to you, it consumes you. Everything you do is done with the knowledge that someone you loved once is gone. It becomes hard to function without thinking about them. You see them everywhere you go, especially when you least expect it. They're gone and they're not coming back. They become a memory. Everyone else is going about their day just fine and you're stuck wondering how that can be. Someone's dead and it's as if no one even knows, let alone cares; as if they never even existed in the first place.

I don't want to go through that again. I can't. It would destroy me. But, I do it every day, don't I? I carry grief around like a bomb, handling it delicately and waiting for it to explode inside of me and send me over the edge.

Newt's death would do just that. It would send me plummeting off the face of the earth. I can't lose him. Not him. Not after everything we've been through together.

I turn over to my side, the cool metal of the ring sliding across my neck and resting by my face. I reach up and touch it lightly.

How can I be so angry at Gally for coming back. I should be happy. I should be jumping into his arms, hugging and kissing him as if no time had passed. That would be the appropriate reaction to seeing someone you presumed dead alive, wouldn't it? 

So, how could I have held a knife to his throat, punched him, and screamed at him the way I did? Why am I so angry at him? Why does everything he do send me spiraling? Why am I so bitter?

I think about Teresa. Any day now, I'll see her again. She'll sit in front of me as our prisoner this time. Will I be able to look her in the eyes after everything? Will I be able to face the memory of her betrayal? 

I stare at the ceiling all night long, looking for answers in the darkness of the room.