Good Grief (TMR fic)

Chapter 20

The next day is with the Sloppers. Thomas is distant, and I give up on talking with him pretty early on. It doesn't matter much, though – Chuck is talking more than enough for all three of us.

"My first few weeks here I was a mess, but it's nice to have a job, you know? Newt always says that working keeps us from thinking too hard and makes it easier to live here. Man, I wonder how many kids out in the real world like working this much."

I try to catch Thomas's eye to make a face at how much Chuck is rambling, but he's ignoring me.

While there are occasionally useful bits of information in Chuck's stories, I start tuning him out. Why is Thomas acting so off? Was it something I did?

By the time we're eating lunch, he's still not talking to me, and I'm thoroughly annoyed with him. If I made a mistake, he should tell me what I did. If I didn't do anything, why won't he talk to me?

"Someone's temper is high," Newt says, sitting next to me. Thomas is with Chuck at a full table nearby, and the fact that I was the one who got excluded makes me more furious.

"He's not talking to me and won't tell me why," I growl, biting into my sandwich angrily and instantly yelping as I accidently bite the tip of my tongue as well.

Newt manages to not laugh at me. I'm not sure I could hold back from beating him up if he did. Instead I just glare at the smile he's clearly trying to hold back.

"Come on."

He stands up, grabbing his plate with one hand and holding the other out to me.

I ignore his hand, and stare at him questioningly.

He just smiles, and nods towards the Homestead. "Come on."

Then he walks off, and I grab my plate, irritated, to follow him.

"What do you want?" I grumble as I follow him into Frypan's kitchen. Thankfully the cook isn't there to scold us for entering his domain.

"I want to show you something, and I figured getting you away from Thomas would help calm you down. It was Thomas you were mad at, right? I assumed it wouldn't be Chuckie."

"Yes, it was Thomas, and I'm still mad."

Newt just hums in response, taking a pot down from where it's hanging along the wall. Then he pulls himself up onto the counter and I curiously go sit beside him, my legs dangling over the wooden kitchen floor.

"It's not a mirror, and it's not much good, but see?"

He holds up the side of the pot, and I can see myself for the first time.

Without thinking, I reach up to touch the reflection of my face. My mouth is slightly open with surprise, and I close it awkwardly. The shape skews our reflections slightly, but I can tell that I have brown eyes and hair like Thomas said. The bruises from Gally's beating on my first day have almost completely faded, but I can see shadows of them.

"Does it really look like me?" I ask, turning to Newt. It was easy for me to compare his reflection to him and see the accuracies, but I can't quite believe that the person I see beside him is me.

He tilts his head, considering. "Mostly. It doesn't do your hair justice, though, or your expressions."

I tilt my head to match him. "In what ways?"

"Well... your hair is brown, but it's scattered with red. It glows in the sunlight. I've never seen anything like it. When you have it pulled back it looks so calm, but when it's down it's wild and wavy and... untamable, I guess. Your expressions are so strong... I feel like you are always watching, trying to make sure you can survive, double checking that you haven't miscalculated anything... but then you laugh and everything changes. I can't be mad at you when you laugh. When you smile your nose crinkles and I would do anything so that you can keep smiling forever like that."