MEMORY ? newtmas au

03 | progressing dementia

"Newt, you're being childish. Stop repeating everything I say."

He wants to recite his latest statement, but he's talking too fast. Not that he's entirely sure why he feels like doing this.

"Anyway," Minho continues, "you haven't called me for several months now. I was getting worried."

"Oh."

There is a brief pause. "Is that all you have to tell me?"

"Mmm."

"Newt," he says, and his voice is lower, more gentle. "Is something wrong?"

Newt takes a moment to think about it. "Send me Doctor Who. Thomas hid the discs."

He can see the other man pursing his lips as Minho responds. "That's it?"

"Yes."

"That's... extremely strange."

"Oh."

"Newt, talk to me."

"No." He hangs up.

When the phone rings again immediately afterward, he refuses to allow Thomas to answer.

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"Thomas, I'm sorry. Let's go on a walk."

The other man looks up, confused. "What are you sorry about?"

"Not wanting to walk. But I want to walk now."

"Er... okay," he says, grabbing his coat. "It's a bit cold out, though; do you mind?"

Newt shrugs.

"Let me get a scarf for you, then," the other man continues, dashing off and returning with one. As he loops it around Newt's neck, he gets the sudden feeling that maybe Thomas is trying to kill him.

So he slaps him right on the cheek. "You ass," he snarls. "You want me to die, don't you?"

Thomas steps back, looking wounded. "What-"

"Shut the hell up, Tommy. You should have just let me die when I jumped off that wall. Maybe then I wouldn't have to deal with this bullshit now."

He turns to leave, but the other man grabs his arm. "Please, Newt, this isn't you."

"Oh? And how would you know that?" He yanks his arm away. "Leave me alone." And he storms into the bedroom and locks the door behind him.

When he comes out again an hour later, he sees Thomas sitting at the table with his head in his hands, shoulders heaving.

Newt kisses his hair. "What's wrong?"

He doesn't answer immediately. "Nothing," he whispers finally. "I'm a little tired, is all."

"You should sleep," he replies, wrapping one arm around him.

But Thomas just takes his hand and begins to weep.

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There is an old man reading a book in the kitchen. He has puffy brown hair and slightly wrinkled features that are--were--familiar.

Newt stares at him, intrigued. He looks extremely familiar. Well, of course he does, if this is who he thinks it is.

"Hey, Newt," the man says, glancing up and giving him a tentative smile.

"Mr. Thomas," he greets, nodding his head.

There is a moment of hesitation before he replies. "You're... certainly formal today."