The Running Games

3.

A/N: hello friends

The only thing that Thomas could think of as he walked back to his own home was the smell of blood. It was on his breath.

What does he do? Drink it? He could imagine him sipping it from a teacup. Dipping a cookie into the stuff and pulling it out dripping red.

When he walked through his front door, the room started to spin in slow, lopsided circles, and he wondered if he might black out. He leaned forward and clutched the banister of the stairs. His other hand still clutched that cheese Danish, it was reduced to a cold mush in his hand, he didn't even know that he was crushing it but he supposed he had to hold something while his world veered out of control.

A visit from President Janson. Districts on the verge of uprisings. His visit with Newt seemed to be something that happened a million years ago, almost forgotten now. Because now that he was alone, both physically and metaphorically. There was a direct threat to Teresa, with others to follow. Everyone he loved was doomed. Who else would pay for his actions? Unless he could turn things around on this tour, show the world how he really felt towards Newt. He had to quiet the disconnect and put the president's mind at rest. And how? By proving to the country beyond any shadow of a doubt that he was in love with Newt Mellark.

I can't do it. He thought. I'm not that good. Newt was the good one, the likeable one. He could make people believe anything. Thomas was the one who would shut up and sit in the back and let Newt do as much of the talking as possible. But it wasn't Newt who had to prove his devotion, it was him.

He could hear his mother's light, quick tread in the hall. She couldn't know, not about any of this. He slid his hand behind his back to hide the mess of a Danish that he had and straightened himself.

"Is everything alright, Thomas?" she asked.

"It's fine. We never see it on television, but the president always visits the victors before the tour to wish them good luck." Thomas said brightly. If he wasn't a good liar before, he was now. His mother's face flooded with relief.

"Oh, I thought there was some kind of trouble."

"No, not at all." Thomas said. "The trouble will start when my prep team sees how I've let my hair grow out like this." His mother laughed, and he thought about how there was no going back  after he took over taking care of his family when he was eleven. He would always have to protect her.

"Why don't I start you a bath." she asked.

"Great." Thomas replied, and he could see how pleased she was by his response.

Since he'd been home he'd been trying hard to mend his relationship with his mother. He would ask her to do things for him instead of brushing aside any effort of help, as he had done for years out of anger. He let her handle the money that he had won. Returned her hugs instead of tolerating them. His time in the arena made him realize how he needed to stop punishing her for something that she couldn't help, specifically the crushing depression she had fallen into after his father's death. Because he realized things happen to people and they're not equip to deal with them.

Like him for instance. Right now.

Besides, there was one wonderful thing that she had done when he had arrived back in the district. After their family and friend had greet himself and Newt at the train station, there were a few questions allowed from the reporters. Someone had asked his mother what she thought of his new boyfriend, and she replied that, while Newt was the very model of what a young man should be, he wasn't old enough to have any boyfriend at all. She had followed this with a very pointed look at Newt. There had been a lot of laughter and comments like, "Someone's in trouble" from the press, and Newt had dropped his hand and sidestepped away from him. That didn't last long-there was too much pressure to act otherwise- but it gave them an excuse to be a little more reserved than they had been in the Capitol. And maybe it would account for how little he had been seen in Newt's company since the camera's left.