Chapter Twenty-Nine

JayMin – 너와

A/N: Sorry for the couple-day delay on this chapter. My son's birthday is next weekend, so it's been all-hands at home and will be next weekend, so I can already tell you the last chapter will also be delayed—SORRY! Nearly to the end, folks. This story has changed and grown with Rose, so I hope you're still enjoying it. I have BIG surprises after it's completed as well…


Teresa guided her friend down another unremarkable corridor as flashes of everyday data runs and research acquisitions superimposed themselves so Rose could barely tell what she had lived and what she was living now.

"You probably shouldn't have said those things to the Chancellor," Teresa mused as they walked.

"Oh, please, what's she going to do? Kill me?" Rose replied. "It's my Protocol, remember? I already know how this turns out."

Teresa pursed her lips. "You sound just like my Rosalind."

Rose stopped dead in her tracks. Only an hour reborn, and she was already reverting into the scientist she had once been. It terrified her. Rosalind might not have been the cold-hearted clinician her colleagues were, but if she had spent a few more years under their tutorship, she could have been. She had been on the road to becoming a demon, she couldn't allow herself to slip back into the safe embrace of apathy again.

A few more bends and they arrived outside a windowless steel door with a keypad. Rose raised her fingers to the keys, remembering every code to every door she had ever accessed and even some of the ones she shouldn't have, but Teresa stilled her hand.

"Have you seen Thomas yet?" Rose asked.

Teresa bit her bottom lip and gave the smallest of nods.

"He didn't recognize you?"

"It was only for a second, and I didn't really expect him to," Teresa answered, "just kind of hoped."

"He did have his memory Swiped," Rose comforted.

"Didn't stop the two of you from remembering each other, and you only knew each other for a year."

Shit.

"Reese, you know Thomas isn't the one for me."

"I know. I think that just makes it hurt more."

Teresa removed her hand from Rose's wrist so she could punch in the password. The door clanked as the locks disengaged and opened with the pop of a seal. Inside was a large room filled with nothing more than a few dozen cots, two rows of bunk beds, and a flock of bruised and dejected boys. It reminded Rose of an old prison Bridget had once spent time in for pickpocketing, but even that one had more warmth than this icebox of all-encompassing stone.

Thomas catapulted forward from a purposeless horde of zombie-eyed Gladers to envelope Rose in his arms.

"Rose! I thought—" he whispered in her ear before he cut himself off. "You're safe. I can't believe it. We were getting ready to break out and find you."

"Of course you were, Thomas," she laughed against his neck. "You've always been you."

Rose pulled back and glanced at the others. She studied the hunched shoulders, drooping heads, and baggy eyes of faces she had come to know so well over the last few months. The Glade might have been a holding pen, but at least it had some illusion of control. Daily life had goals and rhythm and sunshine—it had hope. Here they had nothing but each other and empty comforts.

"Are you all right?" Thomas asked, and her gaze flicked back to him. He ran his fingers through her frizzy curls and Rose winced. "What did those bastards do to you? I'll kill them. I'll kill them all."

Rose reached up to the crown of her head and found a circle of hair had been shaved down to the scalp. Her fingers danced over fringes of thread where her skin had been stapled and sewn back together again, and she fought the urge to sob. She had so many other things to worry about, but she couldn't stop the superficial flash of self-consciousness when she realized this was how they would all remember her—as a fucking doughnut. WICKED could have at least had the decency to shave her whole head. She would have laughed again if she weren't so heartsick.

Rose cleared her throat to hide her fluster and rubbed his biceps. "It's okay, Thomas. They gave me my memories back."

"All of them?"

She nodded. "I remember this life and the last and even the one before that."

"You remember…" Thomas stepped back from her like she was radioactive. "Then can you tell me what the hell we're doing here?"

Rose grabbed his hand and led him over to a cot in the corner of the room where they sat side-by-side as they had once done in the Glade, but this time, instead of gently feeling their way through their curtained past, she was about to throw a spotlight on the whole thing.

"We were only little when the Sun Flares torched the Earth. Those who didn't die when they came died later trying to squeeze billions of survivors into what was left. But there were too many people in places too small to support them all. So, some geniuses invented a way to maximize the remaining resources, and, surprise, fucked it up royal.

"They released the Flare, a virus that was supposed to humanely kill select colonies, but it tore through humanity, driving people mad and ripping apart their bodies from the inside. Whole cities, whole families, they were decimated within days. Scientists tried to cure it, but it mutated and nothing they did worked. They dumped what was left of their useless money into WICKED, the World In Catastrophe: Killzone Experimentation Department."

Thomas held up both hands. "Whoa! Killzone? Experiment? Rose, this is insane—"

"I know this is going to be damn near impossible for you, Thomas, but just let me finish and then you can ask me whatever you want. Over time, they found that some people, especially kids, were Immune to the Flare. Us, Thomas, most of us. We're Immune, which is why WICKED captured us or coaxed us here by any means necessary. We're a resource and a limited one at that. They wanted to know why we're Immune and they're not."

Thomas stared not at Rose but through her. "And the Maze?"

"It was part of a series of experiments designed to map our brains, see what makes us different, what makes us Immune."

Rose could see Thomas' heart hammering through his chest.

"By killing us?" he snarled.

"Nobody wanted that," Teresa replied, stepping in hesitantly from the periphery.

"You," Thomas said slowly as he blinked at Teresa like someone had just turned on the light in the darkness. "I've seen you before. In my dreams."

Teresa's brows raised as her lips parted, and Rose caught the hint of astonishment—or maybe relief—at the corner of her friend's mouth. "Yeah, we know each other."

"How?"

Rose's eyes darted between the pair. She was already a third-wheel, and she had so many more apologies to dole out. She took a few steps back as she said, "You two should talk. I need to see the others."

Thomas grabbed Rose before she could slip away and pressed her close so he could whisper in her ear. "Can I trust her?"

"I don't know, Thomas, I don't even trust myself, but Teresa was your best friend before the Maze. Just remember, we all worked for WICKED, but she still does."

Rose felt Thomas' lips move against her skin as he mouthed Teresa's name like he was tasting it, but then he hugged Rose tighter. "What about you now that you have your memories back?"

Rose kissed Thomas' cheek and slipped a piece of paper into his pocket. "I have one last thing to do before I quit and so do you. I made the Chancellor promise to take you all to the Safe Haven where they won't bother you again. If they take you anywhere other than these exact coordinates or they try and make you leave without the others, you kill them. All of them. Don't think about it, just do it. Don't trust anybody here, even Teresa."

"I thought she was your friend—and mine?" he questioned.

"She is, but if the Cure doesn't synthesize, I don't know what she'll do—what they'll make her do."

"What about you? I'm not leaving without you."

Rose smiled. "Trust me one last time, okay?"

"No more stunts, Rose," he warned. "Not without backup."

"Since when does The Great Thomas worry?"

"Since I met my match in crazy stupid."

Rose kissed Thomas again before making her rounds of reunions with the rest of the boys she'd come to love like family. They were tired, confused, and despite being together, utterly alone. Chuck, as usual, was there to buoy spirits and Gally there to aggravate them again, but Jeff was simply unmoored. He leaned in a corner, barely aware of his surroundings. His eyes sported deep, puffy bags complemented by two days' patchy scruff around his drooping mouth; she barely recognized him. Rose gravitated to his loneliness like a magnet.

"Hey," she said quietly.

"Hey."

As soon as Jeff's eyes met hers, Rose clutched him to her so fast he didn't have time to react. She pressed her cheek into his shoulder, locked her hands around his back, and just held him. She held him until she felt his scraggly cheek graze her naked scalp. She held him until his fingers grabbed fistfuls of her robe. She held him until she felt the heat of his tears emblazon her forehead.

"I miss him," Jeff managed as his voice cracked.

"Me too."

"I tried to talk him out of it, you know? I didn't want to go in there. He made me. He made me, but now he's gone and I'm here. How is it that the hero dies and the lousy coward don't?"

"Clint didn't fold," Rose managed through a stuffy nose and a hitching breath, "and neither did you, Jeff. Med-jacks don't fold."

"Med-jacks don't fold," he echoed.

Rose tightened her grip around him. "I wouldn't be here without either of you. Thank you for coming for me. I'll never forget it."

They held each other like that, fiercely anchoring each other, until someone tapped on Rose's shoulder and jerked her out of their connection. But she ignored the tap and instead focused on the wet face of her colleague—her friend—and tried to smile. "They're going back for him, Jeff. They're going to find Clint so he's not alone."

Jeff sniffed and wiped his eyes as quickly as he could, casting nervous glances around the room. The others were watching but not with judgment, not this time.

Teresa was waiting with an apologetic look on her face. "We gotta go, Roz."

Rose hugged Jeff one more time before she had to let him go. As Teresa led her friend toward the door, Rose ventured one more glance back to find Jackson and Renato with their hands clamped on Jeff's shoulders. They had all lost friends that day, but they had each other. It didn't lessen Rose's guilt, but like one of Clint's salves, in time they might help heal each other's wounds.

They navigated several more identical corridors before Teresa ventured a quiet word. "Do you think you did the right thing?"

For some reason, Rose's heart rate accelerated. The right thing… None of this felt right. But Ava had said she believed they could engineer the Cure out of it. Did that make it worth it? Did that justify every sacrifice?

"If I say yes, I'm as bad as Ava and her cronies. If I say no, then everyone died for nothing. The only question that matters is if my friends can ever forgive me."

Teresa nodded numbly. "Do you think Tom will forgive me? "

"I don't know, Reese, you've known him a lot longer than I have. But you came through for me in the end. That's got to count for something, right?"

Teresa remained silent until they pulled up to a curtained window and a door just as plain and innocuous as the rest. And yet behind it...

"Newt and Alby are in there. But, Roz, I have to warn you, it's not great. They both suffered—"

But Rose had ceased listening.

They both suffered.

It's not great.

They suffered.

Had WICKED cut off the air in here? Rose couldn't breathe. Her chest tightened and her lungs wheezed. She grabbed for her throat but found she couldn't feel it—no, she couldn't feel her fingers. She yanked them back to make sure they were still there. No blood, no knife, not this time, only ten trembling digits bleached perfect white in the fluorescence.

They suffered.

Rose swayed and stumbled, her hands bracing against the glass and squeaking as her sweaty palms streaked down. Coldness seeped into her bones.

"Are you okay?" Teresa said as she wrapped an arm around Rose's shoulder.

It sounded like Teresa was talking through a muffled speaker in another wing. Rose gasped for air in quick huffs and slipped further down the glass.

"Roz! Speak to me! Come inside and sit down."

But Rose couldn't move.

They suffered.

"I. Can't," she wheezed.

"Roz, it's all right, it's all right."

Rose's heart smashed against her rib cage like Minho's fists against the Maze Doors, and her words raced out lightning fast. "It's not all right. It can't be all right. It's my fault. It's all my fault. They'll never forgive me. They suffered."

Teresa clamped her hands on Rose's shoulders and squared her gaze on her. "Rosalind, look at me. It's me, Reese. Breathe, just breathe."

But it was so hard. Someone was sucking the air right from her lungs.

"Breathe with me, in and out. Go slow. Keep looking at me, keep listening to my voice. Breathe with me."

They breathed together, and as they did, Teresa and her electric blue eyes came back into focus. The world swelled out from pinpoints back to the dull gray hallway and the plain white door. Rose pinched the hem of Teresa's lab coat and tried to concentrate on the feeling of the soft cotton as she grounded herself.

You can do this, Rose. You owe it to them.

"You back with me, Roz?"

Rose nodded before she collapsed against the wall. Despite everything she'd just gone through, she had never felt more bone-weary, as though her muscles had atrophied and her spine had turned to powder. She was empty.

"There's a chair just inside," Teresa urged as she tugged Rose through the door and eased her into a chair identical to the one in her own hospital room.

This room was filled with the same beeps and hisses Rose had heard when she woke up, only the two figures inside didn't wake. Newt and Alby lay in parallel beds, wrapped in unflinching white robes with their unflinching white sheets tucked under their arms with military precision. Under the sterile lights, they looked more like mannequins than people, more like boys than men. Fluids dripped in and drained out of them. Someone had combed Newt's hair and shaved Alby's face. Odd how someone had been so ready to dispense with their lives but wanted them to leave beautiful corpses.

"Reese, could you leave me with them for a few minutes?"

Teresa hovered hesitantly in the door frame. "Are you sure you're okay?"

"No fucking way, but all the same…"

After a long breath, her friend closed the door, but Rose spied her slender silhouette pacing beyond the curtains.

The trio was alone now with just the tubes and the wires for company. Rose skootched her chair between their beds and reached for each of their hands. They were warmer than their cold surroundings implied, and relief flooded Rose's body.

For a moment, she felt that same awkward nakedness that she had felt at Cat's graveside, but she owed these two so much more than a song; she owed them her complete honesty—but Rose could never help herself, not when it came to her boys.

"Hey, guys," she began softly. "You're looking really good for a couple of reckless shanks. Just think, when you wake up, you're going to get so many girls with those sweet scars." She squeezed their limp hands. "And you're going to wake up soon for me, aren't you? Because otherwise, between Gally's bragging and Chuck's sweetness, there won't be any ladies left for you."

Still no response from either man.

"This should be easier for me, shouldn't it?" Rose continued more somberly. "But I guess telling somebody how you feel is never easy, especially when they mean so much to you. You two are the best leaders I've ever known, and you should know I remember everything again. I know I wasn't always the easiest person to manage and I fought you at pretty much every turn, but you never gave up on me, even when I probably deserved it. You defended me and protected me and looked after me, but not just me—everybody. I wish I could be worthy of your love.

"I'm sorry you got caught up in my games, but I promise you that I will give up everything to make it right. So get better, cuz when you wake up, the new world is going to need you to lead it."

Rose released Newt's hand so she could shift her focus to the dark-skinned man sleeping peacefully as she rubbed the back of his hand. "Hey, boss. I never got a chance to tell you this, but you looked really hot wielding that bow and arrow. Gally was pissed when I told him you were the best fighter, so just remember to rub that in next time you see him, okay?"

For a moment, Rose fancied she saw a smile at the corner of his mouth, but it was just Teresa's shadow passing over them as she paced the hallway.

"And I just wanted to say, you were right to be suspicious of me. All those times you looked at me, I could tell you didn't trust me, and I should have listened to that. If I had exercised one ounce of the caution you always did, maybe you'd all be safe and together. You're a hell of a leader and friend, Alby."

Rose placed a lingering kiss on his hand before shifting all of her attention to the handsome blonde behind her. Over her shoulder, she whispered, "Do me one more favor, boss, and pretend you're not listening to what I'm about to say? And if you can't stop being a nosy shank for ten minutes, at least do us the favor of never bringing it up again."

With one bandaged hand, Rose traced Newt's cheek. She wished she had her fiddle. Just looking at Newt's defiant jaw and crown of blonde hair coaxed hundreds of songs to her fingertips, but, in the end, there was only one she wanted to play.

"My Bloody Newt," she whispered, running her hand across his cheek.

If things had been different…

For a moment, Rose was back on that picnic blanket in the shade of the Orchard sitting side-by-side with a boy struggling to tell her something he knew she wasn't ready to hear. He loved her.

Newt loved her. Thomas loved her. Minho loved her. Rose couldn't fathom what she'd done to earn their love and she was sure she didn't deserve it, but she was lucky to have it. She'd lived three lives but had never met better men. And she loved them, too, loved them with a ferocity she hadn't been capable of feeling since she was seven years old, but she held them in different chambers of her heart, and looking at Newt, Rose was reminded of what she couldn't give him.

If I had still been a Runner…

Rose placed her hand hesitantly on his left leg, on the thing that could have changed their history or maybe their future together. With her Swipe removed now came the bitterest of truths. Rose remembered that day, relived it with the same aching torture she had when she first witnessed it. She'd been watching, they'd all been watching from Main Control Room.

Before the Maze, Rosalind hadn't known Newt—she wasn't that lucky—but after a year of research and analysis of all the Group A Subjects, he had become like a favorite protagonist in a book or movie, someone she'd been rooting for to overcome insurmountable odds. Without knowing she was even watching, he had made her laugh and at times had made her yearn for his company.

But that day he had jumped from a wall in the Maze, the same ones young Rosalind had been fantasizing about incorporating into her rough draft of her Protocol, and everything had changed.

He fell in the blink of an eye, he fell in slow motion. He drifted down with the grace of a feather and smashed like a brick. The moment his body splayed on the concrete, his blonde hair fanning out like a halo, he was no longer a character on WICKED's silver screen—he was a boy with a mind as shattered as his leg. He was real. WICKED had done that to him; Rosalind had done that to him. She had screamed for Dr. Thorne to send in a retrieval team, but she was kindly reminded "Subject A5 is just another egg in the omelet."

He could be broken. He had been broken.

That night, after sobbing face down into her pillow and envisioning a dozen scenarios where she had escaped into the Maze and rescued the boy with the tattered spirit, Rosalind had finally put the first Phase of her Protocol to paper. What happened to that boy, she would never let happen to another. Within a week's time, the other three Phases were completed and her first draft was on the Chancellor's desk.

If Newt hadn't jumped, would Rosalind have finished her Protocol? Would she ever have found herself in the Maze? Would the Gladers still be in there?

If things had been different...

Rose, I'm in love with you.

"I love you, Newt," she said as she found her voice again at last. "And I regret so many things, but one of my greatest regrets is not being able to love you the way you deserve to be loved. There's only one way I can think to make it up to you, and that's to make sure that you live to find that thing that makes you whole. Just know that even though my heart's a mess, you'll always be in it, in that one spot just for you, my bloody Newt. Forever and always."

Rose leaned forward, impulsive and foolhardy to the last, and kissed him on the lips. They were warm and a little rough where the skin had cracked, but they were as reassuring as the man to whom they belonged. Even if Newt never heard her confession, even if he never felt her love emptying across his skin, she would remember.

"Forever and always," she mouthed against his lips.

The door opened and Teresa stumbled back at the sight of Rose draped across the blonde. "Oh, sorry, Roz."

"It's okay."

"Are you ready?"

Rose exhaled slowly, releasing every last ounce of breath from her body. "For my last goodbye?"

She would never be ready.