"You know," Thomas starts, putting the flowers down on the sand as he rolls his sleeves up. "How you yelled at me, back in the Glade, because I wasn't helping out?"
A breeze ruffles his hair, longer than it was a year ago, and the tang of salt doesn't register anymore. "I know, I know. You technically didn't yell. To be fair, I was new, and it's not like I had someone showing me the ropes."
He kneels on the ground, in front of where the tombstone stood. This wasn't the boulder that Vince had set up in the beginning of Safe Haven's existence--this was smaller, flatter, bordering on where the sand meets the dirt. "Now, I feel like all I'm doing with these kids is showing the ropes."
Busying himself with rearranging the flowers, he rubs his thumb on a golden petal idly. "They're doing fine. Between me and the others, things are getting done. Maybe not as efficiently if you were here, but we're trying." He pauses. "I'm trying."
Thomas' voice doesn't shake, not anymore. How can it? It's just him and Newt. His voice never shakes with Newt.
Waves crash somewhere behind him. A bird chirps, its tune lively and bright. The world continues to spin, and it's a long moment before he speaks again.
"I'm throwing myself into work, Newt." His gaze tilts skywards. "I'm working, aren't I? I build homes, I teach, I train the others. There's food, so much of it, enough for years and for anyone who wants to start a family. Last night, I woke up because people were laughing so loud near my bed--laughing. I couldn't even get mad."
Careful not to mess up the floral arrangement, Thomas leans forward slowly until his forehead is pressed right up against the slab, stone cool to the touch. "How busy?" he wonders. "How busy do I need to be until this gets better? How much more do I need to do before it starts to get better? How much more do I need to give?"
When he doesn't get an answer, Thomas lets his eyes slip close. "I'm busy, Newt. I'm busy, and I'm trying, and I'm so fucking sad."
Eventually, Thomas raises his head. He presses his lips to the top of the tombstone, smiling wryly to himself. "At least I can actually reach the top of your head like this, right?"
He gets on his feet, brushing the sand off of his pants, feeling the sun beat relentlessly down on his skin. "Tomorrow, then. Maybe it'll get better tomorrow."
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