Pasty was under constant supervision by the Medjacks. Minho has insisted that after her reappearance, it was necessary. Especially after she had a fit. But Pasty's fear was beginning to melt away, and her intrigue was peaking. She had questions, but no one seemed to be willing to answer them.

And Pasty was getting tired of it.

And then something happened.

There was a commotion outside. The Medjacks went outside to investigate, leaving Pasty alone. She crept away from her sickbed, bare feet scratched by the gnarly wooden floor. She peaked through the door, and saw Newt, Chuck, Teresa and the Medjacks hauling Thomas up the stairs. She flattened herself against the wall as they charged past, practically throwing Thomas down on the bed.

"What were you doing? How could you be so bloody stupid?" Newt spat at Thomas. Thomas squirmed on the bed.

"No...Newt...you don't understand..."

"Shut up! Don't waste your energy!" Newt turned to Pasty. "Come here. Make yourself useful."

Pasty rushed to Thomas' side, helping Newt to rip away Thomas' shirt with a knife. He checked for wounds frantically, and gave him a shot of the Serum. Teresa's face was distraught, but Pasty didn't have time to figure out if she was sympathetic for her sister. Thomas' next words were so quiet Pasty wasn't sure if she imagined them.

"Don't worry. I did it on purpose..."

***

Pasty made it her job to stay and care for Thomas. She felt there was nothing else she could do. She was still trying to figure out who she was, and what her memories meant. Being with Thomas at least meant she could avoid the others. Newt and Alby made a few appearances to check on Thomas, but Pasty didn't see anything of Minho.

At night when the Grievers came, taking people away, Pasty quivered beneath Thomas' sick bed, listening to the screams of Thomas and the victims of the Griever's. The bed above her would rock as Thomas writhed in agony, and she'd weep, hands covering her ears until the silence took over. The silence was almost worse. It haunted the Glade. It was the mourning period. And the period when the other Gladers got back on their feet.

But not Pasty.

And then after three days, Thomas stopped screaming. The Med Jacks waited beside him patiently, waiting for signs of life. But the only sign he was alive was the barely-there beat of his heart, giving out a feeble thud every few seconds.

Teresa came to see him that day. Pasty eyed her up suspiciously. They had barely spoken, but Pasty had a strong dislike for her anyway. Especially since she'd recalled her earlier memories of her.

Her sister.

Did Teresa know? Had anyone mentioned to her their uncanny resemblance? Pasty didn't know. She figured she must have some idea. She watched Teresa wipe Thomas' sweaty hair away from his head. You did this. You and Thomas and WICKED.

"Have you been keeping him cool? His temperature is pretty high."

"I pressed damp cloths on his head. The Med Jacks are due to check on him soon."

Teresa nodded absently, pressing her hand to Thomas' cheek. Pasty studied her with interest, and wondered if she was able to communicate with Teresa via telepathy again. She closed her eyes and concentrated hard.

Can you hear me?

She heard Teresa jump and smirked, opening her eyes. Teresa stared at her.

"You can do it to?"

She nodded. "Only with you."

"How do you know?"

"I remembered."

Teresa pressed her hands against her face, looking shell-shocked. Her face was creased in confusion. But Pasty didn't trust that innocent face. Why would she, knowing what Teresa did? Who she was? Pasty was an annoyance to WICKED. But Teresa was their biggest asset.

Pasty stood up and approached Teresa. Teresa was taller, but Pasty was fiercer in that moment. She pressed her face close to Teresa's.

"I know everything you did. I know you put us here. I know you did. And Thomas too. I'll never forgive you for that."

"WICKED is good," Teresa said uncertainly.

"Is that really what you think?"

"That's all I have to hang on to, Pasty. What more do you want me to say?"

Pasty stepped back away from her in disgust. "Maybe that you're sorry? That everything will be OK? That things will be different? Everything is going to change. That's what you said, right? Well damn right it changed. When you came here and ruined everything. I may not remember the Glade, but I remember you. And I'll never forgive you. Even if you are my sister."

As she heard Teresa gasp, Pasty stormed from the room. She wasn't going to cower under the bed anymore. She knew that couldn't be all she was. It wouldn't be all she was.

She was going to get some answers.

***

She found Minho in the shower block. She spotted him and the other runners heading there. It was nearly night, she suspected. She could hear the pitter patter of water as the boys showered, and she waited patiently in the changing rooms for him to finish.

He came out of the shower wrapped in a white towel. He jumped when he saw Pasty sat on the wooden bench, waiting for him. She stood up, wiping her sweating hands on her pants.

"There's some things I need to know."

Minho frowned, taking another step towards her. Pasty had never been so alert. She could hear his feet sloshing across the wet floor. See each individual bead of water trickling down his face, his chest. He was beautiful. She couldn't remember ever experiencing someone so beautiful, so close up, so intensely. He stopped inches away, looking concerned.

"Then I'll help you any way you can."

Pasty took a deep breath. There was so much she needed to know. But it started with Minho.

She needed to know Minho.

"What's your favourite colour?"

Minho frowned for a moment and then laughed, one arm clutched across his stomach as he chuckled. The noise was almost painful. Like a loud noise when you had a headache. It made Pasty feel vulnerable. But she smiled. Because she wanted to be the reason he laughed. When he stopped laughing, he smiled, considering her question.

"I like black. Like the sky. Like...like the sky," he repeated. Pasty knew what he'd stopped himself saying. Like your hair he once said. It's like midnight.

"Favourite smell?"

"Paper. I love the smell of the Map Room."

That's stayed the same, Pasty thought he always used to love the smell of paper.

"Pasty, what's this-"

"Memory?"

Minho stopped, forehead creased again. It was like that a lot recently - like he was aging too quickly. Pasty wandered if she touched his face, would the creases iron out?

"Memory?" Minho tasted the word on his tongue. The corner of his mouth twitched. "I have a lot. Mostly with you."

Pasty's heart was slamming against her chest. Could this be the same Minho I fell in love with? She knew there was more to it than knowing his favourite colour. It didn't mean she knew him. But she figured it had to count for something.

"Pasty. Talk to me. Why are you asking all this now?"

Pasty shifted shyly. "I just...I wanted to know you. The way I used to."

"Pasty...do you remember something? About me?"

"I remembered a lot. And I just...I want to know what you're like now. If things can be the same."

"Pasty..."

She wanted to touch his chest. But she didn't yet know if her hand belonged there. Minho wanted to touch her too, she could tell. It was in his eyes. But she wasn't ready.

"Minho...I just want to remember. Relearn you. Learn what we were in the Glade before. But I don't know if I'll ever remember."

Minho reached forwards and touched her cheek.

"I'll wait as long as it takes."

Pasty looked up into his eyes. She loved that he was taller than her. She wanted to stand on her tiptoes and kiss his lips.

But she didn't get the chance.

Newt rushed into the changing rooms, barely blinking an eye at the pair stood only inches apart. "Thomas is awake."