Subject A250: The Flame (COMPLETED)

Thirty-Three: BrAce Yourselves

A storm was coming. The air grew colder and the wind was picking up. Trace was trying desperately to prepare herself mentally for what she was about to face. She'd already told her story. She'd finished it twenty minutes ago and gone on to answer about fifty more questions- 89% of which were from Thomas- about every aspect of it. She still hadn't mentioned Rose. That was the only part she endeavoured to keep secret. For now.

Telling the story was the fun part. Now she had to go into battle again, and she'd had just about enough of that for a lifetime. All she wanted to do was curl up into a ball and fall asleep.

"One hour," Minho announced, staring at his watch as if it might just speed up time.

Newt, who'd barely left Trace's side for a second, squinted up at the clouds. He said nothing, but she could tell he was thinking the same thing as everybody else: there wasn't enough time. The storm would hit.

Trace knew that, of course, but she liked to ignore things until they became a really massively devastating problem. It was just how she functioned as a human being.

"Are you okay?" Newt murmured to her. Minho had gone off to talk to Harriet. Sonya, for once, wasn't with her, but was instead talking to Sakina and Lara. So, Newt and Trace were the closest to alone they'd been in what felt like years.

She shrugged, immediately winced, and glared at her shoulder. "I just wanted to express my uncertainty!" she grunted at it, accusingly. "At least let me do that!"

"Does your leg hurt?" Newt asked, leaning over to examine her bruise.

"Only when it's attached to me. If I had a really sharp axe..."

"Trace!"

"What?! I would give it to Chuck to defend himself!"

"Sure you would," he smirked, shaking his head. "Acehole," he added.

Trace smiled. "Nutter."

Newt went quiet and started fiddling with his shoelaces. Trace just stared into space, not taking anything in, just letting herself do and feel nothing for a change.

"There's something else," Newt muttered. "Isn't there? Something you didn't say to the group before."

Trace turned to look at him. He was watching her carefully, wary of how she might respond, worrying that he might have overstepped. Trace sighed.

"Yeah," he croaked, her voice so small she wasn't sure if he'd heard it. A long moment passed.

"You don't have to talk about it," Newt assured her. "Not if you're not ready. But I'm here when you are."

Trace gulped back her tears and nodded once, leaning in to rest her head on his shoulder. "I missed you, Newt," she said.

"I missed you too, Trace. Thanks for staying alive for me."

"Same goes for you."

"Hey, guys?" Thomas came strutting over. "Oh, sorry," he muttered, suddenly realising what was going on. "I can come back if you..."

"It's okay, Tommy," Newt replied, sitting up straight and brushing a miniscule amount of dirt from his pants, making no difference to them whatsoever. "What is it?"

"Well, Brenda wanted to meet Trace."

Newt and Trace both frowned quizzingly at Thomas, who suddenly looked even more uncomfortable. "I-I'll come back," he muttered.

"No," Newt said. "No, stay here. Why can't she just introduce herself to Trace? And why is this so bloody urgent?"

"I...um...well..I don't know, actually. She said she was a fan."