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Thomas had seen and heard lot of things that had disturbed him since he came up from the box, but nothing unsettled him quite like the sound of babies crying across the paradise they had finally managed to escape to. Every time a cry broke the dazed quiet Thomas flinched away.
Newt, on the other hand, turned out to be a natural with babies. It was bizarre, if someone asked Thomas wouldn’t be able to explain it, but some of the babies just seemed drawn to Newt. Even when they’d first made it through the flat trans and they were all covered in dirt and dust and blood, babies had still reached out for Newt.
It had been over a week now and it still surprised Thomas to see Newt with an armful of baby, or sometimes even babies.
Even from across the sand where he was sat, Thomas could hear delighted cooing and laughter from the babies Newt had been stuck with. Despite the chaos, Minho and Newt had managed to bring order into their new home. Jobs had been delegated, the area was frequently searched – because no one was quite ready to accept that Chancellor Paige had just handed them their freedom on a platter – and shelters were already being built.
Seeing as Newt wasn’t much of a builder and Minho was more than happy to remain the leader, Newt had fallen back into the unofficial role of care giver he had had in the Glade. Thomas wouldn’t admit it, wouldn’t even know how to phrase it if he tried to admit it, but he had always thought Newt had a comforting presence.
If Newt was there, somehow everything would be alright.
Even if it seemed like all the odds were against them and failure was certain, if Newt was there then they had a glimmer of hope. Thomas could see why the babies were drawn to that. Newt was soothing, like ice on a wound.
If it wasn’t for the fact that Newt was his best friend, Thomas would have avoided him just to avoid the babies. But they had lost so many friends to WICKED that ignoring Newt just didn’t sit right with Thomas.
So, ever so reluctantly, Thomas got up and walked across the sand to see how his friend was holding up. It had been a long few months for all of them, but almost losing Newt to the Flare had been one of the lowest points. If it hadn’t been for Right Arm’s experimental drug, Newt would have died.
The thought was like ice being shot through Thomas’ veins.
“Y’look like klunk, Tommy.” Newt’s voice jerked Thomas from his thoughts and he looked down at his best friend. Newt was sat in the sand, his legs crossed and his arms around the tummy of a chubby baby girl, his machete still strapped across his shoulder.
“And you look like a right mother hen. How many you got today?” Thomas asked as he sat down in the sand.
“Three.” Newt nodded to his right and Thomas spotted two fast moving blurs a few metres away. Another shudder went through Thomas, despite trying to repress it.
“Alright, what is it? Even the baby could tell you're feeling guilty over something.” Newt adjusted the baby on his lap, his eyes focused intently on Thomas.
“Nothing.” Thomas raised his shoulders defensively, but after a few seconds they slumped back down. Why was he bothering to lie? Newt hadn’t judged him over any of the shit with WICKED, why was Thomas so convinced that this would be different?
“Want to try saying that like you mean it?” Newt raised an eyebrow and heat crawled up the back of Thomas’ neck. Looks like it was time to voice what had been bothering him so much.
“There are babies here, Newt. And little kids.” Thomas hesitated, glancing over at Newt and taking in a tense breath. “WICKED was taking kids so young. I didn’t- I don’t know, I didn’t think they’d be experimenting on babies.” Thomas shook his head, a lump rising up in his throat.
“I didn’t think I would experiment on babies.” Guilt almost choked him.
“You’re a lot of things, Tommy, but a psycho who experiments on babies you’re not. You said what you remembered was more about the Maze anyway, right? You probably weren’t anywhere near these kids.” Newt bent down and pressed a kiss to the girl’s chubby cheek, smiling at the sound of her laugh.
“And even if you were,” Newt looked up, as if he was trying to emphasis just how important this point was. Thomas found himself holding his breath, staring at Newt, waiting for the words that could bring in peace of mind back. “These kids are out now. They’re not going to grow up lab rats like we did, running around a Maze or being chased across the Scorch. They get to grow up here. Safe. Away from those bastards in the labs.”
Something dark crossed Newt’s usually collected face and he pulled the baby on his lap closer to him.
“In fact, if I had my way these kids would never hear the name WICKED or know what the Flare looks like when Cranks are past the Gone or know how it feels to be terrified out of damn your wits all the time. These kids? They’re gonna be happy.” There was a sense of finality to Newt’s words, like he’d die before he let WICKED get their hands back on the kids.
“You- you don’t think I did anything to them?” Thomas felt like he was choking on relief. Newt didn’t hate him.
“Even if you did, you’re not that person any more, Tommy.” Newt shrugged. “That part of your life is over. Can’t keep clinging onto it. You saved a lot of lives in the Maze, and you got us through the Scorch, and you saved my life more times than I can count. You’re a good guy. You have to look forward now, not back.”
“How d’you do that?” Thomas muttered.
“Do what?” Newt raised an eyebrow.
“Make everything sound so simple.” Thomas shook his head. “Never mind. Sorry I mentioned it.” Thomas cleared his throat awkwardly and made himself look down at the baby Newt was holding so close.
“So what do you do with these kids all day?” A change of subject was needed, and now that some of that guilt had been alleviated he didn’t feel like tearing his skin off when he looked at the kids.
“They’re babies, Tommy.” Newt’s lips twitched. “Options are pretty limited. C’mon.” Newt struggled to his feet and Thomas shot up to help him. He’d been almost painfully aware of Newt’s limp since the night he shot his friend up with the cure and Newt went practically delirious while it worked. He’d shared a lot of things that night. Things that Thomas could never un-learn about his best friend.
“Here.” Thomas gripped Newt’s arm and helped him to his feet while Newt ensured the baby didn’t slip.
“I’m fine, I’m fine.” Newt grumbled, shaking Thomas off and resting the baby on his hip. “Let me show you the playground.” And with that Newt set off into the woods.
“Playground?” Thomas mouthed. He was about to go after Newt, but the two toddlers who had previously been playing by the sea had torn after Newt at the mention of this playground, squealing Newt’s name and following him through the trees.
Shaking his head in disbelief, Thomas followed Newt and his string of squealing shadows through the trees until they came to a clearing. Thomas remembered playground, he had images of brightly coloured poles and swing sets in his mind, but that wasn’t what he found in the clearing.
It was almost as if someone had manipulated the very nature of their home: some trees were bent and gnarled and tangled together, giving it the effect of a huge climbing frame. Someone had tied a thick piece of rope around a sturdy looking branch on a tree that looked like it might have been planted before the dawn of time, making an improvised swing. There was no seat, but another knot had been tied at the bottom of the rope that Thomas bet could be used as a footrest. Around the clearing there were little logs, chopped so they were all different heights. Right in the centre though, it looked like Newt had started putting up little tipis.
“Damn.” Thomas whistled. “This really is a playground.” He watched as the toddlers tore over to the logs and started wobbling across them with their arms stretched wide.
Newt wasn’t listening though. He was sat on his knees with his hands held out, encouraging the baby he’d been holding to come towards him. Something stirred in Thomas’ chest, something he couldn’t remember feeling for a very long time, as he watched Newt coo.
“C’mon, Ava, I know there’s a runner in you somewhere!” Newt grinned, and Thomas’ breath caught in his chest at the sight. Newt was kneeling in the soil, his arms outstretched, sunlight touching his fair hair.
But the sunlight was nowhere near as radiant as the grin on Newt’s face.
Peace.
That was what Thomas felt. Seeing Newt look so happy, so at ease, it brought a sense of peace over Thomas. They had made it. They had survived.
And they were going to keep on surviving.
Together.