Chapter Thirty-Five

It felt like hours.

They'd long since stopped any attempts at conversation and simply stood in the water like statues, watching nothing. The Arena was at its darkest and the air was chilling. The water had, by some miracle, kept to pattern and sat a handful of degrees warmer than the air.

Considering how icy the air was that wasn't really saying much. It was probably only just keeping their bodies above freezing.

Thomas had convinced himself that he could feel the blood in his veins growing thicker, sluggish. He couldn't feel anything below the waterline where it severed his waist, but that might have been because he hadn't moved in, well…

It felt like hours.

Newt wasn't holding himself up at all any more, the entirety of his weight - what little it was - resting on Thomas. He was breathing shallowly against Thomas's neck and Thomas was hopeful that he was more asleep than unconscious. He made very little noise now, even his voice seemed tired as his energy had trickled away.

It was highly likely the pressure of the water was the only reason Thomas hadn't given out. His eyes were heavy and he'd been dozing on and off where he stood. Aris had stuck close as the night had taken proper hold, starting off at Newt's other side and doing his best to help Thomas prop him up.

Eventually he had moved around to Thomas's open side and now leaned against him, his eyes closed as he succumbed to the cold and the exhaustion of their day, Thomas's arm resting on his shoulders. Minho had moved closer too but still stood apart, showing no signs of tiring as he kept his eyes on the darkness. Thomas couldn't help but look between Newt and Aris, feeling anxious at the sheer amount of vulnerability between them.

It wasn't that he'd prefer they were more like Minho. That wasn't true. In fact as much as he admired Minho's stoic and unreadable nature it worried him too. Wasn't he afraid? Didn't he fear anything the Arena held for them?

And yet he was so unfazed by everything that Thomas found himself hoping he'd stick around again. It made Thomas feel a little lighter knowing he wasn't the sole decision-maker. Especially considering how badly his brain functioned when it came to Newt and the possibility of the blonde getting hurt.

Boom.

He jerked violently, falling under the weight of his district-mate and the locked muscles in his legs. He fell back into the water, taking Newt and Aris with him.

The splash was jarring after so much quiet and he choked out a mouthful of the odd-tasting water before managing to get his feet back under him. Aris had loosed a squeak before plummeting under the water. Minho dragged Newt up to let Thomas stand, and he looked between them all with a faint smirk toying with the corner of his mouth.

Thomas looked at Aris as they shook themselves off. The boy was drenched, not an inch of him dry after his tumble. Thomas hadn't fared much better, only a portion of his hair left dry. He wobbled to his feet as he tried to shake the muscles out and take Newt back. The blonde was mumbling and trying to open his eyes as though waking from a deep sleep.

The sky flickered to life and Thomas raised his head for the ritual.

Tech Sciences skipped, Aris still alive.

Luxury lost a female tribute called Lana. Her face crackled in that flag-waving manner, pale and surrounded by limp blonde curls.

Power lost their last remaining tribute, signalling they were out of the race to Victory.

The music played and Thomas was stunned. Nineteen tributes left and not one but four Gladers still in play! He found himself cheered despite everything.

All four Gladers still in play. He didn't think it had ever happened before. He pressed a kiss to Newt's cheek.

"Adam."

He looked over at Minho when the boy spoke, shooting him a curious glance. Minho shrugged like it hadn't been anything important.

"I almost remembered it. Thought it was Adrien or something. Adam."

Thomas frowned, feeling uneasy at the mention of the dead tribute from the Power district. Minho's interest signalled it was probably his kill. He looked like he could just brush it off, so unruffled that it made Thomas nervous to think about it.

He made a desperate bid to change the subject as Minho's eyes met his own.

"Think it's safe to get out of the water yet? We're going to be useless tomorrow if we don't get some sort of sleep."

What he really meant was that he needed to lie Newt down, get his sting cleaned and bandaged. Could he risk a trip into the supply-strewn centre to search for medical supplies? He eyed a subdued Aris and stony-faced Minho.

More to the point, could he really leave Newt behind while he did so?

"They seem to have gone back to whatever holes they dragged their crank asses out of."

Thomas flinched at the thought of them, his arm pulling Newt closer without thought. Minho looked at Newt for the first time in hours, and Thomas wondered whether he was imagining the flicker behind the unreadable dark eyes.

What was Minho thinking? Was it concern or something else? Would he be the one to suggest the unthinkable? Thomas felt weak at the thought. Minho jerked his chin in the unconscious blonde's direction.

"He's just going to get worse."

And there it was.

Thomas swallowed the dread in his throat. To hear it aloud was somehow worse than the clawing desperation triggered by the thought. He looked down at Newt's face. He could feel the fever, Newt had grown steadily warmer as they had stood there, despite the cold water and freezing air.

"I know." Thomas said softly, reaching to brush the matted blonde curl from his forehead.

Newt mewed quietly under his touch, and it nipped at his heart like an over-eager puppy, sharp and unexpected.

"He's going to scream. A lot."

Thomas closed his eyes, feeling Minho's words closing his throat, stinging his eyes.

"I know."

"It's going to bring them running. It puts us all in danger."

His breath caught, and the guilt began to well. He opened his eyes, looking at Minho's indecipherable expression, his crossed arms. He looked down at Aris, saw the fear in the boy's huge green eyes.

He didn't want to put them in danger. It was almost a laughable thought when you took into consideration that that was the sole reason he'd been sent up. To kill or be killed. To win. And yet there it was between them. He didn't want to put them in harm's way. He swallowed, looking down at Newt's face again and feeling his heart lurching painfully at the pain written there. His chin was hot against Thomas's neck.

Ella.

Ella had been brave enough. She'd been strong enough to risk her life to show mercy. She'd ended it for him.

Thomas's heart was suddenly racing, his blood no longer feeling sluggish as it catapulted through his veins at a sudden speed that made him light-headed.

Newt.

Newt was in pain.

He was in pain already and it was only going to get worse. It was going to burn its way through him. It was going to eat him up from the inside and when it was finished torturing him it was going to take away who he was.

It was going to take away what made Newt… Well, what made him Newt.

The wicked blue venom in his bloodstream was going to cause him unbearable pain. He was going to suffer, really suffer, and Thomas was going to have to watch.

He was going to have to watch it happen, all the while knowing that at any second he could stop it for him. He could spare Newt from having to go through that.

He looked down at him, the air feeling full of anticipation, of the icy dread at what was to come and he looked at him and knew.

"I can't put you both in danger." he croaked out, his heart trying to beat its way out of his chest and his eyes tracing every curve of Newt's face as he committed it all to memory like he had so many times before. "It wouldn't be right. He wouldn't- Newt wouldn't want you to get hurt because of him." he whispered.