This chapter starts in the Scorch Trials in chapter 43. At the line break it's then in the Death Cure in chapter 16. I just wanted you all to know where I was in the story so you wouldn't be confused. Thank you all very much for reading, and I hope you enjoy.

The sun had trudged halfway to the horizon before Thomas finally fell asleep. He felt a little better in the late evening when Newt shook him awake. Teresa's brief visit to his mind seemed like a dream now; he could almost believe it had never happened.

"Sleep well, Tommy?" Newt asked when Thomas opened his eyes. He was almost so constantly lost in thought of Eleanor, even when they were almost dying, that he'd look at Thomas and have to remind himself she'd been wrong in thinking his eyes were blue. It's what happened in that particular moment as Thomas woke, Newt expected the blue eyes Eleanor had once been waiting for and instead was met with Thomas' brown eyes – and he knelt beside Thomas feeling that familiar pang at knowing she wasn't there. "How's that shoulder?" he asked wanting any moment of reprieve he could get from the bottomless pit in his chest.

Thomas sat up and rubbed his shoulder where he'd been shot. "Feels really good, actually – aches a little, but not much. Hard to believe I was hurting so bad before."

Newt looked around at the Gladers preparing to leave, then back at Thomas. "Feels like we haven't talked much since leaving the bloody dorm. Not much time to sit around and sip tea, I guess," he offered as an excuse rather than the truth. Yes it was true they'd barely had a moment to breathe let alone chat, but Newt had mostly been avoiding talking to Thomas because every time he looked at him Newt was reminded of Eleanor.

"Yeah," Thomas said nodding. He almost knew what Newt was thinking, what the boy was always thinking – he wanted to find Eleanor, he wanted her away from WICKED, he wanted her at his side where he knew she was okay. And Thomas was the only person who knew where she'd been kept, but that memory was buried deep in his mind. And he knew Newt was trying not blame him for that, was trying not to blame Minho – who'd become even more arrogant and almost unbearable – but mostly Newt just blamed himself. There was something in his sad face that made Thomas think of Chuck and the pain he'd felt at his death. Which just made him hate the people behind all this all over again. "I don't see how WICKED can be good."

Newt turned to Thomas with deeply creased brows. "Huh?"

"Remember what Teresa and I had dreamt? Or did you even know about that? Anyway, we both had dreams where someone said WICKED is good. I'm just finding that hard to believe." The sarcasm in his voice wasn't subtle, and he turned to Newt to see a strange smile on his face.

"Well, they just saved your buggin' life." It was almost funny to think of WICKED in terms of good and bad – Newt could almost imagine the way Eleanor would look at Thomas. Her brows would be creased and her pretty mouth would be pursed, wondering if the thoughts in Thomas' mind were as stupid as what had just come out of his mouth; she wouldn't say it, she was too kind for that, but he'd read it in her eyes. That was normally the moment he'd touch her – an arm snaking around her back, his fingers brushing against her hand or her arm, his eyes meeting hers to see a small smile on her face – her absence at his side was unbearable.

Thomas watched that smile, as twisted and weird as it'd been, melt off his face. "Yeah, they're real saints," he said too confused about WICKED having saved his life to think of anything to say to lessen Newt's pain.

The two boys, forced into depending on each other to survive leaving them closer than friends, sat quietly beside each other lost in their separate thoughts about WICKED. But it was Newt who spoke first. "I've been wondering."

Thomas turned to him to see him deep in unhappy thought. "Wondering what?"

"Why they took her," he answered with a half-hearted shrug, unable to bring himself to say her name. He looked at Thomas to see a confused disbelief on his face and Newt shook his head. "I know she wouldn't survive this," he told him almost snidely before he realized he had no reason to be upset with Thomas. "I mean why not take her with Teresa, why take her the bloody second we got to the dorms? And if they were really using her as a, what'd you call 'em?"

"Variable," Thomas answered quietly as he thought about what Newt was asking – Thomas hadn't realized how strange it'd been for her to be taken before Teresa. It would've made sense if they'd taken both girls to a different room to sleep and then they'd wake up and both of them were gone. But they hadn't, they took her literally when they'd gotten to the dorms. As though to say Eleanor was never intended to be one of them. It was insulting how little credit they gave her to the Glade; she'd nurtured all four of the Newbies most especially Chuck, shown all of the Gladers a woman's warm kindness, had cared for them when they were hurt or sick, had even sewn their clothes – she'd reminded them all what it'd been like to have a mother or a sister, and she'd given them all someone to look after when she had her mad moments. She was the girl who'd come from the Maze; she was the embodiment of freedom, she'd unintentionally been Minho's hope.
But that doesn't make sense, Thomas thought. She didn't come from the exit, she came from an entrance that led them to WICKED. Thomas' mind cleared as he realized what WICKED had intended when they subtly coerced Thomas into putting her in the Maze. He turned to Newt suddenly finding he was almost excited by his discovery – at having an actual answer. "We're gonna find her," he said without a shred of doubt.

It was several long moments before Newt spoke. "Be glad I didn't punch your bloody lights out," he said bitterly. He was filled with so much anger and hatred for what Thomas had just said, at the sheer amount of pain he felt running through his veins at knowing that wasn't going to happen.

Thomas shook his head having known Newt wouldn't take that well. "Just listen," he told him, looking around them to see most of the Gladers up knowing they'd leave soon. "Minho thought she led to the exit but she led to WICKED. Everything about her leads to them; who had her, who sent her, who she needed protection from, why she was so crazy. She was always meant to lead us to WICKED. No matter where we end up we're gonna look for her because we know they have her, and when she's here she inadvertently led us back. I mean maybe it's just you who'd keep looking for her, but we all liked her," Thomas said suddenly losing his train of thought as something else tickled the back of his mind; maybe she'd been meant specifically for him, to lead him back to WICKED.

Newt gave a short humorless laugh. "The Muse," Newt said making Thomas' neck twinge from how fast he'd jerked his head to look at him – there was something so right in those two words. "I've been wondering what her tattoo would've been; if what you said was right, she was our guiding force." It made sense, he wondered if somewhere in the back of his mind he'd known all along they hadn't actually been escaping, if a part of him had been trying to listen to her because she'd been the only one who where they'd end up – none of them listened to her, least of all him, and now she was gone. "It's not just me, you know" he said shaking his head finding he had more questions than answers, at least this he knew. "Minho never liked Teresa, but he searched every crack in those dorms. He wanted to find," he took a breath as to say her name, but he sighed letting his shoulders slump as he trailed off. He turned to Thomas to see a look of hurt on his face. "He wanted to find your bloody girlfriend too," he muttered hitting his arm, making them both smile briefly at the sudden normality that felt so foreign. He looked over his shoulder at Brenda, who'd been stirring in her sleep, as she sat up. "Speaking of which."

Thomas continued looking at Newt's weary face wondering how he was still going, how he was still somehow acting so strong – he looked defeated and miserable. He'd worn this same face when he'd been forced to leave Eleanor in the Glade, and then it'd melted away when she'd suddenly been at the Griever Hole. He realized then, as he'd realize later, that Newt needed Eleanor to survive – it wasn't just to live, Newt was living without her, he didn't want to. He needed her to want to live, and that thought made Thomas sad. Though he too turned to Brenda and he forced the thought of Eleanor, and whatever WICKED was telling her now, and of Newt's obvious despair, he forced it all out of his mind.

Three and a half weeks later

Thomas didn't know what happened. One minute he was running with Brenda, Minho, and Newt down hallway after hallway away from the guards who were all clumped together bound and gagged; after leaving Teresa - who he didn't think he'd ever trust again - and the other Gladers and Mr. Janson and the guards – who wanted to cut into their brains to remove the chip that let WICKED control them – after fighting their way through the guards that suddenly disappeared, after Newt's sudden burst of hateful anger, after the weapons room. After all of that, all of which should've kept Thomas' mind full to the brink with being occupied, they came to an intersection and they decided; right or left.

"I say right, are we gonna put it up to a vote?" Brenda asked barely masking her sarcasm after they'd refused to question the guards like she'd wanted.

Both Minho and Newt shook their heads leaving the decision to her, though Newt was slower to respond – he seemed to slower in general, in everything but anger. And so they'd turned right.

All except Thomas, who stood where they'd stopped and stared down the left corridor as his mind suddenly found the memory of this place; he'd turned down this way so many times – days, weeks, years. He knew this corridor better than he knew himself. He didn't stop to care whether he lost the others, they'd come back when they noticed he was gone, he didn't stop to question whether this was a trap. In reality he wasn't consciously doing anything, his feet were moving on a path that was ingrained in his mind.
It was all on the left. He counted the doors: one, two He opened door three and the pessimist in him, the one that had risen when Teresa had first disappeared and stayed when she'd betrayed him, expected to see an empty room. And he nearly fell to his knees at the sight of Eleanor's brown hair draping off the bed.

…

They'd just rounded the corner when Brenda looked to make sure they were all there, and she stopped short so suddenly Minho crashed into her back.

"The shuck," he said having tried to catch himself only to nearly fall over.

Brenda looked back down the hall they'd just run the length of. "Where the hell's Thomas?" she demanded as though he might just suddenly appear with his stupid face and apologize for falling behind, something she was completely okay with cause it'd mean he was alright. But he didn't.

Both Newt and Minho turned now worried and immediately thinking WICKED had taken him. "You don't think?" Minho asked without finishing that thought as he turned to Newt, who could only shrug honestly not knowing.

"We'll go back, see if he maybe he turned down a different hall," Brenda said, taking more charge than the other two who looked like they might panic – even Minho, who was normally so self-assured.

They'd made it back to the place they'd stopped to decide which way to go when they finally saw him step out of a room. "I'll hit his shuck face," Minho said nearly growling at having worked himself up for nothing; a thought Newt shared.

But Thomas didn't even look toward them, he turned back to the room and said something quietly – and instantly the three held their weapons tighter not knowing what to expect. But it was nothing more than a waif of a girl slowly stepping after him wearing a stark white hospital gown, looking up at the ceiling as though an alarm would blare at her leaving unattended.

"Shuck it," Minho said giving a relieved breathy laugh as he hit Newt's shoulder. "It's Eleanor. Our she-bean's alright."

They all nearly jumped at the sound of a Launcher clanging to the ground, a sound that echoed in the complete silence and caused Thomas and Eleanor to look toward the three standing several feet away.

And suddenly there was no one in the entire world but the two of them; a boy with apology and love on his tongue and a girl staring at him as though the world had finally come together. For the first time in weeks the ache that had been cutting into his soul at last had ceased and it was like he could breathe again. They both stood staring with eyes wide with fear and longing at the other, wanting desperately to go back to the Glade when everything had at least been okay.

Almost timidly Newt stepped forward, not knowing if it'd make her shrink against Thomas when she looked almost nervous, but that small movement was everything and the breath left him when her uncertainty turned to realization – she was his Eleanor again. And he held his arms open as she threw herself against him.