|Please Don't Leave Me| (Minho/TMR fanfiction)

~Chapter Seven~

Minho didn't sleep at all that night. He tossed and turned in his hammock, his thoughts on Nicci. The connection he felt to her... it wasn't normal. It was like he knew her in some way.

And she hadn't deserved to die. It was murder. They had killed her. A horrible, awful, terrifying death.

He closed his eyes again. She'd been on his mind since the moment he'd connected eyes with her from across the Glade. She felt... different. She was different. She was special. To him, he didn't know.

Where was she in The Maze now? Still fighting? Already dead? He shuddered. How many Grievers had it taken to kill her? Finally, no longer able to take it, he got up from his hammock. He headed for the woods, the clearing where they'd argued. He remembered when she first woke up in the Homestead, frightened and then... not. The way she'd lashed out...

He stuck his hands in his pockets and came to a stop, resting his back against a tree. "I'm so shucked in the head." He spoke aloud, though it was to no one but himself. The night sky was dark, no stars visible. He couldn't even see the moon. He slid down to sit on the forest floor and waited for dawn to come.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

I stood panting in the grey light. It shouldn't be long now. I was almost finished. Blood dripped down my arm, my shoulder burning like hell. I could tell it was a severe injury. I took a breath and wiped my face, slime and dirt coating my arm when I pulled it away. I tugged at my shirt to try and get a look at the wound. I let out a choked groan. The fabric was pasted to the skin with blood.

I sucked in a breath, my chest aching. My whole body hurt and I moved to the nearest Maze wall. I needed to rest. Just for a minute. I glanced at the sky again, willing morning to come faster. I needed to keep moving. My machete felt grafted to my hand at this point, my arm shaking from exhaustion. I wasn't sure how much more I could take.

Keep going, Agent 13. You know what hangs in the balance.

I gritted my teeth. "As if you don't remind me enough."

The was a clicking sound at the end of the Maze corridor and I fell still.

Just a little while longer.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Minho was standing in front of the door before they even opened. The East Doors to be exact. He didn't know why or what it was but this was where he felt pulled to go. Like he could sense her.

With a grating noise, the doors began to pull back, inch by inch, revealing the shadowy Maze passage.

And Nicci who stood inside.

Minho didn't think, he just moved, sprinting inside, ignoring the yells of the Gladers behind him. He ran to her, as she leaned against the wall, one hand clutched to her shoulder, the other gripping a wicked looking knife.

She looked at him as he approached. "Here," he said gently wrapping an arm around her shoulders. She groaned in pain. "Why are you helping me," she panted. "You hate me."

Minho didn't answer because he wasn't sure himself. "Get a MedJack over here! Now!" The stepped out of the Maze corridor. No one moved. "Are you all shucking deaf? Go get Clint or someone!" He carefully helped her to the ground as her legs buckled.

She coughed, her entire body shaking. Her shirt was soaked with blood, stemming from her shoulder. It hung at an awkward angle. He looked up again and saw Alby approaching. "How the hell is she alive?" He demanded.

"I don't know but get the Med-Jacks now!"

Alby hesitated before sending someone to find Clint. Minho took the knife from Nicci, unprying her fingers from it. Her eyes were closed, chest heaving. Finally Clint appeared and surveyed the situation. "We need to get her to the Homestead so I can appropriately look at her shoulder. Can she walk?"

Minho didn't answer, instead he gentle gathered her in his arms and stood, carrying her to the Homestead. They entered the Med-Jack's room and he laid her on the bed. Clint rolled up his sleeves. "George, hand me the scissors. We need to cut away her shirt. Everyone out, I need to concentrate."

Alby looked at Minho. "Stay. In case anything happens when she wakes up." Minho nodded and looked back at Nicci. Her skin was pale.

Clint carefully cut away the shirt from her shoulder, tugging at some of the fabric as it stuck to her skin. Minho stomach clenched and he looked away as her shoulder was revealed. A mess of bloody muscle and tendons were visible.

"Holy shuck," George muttered. Clint paused and then shook his head. "I have no idea how she was still conscious. Get me some antiseptic."

"She's awake, look." George pointed and Minho glanced at Nicci. Her eyes flutterd open for a second, gaze latching on him.

"Minho..." She whispered.
Then she passed out.