TWENTY TWO
「aim high,
hit low」
＊*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚

SYLVIA JUMPED OUT of her seat. "Are you fucking crazy?" She shouted incredulously. The rest of the Keepers watched in stunned silence and Newt scolded her with a muttered, 'Language!' Minho raised his brows in an expression that said, just trust me. Sylvia scoffed and turned away from him. He was unbelievable.

Then Gally stood up as well, as if just processing the words, "That's ridiculous!" He faced Newt and pointed back at Minho, who had sat back comfortably in his seat again. "He should be kicked off the Council for saying something so stupid."

Then everyone was talking at once. Some agreed with Minho, to her bewilderment. Sylvia had to restrain herself from slapping Minho across his ridiculously perfect face. Thomas looked like he wished a hole would open up in the ground and swallow him whole. Sylvia didn't blame him.

Finally, Newt put his notepad down and stepped out from the semicircle, screaming at people to shut up. Gradually, everyone quieted down and returned to their seats, waiting for someone to speak.

"Shuck it," Newt said. "I've never seen so many shanks acting like teat-suckin' babies. We may not look it, but around these parts we're adults. Act like it, or we'll disband this bloody Council and start from scratch." He walked from end to end of the curved row of sitting Keepers, looking each of them in the eye as he spoke. "Are we clear?"

All the Keepers kept quiet, some nodding their heads at Newt. "Good that." Newt walked back to his chair and sat down, putting the pad in his lap. He scratched out a few lines on the paper, then looked up at Minho. "That's some pretty serious klunk, brother. Sorry, but you need to talk it up to move it forward."

Minho looked exhausted, but he started defending his proposal. "It's sure easy for you shanks to sit here and talk about something you're stupid on. Syl and I are the only Runners in this group, and the only other one here who's even been out in the Maze is Newt."

Gally interjected: "Not if you count the time I—"

"I don't!" Minho shouted. "And believe me, you or nobody else has the slightest clue what it's like to be out there. The only reason you were stung is because you broke the same rule you're blaming Thomas for. That's called hypocrisy, you shuck-faced piece of—"

"Enough," Newt said. "Defend your proposal and be done with it."

The tension in the air was palpable. Sylvia could feel the restless energy radiating off of Minho. She had no idea what he had planned or how he was going to defend himself. She was tempted to get Clint to check and see if Minho hit his head.

"Anyway, listen to me," Minho continued as he took his seat. "I've never seen anything like it. He didn't panic. He didn't whine and cry, never seemed scared. Dude, he'd been here for just a few days. Think about what we were all like in the beginning. Huddling in corners, disoriented, crying every hour, not trusting anybody, refusing to do anything while Sylvia cursed everyone out. We were all like that, for weeks or months, till we had no choice but to shuck it and live."

Minho stood back up, pointed at Thomas. "Just a few days after this guy shows up, he steps out in the Maze to save two shanks he hardly knows. All this klunk about him breaking a rule is just beyond stupid. He didn't get the rules yet. But plenty of people had told him what it's like in the Maze, especially at night. And he still stepped out there, just as the Door was closing, only caring that two people needed help." He took a deep breath, seeming to gain strength the more he spoke.

"But that was just the beginning. After that, he saw me give up on Alby, leave him for dead. And I was the veteran—the one with all the experience and knowledge. So when Thomas saw me give up, he shouldn't have questioned it. But he did. Think about the willpower and strength it took him to push Alby up that wall, inch by inch. It's psycho. It's freaking crazy.

"But that wasn't it. Then came the Grievers. I told Thomas we had to split up and I started the practiced evasive maneuvers, running in the patterns. Thomas, when he should've been wettin' his pants, took control, defied all laws of physics and gravity to get Alby up onto that wall, diverted the Grievers away from him, beat one off, found—"

"We get the point," Gally snapped. "Tommy here is a lucky shank."

Minho rounded on him. "No, you worthless shuck, you don't get it! I've been here two years, and I've never seen anything like it. For you to say anything..."

Minho paused, rubbing a hand over his brow in frustration. Sylvia didn't think she'd ever seen him this passionate or angry about anything in all the time she's known him. For him to be spewing compliments at Thomas like it was nothing really said something about how he felt. She knew that and they weren't even friends.

"Gally," Minho said in a calmer voice, "You're nothing but a sissy who has never, not once, asked to be a Runner or tried out for it. You don't have the right to talk about things you don't understand. So shut your mouth."

Gally stood up again, fuming. "Say one more thing like that and I'll break your neck, right here in front of everybody." Spit flew from his mouth as he spoke.

Minho laughed incredulously, then raised the palm of his hand and shoved Gally in the face. The force of it sent him backwards and he landed in his chair with a thud, then the chair tipped over and sent Gally sprawling on the ground with a crack of wood splitting. Gally scrambled to stand up but Minho pushed him back down with his boot on Gally's back.

"I swear, Gally," Minho said with a sneer, "Don't ever threaten me again. Don't ever speak to me again. Ever. If you do, I'll break your shuck neck, right after I'm done with your arms and legs."

Newt and Frypan were out of their chairs and dragging Minho away from Gally, who jumped up with a red face full of rage. Sylvia found that she couldn't hide the smirk adorning her features. Gally heaved in front of the Keepers, glare fierce. It took a moment of sizzling tension in the air before Gally backed away, towards the door. His eyes darted around the room, lit with hatred.

"Things are different now," He said, spitting on the floor. "You shouldn't have done that, Minho. You should not have done that." His maniacal gaze shifted to Newt. "You should be Banished for your embarrassing inability to lead this group. You're shameful, and any one of you who stays here is no better. Things are going to change. This, I promise."

Gally wrenched open the door and stepped into the hall, but turned back to look at Thomas before he left completely, "And you, the Greenbean who thinks he's friggin' God. Don't forget I've seen you before—I've been through the Changing. What these guys decide doesn't mean jack." He paused, looking at each person in the room. A feeling of dread built in Sylvia's stomach when his eyes connected with hers. When his animalistic stare fell back on Thomas, he had one last thing to say. "Whatever you came here for—I swear on my life I'm gonna stop it. Kill you if I have to."

Then he turned and left the room, slamming the door behind him.

Sylvia was shocked he'd threatened to kill Thomas in front of all of them. She didn't think Gally was capable of killing anyone, no matter what he said. There was a sickeningly dreadful feeling spreading up from her stomach and into her chest.

The room was silent for a full minute before Minho said in something close to a whisper, "He's finally whacked for good."

"Well, you're not the bloody saint in the room," Newt said. "What were you thinking? That was a little overboard, don't ya think?"

Minho groaned, and then looked at Newt as if he were baffled by the question, "Don't give me that garbage. Every one of you loved seeing that slinthead get his dues, and you know it. It's about time someone stood up to his klunk."

Sylvia stood up from her seat, "He's not wrong."

Newt shot the both of them a look, "Oh, so now is when the two of you finally decide agree on something?"

Sylvia and Minho glanced at each other, before saying in unison, "Yeah."

Newt mumbled something under his breath, surely insulting the both of them, and then said louder for the others to hear, "Gally's on the Council for a reason."

"Dude, he threatened to break my neck and kill Thomas! The guy is mentally whacked, and you better send someone right now to throw him in the Slammer. He's dangerous."

"As if Sylvia hasn't threatened everyone in this room more than once," Troye snickered.

She snapped her head towards him and threw her arms up incredulously, "You're gonna get me in trouble."

"Maybe Gally had a good point," Rowan said, almost too quietly.

"What?" Minho asked.

Rowan's eyes darted around the room before he quickly said, "Well...he has been through the Changing—Griever stung him in the middle of the day just outside the West Door. That means he has memories, and he said the Greenie looks familiar. Why would he make that up?"

"Rowan, did you see what just happened?" Frypan asked, looking to be in disbelief. "Gally's psycho. You can't put too much stock in his rambling nonsense. What, you think Thomas here is a Griever in disguise?"

Then, a new voice chimed in, "Can I say something now?" Thomas asked, frustration raising the volume of his voice. "I'm sick of you guys talking about me like I'm not here."

Newt glanced wearily and nodded. "Go ahead. This bloody meeting can't be much more screwed up."

Thomas started, annoyance clear in his voice, "I don't know why Gally hates me. I don't care. He seems psychotic to me. As for who I really am, you all know just as much as I do. But if I remember correctly, we're here because of what I did out in the Maze, not because some idiot thinks I'm evil."

Newt nodded, looking satisfied. "Good that. Let's get this meeting over with and worry about Gally later."

"We can't vote without all the members here," Rowan insisted. "Unless they're really sick, like Alby."

"For the love, Rowan," Newt replied. "I'd say Gally's a wee bit ill today, too, so we continue without him. Thomas, defend yourself and then we'll take the vote on what we should do with you."

"I didn't do anything wrong. All I know is I saw two people struggling to get inside these walls and they couldn't make it. To ignore that because of some stupid rule seemed selfish, cowardly, and...well, stupid. If you want to throw me in jail for trying to save someone's life, then go ahead. Next time I promise I'll point at them and laugh, then go eat some of Frypan's dinner."

Sylvia almost wanted to clap. She didn't, but she wanted to. It's like he took the words right out of her mouth.

"Here's my recommendation," Newt said. "You broke our bloody Number One Rule, so you get one day in the Slammer. That's your punishment. I also recommend we elect you as a Runner, effective the second this meeting's over. You've proven more in one night than most trainees do in weeks. As for you being the buggin' Keeper, forget it." He gave a pointed look to Minho. "Gally was right on that count—stupid idea."

Minho didn't seem surprised, but argued all the same. "Why? He's the best we have—I swear it. The best should be the Keeper." Sylvia raised a brow at his words.

"Fine," Newt responded. "If that's true, we'll make the change later. Give it a month and see if he proves himself."

Minho shrugged. "Good that."

Newt glanced around the room. "Okay, we had several recommendations, so let's give it a go around—"

"Oh, come on," Frypan said. "Just vote. I vote for yours."

"Me too," Minho said.

All the others voiced their approval, including her. The only one who looked unhappy with the turn-out was Rowan.

"Maybe the Greenie will actually replace Minho," Troye smirked. He seemed to be having fun at this Gathering, despite the chaos.

Thomas groaned, "I love how you guys are just talking about me like I'm not here."

"Look, Tommy," Newt said. "We just elected you as a buggin' Runner. Quit your cryin' and get out of here. Syl and Minho have a lot of training to give you."

The boy's face seemed to lighten up at the thought, despite his life being threatened barely ten minutes ago. Then, his expression dropped a bit as if he'd just remembered something, "What about my punishment?"

"Tomorrow," Newt answered. "The wake-up till sunset."

The meeting was then dismissed, and everyone left the room until it was just Newt, Minho, Thomas, and herself. She stayed behind because she needed to lecture Minho on his irrational behavior, which was ironic coming from her.

She slapped the back of his head. Minho's hand quickly went to cover the spot and he whined, "Ouch. What was that for?"

"Are you insane?" She asked semi-seriously, "In what world did you think it was a good idea to elect that shank to replace you!?"

Thomas seemed to get the idea, and punched Minho's arm, "Keeper? You want me to be Keeper? You're nuttier than Gally by a long shot."

Minho faked an evil grin. "Worked, didn't it? Aim high, hit low. Thank me later."

Sylvia scoffed, "You're unbelievable."

AFTER EVERYONE HAD dispersed from the Council room, Sylvia found herself in the Bloodhouse with Troye. She was helping him take care of some of the animals. Feeding them, cleaning them, giving them some affection too because they were awfully cute. Bark laid lazily off to the side, watching as she stroked her fingers down one of the cow's soft fur.

She had put on a pair of Nick's old boots so that she wouldn't get hers dirty. George was blabbering in her ear and she was talking to him as quietly as she could, without attracting any unwanted attention.

"So this Thomas guy, huh?" George asked, also petting the cow. He scoffed, "A Greenie survives a night in the Maze."

"Gally's suspicious of him. He ran off."

He gave her a meaningful look, "Gally's suspicious of everyone."

"I'm just saying, I don't know what to think of the Newbie," She murmured.

"I think he seems pretty awesome."

She rolled her eyes, "You think everyone's awesome. Besides, what if Gally's right?"

"Syl," George started, leaning on the other side of the cow, "You need to learn to trust people. You can't let the tiniest details throw you off."

Sylvia glared at him. He didn't understand. George loved everyone. It didn't matter who you were, or what you acted like, he would always make a friend of you. He trusted too easily. Sylvia had a hard time trusting anyone, especially after what happened with Roger and his gang. They'd all seemed like normal Gladers, and then they killed one of their own. Sylvia shook her head, moving out of the pen.

George followed her, "You can't just hate everyone you meet!"

Yes I can, she thought to herself.

"I heard that."

She whirled on him, puzzled. "I didn't say anything?"

George furrowed his brows, "Yes you did. You said 'Yes I can.' "

"I didn't say it out loud."

"Well...I heard it."

She scoffed, "Great. So now you can hear my thoughts too?!"

He shrugged, and then smirked. "I guess so."

Sylvia sighed and walked away from the Bloodhouse. She called Bark to follow and he did, though sluggishly. Now she'd have to control her thoughts around George, or any of the dead for that matter. She wondered to herself, how does that even work? This new fact just made things a lot harder for her.

She kicked off Nick's mud covered boots on the porch of the Homestead, walking into the building with only her socks to cover her feet. Bark went through the open door to Frypan's kitchen, probably to beg for food. At least the dog hadn't lost that about himself.

Sylvia walked up the creaky steps. She needed to talk to Minho about Thomas. She wanted to know more about him. She didn't know what to think of the boy. She walked down the hallway until she made it to Minho's door, and then opened it without knocking, as he'd done to her so many times before.

Minho stood in the middle of his room, without a shirt on and his back to her. He was trying to reach around to himself to clean two red, nasty gashes on his upper back. When he heard the door groan as it opened, he turned to her. His torso was sculpted from all his work in the Maze. He had a few bruises and scars here and there along his chest and stomach, just as any Runner did. Sylvia quickly averted her eyes and wished someone would annihilate her.

"You're blushing, sweetheart." His voice was a bit husky and dripped with fake sweetness.

Sylvia forgot about her embarrassment at his teasing and scowled at him, "In your dreams."

"Come help me with this, will you?" He asked of her, most of the teasing gone from his voice.

"Why should I?" She retorted instead of questioning why he hadn't just gone to Clint and Jeff. It would have been hypocritical of her to ask that, knowing she never would have gone to the Med-jacks for help. It wasn't that she didn't like the two boys, it was just that showing them she needed help was too vulnerable for her liking. She wondered why Minho would ask her, of all people, to help him.

"Because you like looking at me naked." He said, smirking.

   Sylvia scoffed, ears reddening. "I'd rather be attacked by bear."

   Minho rolled his eyes. "Yeah, sure. Come help me."

   Despite her protests, she found herself walking towards him and taking the damp cloth from his hands, pushing him to turn around and bringing the cloth to the newly sustained wounds on his back. It was from the Grievers, no doubt. The lacerations were red and angry, having been stitched back together by the nimble hands of either Jeff or Clint.

   She figured she could knock some sense back into him, since he clearly lost all of it during the Gathering.

She felt his muscles tense under her fingers as she tried to gently clean the wounds. This was unusual, because she was almost never gentle. It was something she had never practiced. She was all sharp edges, jagged pieces to get cut on. She was a hurricane. A force of destruction.

   She could tell he was holding back winces and grunts of pain. He would have two more scars to add to his collection after they healed. Sylvia examined his back quietly. She had never seen him without his shirt, despite his arrogance and bragging. He had a small scar on his shoulder, right next to a birthmark. He had another one, still pinkish and slightly raised, over the bottom of his left rib.

"Why do you trust him so much?" She mumbled as the cloth brushed over his wound again. His muscles tensed, then relaxed.

"Who?" He asked, almost distractedly.

Sylvia clarified, "Thomas."

He glanced at her over his shoulder, "He saved my life."

"And that's why you practically pounced on Gally today?"

"I pounced on Gally because he was acting like a slinthead. Don't act like you didn't do the same." Minho said, referring to her comment about his broken nose.

Sylvia almost rolled her eyes, "I punched him because he deserved it."

"Well, we have common ground there."

"We don't have common ground anywhere." She muttered.

Minho huffed out a breath, "I'm going to act like you didn't just say that."

"Why?"

He turned to face her, looking annoyed. "Because I know you're not stupid enough to believe that, Sylvia."

Sylvia's brows furrowed. She was still holding the damp cloth in her hand, now stained by a bit of blood. She questioned him, "What do you mean?"

"We're more alike than you think." He declared.

"We are nothing alike." She retorted heatedly.

Minho scoffed, a cruel smile curling the corners of his lips, "You need to stop lying to yourself." He walked away from her, grabbing a shirt and pulling it over his head. His muscles rippled as he did and her eyes flitted to his torso once again.

   Sylvia almost felt at war with herself.

She had to take a second to remember herself. Minho noticed. Once she'd regained control of her mind, she sputtered out, "Then please, Minho, enlighten me."

He seemed about to say something, and then rapidly changed his mind, "No, you know what—why do you hate me so much?"

"You know why."

"What, because I saved you!?" He asked incredulously.

"No!" Sylvia spat, brows furrowed with hurt. "Because you stopped me from saving him!"

She remembered the day as clearly as if it were yesterday. The day George died. There was one small detail she'd figured out later than the rest. She'd gone over the incident a million times inside her head.

   George had been injected with the serum after he'd been stung in the Maze. He had attacked her, and then she'd been dragged back from the line of fire. When she spotted Alby with the wooden spear-like object, she jolted forward, and someone pulled her back. She had watched as his life was taken from him. It was only later that she had figured out that it was Minho who had pulled her back, who had stopped her from saving George.

"And what should I have done?" He questioned her, eyes full of mixed emotions, walking closer to her, "Should I have let you get killed too?"

"I could've saved him." She said, voice wavering.

"Syl, there was nothing you could have done. George would've killed you. He was too far gone."

"I could have done something." Sylvia felt like she was pleading with herself more than with Minho. It was silent for a moment, and then Sylvia asked a bit quieter, "Why do you hate me?"

Minho looked away from her hastily and then back again. He seemed at odds with himself. Then he said, "I don't hate you, Syl." She furrowed her brows at him deeply, the brown of her eyes muddled with confusion. He clarified, "For a long time, I thought I did. But I don't."

She shook her head lightly and clenched her hand around the scar in her left palm. She felt dizzy. Sylvia whispered, "You should hate me."

"I can't." He replied simply, his words nearly soft. He closed his eyes briefly and then opened them again, staring at her. For the first time, Sylvia noticed how his eyes became a light coffee brown when the sunlight played over them. They were usually a dark shade of umber. She felt her heart pick up a bit. She didn't know what was happening to her. Minho continued, "You can't deny that there's something between us. I know you can feel it too."

"I feel nothing for you." She said quickly.

"Really?" He asked, almost tauntingly. He took her wrists in his hands, forcing her to move closer to him in doing so. His thumb pressed against her pulse points on both her wrists. The ghost of a smirk was visible on his lips and he hummed, "Then why is your heart beating so fast?"

Sylvia tried to pull away from him, but he held her wrists tighter, tugging her closer still. She was so close to him that she could see the small details adorning his features. She couldn't even deny the fast pulsing of her heart, because he would know she was lying.

   Her senses overflowed with the smell of him. The earthy scent of pine, teakwood, and leather. She felt a strong, terrible urge rise within her, almost like a wave crashing over her. She found herself tilting her head upwards, if only slightly.

Before she could think about the horrible decision she was about to make, Minho's lips crashed into hers like a tidal wave. His hands moved from her wrists to the back of her neck and around her waist, pressing himself against her. Her head tilted further to meet his lips more completely. One of her hands bundled the collar of his shirt and the other rested against his ribs.

   Sylvia felt so many emotions roil through her she thought she might melt into the ground and ascend to the heavens all at once. He pressed his lips against hers hungrily. Minho's thumb pressed against the space below her jawline, next to the lobe of her ear. Sylvia's hand traveled from its place over his ribs, up his chest and around the nape of his neck. Her fingers brushed through his jet black hair and Minho smirked against her lips.

She never wanted to come up for air.

Despite all her conflicting thoughts, she was sure she had never wanted to be closer to him more than she did in that moment. More than all the times she'd wanted to slap or punch him. More than all the times she'd wanted to throttle him out of anger. All of her hate and rage combined with a suffocating amount of desire and it created a tumultuous reaction from her.

   Sylvia was running out of air but she didn't want to stop. Minho's lips against hers ignited something within her, something fierce and unlike anything she'd ever felt before.

Suddenly, she was being pushed backwards softly, Minho's lips still on hers, until her back hit the wall. Minho's fingers played over the hem of her shirt and then he pushed it up a bit, brushing the tips of his fingers against the bare skin of her hip. Sylvia shivered into the kiss. His lips pressed against hers firmly for a second more, and then he pulled away.

"I'll let you decide what to do with that," He whispered against her good ear, his breath warm on her skin.

Then he exited the room, leaving her flushed and out of breath against the wall of his room.

AUTHOR'S NOTE:

IT FINALLY HAPPENED!!!! KISS KISS KISS!!