WAS IT EXCITEMENT or dread?

Frankie stared at the metallic device encasing her right leg in deep thoughts, hugging a pillow against her stomach. It was the only way to suppress the bubbly sensation there.

After weeks of living bed bound in solitude with only Brenda, Dr. Lebeau, and the nurses' occasional visit to accompany her days, she really did miss her friends. But now that she was about to meet them, to meet Minho, she didn't know how to act or feel about it.

(Yes, Brenda.

The Brenda.

The shuck little traitor who apparently had been working with WICKED this whole time. She had been assigned as Frankie's physical therapist.)

This bubbly sensation. Was this excitement or dread?

"Are you sure you want to wear that?" The nurse asked. She was one of the familiar faces who often came in and out of her hospital room; a middle-aged black lady with extra fat stored throughout her curvy body. There was a unique scar that divided her left eyebrow into two. "We can take the wheelchair."

"I'm sure."

"It's a long way, honey."

"I'm sure," Frankie repeated firmly. With her hands, she moved her bad leg onto the ground and reached for her nightstand for support. She had trained enough to walk without crutches now.

"Okay, then. Follow me. Everyone's waiting for you," the nurse gestured towards the open door and Frankie limped after her.

"Are you that excited to meet your friends?"

Frankie stayed silent.

Slowly but surely, they wobbled towards a bigger hall, into an elevator, across a see-through sky bridge which offered a good view of the Scorch, past a series of computer laboratories, into another elevator, then along an endless row of unidentified white walls.

The nurse was right. It was a really long way. Especially if you had to drag one useless foot and you hadn't travelled that far for quite some time.

By the time they reached the big, wooden door, her limbs were already trembling in fatigue.

Frankie tried taking a deep breath to calm her nerves down.

It didn't work.

"After this, you can join your friends. I'll send your things over myself."

Her heart skipped a beat. The nurse lady pushed the door open immediately, too fast for her to prepare herself.

On the other side...

On the other side were familiar faces she had longed for so dearly.

Just like the cliche scenes in romantic movies, everything else seemed to fade from view except for a particular boy with Asian features and perfectly styled hair, turning around to see who the newcomer was. The curves of his thin eyebrows raised, followed by the side of his lips. He wasn't smiling. He was gaping.

Then, the lens of her eyes focused on everyone else around him.

The Gladers, Reggie, the Group B girls... People from her dream were here, truly alive and well.

She knew it now. It was anticipation.

She was finally home.

〰️

DESPITE ALL THE dramatic reunion scenarios in his head, Minho found himself completely frozen, right there on the carpeted stairs, when he saw her standing there.

Frankie, hair tied to a messy ponytail, clad in a loose pale blue T-shirt, a pair of dark blue jeans, and white sneakers. A metallic construction of some sorts was supporting her right leg.

He remembered when the Berg's door was securely closed, David had left the subjects to rest, and their adrenal glands had stopped pumping its ecstatic hormone throughout their systems; when all the pain, soreness, and fatigue had finally caught up to their senses, only then did everyone realise how close Frankie was from ending up like Marc.

The second she laid her head on Minho's shoulder, she fell unconscious. Cold sweats ran down her forehead and she twitched in her sleep every once in a while.

With Reggie's help, Minho positioned her so she was laying down on the ground, her head in his lap instead.

He gave her his share of blanket, too, since her fingertips were ice cold.

She didn't wake up when they arrived, nor when she was wheeled off by a bunch of doctors down the other hallway.

Now he could see how much her condition had improved in real life.

"Frankie!" Someone cheered.

She was no longer bloodied, dirty, and pale.

Sure, she looked different, especially with the weight loss, weird machineries, and blots of pinkish skins combined. But the way she smiled joyously reminded him of the moment she beamed, her legs hanging atop abyss, over the chasm at the farthest end of the Maze. All the intimate yet casual conversation they shared over Frypan's lunchboxes were all coming back to him.

Frankie lifted her left leg and took a step forward with it, followed by the bounce of her encased leg.

"Hey."

Minho returned to his senses.

He took long strides, hopped over three steps at a time, and engulfed her in his arms.

She shifted her entire weight onto her good leg and threw her arms over his shoulders. She felt his breaths blowing against her cheek, his strong arms supporting her, and she knew that he wouldn't let her fall even if she intended to.

"You good?"

"No," Frankie answered truthfully, "I lost use of my right leg."

"Good."

Frankie pulled away, frowning at his remark. "What?"

"Good," Minho repeated with a bigger grin, "You're honest. I like that."

She smiled at that, "I'm fine. You good?"

"Good, as long as you're okay," Minho pulled her into another hug, "The mighty Gladers, back together again. I bet you cried every buggin' night, missing me."

Frankie tightened her grip around his neck. For a few seconds, she let herself melt into her best friend's arms and forget about the rest of the world —about the teasing taunts from the Gladers, the 'ooh's and 'aah's from the girls, about WICKED and the end of the world that was currently happening right outside this building. Just her and him, tangled in each other's arms and... and love—

"Frank, don't touch the hair."

Frankie paused for a while before deciding to ruffle Minho's hair maniacally.

"FRANKIE, NO!" The latter shrieked and used his hands to shield his crown from further destruction instead of holding her, trying to save whatever dignity he had left.

If it wasn't for Newt, she would be on the ground right now.

"That's too cruel, Frank, he spent hours trying to get it right this morning," Newt laughed.

"See?" Frypan said with a smirk, referring to Minho's bitter remark from Thomas and Teresa's reunion earlier, "You shucking hypocrite."

Stephen rushed over and helped Newt putting her back to her feet, followed by Reggie.

"Frank, are you... your right leg, is it paralysed?"

Frankie looked down at it, "Yeah."

"What about your arm?"

"Good, it's moving," she lifted her hand and clenched her fingers twice to prove her point. It was almost as good as new.

"That's a relief," Reggie sighed and pulled her into a side hug. "We have so much to talk about, France."

"What's this?"

"What are you wearing?"

"Are you good?"

"What happened to her?"

"Everybody take a seat," Rat Man suddenly came marching down the aisle with two honchos in tow, breaking through the crowd, clapping his hands, "We've got a few things to cover before we remove the Swipe."

Swipe.

Frankie remembered hearing it somewhere before.

He said it so casually, it took a few seconds for everyone to still and absorb the news properly.

Rat Man stepped onto the stage at the front of the room and approached the lectern. He gripped the edges and, with a forced smile, spoke, "That's right, ladies and gents. You're about to get all your memories back. Every last one of them."