Paradise

"Do you know, I would quietly

slip from the loud circle,

when first I know the pale stars above the oaks are blooming.

Ways will I elect that seldom any tread,

in pale evening meadows—

and no dream

but this:

you come too."

–Rainer Maria Rilke

The woman with the golden hair pulled into a bun, and the intelligent brown eyes, was sitting in the passenger seat of a white van. She kept her fingers laced together in her lap. They shook slightly. Her crisp, ivory business suit had not a speck of dirt on it. She felt ashamed because of it. She glanced out the window at the cracked pavement and battered, abandoned cars. Once in a while, a Crank, body jerky with sickness, stumbled past. She tried not to look at them.

"We're almost there, Chancellor," her guard, Matt said. He was driving, wearing his dark green WICKED uniform. His gloved hands were tight on the steering wheel. He glanced sideways at her. "Are you sure you want to do this?"

A flash of brilliant crimson caught her eye. A Crank with straggly black hair, in a blood-red dress stalked down the street with fluid movements. As Paige watched, the Crank halted and look right at her. Gray eyes pierced through the van's window. Scarlet lips curled into a smile. The Crank mouthed, WICKED is good, with a mocking wink. Paige felt her jaw drop.

"Chancellor Paige?" Matt repeated, worried. "Are you okay?"

Paige turned away from the window, her breath seeming to be caught in her lungs. "Yes, I'm fine," she answered shakily. "And I'm sure I want to do this. I need to do this."

Matt let out a breath of relief. "Okay. Okay. Good." He smiled a warm smile. "I'm glad. That you're doing this, I mean."

"I am too." She sighed. "I just wish that I'd done it sooner."

"Yeah." Matt set his jaw against the sadness. "Me too."

Her heart ached. "Maybe we can—" She stopped, looked out the window again. "Matt, can you stop the van?"

He looked at her in bewilderment, slowing down. "Stop? Here?"

She kept her gaze fixed on something out there. "Yes, stop," she repeated, firmer now. "Stop, now."

The van screeched to a stop on the road. Paige unbuckled her seat belt. Then she twisted around to snag a suitcase from the backseat. She cradled it on her lap and snapped it open. Inside, a line of syringes sat. Every one of them was full to the brim with a powerful shock of medicine. It was designed by doctors everywhere and was used to send a jolt into the heart. Paige selected one and opened the door.

"Whoa, whoa, whoa," Matt cried in alarm. "What're you doing?"

"Something important," she replied. She hopped out and turned to give him a reassuring smile. "I'll be fine, Matt. Just wait here, all right?"

Matt shook his head. "You're going to give me a heart attack, Chancellor," he muttered. But he waited while she slammed the door shut again.

Paige walked carefully out into the street. The evening light bathed everything in softest orange. There was almost a beauty to the ravaged world. She stopped and looked down at the figure in front of her. Her throat closed up. "Oh, poor thing," she murmured. It was a crumpled figure lying on his side, arms limp on the pavement. He wore jeans and a tank top. His dulled shock of hair must have been beautiful once, a warm blonde color. His eyes were closed. A thick collection of blood marked a place on the side of his head where a bullet at buried itself.

Paige knelt down beside him. Wincing, she brushed aside the hair from the wound. Surprise and fascination lit up inside her when she saw that the bullet had only penetrated four inches into the brain. The part it had been lodged in was blackened, destroyed by insanity and disease. But the rest of it appeared unaffected, judging by the ring of healthy color edging into the black. She thought, puzzled, the shock of it must have stopped the disease. It can't infect dead matter. But instead of staying infected, it's...healing. How odd.

Very odd. Bracing herself, she reached two fingers into the bullet hole. A shudder of revulsion travelled down her arm. But she gritted her teeth and plucked out the bullet. It hit the ground with a ping. Glad that THAT was over, she took hold of her sleeve. With a long rrrrrrrip, she stripped off a piece. Almost like a mother would, she shifted to sit on her knees and lifted the boy's head onto her lap. She wrapped her sleeve around his head like a bandage, leaving his face clear and covering the bullet hole.

She took out the syringe. "You can't have been dead long, little one," she murmured, brushing the blonde hair from his forehead. "I hope this works."

She plunged the syringe deep into his chest, and emptied the contents into his heart. Then she pulled the needle back out. She was frozen, waiting.

Suddenly, the boy's body jerked once. His eyes fluttered, then shot open. Paige was shocked by the color: deep, dark azure, almost charcoal-gray. The boy sucked in a great, trembling breath, and gasped out, "Minho." Then he seemed to cave in on himself, relaxing against her lap, breathing raggedly. His eyes were blurry and unfocused. It took a moment or two for them to clear a bit.

Paige cradled his head and hushed him soothingly. "Shhhh, it's all right. You're safe now." She studied him. "Is that your name?"

Those charcoal-blue eyes flicked to her, confusion burning in them. "Wha...what?" he breathed. He coughed weakly.

"You said, Minho. Is that your name?"

"I... No..."

He began to tremble violently and she stroked his hair in a motherly way. "It's okay, it's okay," she murmured. "You're safe, I promise. What's your name?"

He closed his eyes as though too exhausted to keep them open. "N...Newt. My name's...Newt." His voice was weighed down by a smooth British accent, unusual in these parts.

"Newt," she repeated. A memory pricked at her mind. "The Glue?"

He nodded, not even asking how she knew.

Paige was silent. Newt. Variable #67: Hold the Candidates Together. Not Immune to the Flare. She knew him. She KNEW him.

She looked at him. "You were in the Maze, weren't you?" she asked in a whisper.

He nodded.

She bit her lip. Poor, poor thing. If she had known...

"Who's Minho?" she asked softly. The name was familiar as well.

"My...best...friend," he answered tiredly. His chest rose and fell with every breath.

"You cared about him?" she guessed, considering he'd called out the name.

Newt opened his eyes a fraction and looked at her. "I...loved...him."

Paige blinked. She was startled when she realized that her eyes stung. "Where is he?"

"I told him...to leave...I told him...I hated him..." A single tear escaped down Newt's face. "I...hurt him...so...much... If I could...see him now...I'd give...anything..."

Paige swallowed, struggling not to cry. This devastated, blonde angel. How could they have done this to him? How could they be such monsters? "You know you had the Flare?" she asked. At his nod, she went on. "Okay. Well, the bullet to your head and the trauma halted the disease. I don't entirely understand why. Perhaps since the Flare reacts to brain patterns, it reacted to this in a strange way. But your mind is healing. You're going to be fine. And since you had the illness, you'll most likely be Immune for the rest of your life. You're a very special case, Newt." She blinked. "Oh, forgive me. I forgot... My name is Chancellor Paige."

Newt looked up at her. "I'm...Immune?"

"Yes, I expect so." She searched his face. "Is there anywhere I can take you? Anywhere at all? I'm on my way to somewhere very important, but I can get you where you need to go from there."

"Minho. Take me to Minho. He's with Thomas."

Chancellor Paige nodded. Thomas. She should've known the Best Candidate would have some kind of connection to this. She smiled. "Of course. I'll take you to Minho." She turned to call over her shoulder. "Matt! We're going to need a Flat Trans!"

-o-o-o-

"We're in paradise, Minho."

Thomas and Minho stood just outside the shed, gazing out in wonder at the green, lush land around them. Rolling hills and golden meadows, whispering forests and the constant voice of the ocean. It glowed like a blue jewel, reflecting the scarlet sunset. The Immunes scattered about the fields, laughing and cheering. A little girl with dark pigtails chased a blonde boy across the grass. They giggled happily. Brenda's mahogany hair flashed as she swept it over her shoulder. She beamed up at Thomas from the bottom of the slope, joy and love brimming in her eyes. Thomas smiled back warmly.

He looked at his best friend. "Did you hear me, Min?" he asked gently.

Minho stared numbly at their safe haven. He held the cream-colored hoodie tightly in his fist. "Yeah," he answered in a hollow voice. "Paradise."

This place did look like Heaven.

Broken Hallelujahs.

Thomas' brown eyes were full of sorrow. "You okay?"

"No," Minho replied. He sighed and stared down at the ocean waves. "I'll never be okay."

"...he would've wanted you to be happy," Thomas said very quietly.

"Then he should've stayed." Minho didn't look away from the blue blue water. God, it was beautiful. "He should've stayed with me. He belonged with me, not with those monsters."

Thomas could sense the anger building. "Minho... He wanted you to move on. He didn't want you to see him like that."

Minho snapped. He turned on Thomas, dark eyes blazing. "I can't move on! And I don't care if he didn't want me to shucking see him like THAT. I've seen him when he was a useless Greenie, and I've seen him when he had one damn leg twisted the wrong way, letting other people shucking CLEAN THE BLOOD OFF because he couldn't do it! I've seen him when he wanted to kill himself and I've seen him as a godawful Crank! I was ready to see him go insane! I was ready to let him kill me if that's what the Flare made him do! I was ready to die right there, in that Palace, right next to him, and tell him that I'd see him in shucking Heaven when it was over! And where am I now? In goddamn PARADISE! And he's DEAD!" He jerkily raked his hands through his hair. "And I still NEED him!" he sobbed, shutting his eyes tight. "What did I do, Thomas?"

Thomas watched in broken silence. Minho looked up at him with raw pain in his tear-streaked face. "What did I do to deserve this?" he demanded. "I heard one of those stupid Immunes saying that everything happens for a reason. What's MY reason? Why did this shucked-up universe take him from me?"

"He's in a better place now, Minho," Thomas murmured, his voice trembling.

"I don't WANT him in a better place!" Minho cried. He took a shaking breath and his voice calmed a bit, shuddering with grief. "I want him here, with me, where I can hold him, and look at the damn ocean with him, and tell him I—" He broke off with another sob.

Thomas' eyes glistened. He took a step forward. "Minho—"

Suddenly, a sound like ripping paper made him stop. He glanced into the shed. A rectangle of pulsing, rippling silver opened inside. A Flat Trans. But they'd already come through one. Why would another open? He felt his breath freeze. "Minho," he hissed urgently. "The Flat Trans!"

Minho staggered to Thomas' side, peering into the shed while rubbing at his eyes. "Why the hell should I care if that thing's open?" he mumbled. "Let them send a Griever through. Maybe it'll kill me."

Thomas glared at him sharply. "Don't talk like that."

"Shut up," Minho shot back. "I want to punch the shit out of something. I don't want it to be you. So don't tell me what to do." He wiped the tears from his face, looking very not-Minho. "I'm gonna go find somewhere to sleep," he muttered. "I can't do this."

Thomas scowled at him as he started to walk away. "Minho! Don't just walk away! We gotta—" He glanced back into the shed. What he saw made his eyes widen. His jaw dropped in utter astonishment. "MINHO!"

Minho kept walking, reaching the bottom of the slope. The group of Immunes there parted a bit to let him pass. Some of them stared in curiosity up at Thomas. He was jogging down the slope, a figure walking behind him. Well, not walking, exactly...

"I'm not coming back up there," Minho called out flatly, not looking back. "So you can shut your mouth, Thomas."

"Listen to me, Minho!" Thomas shouted, sounding shocked and breathless and...happy? He caught Minho's shoulder. "You need to see this!"

Minho growled and whirled around. His hands were fists at his sides. "You listen to ME, shuck-face!" he snapped. "I don't care what—" He stopped abruptly. His gaze went over Thomas' shoulder, to the figure that was coming through the parted crowd of Immunes. Minho paled.

The figure walked straight past the two lines of curious Immunes. His eyes were fixed only on Minho. Thomas stepped to the side, leaving a rigid Minho standing there, alone. The figure kept coming, right to the center of the crowd, and stopped in front of Minho. And he smiled.

"Hello, Minho," Newt murmured.

Minho made a choked sound. "N—Newt?" he stuttered hoarsely.

The blonde's smile grew, his navy eyes stunning and catching pinpricks of the sunset's light. "Yeah," he said softly. "It's me." Minho just gaped at him in disbelief. He chuckled. "C'mere already," he mumbled, emotion brimming in his eyes.

Minho let out a tiny, broken sound and flung his arms around Newt. Some of the Immunes released gasps of delighted surprise. Thomas and Brenda exchanged joyful smiles. Minho clung to Newt tightly, his breath leaving him when Newt hugged him back like he was a lifeline. He could feel every muscle of their bodies pressed together, feel Newt's heart beating against his chest, catch the blonde's sweet scent of cinnamon. He was alive. He was alive, he was alive, he. Was. Alive.

Newt buried his face in the curve of Minho's neck, exhaling shudderingly. When his lips grazed Minho's skin, Minho whimpered. "Oh god, Newt," he gasped. "How're you—? H—How did you—?"

"Chancellor Paige," Newt answered. "It was her. She got me here."

Minho didn't even ask how this was possible. He just hugged Newt closer, his fingers curled into the back of his shirt. His eyes shut against more tears. "I can't believe—I thought you were—" He broke off with a choked sound, bowing his head into Newt's shoulder. "Don't let me go," he begged. "Please, don't ever let me go. I love you, Newt, I love you."

He barely got the words out before Newt was pulling back, cupping his face in his hands. "I love you too, Minho," he whispered. "You're my life; I'll never leave you again. I promise."

Minho didn't wait anymore; he pressed their mouths together in a deep, consuming kiss. Newt kissed back desperately, their arms wrapped around each other in the evening light.

The Immunes exploded into cheers and whistles, clapping loudly. Some of them wiped tears from their eyes. Even though they didn't understand the entire story of Newt and Minho, they understood enough from this moment.

...

True, Chancellor Paige had sent them to paradise.

But to Minho, it had never truly been paradise...until now.