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silvertonedwords · 9 months

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Together, Chapter 4: Sunday

It's heeeeeeeere. Seriously though, this is long. Comment if you can. It's like being taken out for dinner after a difficult exam. My favorite thing to know is which gesture or moment or line of dialogue touched you the most.

Dear Tina,

As I start to write this letter, it is Monday evening. It was grey and damp in London today, as it often is this time of year. Teddy becomes unaccountably cross in this sort of weather. Years ago, I attempted to convince him to move back to the wild. He always came clamoring back and chattered as if to scold me, and I had to accept that we are companions for good now. It worried me at first for his sake, you understand, although he seems to lead a happy existence. Not that you would know it from how he’s looking at me right now. I’ve dropped a sketch into the back of this letter. I hope it does his peevish expression justice, and that you can imagine him sitting, as he is now, on the corner of my desk while I write to you.

Theseus stopped by this evening for his usual visit. He drank three cups of tea, and even came down into the menagerie for a few minutes without grousing about whether I have the proper permits for the building and expansion charms. (Is this something we’ll need to discuss with regards to my case when I next come to New York? Are there such rules in America? I imagine it would be frowned upon for you to have a guest who might be in violation of those rules? You know I don’t set much store by these things in general, but I will do whatever you think is reasonable, or at the very least, learn which creatures in particular to keep quiet for a few days. I’ve been involved in quite enough risks to your career as it is.)

Theseus seemed alright today. That time I wrote you of a few weeks ago was the last when he arrived at my flat too inebriated to have a sensible conversation. He speaks of Leta more often than he used to. He also seems to enjoy when I tell stories about her from school, many of which he hasn’t heard before. You’ve mentioned that you enjoy when your colleagues who knew your father speak of him. I think perhaps Theseus feels the same. It makes them closer for a moment, doesn’t it, to know that they were real for other people, too?

Theseus mentioned to me, as you have, that you saw each other last week. I suppose I should’ve thought that you would both attend that conference in New York—you had mentioned that it was an international affair—but somehow I hadn’t. He brought you up first thing. He said that you had the chance to speak several times. Not that his opinion need carry much weight, but he said that he liked you very much, and that you are “both clever and reasonable, a rare combination in an auror”, which I would’ve thought was obvious. You described speaking about your encounter at the French Ministry, but I must say that he did not bring up that part of your conversation with me. He was gracious about it, you say. Perhaps I sell him short.

I do believe that will remain my favorite spell that you have ever cast, although I am open to something else taking its place. I remember your face as you cast it—so determined, so calm, and so delighted after.

Auror affairs aside, Theseus seems to think it his duty to investigate everyone with whom I spend any time. I have always found it tiresome. He has always been that way, as an elder brother, you know. He seems to think that it is his job both to warn me how the world will be, and to protect me from it. Perhaps this is something you understand more than I. I am hardly similar to Queenie, of course, and Theseus did not have to become a father or mother to me, but he is so much older, and our parents were so often busy with other concerns, that he took on something of that role. Perhaps elder siblings are often like this.

I remember one incident very clearly. I must’ve been about ten years old, so Theseus would’ve been eighteen or so, having just left school and started auror training. He took me aside one day to assure himself, in quite a serious manner, that I would of course be giving up “all of that creature nonsense” when I went to school. I now believe that he was worried that he wouldn’t be there to keep an eye on me, and that I would be lonely. He had seen, I think, that I did sometimes wish for friends, even though I rarely seemed to be able to make them. As a model student, he probably also found the prospect of my being around his former teachers and fellow students rather daunting. I say I believe this now. At the time, I was so enraged that I refused to speak to him for several weeks.

You and I are similar, I believe, in that we will not change ourselves simply to please someone else. I was like that from a very young age. I imagine you were too. I imagine you sometimes, all of eight or nine, telling older children off for being cruel.

I do not mean to suggest, by the way, that you have ever done anything like this story I told to your sister. You and Theseus are similar in some ways—you both carry heavy responsibilities, and you are both stubborn—but you are more flexible, more creative, and more curious than he is.

My mother apparently asked Theseus who I’ve been writing. She’s noticed me with your letters, you see, and told Theseus that I “looked far too enchanted for them to be letters of business”. I think I must look pleased when I receive letters from any of the few people to whom I write with any regularity—Lally, for instance, and Jacob—but she is perhaps right that it is not quite in the same way. Theseus told her some part of the story of how we met—he does not know it all—and I must say that she is rather taken with you. I had mentioned you before, but it seems she had never been certain of our still writing to each other.

I turned around in the menagerie last night to say something to you, before I recalled that you were, of course, an ocean away. Sometimes, when I’m carrying out the more mindless chores, I compose my letters to you in my mind. Not word for word, exactly, but I store up the things I’ve meant to tell you, and the questions I want to ask. I like how it almost makes you my companion in the work. I can almost see you curled up in a camp chair with a book or a report for work, reading away and keeping me company. I have just the chair—it’s very comfortable, and right now it’s set up next to the shed because it’s one of Dougal’s favorites.

You mentioned before that your apartment feels lonely, and I said that I am glad for the creatures, as my home never feels empty. I don’t know if that was right. It’s different when there’s a particular gap, a place that isn’t filled, isn’t it? Like your sister.

In reading over these last lines, I wonder if you will see disappointment—ridicule even—that you have not planned a visit, as I have offered. I don’t mean to suggest so. I only wish to be honest with you. I think perhaps, in our letters before Paris, I did not say enough.

All this to say, if you see an article proclaiming whatever exploits the papers have invented for the imagined figure of Newton Scamander, best-selling author, this week, I do hope you will ignore them entirely. Unless they say that he checks his mail every morning for letters from a certain American auror, devours them in minutes, and then reads them through carefully at least twice more, they are mistaken.

I must go for now. I can hear the young nifflers growing restless, and I cannot risk leaving them for too long. If you see Theseus again, promise me that you will not let him take himself too seriously. It is good for him.

You didn’t say last time how your research into Grindelwald’s associates is progressing. I would like to hear. And someday, you must tell me how you and Lally became friends.

Write me something, even if short, by Friday, if you can? I have a signing event on Saturday, and it will be much more tolerable if I have a letter to look forward to when I get home.

Be safe, and look after yourself.

Yours,

Newt

-&-

Newt drifts awake slowly. He laughs softly when he opens his eyes. Tina still sleeps facing him, with her dark hair fanned across the pillow, and her hand curled up beside her face. His smile is one of fondness, and of such relief. How often, these past months, has he wished that they were beside each other?

He reaches out and carefully brushes her hair from her forehead. It has grown so much longer than it was when they were last together.

She’d been different then—his one day in New York a few months ago—jumping at the slightest touch, and looking away whenever he accidentally caught her eyes on him. It hadn’t felt like rejection, hadn’t stung him at all in that way, but it had made him ache to be of more comfort. Sometimes, especially when she’d written about Queenie, her mood in her letters had felt dark. While reading them, he’d often wanted to board a ship back to New York. He’d ached to at least write more plainly, I love you. But he’d known from the tender but sometimes cautious tone of her letters, from her trembling smile and tearful eyes and tight grasp on his hand as they said goodbye, that she wasn’t ready to hear it.

Last night, he’d woken at a similar time with the cool almost-panic that he might’ve imagined everything. To have gone through such a day as that with her, and then to have fallen asleep alone in the same cot as always…

Tonight, he wakes only with relief that they are together.

Full of seeming contradictions as she is—gentle and stubborn, cautious and bold, strong and tender, perhaps it should not surprise him that this week has been the same. She wasn’t ready, until, one day, she was.

He closes his eyes to think back over the past few days. Yesterday morning, when he’d walked into her room, and she’d held him until he calmed. Her boldness as she’d led him away from the party. That cautiously hopeful look in her eyes after she’d first closed the apartment door, as though he could possibly want anything more than to kiss her back. Her fingers in his hair. Asking him to hold her and melting into him. The way she looks at him, always, Merlin—it’s familiar of course, the tenderness and laughter and slight hint of a challenge in her eyes—but there are also parts that he hadn’t known she’d been holding back. A sort of lightness. She looks almost giddy when she looks at him, and it makes him giddy, too.

She’s remarkable. He’s often thought apathy to be the worst of human traits—towards each other, towards creatures. Tina is a wonder to watch because she cares so deeply. And he is, somehow, one of the things she cares about.

She begins to stir. He opens his eyes to see hers.

She smiles, and his lips tug into a smile as well, before he has even noticed. “Hi,” she says.

She skims a few fingers along his jaw. “Hello.”

She sighs, closes her eyes, turns a little bit closer. Her knees bump into his thighs.

He wants…he wants…

He shifts closer, closer, until he can slide one arm beneath her ribs, the other around her waist, and push his face into her neck. Her breath stumbles for a moment, but then her arms come up around his neck and she weaves her fingers into his hair.

She strokes his hair slowly, from his temples around and down to the base of his skull. Pleasant shivers chase each other down his spine. “Are you alright?” she asks.

“Mm.” He draws his hand down to the center of her back. “I am,” he murmurs, relaxing against her. He feels her lips at his temple. “’s a lot. And good. Feels…”

“Yeah.”

So good. He lets out a shuddering breath. His voice grows quiet, pleading. “Don’t stop?”

“I won’t.” Her hand is still tangled in his hair, stroking slowly. She draws it down his neck, his shoulder. Her movements are slow and easy. She finds a gentle pattern: her hand combing thought his hair, then skating down his neck, across his shoulder. He whimpers and burrows closer, his hands settled on her back, feeling the warmth of her skin through her cotton pajamas.

Somewhere, someone must’ve come up with a word for this feeling, though nothing adequate comes to mind. To want and be wanted. To value and be valued. To love and be loved in return, and to feel it. He is in a state of restfulness just shy of sleep, where everything is calm and yet somehow acute.

He hears her sniff once—tears? He fumbles blindly for her hand. “I’m fine,” she murmurs, tucking her chin over his head.

He hums questioningly.

“You’re so relaxed.”

He tries to follow what she means through his sleepy haze. “Should I not be?”

“No. I mean yes I just…” He hopes these are the not-bad sort of tears, like the kind during the wedding when Queenie and Jacob stomped on a glass and he caught her eye. “Nobody wants me around this much.”

“Rubbish,” he says, his voice muffled by her skin.

She laughs and sounds a little tearful. Her hand moves through his hair now, from his temple back to the base of his skull. Merlin, it feels nice.

“You’re remarkable.”

“So are you,” she returns. She continues to card her fingers through the back of his hair. Her breathing calms, and whatever it is, it does not seem urgent or painful, for she is also deeply relaxed against him. “Sleep,” she whispers.

He hums again, this time in assent, and she laughs softly, her voice warm against his ear. Within a few moments, he has drifted back to sleep.

-&-

When Tina wakes, Newt sits at a small table just past the foot of the bed, writing a letter. He must’ve been quiet when he got up, for she is a light sleeper by force of professional habit. She had not considered that they might be well-matched in this way. Of course, working with creatures, he must be skilled at moving quietly.

She observes him for a moment. His messier-than usual hair, and the way the light bounces off of it. The soft smile pulling at his lips. The cotton shirt and trousers he sleeps in. His fingers spread across the surface of the page. His sun-warmed and faintly scarred chest just visible through the deep v of his shirt, and his muscular forearms where he has rolled up his shirtsleeves. He is beautiful. She knows what his skin feels like, now, but still she wants to touch.

“Morning,” she says.

He looks up. She thinks she will never tire of his expression when he sees her: the wonder and tenderness that soften his eyes. “Good morning,” he says.

Tina sits up in bed, bending her knees, the blankets pooling at her feet. She wraps an arm around her legs. “You’re awake early.”

“Time change, I’m afraid. Besides, once I woke I--” he looks down, smiling, “Now that I’ve gotten a bit of rest, I’m too exhilarated to sleep.”

She understands that all too well. Now that he’s here, she’s been sleeping soundly, but last week, she’d sometimes tossed and turned for an hour or more, thinking about what the next few days might bring.

She’d thought all these changes might feel unsteady for a while. That it would feel strange to enter into parts of each others’ lives that they hadn’t known before; sharing meals, early mornings, late nights. Sharing a bed. But for her at least, this kind of intimacy feels oddly natural. “This doesn’t feel strange,” she says, looking down and stretching her feet against the soft, worn linens. “Is that strange?”

He looks at her again, and this time, his gaze lingers. “No. It’s not.” He begins to smile. “At least, since I haven’t startled you like yesterday.”

Tina bites her lip against a grin. “I raised my wand at you, didn’t I?”

“Instantly. Very good reflexes. Slightly startling.”

She shakes her head, delighted, as she will almost always admit, by his teasing.

He leaves the letter and makes his way to the bed, sinking onto the mattress beside her.

She slides her hand onto his wrist and up his forearm. Her fingers pass over a few thin scars.

”I should’ve expected you to be awake by the time I reached your room. The aurors I knew during the war were light sleepers. So’s Theseus. I thought you would be.”

She melts a little at the thought of Newt trying to place such knowledge of her. “I am,” she agrees. “You’re not, are you?”

He shakes his head. “No. Except when something’s wrong with one of the creatures. Then I seem to wake easily.”

She smiles. “Like a parent.”

“I suppose so,” he agrees. He fingers the collar of her pajama shirt.

“What?” she asks.

“Looking, so I remember. You weren’t in bed anymore when I woke yesterday.”

She looks down with an almost shy smile, warmed by his attention.

They both watch as he takes her hand and brings it to his lap. “Tina, may I ask you something?”

“Mm?”

“What upset you last night?”

“Last night?” He draws circles into the back of her hand with his thumb.

“When we woke, I mean. You seemed—you were crying.”

“Oh.” He doesn’t look worried or judgmental; just curious.

She searches for the right words to explain what it feels like that he actually wants to be around her—and not only through touch, for that is but one sometimes-manifestation of it—but around her as a being.

Perhaps it shouldn’t take her breath away. He actually wants what she has to give. He looks at her—at things that other people have told her are too much, that she should dampen; her intensity and determination, stubbornness and curiosity, her love for him—and he enjoys them. He seeks her out. He wants more. She’s known that for many months, but to experience it in so many new ways feels both wonderful and unfamiliar.

She imagines he must know the feeling, at least a little, although perhaps he’s better than she is at ignoring what blinkered people think. She’s heard the snide comments that get made about him. She’s even heard some misplaced ones by people, like Theseus, who care about him. Mostly, she wants to turn around and snap at those people that whatever they’re describing is exactly what makes him extraordinary. What do they mean to say? That he’s too kind, too dedicated to his work, too uninterested in the opinions of those who have no imagination, too committed to bringing about change even when it is hard? The more she knows him, the more of himself he shares, the more drawn to him she feels, and it’s just a wonder, sometimes, to notice him feeling the same about her.

“I wasn’t upset, I was—“ he squeezes her hand, and her lips turn up briefly in gratitude. She looks at him. “You were so content. With me. Because of me?”

“Yes.” He looks slightly bewildered.

She laughs at her own muddled words. “I felt…”

“…loved?” he offers at last.

She nods toward their joined hands.

Carefully, he tucks her hair behind her ear. His fingertips graze her shoulder as he combs his fingers through the strands. He presses his thumb along her hairline, and her eyes slip shut.

A deep rumble makes them both turn to the shed door. “That’ll be Dorian. Bark much worse than his bite. Probably wants his breakfast.”

“I should go get changed and things.”

“And work down here?” he asks hopefully.

She laughs. “Sure.”

Newt stands and heads out the door.

Tina lingers, looking around the shed. Her surroundings are not quite familiar yet, but she knows that they will be.

Will she wake here, many years from now, and remember this morning, this Tina? By then, one of her favorite pens and a few letters that she needs to answer will rest on that table. She’ll leave a pair of boots in the case, and when they aren’t traveling, they will have a shared home outside of it, with a kitchen table where they talk over tea, and a shared bed, and—. Their little habits will be familiar and largely unspoken. She’s in no rush to get through these wonderful days, but what a pleasant future to dream.

She has just stood when Newt re-enters the shed, walks over to her, and drops a gentle kiss to her cheek. She feels his hand skim over her hair. “Forgot to do that,” he says.

She giggles, and almost doesn’t recognize her own carefree delight. Newt grabs the shawl she’d worn down to the case last night. He drapes it across her shoulders, adjusting its weight until she takes over, her hands brushing his. His earnestness makes her stomach jolt pleasantly, but it also chokes her throat with something else. “I won’t be long,” she whispers.

He nods, then backs away as quickly as he’d come.

Her cheeks hurt from smiling, and stay that way as she climbs the ladder into her apartment.

-&-

Tina takes a sip of her coffee and folds one leg beneath her on Newt’s camp chair, attempting to gather the patience to read the next case report before her. It is the last of the week by Auror Preston, and is almost certain to be dense and difficult to follow. Its heft, at least, attests to the fact that it will be longer than it has any need to be.

Newt had offered her his desk, but when she’s catching up on case reports over the weekend, she prefers something more casual. Besides, this seat makes it much easier to glance up and watch Newt as he works. She has not accomplished as much work this morning as she usually might, and she does not care.

Newt’s been in this section of the case for the past quarter of an hour building a new splint for Harriet’s growing wing. He has glanced at her every so often, as she has glanced at him. Sometimes, their eyes meet, and a thrill goes through her at the intimacy of it. Their own little world in the case, and all the things they’ve finally managed to say.

At one point, she catches him smiling at her.

“What?” she asks.

“I wrote about this. You sitting there.”

“You did,” she agrees, warmth filling her chest.

She looks to his writing desk beside her, trailing her fingers along its edge. He often wrote to her from this desk. She imagines him sitting here with his tattered newspaper clipping—later her professional portrait from work—his head bent over fresh parchment; his strong, gentle hands grasping a pen.

She can just imagine him looking to Teddy or Pick or Dougal for a moment, speaking to them briefly, and then turning back to the page to add their greetings. She can picture the paper filling up with his handwriting, which, contrary to her first suppositions when they’d met, is neat and graceful and somehow suits him exactly.

Above the desk is a series of shelves where Newt keeps a variety of haphazardly stacked papers. One pile seems to contain letters, while several others consist of field notes and sketches. On a couple of the shelves, she sees her own letters, with their familiar blue seals.

“My favorites are on the left,” Newt says.

Tina spins to his voice.

He continues looping twine around a piece of wood. “You keep your favorite letters on the writing desk in your bedroom.”

Tina blushes faintly to have been found out. “I do,” she admits.

She finds he’s looking at her, and shakes her head at his teasing smile. She looks back to the letters and gestures to the shelf in question. “May I look at them?”

“Yes.”

She stands and retrieves the letters from the left-most shelf, sliding them out with care, then drops back into her chair. She begins to look through them. Even though she wrote every word on these pages, it feels oddly like stepping into Newt’s space.

The topmost letters are recent and familiar. First is her letter written immediately after Queenie’s return: scattered, happy, and grateful; and second, the letter she’d sent right after, when Queenie and Jacob had told her that they were going to marry, and that Newt had promised to attend. She skims her own words with a laugh for her excitement. Newt is still working on the frame, but she can see out of the corner of her eye that he’s glancing up every so often to watch her.

The next letters are older. First, the very first letter she’d ever sent to him, which is familiar because she’d thought so much about what to write. And next, a letter congratulating him on finishing his manuscript. She would blush at her own exuberance, but she meant every word.

Next is her first letter after Paris. Kind, tentative, sad, exhilarated, tender; and, she’d hoped, healing to some of the wounds she’d seen in him on that trip. Looking back, she’d seen more clearly his fumbling confusion and hope and the slightly subdued way he’d looked at her, and she’d realized that in her own pain, she had unknowingly caused his. She touches the page gently, grateful that this is among his favorites. Its creases are worn, and the edges slightly frayed as though it has been carried around and read many times. She likes the thought of her words as a steadying reminder that things between them were well again—indeed, that things between them had never truly been broken.

She, too, has kept several of his first letters after Paris among her favorites, along with his unsent letters from the time when they’d stopped writing.

Tina had arranged a portkey home a few days after Paris. Newt had gone with her to see her off, and as they’d waited, he’d handed her a bundle of letters. At her confused look, he’d explained how he’d kept writing, and how they were rightfully hers of course, and would she like to have them? She remembers gathering them up and trying not to cry, lest he worry he’d done something wrong, when in fact she did not have words for her relief and joy and gratitude.

She’d brought those letters with her to bed many hours later, and had stayed up late reading every one. It had made her feel less alone, even as she shook with everything she’d lost. The thought of Newt continuing to write to her, telling her about his life and his work, wondering how her cases were going, writing cautious questions about why she’d stopped writing. Even when he must’ve been hurting, he’d respected her, valued her, cared for her so much. She’d felt so abandoned after fighting with Queenie and seeing that stupid article. By Queenie and by him. It had been such a comfort to have those letters to remind her that at least one of those things had never been true.

Shaking her head at her wandering thoughts, she carefully folds her letter and slips it back into the pile, taking up the next. It is from about six months ago; an everyday sort of letter with little stories from her day. And then, a long letter in which she remembers writing mostly about her parents. She has a few similar favorites upstairs; the letters about ordinary days that bring life and immediacy to ink and paper, and others with stories about his childhood or family that filled in the foundations of who he is.

There is another letter responding to his request that she comment on a few new passages meant for the second edition of his book. She grins, remembering how pleased she’d been that he wanted her opinion.

And then there is a letter she’d sent just after his visit to New York in July, describing how much she cared for him, and how much she missed him. She touches the words with light fingers.

“Is that from July?” He asks.

She looks up. “It is.”

“When I read that, I wanted to turn around and came back.”

“You didn’t,” she says gently. It’s such a relief to be able to talk about these things together so openly.

He rubs one index finger over a knot he’d just made.“That wasn’t what you needed from me. It was hard, but I knew…I knew that.”

She feels a rush of gratitude, and yet a touch of sadness. He doesn’t blame her for keeping him away, she knows that, but still it was hard for them both.

“It’s the same with creatures, you know. Especially the ones who’ve been hurt, or—what they need most is the space to feel safe again.”

“Yes,” she whispers, blinking back tears. She is…she is so in love with him, his kindness and intelligence and honesty and care.

She’s kept so much bottled up lately, letting things out in her letters to Newt, or in quiet moments alone or with her few true friends, and then carefully putting everything away again so that she could face the next day. It feels good to feel.

“Newt, could I…could I come hug you please?”

She looks up to find him nodding towards his work table. She sets aside the letters and walks to him. At first, she loops her arms around his neck and leans close and it is a gentle, soft hug. Then, he wraps his arms tightly around her waist and shoves his face into her shoulder, his hands pressing into her sides. She melts against him and holds him tighter. Perhaps he’s needed this too—perhaps he’s also been hiding things away. Knowing how hard this year has been on her, and on him as well, it couldn’t have been easy for him to be so far away. She’s begun to suspect that one of the ways that Newt looks after people is to be completely fine, even to himself, until it turns out that he is not. She rakes her hand through his hair—he likes that, she can tell from the way his shoulders relax—and feels as much as hears him let out a heavy breath. At last, he pulls back enough to look at her, and smoothes her hair back behind her shoulder.

She laughs with how light she feels, hiding her face in his neck. He wraps his arms around her, turning them gently from side to side.

“Will you come with me to check on Harriet?” Newt finally asks. “She’s taken a liking to you.”

Tina lifts her head. “Of course I will.”

He smiles.

“What?” She asks with a smile in her voice.

“Do you remember what we were like on my first visit, when we drank tea here?”

She chuckles warmly, resettling his shirt collar. “I, for one, was entirely innocent of staring at you whenever you turned your back.” She’d meant to sound teasing, but her voice is thick with emotion, remembering how those first days had been, feeling him see her and value her and watching him experience the same from her.

“Completely,” he agrees. He watches his thumb trace the line of her neck, as she presses gently into the touch.

And then, almost to herself, she adds. “I would catch you lookin’ at me…and you’re wonderful you know, runnin’ around lookin’ after the creatures. You’d grab my hand to drag me along like it was nothin’ and…”

He kisses her jaw softly. “I hoped that someday we would—perhaps not exactly—well, I didn’t not hope that we would be…here. It’s very, very nice.”

“It is, isn’t it?”

“I’ve been hoping for it for rather a long time.”

“For how long, then, Mr. Scamander?” she asks teasingly.

But his answer is in earnest. “Since about two days after I met you.”

She smiles more tenderly at his words. “Me, too,” she admits, her voice soft and warm.

“How much do you have left to read?”

She looks back. “There are only two more reports that I have to read today. Let’s check on Harriet first, and then I’ll come back and finish. After that we should go for a walk or somethin’. Get out for a bit.”

“Tired of case reports?”

“It’s not the most excitin’ part of my job.”

“Aurors.”

“Hey,” she nudges him.

His eyes are full of laughter. “Come on then.” He tugs her with him toward the forest.

-&-

“The next month or so shouldn’t be too busy, if nothing changes with Grindelwald, of course. January’ll be a headache though.” They’re walking along a heavily wooded path about forty miles outside the city. Both of them bundled up against the cold before they apparated out here. The tree coverage is thinner because of winter, and the exposed branches and bits of ground are blanketed by a light dusting of snow.

“What’s in January?”

“We hire out of the trainee class. I’ve seen it, obviously, but it hasn’t been my problem before. There’s all kinds of politics between the departments. Angry parents or family friends who think someone we passed over last year or the year before should get another chance. People from departments who have nothing to do with investigations always seem to think they know best. And the head auror pretty much gets none of the credit and all of the blame, no matter what happens. It’s a nightmare, honestly.”

“I could come stay with you for a week or two? Keep you company? I’ll promise Queenie not to let you eat hotdogs for every meal.”

Tina stops walking and looks at him. “I’d love that,” she says earnestly. “I’ll be at work most of the time. And I’ll definitely be in a temper.”

“I like your temper. Well, generally. When it’s not because of me. Well, sometimes then, too. As long as you’re not really angry.”

She narrows her eyes, but she is not really cross with him. A moment later, a smile spreads across her face. “Okay.”

She ducks under a tree branch and leads them down the path to their left.

“You’re goin’ to Spain next month aren’t you? For research?”

“Yes, I am,” Newt agrees.

“For how long?”

“For a few weeks, depending on what I find.” He tries not to be nervous as he offers, “I’d like to stop in New York on my way back.”

“It’s not exactly on the way.”

“No,” he admits.

Her smile is exhilarating. “I’d love that.”

He looks down, pleased.

“I do want to come to England, whenever I can get away.”

“That would be wonderful. You’ll like it, I think. You were only there for a few hours, before, and that was…”

“A terrible trip?” After Paris, they’d spent a few stressful hours being questioned by the Ministry, and only a few stolen minutes together over the next two days before her portkey back to America. “Mostly, anyway. I wasn’t angry with you anymore, and that was…”

He reaches for her hand and squeezes it, their leather gloves catching briefly. “Mum might be a bit…much, when you meet her.”

“That’s alright.”

“I’ve never brought anyone home, you see. I think she’d given up on the idea. She’s been asking when she’d meet you for months.”

“As Theseus said.”

Newt nods, hearing the smile in her voice.

“I’m excited to meet her, too.”

They walk in silence for a few minutes. Newt watches a fluttering wisp of hair that’s escaped from the pins she’s used to keep her hair out of her face. Her cheeks are bright from the chill. She has wrapped a deep blue scarf around her neck, and wears a wool coat the color of charcoal. Merlin, it’s lovely to see her, and not only imagine her and her voice in her letters. “I wish I could’ve met your parents. I would’ve liked them, I think.”

“I think they woulda liked you. Queenie’n I were talkin’ after you left New York—right after you left, only two or three days—I said somethin’ about how much Poppa woulda loved talkin’ to Jacob—he baked, you know. And she said—she said that Momma’n Poppa woulda loved you the minute they saw how you looked at me.”

Newt brushes her arm with the back of his hand, and she turns to smile at him, although it is a sad sort of smile.

She gathers herself a moment later. He thinks that it is not because she is avoiding the pain of it, but rather because it is a familiar wound. “What will your father think?” she asks.

“He’s…difficult.”

“You don’t mention him very often in your letters.”

“We hardly see each other. He wishes I lived a more…conventional life. He has since I was a boy.”

“I’m sorry.”

He shrugs. “I’m used to it, I think.” Her hand grazes his arm. There’s something about her presence that keeps him from shoving away the uncomfortable memories.

“I suppose he also wishes you’d choose a more conventional girl?”

“If he’s going to be so proud of Theseus for his job, he’s hardly entitled to say anything about yours.”

He can hear the smile in her voice. “I doubt he sees it that way.”

“Perhaps you should tie him to an office chair. That worked brilliantly with my brother.”

She laughs. He’s good at making Tina laugh, he thinks, and proud of it.

“My father always thinks he knows what’s best. Perhaps he’ll see that I’m happy, and be glad. Perhaps he’ll only be disappointed that you have no intention of forcing me to take a dull office job at the Ministry. He’s always said that everything that disappoints him about me is…that it would disappoint any potential wife as well, if I ever found someone who would take a magizoologist with no ‘real employment’.”

“Then he’ll have the disappointment of being entirely wrong.” Her voice is firm. Newt catches her hand to briefly slow their walk, and closes the small distance between them. He kisses her hand as she turns to face him. Her eyes are bright and tender and just a touch indignant. For a moment, she looks at him, and he wonders if he understands a bit what Queenie had said about her sister. You need a giver. How it feels to have Tina’s strength and kindness with him.

He’d thought touch might be an adjustment once they finally…and it is, to a degree, but he feels free of judgement, and that makes such a difference. He could pull away or ask for more or less, and she is never anything but curious, gentle, understanding. He hopes he is never anything less to her, either. Figuring out this part of themselves together feels good in ways he hadn’t quite imagined before. He is able to simply be present with her.

They begin to walk again.

“Your potential wife, then?” she asks, repeating his words of a moment ago.

He hadn’t even thought—of course she is. In fact, potential seems terribly unnecessary. “Oh, I—”

But she is smiling and leaning towards him, and her lips touch the corner of his mouth. He stops her before she can pull away, opening his lips over hers and sighing when she responds in kind, their hands tangling between them. They manage to pull away only after several entirely pleasant minutes. She tugs his hand to bring him with her down the path, and after some trying, he convinces his feet to work again, feeling happy and dazed and rather thoroughly kissed.

“My aunt, before she died—she used to say similar things to me. She wanted me to be more…”

“Boring—” Newt says.

As Tina finishes “—ordinary.” She laughs and agrees. “Yes. Less myself.”

Newt has never been fond of this aunt who took the sisters in after their parents died. He doesn’t like the way she treated them, even if he’ll never meet her. “Utter rubbish,” he declares, still holding her hand. He isn’t ready to let go of it yet.

Tina’s voice goes soft. “Why can’t parents love the children they have?”

Her question hangs between them for a moment.“Yours did.”

“They did.”

He looks down. They haven’t spoken about having children, at least not explicitly. But that has not kept him from thinking of it. Tina would be such a wonderful mother. He almost says it aloud, but the last thing she’d written when they’d circled around the subject was that the thought of having children in such uncertain times terrified her. “We would,” he finally says.

She spins to look at him, but she does not seem surprised, and he wonders if her thoughts had taken a similar direction. Her expression is soft as she answers, “Yes, I hope we would.” She gently stops him at the edge of the path, leans forward, and kisses him. He closes his eyes as she pulls away, too lost in sensation to start walking again. Eventually, she tugs at his hand with a beautiful laugh, and they resume their walk.

“Was Theseus a little like your father with you? Before you and I met. Is that where he got…”

“Yes, he was.”

“He wanted you to be less…Newt.”

He laughs. “Yes.”

“He’s learning.”

“I suppose he is.”

“Older siblings. We worry in the wrong way, sometimes. I’m not excusing him, mind you. But I get it, a little, I think.”

“You are just a bit alike. Not too much.”

She laughs. The expression lights her eyes in a way that he thinks will always take his breath away.

“He thinks well of you.”

“And I think well of him. His respect is worth having, you know. He’s a good man.”

“I suppose he is.”

“He’s told me a few stories from when you were little. Did you really keep an entire litter of kittens in your wardrobe for a month without your parents finding out?”

“I did. They were sick and needed a lot of care.”

She grins. “I’m just picturin’ the moment when Theseus found them. How old were you?”

“Eight, perhaps?”

She looks at him fondly. It is impossible to be anything but happy, when she looks at him like that.

“Do you make a habit of asking him for stories about me as a child?”

“Hey, Queenie’s here now. I’m sure she’ll reciprocate.”

He finds he’s delighted at the prospect. “You were stubborn as a child, I’m guessing.”

“A little,” she admits.

“And you were showing signs of magic before you walked.”

“Mmhm.” She tilts her head as though not quite agreeing with that one, but he can guess from her half-smile and faint blush that he’s just about right.

Newt grins. “I never thought I’d be with someone who—with anyone for starters—but with someone who shared anything in common with my brother.”

“Next you’ll tell me you were resolved against Americans.”

“No, that suits me very well. You tend to communicate more bluntly, which I very much prefer. Not that I’d ever thought of it before…”

“I arrested you?”

“Tried to arrest me.”

“Newt Scamander.” He looks at her. “Alright. Tried to arrest you.”

He squeezes her hand, and enjoys how she drifts just a little closer.

“I forgot—I’m supposed to ask you for an autograph.”

“Certainly, love,” he agrees, perplexed but amused. His fans tend to make him uncomfortable, but Tina is a wholehearted exception. “What for?”

“One of my deputies has a sister who’s a fan. The funny thing is, I don’t think he knew that I knew you. What happened two years ago—the details haven’t exactly gotten around. He figured I’d be able to contact you because of Theseus.”

Newt laughs. “Why do I feel as though Theseus would enjoy having that credit?”

“He certainly would.”

“He did offer to, erm, create a meeting, as it were.”

“What do you mean?”

“He wrote yesterday that I wouldn’t—”

“—shut up about me?” she quotes, teasing.

“Yes. He determined who you were rather quickly, you see—I think it was months before Mum put together the auror who’d been in the papers with me and the woman I’d been writing—and he tried to convince me that it would be an easy thing to send me on some errand to New York for his department. Never mind that they denied six travel permit requests before Paris. When I pointed that out, he said that he could just as easily invite you to some meeting in London. I think he was imagining he’d call me into his office and surprise us both.”

“He’s as bad as Queenie,” Tina says, laughing.

“He is,” Newt agrees.

“At least he asked first?” She offers.

“Queenie does have the upper hand in guessing when her meddling might be welcome.”

“You spoke to her when you brought her back, didn’t you? About—about everythin’.”

“Yes. There was time, occasionally, as we travelled.”

“And you spoke about me?”

“Of course.” He looks at her, wondering what brought on the question. “She wanted to know how you were. Whether I thought that you would forgive her. And I wanted to know…”

“Yes?”

“I wanted to know how I could help you be happy.”

She stares at him. He wonders for a moment if he shouldn’t have said it. Then, he sees tears begin to slip down her cheeks, and draws her into his arms. She holds him tightly, shoving her face into his neck. And she begins to cry in earnest.

“Tina.” He rubs her back, and she clings impossibly tighter.

“I—I wasn’t—” she manages. “I wasn’t—for so long.”

“I know.”

“I was so lonely.”

“I know.” He drops a kiss into her hair. For several minutes, they hold each other, and he thinks as he had on Friday that Tina has not had enough of this in her life, particularly in Queenie’s absence. Perhaps he hasn’t either. The relief of someone whose presence and grasp reassures her that it’s alright to let go sometimes.

She laughs through her tears. “You must think I’m crazy, cryin’ so much when I’m so, so happy.”

He begins to stroke her hair. “No. I don’t.” He’s honored that she feels so safe with him.

At last, she lifts her face and swipes away her tears. He patiently thumbs away the ones she’d missed.

“Shall we go home?”

She looks around them. “Let’s walk a little longer?”

“Of course.”

-&-

Tina shushes Newt, laughing under her breath as they tiptoe up the stairs and he slips his hand into hers. They’ve both tugged off their gloves, and his skin is cool and rough and familiar.

“Tina!” a voice calls from below them. They freeze. “How’s your sister?”

“Very happy!” Tina calls back. They’d told the landlady a somewhat-abbreviated version of the somewhat-truth, that Queenie had been away on a trip with her fiance (chaperoned, of course), and that they’d returned to be married.

“You got yourself a fella yet?” she calls.

Newt and Tina look at each other; he, with barely suppressed mirth glistening in his eyes; she, trying to decide whether to be offended at the assumption that she needs a fella, or to give in to the butterflies filling her stomach at the idea of Newt as her fella.

Mrs. Esposito clearly finds an answer in her silence. “Uh huh, I thought so! All those letters I’ve seen you carrying about. I hope it’s not that British friend that Queenie was telling me about? He sounds so odd.”

Newt, pushed beyond his limits of self-control, drops his forehead onto her shoulder from behind her, laughing under his breath.

“Shh,” Tina admonishes, blushing and grinning and nearly laughing despite herself.

Newt uses their joined hands to guide her around to face him, and presses a kiss to her forehead. He is a step below her, and has to lift his head to reach.

She stares, wide-eyed, as he tenderly strokes her cheekbone with his thumb. Covering his hand with hers and leaning into his touch, she tries very hard to keep her voice from wobbling as she calls back, “of course not, Mrs. Esposito.”

Whatever response the landlady gives is lost to her as she grabs Newt’s hand and tugs him the rest of the way up the stairs.

The moment the door has closed behind them, she backs into it, pulling him with her. Their mouths crash together, frantic and a little clumsy, and he slides his hand around her neck to steady them, his fingers shockingly cool beneath her scarf. She cannot get enough. With their bodies pressed together like this, he surrounds her, and there is nothing but Newt’s lips teasing hers apart, and his cold hands and warm body against hers, and his answering whimper when she moans into his mouth.

He slides his hands beneath her coat at her shoulders, shoving until she opens her arms and the coat falls to the ground. She tugs at his until his coat falls, too.

“Tina,” he murmurs, kissing along her jaw.

She hums, holding onto his suit collar lest she float away. He brings his hands back to her neck, and then he stops kissing her for a moment, guiding her to stand more fully so that he can unwind her scarf. Their eyes catch, and her stomach leaps at the sight of his, even though she’s known, for months and months, that he loved her.

She smiles at him, gently taking the scarf from his hands and tossing it onto a small table near the entryway.

He weaves his fingers into the ends of her hair, leaning forward to kiss her again. This kiss is slower, and she basks in the feeling of it, the way that time has stretched out this weekend, the hours and hours of precious time in which to learn each other, to settle into being together.

Newt’s other hand skims down her back, nails just barely making contact over her blouse. Every touch is so much, it’s almost overwhelming. She wraps her arms around his neck, and feels that it is overwhelming in a good way, like laughter or tears that have been held back for far too long. Then, his lips catch on hers, and it is very hard to think of anything at all.

She brings one hand around to tug at his bow tie until the knot slips loose. She pulls at the ends of the tie until it unravels completely, feeling his throat move against the back of her fingers.

His hands are so gentle, roaming across her back, moving through her hair.

She breaks away to kiss his neck, shivering and smiling at the way he hums and melts into the touch. His hand joins hers and yanks his tie out from his collar, then drops it to the floor.

She gets her hands under his jacket, helping him shrug out of that as well. They both laugh when his arms get stuck halfway down the sleeves. He steps back a little to shed his suit jacket properly.

When he returns to her, he cups her face, and seems to be studying her.

“Newt?”

He watches strands of her hair slip through his fingers.

She weaves her hand into his hair.

“I didn’t know what to make of you when we met. Why I—But then we came here and you said you were always alone and I thought maybe, we’re not so different. Not that I wanted you to be. I wasn’t glad that you were…”

She shakes her head.

“But. I think that was the first time I really saw you.”

He looks up into her eyes. His fingertips skim the sensitive skin just beneath her eye.

“Have I said something?”

She smiles tenderly.

“No, no. Of course not. I only—that early?”

“Yes. That early.”

She bites her lip, her gaze bright and happy.

They stumble back into the apartment, kissing with abandon. She starts on the buttons of his vest, her knees weak as he begins to kiss her neck. He gasps against her skin each time her fingers brush his chest.

“Is this alright?” she asks, working her fingers beneath his vest and braces.

“Merlin, yes, Tina.” She feels his tongue brush her neck and whimpers, squeezing her eyes shut as the touch sears through her.

His hands are on her hips, bringing her with him. They fall onto the sofa in a tangle of eager limbs.

For a moment, they simply look at each other. His hands are on her hips, his thumb gently soothing her skin over her blouse. Hers settle on his neck.

“Hi,” she says, fixing a lock of his hair which is sticking out at an odd angle, and feeling not the slightest bit bad for having been the one to make a mess of his hair in the first place.

They are not sitting properly on the sofa at all, but rather turned into each other, with her legs bent and half draped over his.

He surges forward to kiss her once more. His hands leave her, but only to tug off his vest and throw it aside. He skims his lips over her pulse point, and she whispers his name and slides her hands down his chest, searching for more—more of him, more of being so marvelously close.

“Are you alright?” he asks, his lips skimming along her jaw. She tugs his shirt free from his trousers, sliding her hands beneath to map his bare skin and the scars that mark it.

“Yes. Yes.” He combs his fingers through her hair, and then his hands move down her back, and delve beneath her blouse, onto her bare skin.

“Merlin’s beard, that feels wonderful.” He presses his forehead to her temple. She doesn’t know if he means her hands on his back, or his on her back. Wordlessly, she claims his mouth with hers. She feels his fingers tracing every ridge of her spine.

Eventually, their kisses slow, stretching out until they are catching their breath between each one, and then stopping completely. She threads her fingers between his, and he kisses her shoulder through her blouse, and they both laugh, in pleasure and at how they’ve been carried away.

She lifts his hands between them, drawing circles across his knuckles. “I kept noticin’ your hands.”

“My hands?”

“Mm. When we met. I think that’s what I saw first.” She kisses his knuckles, then the back of his fingers. His hand shifts reflexively in hers, and he sighs. “When we were in that cell, and you explained everythin’ to Jacob? You were twistin’ your hands together. Everything cruel and unjust in the world makes you so angry and so kind. And I wanted—I wanted to hold your hands. So much. Even though we were in such a mess, some of which I’d caused.”

Newt strokes her cheekbone with his thumb.

Tina resettles the collar of his shirt, and realizes that the top few buttons are undone. She laughs, hardly remembering when she did that. He leans back, his eyes falling closed.

She sees a mark peeking out from beneath his shirt collar, and reaches beneath the fabric to touch it. He shivers. “Sorry,” she whispers.

“Don’t be. ’s nice.”

“This is from when you rescued Teddy.” She recognizes the placement and shape of the scar from the story he’d told her in one of his letters.

He nods, his eyes still peacefully closed. Carefully, she traces the scar, all the way across his chest to the tip of his shoulder.

Newt sighs, his body utterly relaxed under her touch. When she has satisfied herself in learning this particular mark, she turns and tucks herself into his side, resting her head on his shoulder. He holds her to him.

She stretches, and her shirt rides up, leaving his hand in contact with bare skin. “From auror training?” he observes, tracing a ridged mark on her hip.

“Yeah.” She yawns. “Shoulda let a healer fix it instead’a Queenie.”

“I like learning these things.”

“So do I.”

“Supper?”

She turns her face into his neck, her lips skimming across the top of his collarbone. “In a few minutes?”

-&-

“What’re you drawin’ then?” Tina asks, looking up from her book. Their dishes from supper click faintly behind them as the spell she cast washes them and puts them away.

Newt sits up a bit from the arm of the sofa opposite her. He offers her his leather-bound sketchbook, which is open to a page nearly full of pencil drawings. She reaches to take the book from him. Their calves and ankles brush as they shift closer.

The drawings look like texture studies of some sort of pattern, perhaps of feathers. Newt has written in notes among the drawings, noting which patterns belong to each part of the creature’s body.

The tips of his ears redden slightly as he reaches over and turns the page. She is met with a drawing of herself, as she looked on Friday, with her hair curled.

“When did you draw this?”

“That night. I couldn’t sleep until I’d…”

He trails off, and she looks up, smiling, almost teasing. Then she returns to the drawing, tracing her own features to feel the reverence with which they were drawn—the mix of serious study and joyful exuberance.

“You could look through it. If you want to.”

“Oh. Yes. I’d love to.” She glances up at him for a breath, then back down, and carefully opens the worn leather spine more fully, turning back to the beginning. She knows he draws—he’s often mentioned it, even in the first days of their acquaintance, when she asked after sketches she’d found lying about in the case. He’s also sent her a few little drawings as part of his letters. But being invited to peruse a whole sketchbook feels different, somehow.

Teddy looks up at her from that first page, mischief in his eyes, making her smile. She rests the book atop her bent knees and settles in to look, turning the pages slowly. She feels Newt’s gaze on her, and his presence is warm and intimate, with their quiet breaths, and the occasional rustling of clothes.

There are little sketches of landscapes—large and small—plains, trees, rivers, then close-up drawings of creatures, only some of which she recognizes from his book. Sometimes a touch of color has been added in, but most of the pages are pencil or charcoal and ink. A drawing of a sunset or sunrise. Pickett perched on the arm of a chair. The details of various leaves.

He has a keen eye for nature and for creatures in particular, of course, but he is almost equally skilled at noticing the details of the man made, even if those drawings are less frequent. A cobblestone street. The arch of a window. A bustling train station.

She laughs when she turns the page to find a portrait of Theseus, trying to look stern but really almost laughing, and thinks that Newt has captured his brother exactly right.

Newt slides his hand beneath the cuff of her casual trousers and onto her ankle. His skin is rough and warm.

She turns the page to a sketch of Jacob, who looks worn and tired as he sits on a stone wall, his shoulders hunched. Opposite that is a portrait of Queenie, smiling cautiously through tears in her eyes. Tina’s breath catches. She is completely taken with the honesty of his drawing. “This is from when you were with them? A few months ago?” She holds up the page, and Newt nods.

He begins to circle the knob of her ankle with his thumb. She sighs faintly at the pleasure of it, stretching out her toes and rolling her shoulders. Her head goes sort of fuzzy in a nice way as she turns to the next page.

Several pages follow with drawings of various creatures. The niffler sleeping sprawled on Newt’s desk. Harriet, much younger and smaller, nosing at something on the ground. There is precise detail in the creature’s posture—her bent legs and tilted head. Mixed among them she finds texture drawings of fur or feathers—Newt working out how to capture a texture or light.

And among all of that, more portraits of people—some she does not recognize, and some she does. Another sketch of Jacob, and of Theseus. The creature assistant she’d once seen in a magazine, who she now knows as Bunty. Lally.

“That’s Mum,” Newt says of a sketch of an older woman. Tina traces the resemblances between her and her sons, studying the kind, determined expression on her face.

Newt runs a finger up the tendon at the back of her ankle, then down again. He circles his fingers and the very tips of his nails at the base of her calf.

The drawings go briefly out of focus. She could turn her face into the sofa cushions and float for hours as he touches her. A shiver runs up her back and neck, and she would almost feel silly for enjoying such a simple thing so much, yet it feels so good. Her mind is pleasantly clouded and distant, and even as she goes back to the sketchbook and turns the page, she feels as though the whole world has gone soft and still.

She hadn’t had much physical contact with anyone for months and months, not until Queenie returned, and of course these past few days. Perhaps for others it’s easy, natural, ordinary, but to have his hand brushing her skin…It feels…she hadn’t known how much she’d been missing this.

She thinks for a moment to consider how Newt’s reacting, whether anything’s too much. As she does, she sees that his breathing is slow and even and calm, and his shoulders are as slumped with relaxation as hers. Until she’d grasped his hand on the way to the apartment Friday, he had seemed to be holding himself back at the wedding, as though he had to keep his hands at his side or tangled together lest he forget himself and reach for her. Perhaps it is a relief for him as well.

“I have others for work. For the book and such. This one is just for me.”

He switches his hand to her other leg. She’s never known her skin to be quite so sensitive.

“Oh, I also—one moment.” Resting one hand on her knee, he bends suddenly away towards a couple of loose note pages he’d brought up, which now rest on the floor beside the sofa. He brushes them aside and picks up a slim leather-bound book beneath them, bending back to offer it to her.

This book contains older drawings. Tina at the dinner table, her face turned shyly away. Jacob with his ill-fated case of pastries. Queenie laughing, surely at something Jacob had said. Tina and Queenie embracing in the subway. Jacob stepping into the rain. And again, and again, Tina finds her own figure on these pages. In the glittering dress at the speakeasy, and in her pajama shirt and coat at the Ministry, and on the city rooftops, her hair windswept. Sleeping fitfully in a chair at Flamel’s. Pointing her wand with a look of pure determination. Looking back at him as she reached for a portkey back to America.

A dashed together portrait of her on the docks.

“I drew that on the ship, that night,” Newt says.

She traces her own figure. It is drawn with such love. She begins to tear up. “Good tears,” she promises. “They’re beautiful.”

“Are they?”

“Of course.” She finds his hand and squeezes it. A yawn forces its way past her lips.

“Tired?” Newt asks.

“Mm.” She closes the sketchbook gently and smoothes her hand over the soft cover. “And I have work in the morning.”

“We should sleep. I’ll go settle everyone and change.”

She hesitates for a breath. They do this now, don’t they? Share a bed? “Where would you prefer to sleep?”

“Your bed’s more comfortable,” he confesses. She lets out a breath, relieved that he expects to share a bed with her as well, no matter where they are. “I’m used to the menagerie, but Dougal will come get me if there’s trouble.”

She squeezes his hand. “Alright.”

While Newt is changing, she packs her work bag with reports and letters. Friday had been a bit of a whirlwind, with the wedding and all, but she doesn’t intend to work extraordinary hours this week. Not while Newt’s here.

She has only just finished readying herself for bed when Newt reappears.

He climbs into bed first on the side against the wall, and Tina follows, lying on her side facing out towards the room. Even with a little expansion charm, the bed is small, and only a few inches separate them. Newt rests his hand on her hip.

She brushes her hand over his and laughs softly.

“What?” He asks, sounding amused. She feels the pillows shift as he resettles his head.

“I was thinkin’ about you, in this bed two years ago, pretendin’ that you weren’t still wearin’ your vest and bowtie, and that you were gonna go to sleep.”

“I thought you hadn’t noticed.”

She rolls her eyes, grinning. “Of course I noticed.”

“You brought me cocoa.”

“I was checkin’ up on you.”

“Is that why.”

Newt’s hand hovers above her shoulder, and then he begins to trace the seams of her pajama shirt and the lines of her shoulder blade with gentle fingers. Her hum of agreement turns to one of pleasure.

Newt adds, his hand never stilling across her back, “That’s what you wanted to think.”

She shifts a little, and his fingers brush her neck. “Mm. What’s that s’posed’t mean, Mr. Scamander?” She enjoys teasing him with his surname, a little reminder of how they started, and hopes the fact that their bodies are mere inches apart conveys that she means to put no bite into it.

She hears his smile in his voice, and relaxes. “You didn’t have to be kind to me. You wanted to keep an eye on me, but you offered me dinner, and a bed. Your bed.”

“Yes?” she concedes, trying to guess his line of thought.

“In fact, you practically dragged me here. You seem to be making a habit of that.”

“You didn’t seem to mind. And anyway, I did not drag you,” she protests, fighting a smile.

“Mm, true, I was very willing, at least on Friday. That first time I was simply intrigued.”

“You were bein’ very suspicious.”

“So, naturally, you brought me here.”

“To keep an eye on you.”

“But you were…kind.”

“Are you tryin’ to suggest I brought you cocoa because I liked you?”

“I am.”

He runs a single finger down the column of her neck, as light almost as a gust of wind. Then, he threads his hand into her hair and lifts it out of his way, smoothing the strands carefully against the pillow. He returns to tracing light lines out from her neck to her shoulder and back. “Feels nice,” she murmurs eventually, sinking contentedly into the pillows. She can feel him smile, perhaps at the sleepy tenor of her voice.

He skims his knuckles down her spine, and up again, then lightly circles the back of his hand against her back.

They stay like that for several minutes, the only sounds in the room the rustling of fabric and their even breaths. Tina lets her mind drift unhurriedly between the present moment and memories that pull her in. Newt tucking her hair back at the docks. Queenie laughing at dinner the night she returned. Newt’s sad smile as her portkey took her away from London. The excited-anxious feeling in the pit of her stomach as she bought a copy of his book a few days after it came out, so proud of him, so confused and hurt, and wondering what their future held.

“Hey, Newt?”

“Yes?” His fingertips are following the shape of her shoulder blade.

“Why did you think I’d stopped writing?”

“Hm?”

“Last night you asked me how I’d explained the magazine article about you. I mean, what I assumed you were thinkin’.”

“Yes.”

“But I didn’t ask you what you thought. About me.” His hand stills. “Would you tell me?”

The slow touch resumes. “I can try. If you like.”

“You don’t have to if you—”

“—no, I’d—I want to.” She holds her hand out to him, resting it on her hip. He slides his hand into hers a moment later.

“You said in one of your letters that after you saw the magazine article, you put my letters away.” His voice is warm and close.

“I did,” she agrees. He runs his thumb back and forth at the base of her neck. “I couldn’t look at them anymore when I thought…”

“I was the opposite, after you stopped writing. I must’ve read each of your letters a dozen times during those few weeks, trying to understand…” Newt lets out a heavy breath. “At first, I thought you might be upset about what I’d said about aurors.”

“You mentioned in Paris.”

“Mm.” He skims his knuckles across her shoulder, and doesn’t speak for a few moments.

“But you changed your mind?” She asks.

“It was all I could grasp from our letters. But I thought you’d practically agree with me. And you’d known what I’d meant, I hoped.”

“I had.” He runs one finger along her hairline to ease errant strands of her hair behind her shoulder. Then, she feels a few fingertips along her shoulder.

His fingers still once more. “I liked you.”

She smiles.

“And you liked me. I thought.”

“Newt,” she whispers. He briefly presses his forehead into her hair, and kisses her neck. She reaches over her shoulder to touch his hair, then settles her hand back beside her.

One finger taps against her shoulder. “I know you did, obviously. But, then, I wondered.”

“I understand.”

“You seemed to like me. When we sat in the case together. And at the docks when I left. And in your letters I thought…But people don’t like me, you see. Or they—they act like they do, and then…It’s terribly confusing. And you’d felt so different.”

She’s seen the way he seems to curl in on himself around new people. Newt isn’t shy, not really, and he isn’t fearful, but he can be wary, and from the casual way he’s written her stories about school and childhood that made her breath catch in her throat, she can guess where this wariness was learned. She couldn’t bear this story if he wasn’t close, she thinks. At least she can feel in his ease with her that all is well, now.

“Sometimes, I would think perhaps you hadn’t really liked me in the way I…But that couldn’t be right. You hadn’t seemed—you were— The way you were in Paris. I didn’t understand it. You were hurt and angry. But you cared.” He presses his forehead into her neck again, and she reaches her hand back into his hair. His voice is muffled against her hair. “Did I seem very different when you first saw me in Paris? I tried not to be. I wanted to be myself. I wanted you to remember why you’d liked me, before.”

“If I’d needed to be reminded, it would have worked in about two seconds. But I didn’t. I’ve always thought you were extraordinary.”

He resettles on the pillows just enough to speak clearly again, but it seems, cannot help bringing her hand to his lips to kiss. “It took you a few minutes. To develop that opinion of me."

“That’s true.”

“Not too many.”

“Fewer minutes than I admitted to myself, that’s for sure.”

“The thing is, I never thought I’d—I was content with my life before. Then, I met Jacob. And you, and Queenie. And there were these…gaps, where there never had been before. But if you didn’t want—me, there was nothing I could do to—but I hoped. I would say something to you and you would smile, or stare at me. And when we finally spoke, and you looked at me, and took a step closer, I thought…perhaps I’d been right to hope.”

Tina rolls over to face him. Cradling his head between her hands, she studies his damp eyes and trembling smile. And even though his tears have almost begun to fall, he looks relieved and happy. She drags his mouth onto hers. He hums in surprise, but catches on quickly, sliding his hands down to the small of her back to press her closer. She curls one hand into his hair. The kiss becomes deeper, open-mouthed, breathless. She kisses his jaw, his ear, his neck. His hands go slack, and she tugs at his hair, and he whimpers, making her smile. For several minutes she feels only his warm hands and body and their mingling breaths and the spine-tingling good of kissing him.

When they part, he lets out a wordless, rough sort of noise, and chases after her for one last kiss. He threads one hand into her hair and cradles her head, and she wraps an arm around his neck, arching into his touch. He rests his forehead on hers to catch his breath.

“When I read those letters you’d never sent, I wanted so much to look after the man who’d written them. You seemed bewildered, and hurt, and sad.”

He sniffs. “But I’m not, now.”

“No.” Tina is smiling, tearful. “You’re not.” She tucks her face into his chest. That time doesn’t sting anymore, not nearly in the way it used to. It seems that’s true for him, too. It’s becoming simply a part of their story.

“What are you thinking?” he asks. His hands have returned to stroking through her hair.

She curls her fingers into his shirt. “It might sound odd.”

“Mm?”

“I’m not—I don’t always show what I’m feeling. I’m not open like that. Like Queenie or...I’m sorry that meant that you wondered, but, I’m glad you saw eventually.”

“I haven’t wondered since.”

She kisses his chest through his shirt. “People never seem to see how much I care about things. They seem to think that because I’m…I appear strong, so I must not feel…”

He tucks his chin over her head. “I don’t understand how.”

“I know.” She brings her hand down his neck and under the edge of his shirt, and fingering the line of a long-faded scar.

“Tina, do you remember when we met—?”

“Completely forgotten,” she teases.

He nudges her shoulder. “At MACUSA, when we were being interrogated. Do you remember when they found the obscurial that I’d preserved in my case?”

“Yes.”

He plays with one of her hands. “I still remember the look of betrayal on your face. Like everything you’d perhaps begun to think of me had been wrong.” He kisses her wrist. “I wanted you to see me. So badly. I needed you to understand—it didn’t matter so much if you agreed with what I’d done, but I needed you to believe me when I explained why I’d done it.”

“I remember.”

“And you did.”

“I did.”

“You see me, I think. When other people don’t. Or wouldn’t.”

“Yes,” she breathes. She tightens her hand in his shirt and tucks one leg over his, wishing they could stay here forever.

“It was agonizing. That interrogation room and the cell. You were scared and crying and…Merlin it was horrible to watch. I felt…”

“You hate to see anyone in pain. But seeing me in pain hurt even more.”

She feels him nod above her head.

It is scary, she thinks. Making yourself vulnerable to this. And it is good.

He draws light patterns across her back. She sighs happily. His fingers skim up her neck.

“Keep goin’?” she requests.

And so he does. He rubs her back, at first above her shirt, and then beneath it. Sometimes he switches to combing her hair with his fingers.

“I sleep well next to you,” she murmurs, half asleep.

“So do I.”

“I wasn’t sure I would. I’ve shared a room with Queenie or the girls at school for most of my life, but…”

“I wasn’t sure how it would be either. I sleep next to creatures often. But not people. Only during the war, really, and that was—”

“—very different,” she agrees.

“Are you comfortable?”

“Very.” He laughs softly. “I’ve got you.”

She smiles, wondering, as she drifts into sleep, if he, too, is remembering the first time he promised that.

#newtina #newtina fanfiction #my writing #together updates #together #chapter 4 #together chapter 4 #sunday

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multlfndm · 2 years

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me when I See this scene:

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literary-creature · 1 year

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Our Days in New York: Chapter 9

December 14th, 1926

Despite her doubts, Tina’s heart warmed at her sister’s reaction to the news.

She had made Newt tell her (It had been his idea after all), and Queenie had all but pounced onto the man to hug him, as she thanked him. Tina was about to step in to rescue him, seeing his discomfort, when the legilimens freed him.

“Oh, honey you’re wonderful. He’s gonna be happy, so happy.” she giggled, jumping in delight. “I can’t wait to see his face when he finds out.”

Tina had supposed as much, but she still could not agree wholeheartedly with it.

“I want to be there. Just be there and see him.” Queenie said immediately, reading her mind. “There would be no danger in that.”

“I guess not,” Tina admitted with a sigh. “Newt and I will go to his neighborhood tomorrow, and he will follow Jacob and find out where he works. Then we’ll see how to get the occamy eggshells to him discreetly.”

“It will work out, there must be an easy way to do it,” Newt added, enthusiastic. “A superficial knowledge of his daily routine will give us enough information.”

He searched for Tina’s eyes while he spoke, in a discreet search for approval, tearing a little smile out of her. “I should go finish the feedings, I won’t be long.”

“Go, we'll start dinner.”

As soon as the case lid close, the legilimens turned to her sister.

“He's so sweet to think of that.”

“Yes, he is.” Tina agreed, heading towards the kitchen. “Any ideas about dinner? I was thinking maybe a… “

“I wanted to thank you too, Teen.” Queenie interrupted. “This means a lot to me.”

Tina shook her head softly. “It’s really all Newt’s doing, my part will probably be very small.”

“I know you don’t like this, and you’re still helping. “

“It’s not that…” she said. “I don’t want you to be hurt in any way, that’s all. I have nothing against Jacob, and I have no doubt he is a good man and deserves a chance. If circumstances were different…”

“Yes, if only..” Queenie sighed. “No, I will not be sad. This is good news.”

“Yes.” Tina smiled. “Everything's going to be fine.”

------------------------------

Her part in the search the next morning, was quite small indeed: She had taken Newt to Jacob's street and they had managed to find the right building. It could have been easier for them to just apparate to the apartment in question, but they didn't want to cause another commotion nor give the baker the fright of his life again. Luckily for them, Tina knew the neighborhood and could apparate the both of them far enough to not raise any suspicions. They placed themselves across the street.

A little after six o'clock, they saw Jacob's figure cross the building door. He stopped to exchange a few words with two women that were passing by, and shake hands briefly with an old man who was sitting on the doorsteps before going his way. As he walked away, Tina saw how his affable smile disappeared, and his face fell. He looked tired and discouraged. She supposed a canning factory would crush people’s spirits as hard as the wand permit office, and couldn’t help but sympathize with him even more.

Newt and Tina parted ways not long after, and she hurried to pick up something for breakfast on her way to work. It would be better to be early.

The morning was relatively quiet, with more paperwork to be completed, informs to be delivered and files to be read. The head of the department had instructed her to find a connection between Grindelwald’s whereabouts in the past year, and his knowledge of an obscurus’ existence in America. The main concern was that he may try to do it again. The man had been gathering quite a lot of support in Europe, and it was urgent to know if there were more people involved in his infiltration of MACUSA, and how exactly did he plan to use the obscurus.

Nobody seemed remotely suspicious of the possibility of Credence surviving, but Newt’s comment the day before kept running through Tina’s mind. It presented a dilemma for her.

There was a high chance, if Credence was alive, that notifying the authorities would put the boy’s life in danger. But if she hid it from her superiors there was also a high chance of being kicked out of the department again.

Tina knew that, despite her recent success, her job was still in thin air. One more reckless action and nobody would care if she had helped capture Grindelwald.

It would be prudent to keep her mouth shut for the time being. Once she was cleared for field work again, which was bound to happen shortly if MACUSA wanted her to handle the case, it wouldn’t be difficult to do some discreet inquiries on the side. If she found proof of Credence's survival, she would see about talking to someone about it.

------------------

Tina skipped lunch to get home and feed the creatures. She had insisted upon it, and Newt had prepared her a list with instructions, that she intended to follow dutifully.

The first one on the list was the erumpent, which was easy enough. The bowltruckles proved to be more of a challenge, not because they were particularly hard to feed, but because Pickett wanted to accompany her around and refused to go back to the tree. After a five-minute argument, Tina accepted her defeat and allowed the bowltruckle into her pocket until she had to go back to work.

She sighed. As much as Queenie had teased her for the past week, she had never seriously stopped to consider what this closeness with Newt meant.

It was the first time she was inside the case without Newt, and she could see why he enjoyed spending time there on his own: It was the most peaceful place.

It was going to be hard to get used to her apartment without the case again. It was going to be hard to adapt to Newt’s absence.

She didn’t try to deny she had become fond of him. It was the extent of that fondness that was beginning to worry her.

She had never felt so comfortable with a man, or any person for that matter. He had managed to earn her trust, to make her share many of her most personal experiences in record time. The only person she had ever been close to was Queenie, but this was a different thing.

Tina walked past the graphorns without stopping, as Newt had requested her not to go near them on her own, and went for the niffler’s burrow. She pet the little head, distractedly keeping her locket away from the paws, still deep in thought.

She had brushed Queenie’s comments aside, thinking it was a part of her usual sense of humor. It seemed she was speaking from an honest observation. That, and whatever she could see inside of Newt’s head. For some reason, letting the legilimens tell her a thing or two on the subject had never been more tempting.

If there was something that Tina had always wanted, was to have things under control. All her life she had struggled to keep her emotions in check and be the rational adult she needed to be to survive. The emotions that were taking hold of her lately, she did not understand them, and that was unnerving. It shouldn’t matter to her what Newt thought. Still, she couldn’t help but care.

A movement of her wand summoned the bucket of pellets for the mooncalves.

She had to think. She had to break her feelings down into smaller pieces and understand them before anything.

What was it that she liked about Newt?

He was intelligent, observant, and cultured. Shy sometimes, though he was becoming less so in her presence. He had a sense of humor.

Maybe what had left a permanent impression on her was his kindness. He had proven to be a loyal friend in the short time they’d known each other.

Tina had learned to take care of herself and her sister quite young, used to not having another soul to rely on in times of trouble. Newt had come to her help, even when he didn’t have to, asking for nothing in return.

He had saved her from death, and helped her get her career back, but it was more than that. He had offered his friendship, shared his space and his work, brought back some sort of equilibrium into her life. After all that, how could he not be special to her?

A young mooncalf slid closer to her, gently urging her to distribute the rest of the food. She rushed to comply.

Well, there was nothing out of normal with all that. People could be special to other people without moving into romantic territory. Admiring someone didn’t necessarily mean being attracted to them on any other level.

She did find him handsome though, but that couldn’t be held against her; he was. Though perhaps not the kind of "handsome" women in the office would be obsessed over. He had nice eyes, and his smile was sweet. The freckles smattered all over his face gave him a boyish appearance; she liked it. His hands were rough and full of callouses, a product of his work, but also extremely gentle. And there was also these particular feeling that took hold of her every time their eyes met or their hands touched.

Tina bit her lip. That couldn’t be normal.

What if Queenie was right?

And if it was the case, what did it mean for her? What did it mean for Newt? What would Newt think of her if he knew? The idea alone made her squirm. She would probably die of shame.

Queenie’s outbursts hinted that she believed Newt had a similar regard for her. A few times Tina herself had even thought… But it couldn’t be. It just couldn’t.

Queenie may read minds, but she didn’t understand Newt the way Tina did. He was just too good, and his preference for her was merely the recognition of a kindred spirit. When he observed her, he was most probably moved by a purely scientific curiosity.

She had to search for evidence. Be alert, mistrust herself, and examine her own feelings and thoughts when he was around. Pay attention to his behavior. That was the best way to come to a conclusion.

She was an investigator, after all, she surely could handle that.

With that determination, Tina headed back to the shed, wishing she could stay some more. Only when she was climbing up the ladder did she remember Pickett was still in her coat.

“Pick, I have to go now,” she said, reaching for her pocket. “I’ll take you back to the tree, alright?”

The creature held to her fingers, emitting mournful chirps.

“We said until I was done with the feedings, that was the deal. Besides, Newt will be back soon. And I’ll come to see you later.”

Those words were far from making Pickett come to his senses; the next chirp was even more dramatic.

“Fine, you can stay in the shed if you want, that’s all. I can’t take you.”

There were some more protests, but Tina finally managed to place the grumpy bowltruckle over one of the shelves.

The mysterious girl had some flowers placed over her dark hair. Her factions were proportioned and graceful, and her smile was attractive.

It was then that her eyes fell on the picture. Of course she had seen it before, but she had never paid much mind to it.

The girl in the picture reminded her of Queenie a little bit. Not because they had some physical similarity; mostly because both of them irradiated confidence and grace.

For the first time, she wondered about the beautiful stranger. Who was she? What was her picture doing there? What did she mean to Newt?

“What does it matter to me?”

She had a sense of her inferiority. It was not a new; she had grown up with Queenie. She had always been conscious she was not “the beauty” in any place she had ever been. It hadn’t bothered her that much until that moment.

She left for work feeling slightly dejected.

Looking at the picture, she felt upset she wasn't as pretty as that girl, that her smile wasn't bolder, that her features were so imperfect, and her presence was so irrelevant.

And not for the first time, she wished for some of Queenie's confidence.

Hi there! This chapter was supposed to be longer, but I wanted to post a little something for the NewtinaMoments event, and I don't have enough time to finish the whole thing. I'm already late for that!

I have my last exam next week, so hopefully, I'll have time to work on my two unfinished stories during the summer.

Whoever is still reading this, thank you!

#fanfiction #newtina fanfiction #newtina #fantastic beats and where to find them #fantasticbeasts #fbawtft #tina goldstein #newt scamander #queenie goldstein #jacob kowalski #literarycreature #Our Days in New York #newtinamoments2022

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forbiddengalaxy · 2 years

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So I did a list of fan-fiction I’ve made awhile ago but I’m going to make a master-post and pin it at the top. At least then I can keep track and update it as and when. I am going to try and group them by genre so here we go;

Non-Newtina Oneshots:

Different- A Character study of Newt Scamander: https://archiveofourown.org/works/37152208

Head Held Tall, Eyes straight ahead, Heart Proud- Queenies life and how her choices/experiences changed her: https://archiveofourown.org/works/36098065

Of Falls and Promises- A one-shot based on all the times Theseus has tended to Newt over the years. I basically saw the deleted scene Newt house and thought that the way Theseus tended to him seemed to have been well practiced: https://archiveofourown.org/works/39905025

To All the Years that Have Gone- A very long oneshot of Theseus looking back on Newt on Newt and Tina’s wedding; https://archiveofourown.org/works/47505412

Newtina one shots:

Where to- Tina’s stuck in New York on Valentine’s Day. Alone and lonely with the man she wanted to spend the day with a thousand miles away: https://archiveofourown.org/works/37363612

Some things are worth the worry- Theseus’ perspective on worrying and his little brother (counts as Newtina trust me): https://archiveofourown.org/works/38245672

Knowing Everything- Newt didn’t know if he was about to faint, throw up or go into a fit of blind rage as he watched the scene unfold in front of him. What made it worse was that he had no idea who had the case or whether the case had survived at all. The only person who would have made him feel better was Tina, but she was a thousand miles away and very much out of reach: https://archiveofourown.org/works/38519089

Just a flesh wound-An AU from the deleted scene ‘Newts House’ where it’s Tina instead of Theseus: https://archiveofourown.org/works/39434466

Fairytale of New York- A story following on from Jacob and Queenies wedding where we finally get the scene they (and we) deserve: https://archiveofourown.org/works/40141554

Cover of Darkness- A story set some point after Secrets if Dumbledore with Newt and Tina on a recon mission gone wrong: https://archiveofourown.org/works/40353909

The Thing About Tina- A little oneshot of Newt admiring all of Tinas features. Set some point in the future: https://archiveofourown.org/works/40728483

The Usual- The auror department was alight with the regular chatter as Tina stormed in that morning, only stopping on her regular walk to her office to fling a paper coffee cup into the bin along with the note that had been left alongside it.Today, Tina turned 32. And she had to be honest, the day was already not looking good.: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4081823

The Exact Middle of Nowhere- Tina had been getting more tired and irritable for days and being in the middle of nowhere wasn't exactly ideal. This was a Grindelwald mission, it was vital she was in good health. He hadn't told Newt of course, if Tina was unwell it was up to her to inform her husband, but he was slightly concerned. That was a lie, he was very concerned: https://archiveofourown.org/works/41117796

Stained Glass- It had been too long since they last duelled. It was only right that Tina should fight him again. And if the cathedral went down with him then so be it.: https://archiveofourown.org/works/41341851

Take my Hand- A fic around Newts birthday after Paris and how Tina made it memorable in lieu of everything that happened.; https://archiveofourown.org/works/45401839

A silent night- A little fluff fic based on the Christmas night. In the Cycles of the Day universe.: https://archiveofourown.org/works/43807524

Promises- Tina had been waiting for half an hour and Newt was still nowhere in sight. A meeting with the president, what could’ve gone wrong?: https://archiveofourown.org/works/43580547

A Children’s Anthology of Monsters- The story of Newton Scamanders lesser known second book: https://archiveofourown.org/works/48043213

Meet me in the Moonlight- Where Newt is working late and Tina is not impressed https://archiveofourown.org/works/48043213

Short extended stories (under ten chapters):

Dancing in the dark- A slightly AU story of Tina going to England for an auror ball just before the magazine incident. Big Newtina feels (they dance): https://archiveofourown.org/works/39176520/chapters/98017083

On the Brink- AU from the end of Crimes of Grindelwald where Newt got more injured in the flames. Once again very Newtina: https://archiveofourown.org/works/38380597/chapters/95910571

Fools Gold (slow updates)- A time travel fic: https://archiveofourown.org/works/46481665

Cycles of the Day:

As the Sun Sets- The birth of Queenie and Jacobs first child : https://archiveofourown.org/works/44297434

By Moonlight- The birth of a baby Graphorn: https://archiveofourown.org/works/44196259

In the Break of Dawn- Newt and Tinas experience with their first child : https://archiveofourown.org/works/44663215

One shot collections:

Newtina week 2021- This years Newtina week with each prompt I fulfilled in the past months work. The one shots range across their lives and are filled with love at all points: https://archiveofourown.org/works/35664106/chapters/88921531

FB week 2021-The four one shots I wrote for FB Week 2021. Prompts will be at the top but the last one is a free prompt and is creative licence and then some: https://archiveofourown.org/works/35124127/chapters/87500092

A Thunderbirds heart- Tina based oneshots from August. Quite heavily Newtina as well: https://archiveofourown.org/works/40798362/chapters/102227508

A Life Shared- Fics based around the original four written for Fourtastic beasts. Good old found family stuff. : https://archiveofourown.org/works/43056204/chapters/108193008

Longer fics:

Lavenders Blue -Newt finds and has to take care of a very different type of creature than he is used to: https://archiveofourown.org/works/45794482

Trials of Scamander- A post FB3 following on a few moths after Secrets of Dumbledore. Drama, Humour, Angst and Romance : https://archiveofourown.org/works/41667879/chapters/104521596

Falling- The first in the series and more focused on the immediate fallout of the battle in COG: https://archiveofourown.org/works/35083978/chapters/87392221

Always- More focus on the progression of Newt and Tina’s relationship and how everyone else progresses in their lives while Grindelwald calls the shots: https://archiveofourown.org/works/35085637/chapters/87396832

Hope- Not even being on the other side of the world can Newt and Tina escape the brewing the war and after a hastily written letter from Theseus they are pulled straight back into the middle of the storm. The third and final instalment: https://archiveofourown.org/works/38286550/chapters/95665708

#newt scamander #tina goldstein #fantastic beasts and where to find them #newtina #fantastic beasts #fbawtft #fantastic beasts secrets of dumbledore #secrets of dumbledore #theseus scamander #fantastic beasts and the secrets of dumbledore #fbsod #jacob kowalski #scamander brothers #newt x tina #newtina fanfiction #fantastic beasts fanfiction

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mythrielofsolitude · 1 year

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London Visit

"It's so expanded." Tina breathed, slowly circling in his menagerie. She was over on a visit, helping with a case in London but had some of the daylight time to come over and visit.

He pointed out the new beasts, and Dougal wandered over and demanded to be held so of course Tina picked him up. They wandered past the kelpie, the Griffiths (he was helping his mom with a couple of injured ones), and various other beasts in need of care. Bunty was scurrying around doing her chores, but she had given Tina a good hug and talked with her about the Nifflers and Dougal.

They spent half the day caring for beasts with a meal break and a letter break for Tina (no update she didn't have to come into the ministry yet). She drank her coffee, and he drank his tea, and they sat side by side on the steps listening to the Kelpie water sloshing and the various animal grunts and vocalizations.

But night finally came, and she had to go back into the ministry. There were Grindlewald followers that needed to be arrested and there was a trafficking case she had been monitoring.

"Be safe." He said, following her to his front door. He helped her into her coat and turned the collar up, straightening her necklace and tucking it into her blouse. She leaned in and kissed him, lingering to commit the feel of his eyelashes and his soft sigh when she nipped at his lips. She hugged him tight and apparated into the night, knowing she'd be back again tomorrow after clocking out and getting some sleep.

#ITS A MIRACLE I WROTE SOMETHING #Newtina #newtina fanfiction

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themysteriousphoenix · 1 year

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Not me over here planning out a regency era Newtina fic...

#newtina #rip my WIPs #tina goldstein #newt scamander #newtina fanfiction

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anotherfrench · 2 years

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New Story ✨

#newt x porpentina #newt scamander #fantastic beats and where to find them #porpentina goldstein #newtina fanfiction #newt x tina #tina x newt #newtina

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kiragua · 2 years

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Someone can create a story where Newt is bad or vastly evasive, becoming apathetic towards people, causing his and Tina's romantic relationship to not exist so easily on his part and was hidden by her, showing a Newt that is shown on the outside weak, but inside he is a bit twisted and a Tina who proves to be a cruel person, but inside he is even sweeter and more fragile than Queenie herself.

#tina goldstein #newtina fanfiction #newt scamander #fbawtft #porpentina goldstein #newton scamander #newt x porpentina

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afrenchaugurey · 4 months

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So... I quit my WIP yesterday, just the time for a little fluffy soothing Yule fic. I wrote that short OS in a couple of hours yesterday and posted right away on an impulse because I missed and needed them.

"A soft Yule"

https://archiveofourown.org/works/52428934

I hope you'll enjoy and Happy Holidays no matter what you celebrate (or don’t).

#yule #holidays fic #fantastic beasts #fan fiction #fantastic beasts fanfiction #newt scamander #tina goldstein #newtina #autistic newt scamander #queenie goldstein #jacob kowalski #goldstein sisters #scamander brothers #fluff #fic : a soft yule

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the-al-chemist · 5 months

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Lots of Little Miracles

Written for @hp-12monthsofmagic’s December prompt, Merry and Bright. Christmas gets a lot of coverage at this time of year, but I’d like to wish a Happy Hanukkah to those who celebrate.

Warnings: This story features a small child who does not appreciate religion as much as she appreciates food.

The night was dark as pitch and cold as ice, with hail battering the walls and the winter wind rattling the windows as it blew in from the wave-crashed cliffs. Inside, however, it was warm, and the smell of frying oil was wafting through from the kitchen.

Artemis smiled as she turned her attention to the row of thin candles that had been placed on the windowsill, each of their little flickering flames reflecting on the dark glass behind. There were nine of them in total, one for each year of her age, all held by a candlestick with outstretched arms like the branches of a tree. She raised one forefinger and gently tapped the flames in turn, smiling as they bobbed away from her touch.

“Come away from there, Artemis.”

At the sound of her great-aunt’s voice, Artemis turned her back on the nine candles, but she did not move away from them.

“It’s fine, Aunt Tina. They don’t hurt,” she said. “They’re only teeny tiny fires.”

“I know, but I don’t want them getting put out accidentally,” Tina replied. “It’s the last night of Hanukkah, so it’s important that they all stay lit tonight.”

“Yeah, but if one goes out you can just set it on fire again.”

“That’s not really the point, honey.”

Artemis’ nose wrinkled. “Then what is the point?”

“Well, you know the story of Hanukkah, don’t you?” When Artemis shook her head, Aunt Tina frowned. “I assumed Sara would have told you.”

It had been a long time since Artemis’ mother Sara had been in a mood to tell stories. Maybe once upon a time, before her dad had died and her brother ran away from home, Artemis might have sat on her mother’s lap and been told the story of Hanukkah. If she had, she had since forgotten it.

Luckily for her, she still had Aunt Tina to tell her stories.

“A long time ago, there was a kingdom far away from here,” Tina began. Artemis listened carefully. All her favourite stories took place in far-off lands. “And in this kingdom, the king decided that he did not like people following different gods to his. So, he ordered his soldiers to take over all of the temples and stop people from going in, and get rid of all the oil they used to light candles.

“Now, the people who followed one god, the one me and my family follow, they weren’t happy about that at all. They fought back, and they managed to win back their temple. It was all in ruins, but they managed to piece it back together slowly. But, they didn’t have enough oil for their lights; they only had enough for one night.

“So, the people lit their candle, thinking it would only last that one night, but their god knew all about their struggles, and to thank them for having faith in him against all odds, he granted them a miracle. That little bit of oil, which should only have burned for one night, burned for eight whole nights.”

Aunt Tina smiled. Artemis did not.

“What, is that the end?” she asked, and her great-aunt nodded. “It’s not a very exciting story.”

“I think it’s a very exciting story.”

Old people had strange ideas about what was exciting. Artemis sighed heavily. “It’s about oil, Aunt Tina.”

“It’s not about the oil,” said Tina. “It’s about the miracle.”

Artemis was not as easily impressed as her great-aunt.

“It’s not much of a miracle,” she said. “Anyone can make a bit of oil last longer, you’d just need a spell or a potion. Or you could just make flames with magic, and you wouldn’t even need the oil at all. I don’t get why it is worth this big celebration every year.”

“But these people weren’t magical, honey. They were all Muggles.”

“They can’t have been. One of them must have been a witch or a wizard and lying about it. They were in disguise or something, I don’t know.”

It was at that moment that Artemis’ great-uncle Newt, Aunt Tina’s husband, came in. He settled himself on an armchair, around the back of which a Kneazle was sleeping. Artemis turned to him for support.

“You agree with me, don’t you, Uncle Newt? That thing with the oil isn’t a miracle, it’s just magic.”

Newt fixed Artemis with a peculiar expression. “Why can’t it be both?”

“Well, because,” Artemis said with a shrug, “miracles are miracles. Magic happens all the time.”

“So do miracles.” Uncle Newt was clearly wrong, and Artemis opened her mouth to tell him so, but he continued before she could speak, “Maybe not big miracles, but life is full of lots of little miracles. Last week, I visited an old friend and saw his phoenix burst into flames before my eyes and emerge reborn, young and new again.”

“That’s what phoenixes do, Uncle Newt.”

“If you or I were to do that, or Milly here” — Newt raised one hand to scratch the chin of the Kneazle behind him — “that would be a miracle, don’t you think?”

“Yeah, but…”

“Yesterday morning, you went down to the beach and you picked up a pebble and painted it for me. It’s on my desk now. Until yesterday, it was just one pebble among thousands of others, and you happened to pick that exact one to paint. Years ago, that pebble would have been part of the cliff, and it’s only because of the waves washing over it in different ways over the years that it’s become a pebble at all, let alone one that was picked out and is now painted and special to me.”

“I grew up all the way over the sea in America,” Aunt Tina added. “And one day, your Uncle just happened to travel there, and on that day the two of us happened to be in the same place at the same time. If that hadn’t happened, I might have met someone else and fallen in love with them. But I didn’t, I fell in love with him.” Her dark eyes sparkled as they met her husband’s. “And, out of all the millions of people in the world, he fell in love with me, too. The same thing happened when your parents met, and now all three of us are here together. I think that’s pretty darn miraculous.”

It was all very nice, what they were saying, but Artemis wasn’t sure that she really understood what they meant.

“But then, everything and everyone could be a miracle, if you go by what you’re saying,” she told them. It wasn’t a joke, but they both chuckled. “What?”

“Well, that’s what we are trying to tell you, honey. Everything can be a miracle, you just have to think it. To the people in the temple, the oil was a miracle. To some people, magic is a miracle. To us, you are a miracle.”

“That’s why we need to be kind to everyone and everything,” said Uncle Newt. “Because this whole world and everything in it is just as miraculous as we are.”

Aunt Tina placed one gentle hand on Artemis’ dark-haired head. “Now, don’t you think that is worth celebrating?”

“I guess so,” Artemis replied, though she was still a little confused.

“Great. So, let’s stop playing with the Menorah, and go and make some latkes.”

Artemis followed Tina into the kitchen without hesitation. She might not have fully grasped the point of Hanukkah, but she did know that she liked latkes. And, seeing as her great-aunt and uncle considered her to be a miracle, she was sure that she could persuade them to give her at least one extra portion.

#artemis hexley #newt scamander #tina goldstein #newtina #harry potter fanfiction #hp fanfic #hphm fic #hogwarts mystery #hp12mom

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jaskiersbard · 1 year

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Chapter Six: “Iceberg! Right Ahead!”

Hello all! I’m afraid that chapters have been slow because six weeks on from me going to work at camp and thinking "ugh my throat and chest feel scratchy", I'm STILL ill. Today has literally been me going to the doctor first thing, going to the pharmacy to get antibiotics, going to a health clinic for a chest x-ray, and then going home to nap before watching television. I am, in short, VERY sick, which is why I had to take a break writing this chapter because all of last week was me battling sinusitis and a chest infection. I'm still not well at all but I wanted to get this down because, hey ho, I love writing it!

As of the end of this chapter, there's about an hour left of the film to cover - plus deleted scenes and my own additions. I'm hoping this fic will be about ten chapters, but we'll have to see how it goes.

A lot of the first two sections of this chapter are lifted heavily from Jonathan Mayo's book "Titanic: Minute by Minute" - it feels very jumpy and chaotic, and it's for a reason. In the film, the time between Fleet calling out the iceberg warning and the actual impact is something like two minutes - in real life, it was barely forty seconds. The Titanic really did not stand a chance sadly. As I saw it once so adequately described online (on Quora I think - I still have the screenshot of it saved to my phone), "the sinking was a 'perfect storm' (in calm seas) of COCK-UPS" - the crew not being trained on evacuation procedures, the missing binoculars for the look-outs, the lack of lifeboats, the fact the iceberg warnings from other ships were ignored etc.

Potential warnings for this chapter include a man hitting a woman, same man also slut-shaming her, swearing (let Newt/Tina/Theseus/Lally swear, goddammit!), people being idiots, passengers panicking because they've been locked on the lower decks, a very sad Thomas Andrews, and my un-beta'd writing.

The soundtrack that corresponds with the scene(s) at the beginning of this chapter (and the last bit of the one before it) is called "Hard to Starboard" and I highly recommend listening to it (or watching the scene if you haven't already seen the film) to get into the mood!

#newtina #newt scamander #tina goldstein #porpentina goldstein #theseus scamander #newtina au #newtina titanic au #my fanfiction #newtina fanfiction #my writing #titanic #rms titanic #fantastic beasts #fantastic beasts and where to find them #fbawtft #fantastic beasts fanfiction #percival graves #just peddling my little 58k+ fic don't mind me #newt x tina

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silvertonedwords · 1 year

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Tina in London

a/k/a New in New York version 4.0, a/k/a the one where Newt doesn’t go to New York at all.

Find it on a03 here, and please leave a comment.

Tina looks again at the letter clasped in her hand.

Not that she needs reminding of Newt’s address. She’s had it memorized for months.

The letter has served as a bit of a talisman this whole trip, although she knows that’s silly. Newt probably didn’t keep her letters to him.

Still, his letters were beautiful, brilliant, tender—at least, she’d thought so—and perhaps she’d needed something familiar to cling to. She seems to have fewer and fewer anchors these days, and she doesn’t care for the feeling.

What would Queenie say if she knew Tina were in London?

The truth is, Tina doesn’t know. Unlike her mind-reading sister, she’s never been so skilled at knowing how Queenie would react to big things.

She hopes Queenie would know that she wants the best for her, always. She hopes Queenie knows that they can argue, but that Tina will always love her more than anything.

Queenie had made it very clear that she wanted Tina to give her some space, and Tina—feeling puzzled, hurt, frustrated, guilty, sad—had let things stand for a few weeks. She’d assumed that Queenie and Jacob were still in New York somewhere, until she’d been straightening up last week and had uncovered a receipt for two tickets to Southampton dated from a few weeks earlier. The decision to take a few weeks’ leave and book her own Atlantic crossing had been a bit impulsive, but her determination hadn’t wavered on the ship, nor on the train to London. Now that she’s actually walking through the city, though, she’s begun to wonder if this was the right thing to do.

She’s spent the week trying not to consider this particular point of her travels too closely. That is, the part when she knocks on Newt Scamander’s door. Even though much of the trip—the sights and sounds of the docks, the blue-grey sky—had reminded her of him. Nearly everything these days reminds her of someone. It’s an old ache, as an orphan, to see Momma’s old baking dish, or Poppa’s pocket watch, and feel their absence. Now, she sees Queenie’s empty bed, a sink with only one set of dishes, a letterbox that used to make her light up with expectation and now makes her feel sick. London is not haunted in the same way, but she does wonder with each hotel and restaurant she passes if Queenie and Jacob have been there, and the thought of walking Newt’s street; knocking on his door…

She doesn’t know her sister and Jacob’s plans, but surely their next step from Southampton would be to come here and see Newt?

And so, that must be hers, as well.

She’s just stopping in to and ask after Queenie and Jacob, isn’t she? It doesn’t have to mean something, it doesn’t have to be—But it feels like a sad reversal of what she’d once thought would happen; Newt on her own doorstep with a book in his hand.

She checks a street sign and turns left, still clutching that letter. She forces her hand to relax. She doesn’t want to smudge the ink. She laughs at herself at that; why does she wish so much to preserve them? They aren’t—they didn’t mean what she’d thought.

He could’ve moved, couldn’t he? She’d brushed the thought aside on the ship, but it’s true. Lots of people move when they’re planning to marry. He wouldn’t uproot all his creatures, she thinks. But then, wouldn’t he? For Leta, mightn’t he do lots of things? Perhaps Leta would never ask that of him; perhaps they truly are a brilliant match.

Merlin, what if Leta answers the door?

You’ve thought of that, she reminds herself. And so what if she does?

I’ll go in, ask him what he knows, keep a hold of myself, and leave them alone as quickly as possible. We are friends aren’t we, after a fashion? I hope we are. He’d want to help. What should she call a person who’d made her world look different, brighter? Who she’d thought might be…

She wonders if this habit of arguing with herself is a symptom of Queenie’s recent absence; an attempt to fill the void of a sister who used to hear so much.

She is happy for Queenie, despite what her sister may think. She wants Queenie and Jacob to be happy. But she also has to protect her, and if MACUSA ever found out about Queenie and Jacob, the pain that it would cause them—

It’s dangerous. Queenie has always followed her heart with complete disregard for any danger. She’s always let people hurt her rather than cut herself off.

Tina’s never been like that. Not even before Momma and Poppa…

She and Newt had written about that once. He’d said that he hadn’t noticed until he’d come to New York and met them all how lonely he’d been.

Perhaps being lonely is easier than I’d realized. Not becoming lonely, I mean, but tolerating the state of it. Do you think it’s possible to be too good at being lonely?

She’s often thought about those words.

What would Queenie have to say about her visiting Newt?

Tina’s not sure. It’s so mixed up with everything else about him. The book that never came. The visit that never was. The warmth she’d thought she’d felt in his letters; words he’d written that puzzle or comfort or hurt or feel treacherously like hope when she recalls them. Queenie’s confidence in his feelings, and then suddenly…not.

No wonder Newt stopped writin’, the way you are to be around. You’re just jealous that Jacob wants me back.

Tina squares her shoulders, blinks back her tears, and tries to push away the memories of that last, horrible fight. They’re never very far.

She can do this.

She finds she’s grasping the letter and her map tightly again. She forces her muscles to relax, reminding herself not to think about anything past the neatly written address. (The elegantly scrawled Dear Tina and the long paragraphs that follow. He’d written about what his brother was like growing up, about the English seaside and the magical beasts that live there, and he’d asked about Ilvermorny and the forests nearby and whether she might, at some point in the future, like to walk there with him. She can try not to think of it all she wants, but like the street name and number, his letter has long since taken up residence in her memory.)

She is what must be only a few doors away from his house when a man with a familiar gait and a mop of curly ginger hair rushes out of an alley and up one of the stoops.

“Newt,” she says without thinking.

Newt freezes. He whirls around, squinting at the dark street. “Tina.” His voice is warm, soft, tender. Like it had been at the docks the last time they’d seen each other. She doesn’t know what to make of that.

His cheeks are faintly flushed, perhaps from the cold. He’s beautiful. That is the word for Newt. She could study his face for hours. She wants to touch the shadows under his eyes. She wants to ask if he’s had trouble sleeping, and why.

“You’re. But,” he stammers, looking down. He twists his hands together. “You’re in London.”

For one treacherous moment, her heart soars. He’s smiling, almost laughing. His eyes briefly meet with hers. He looks happy.

Then, she remembers.

The anger and hurt rush back like a gust of wind, casting aside everything else in their path. “You’re observant enough to be an auror, Mr. Scamander. Even if we are too hypocritical for you.”

He flushes and looks away.

Tina’s eyes widen. She regrets her sharp, impulsive words, and especially her bitter tone. Newt is easy to wound, even if he pretends not to be; even if other people don’t see it. She doesn’t want to hurt him.

His voice is rough. “I didn’t mean—“ He sounds frustrated and angry.

She aches to touch his hand, lift his shoulder, apologize.

He is still everything she’s known. Kind and intelligent and extraordinary. Stubborn, gentle, observant, vulnerable, beautifully well spoken when he’s given the time of day. A little bit careless sometimes, but not malicious.

He hadn’t set out to hurt her, he mustn’t have, and that should count for something, no matter what’s changed.

She’s not sure she wants the answer to that question, of what’s changed. Because what if that answer is, for him, nothing? The idea of being jilted, thrown over for someone else, hurts, but in some ways, the alternative is worse. Because if he hasn’t changed his mind about her; if she’s wrong about the warmth she’d felt during his last days in New York and in his letters, then that means he’d never considered, never even thought…

Well, Tina Goldstein, always showing up where you’re least wanted. Always second to the childhood sweetheart whose picture he carries, because he’d never even thought of her to begin with.

He’s still slouched to the side with his eyes trained on the ground. It reminds her a little of how he’d seemed when they’d first entered her apartment; that curled up look of someone who’d thought that what he could generally expect of people was that they’d hurt him. She has a right to be upset, she thinks, but she doesn’t want to be the reason for that look, not ever. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have—I didn’t mean it like that.“ She closes her eyes.

“Would you—would you like to come in?” he offers haltingly.

She wraps her arms around her stomach, fighting for control as her heart lurches hopefully. “Yes, I’d—“

For a second, his hand barely grazes her arm. He pulls away just as quickly. Her skin feels hot where they’d touched, even through her shirtsleeves and coat. Newt is not wearing gloves. His skin looks red and cold and she has the insane urge, even as his hand disappears into his pocket, to cover his hand with hers and warm it.

She looks up, desperately wanting to see the expression on his face; equally afraid of what she might see. But he has already turned away.

She follows him inside.

-&-

“I have a few beasts to tend to in the menagerie, if you don’t mind? Coming with me, that is. If you’d like.”

“Sure,” she agrees softly.

He nods.

For a moment, she watches him follow what must be a routine. He tosses his coat in the vague direction of a stand, where it floats to rest by magic. He drops a few letters onto a side table, and flicks the switch of a light. He throws a hand out to her, and for a breath, she thinks he means for her to take it.

Then, with a crush of confused disappointment, she realizes he’s offering to take her bag. Don’t be silly, Tina. She shrugs off her coat and hands it and her bag over to him, thanking him softly. Their hands brush, just slightly. Sparks skitter up her arm. His hands are cold, as she’d thought. She blinks slowly. Touching him had felt like this in New York, but she feels it even more, now. The time apart, perhaps? Or perhaps it’s that back then, she hadn’t yet grown to feel for him as much as she does—

She cuts off that line of thinking.

“This way.”

He leads her through a small kitchen. It looks practical, clean, if not quite tidy. There are little signs of the life lived in this home—a newspaper spread across the table; a kettle and tin of tea leaves out beside the stove; a dirty mug in the sink. Just one, she thinks, so perhaps Leta isn’t here?

They continue through a combined dining and sitting room. The dining table looks hardly used, which doesn’t surprise her—Newt hardly seems the type to host dinner parties, or to bother with eating at a table when he’s all alone. The chair and sofa are mismatched and worn, but cozy. The sitting room has a small writing desk. Is that where?—she’d sometimes tried to imagine where he might sit to write his letters. There is a small stack of unopened letters. Hers? No, they are not the right shape or size.

The only photographs she sees are hanging on the edge of the room, near the menagerie stairs. One is of a couple on their wedding day, clearly taken a few decades ago—his parents?—and a second is of the same pair, aged by several years, with their hands on the shoulders of two young men. One is obviously Newt, and the other looks very much like him, but taller and with slightly sharper features. That must be his brother. She stares at this younger Newt, smiling at his familiarity.

‘The stairs are just here.”

She spins to find Newt already descending the stairs. He’s described the menagerie to her, but he’d always brushed it off; he’d made it sound small and utilitarian. As she climbs down after him and sees the complex work area at its front, and the myriad environments that branch off in different directions—icy mountain, mossy lake, grassland, forest, desert—she thinks that it is anything but.

It’s a wonder. She’d expected it to be somewhat larger than the case, but the structure they’ve entered is massive and beautifully crafted.

The breath she takes as she steps onto the floor must be audible. “You built all this?”

“I did,” he says casually, as though it were an insignificant thing. He’s pouring some kind of grain or seed into a bucket, then tossing leaves on top. “I’m still working on better charms for the sky in the forest enclosure. But the charms for climate and sound work alright, and that’s the most important part. Well, the climate is. The sound is for the neighbors. Well, it’s so they don’t report odd noises coming from the wall at all hours.”

She laughs softly. “It’s incredible.” She touches the wall beside her.

“Thank you.” He smiles, and she feels the warmth of it in her chest.

Another picture tacked to the side of the stairs catches her eye. It was put up hastily, without a frame. She would guess that Newt’s parents provided him with the two framed photographs upstairs, but this one he must’ve arranged himself. It looks like a clip from a larger photograph in a newspaper, and inside it she can just make out the figures of Jacob, Queenie, Newt, and herself standing outside the subway station in New York. From a news report on the obscurus incident, perhaps? She hadn’t seen this one, although she’d scoured the papers available to her for any useful information.

She brings a careful hand up to touch it. The tiny figures of Queenie and Jacob are close together, perhaps talking, and she is a few feet ahead of them, looking into the street. Newt is off to her side. She remembers this moment. She’d been giving Queenie and Jacob a moment alone, grateful for their escape and yet hurting to know they would soon part, and crushed that they hadn’t saved Credence. She’d never known that, while she had been looking into the street that day, Newt had been looking at her.

“I got it from The Daily Prophet.”

Tina startles slightly. Newt has turned back to her.

“They had an article about New York a few days after I got back.”

She removes her hand from the picture almost regretfully.

He heads off to deliver the feed to a couple of creatures in the nearby grass.

Why does watching him go about such an ordinary task make her ache with want? Not yours, she reminds herself.

She looks around, half expecting to see pictures of Leta. Surely they must be down here, if they weren’t upstairs? This is where he keeps precious things. (Is that newspaper photograph precious to him?)

Tina watches him work for several minutes, hovering at the margins. He asks once if she’d mind bringing him a few herbs from a nearby storage shelf. She does. After that, he begins to hand her odds and ends to carry while he fills feed bowls and inspects habitats. Occasionally, he says a few words about what he’s doing, or where a creature came from. Mostly, they work in silence, speaking only when Newt asks her to fill a bowl with water or hold a small, furry body steady while he checks to see if a wound has healed. Once, he holds her hand to guide her as she tries to return an injured kneazle to his bed. She must be imagining the way his breath trembles.

He’s…wonderful. Kind and careful; strong and gentle. He’s so alive here, in ways he isn’t anywhere else.

As they return to the workshop area beside the stairs, she sinks heavily onto a bench. Perhaps she shouldn’t have come. She doesn’t want to want like this.

‘Tina? I should…”

“Yes?” Her heart pounds. Is he going to tell her about Leta now? Perhaps he does feel that he owes her some explanation. She feels a hypocrite that she suddenly doesn’t know if she wants one. Everything with Queenie is still so raw, and she’s not certain she’s ready to hear him say that he’d enjoyed their letters well enough, but he’d always loved Leta, and—does that make her selfish? That she wants a few more minutes, one more evening to want…even if it would be better to get this over with, some shaky part of her wants to hope that…

“No, nothing,” he says softly, carrying on with his work.

She looks at her hands. Perhaps it is selfish.

That’s one of the things Queenie had called her a few weeks ago.

Selfish.

Newt’s voice breaks through her thoughts. “Tina, are you alright?”

“Yes, I’m—“ It’s very hard to lie to him. “No it’s. I was hopin’—I thought maybe you’d seen Queenie’n Jacob? I’m tryin’ to find them.”

“Ah.” He looks away. “They were here, about a week ago? Just for one night. They said they were going to travel a little, and that they’d stop by when they returned to London. I thought you might be with them, but then Queenie said that you—”

“—weren’t talkin’?” she finishes. “Yeah.”

“She didn’t say much, only that you were concerned that she and Jacob were together, even though it’s illegal in America.”

Her hand moves to her locket. “She started goin’ to Jacob’s shop,” Tina explains. “At first it was supposed to be once or twice, only to see how he was doin’, but then I found out she was goin’ every week, then twice a week, talkin’ to him.” Her voice sounds distant to her own ears, the story flowing out of her. “They’ve been seein’ each other, in secret, for months. I told her I thought they should stop. Not because—I want her to be happy. Of course I do. But Newt, if MACUSA ever found out—they could get married in secret in a No-Maj court, but if it got out, they’d show up one night and take him away. Obliviate him. If they had children, they’d be taken, too, obliviated, and sent to live with other wizarding families, and they’d never know who their parents were, or why—it’s cruel. I hate it. But I can’t protect her from it. She thinks I don’t—she said I must not want her to be happy. That I care more about the rules than I do about her. And she left. I haven’t seen her in weeks.” The tears she has been fighting break free.

Newt sits on the bench beside her. Alongside the pain of everything that’s gone wrong with Queenie, and the worries that led to their fights, a fresh worry occurs to her; one she hadn’t even considered before. Newt had made his thoughts on American No-Maj marriage policies quite plain. Will he be as disgusted with her as Queenie had been?

His hand settles on top of hers.

She reaches to wipe her tears, only to find that Newt’s already thumbing them away. The gentle touch of his hand on her cheek sends a shiver down her spine.

She wants to pull away, so that the memory of this doesn’t hurt later, and she wants to stay and let herself forget. She wants to press her face into his neck and set down some of this weight she carries, just for a moment. She wants to understand how she’s supposed to stop wanting. “I guess I coulda raised it differently, but I’m scared for her. It’s dangerous, and I couldn’t just not say anythin’. When I found they’d bought tickets to England I thought—I don’t want to lose my sister.”

“Of course.” Newt strokes her hand slowly. Eventually, he says quietly, “Tina, I’m sure she knows how much you care about her.”

“You think so?” Even to Tina, her own voice sounds pleading.

“Yes. I do.” He tucks her hair behind her ear, and she is lost, as always, in the way he seems to like being around her, just as she feels around him. Despite everything, that feels real. “Forgive me, Tina. Did you travel today? You must be tired. I should’ve asked if you wanted to rest or…”

She wakes from the daze of his touch. “I’m alright. I’ve only been on the train today. It wasn’t long. I shoulda—I’m sorry, I shoulda written to ask if I could come, shouldn’t I?“

“Not at all,” he says. “I’m only glad you’ve come.”

Their gazes catch, and the warmth in his makes her stomach jolt. She has to remind herself that she isn’t here for this; that he doesn’t want…

She realizes that her hand is still beneath his and carefully begins to extract it. Queenie would say it serves her right, trying to come here when she knows he doesn’t…

That isn’t fair, though. Before that last, awful fight, Queenie had often jumped to Newt’s defense.

During that fight, among so many other things, Tina had suddenly learned how much she had come to rely on her sister’s judgement. Even when his book had come out, and he hadn’t come; even when she’d first seen that stupid article, she’d allowed Queenie to give her hope. He’s crazy about you, Teen, she’d said. Had all of that been a lie to spare Tina’s feelings? Had Queenie thought, all along, that Newt didn’t…Queenie wouldn’t lie to her like that. At least, she doesn’t think she would.

He stands suddenly. “I’ll finish up. It’s just the nifflers left.” He nods to the menagerie. “And I could make us some tea?”

She sniffs and wipes the last of her tears away. “Do you need help with the nifflers?”

He shakes his head. “I’m almost done.”

She nods, a little deflated, as he wanders off.

Dougal appears by her side a few moments later.

“Hi, how are you?”

She laughs softly as the demiguise offers her a hand. She takes it. His fur is soft. He pets her hand, and his eyes glow. He tries to drag her from her seat.

“What? What is it?”

“He’s probably worried that you’re upset.” Tina looks over to Newt, who has returned to the menagerie entryway, and is watching them. He looks away.

“I’m fine,” she tells Dougal. “Thank you for lookin’ out for me.” The demiguise tugs her hand once more; then, his shoulders sag, and he lumbers away. She watches the creature go, curious.

“Tea?”

“Yes, thank you.”

Newt retrieves a kettle, teapot, teacups, and a jar of tealeaves from a nearby shelf. He piles tea leaves into the teapot, and for a moment, it feels like New York in the days before his departure. The butterflies in her stomach whenever she’d found him looking at her. The fascinating creatures she’d met. The quiet stories they’d shared. Her jittery nerves as she’d opened the letter from Picquery that had reinstated her as an auror.

He waves his wand, and a small folding table and chair fly over and set themselves up before her. Their teacups follow. He sits and sets the tea to pouring. She watches his hands engulf the cup even as he’s holding it so delicately, and looks away.

Her first sip tells her that he’s remembered exactly how she takes her tea. Just a little splash of milk, and a pinch of sugar.

“Did you—“

“I wanted to—“

They both stop, and when he nods she presses on. “I wanted to—about what I said to you outside. About aurors? I didn’t—I shouldn’t have—I’m sorry. It was unkind, and it wasn’t fair.”

He’s looking at his teacup. “I was a bit harsh it my letters.”

She thinks of the subway full of aurors ready to destroy Credence, and the meetings she’s been in since. She thinks of Newt’s case and the blame placed on his creatures. She thinks of her own readiness to turn all of them in. She’d meant well, in some ways, but she hadn’t even been open to the possibility, hadn’t imagined—“You were right,” she finally says.

He looks at her. “I never meant to—I didn’t mean to include...“

“What?” she prompts after a silence of several moments.

“You.”

“Oh,” she breathes.

Newt sighs.

He springs up suddenly. “I nearly forgot. I have something for you.”

He hurries off and returns a few seconds later with a cloth-wrapped book bound with blue silk ribbon. She takes it carefully. “Your book.”

He nods.

She traces a finger along the knotted ribbon. “I read it again on the ship. It was—it’s wonderful.”

“You’ve bought it already?”

He sounds disappointed, and somehow that irks her. “It’s been out for three months.”

He drops back into his seat.

“I know. I was hoping—I would’ve sent it to you, but I was hoping they’d let me travel.”

“Your publisher, you mean?”

“What?”

“You must’ve had a busy schedule. I’ve seen in the papers—it’s sellin’ great, isn’t it?”

“Yes, but that’s not—I mean…”

“It’s fine, Mr. Scamander. You didn’t have to.”

“I wanted to.”

She clenches her hands, annoyed at the treacherous way her heart is jumping in her chest. He sighs, and when she looks up he’s fiddling with his teacup. “Congratulations. It’s wonderful that the book’s doin’ so well.”

“Thank you. All the media attention. It’s not all been positive, but—I hope it’ll change how people think about magical beasts.”

“I’m sure it has.” She clears her throat. “It worked on me. Knowing you, I mean, not the...” She hopes they’re happy memories for him, too.

“Yes,” he breathes, smiling softly into his tea.

Tina steels herself. She has to ask before she leaves, and truly, they really aren’t friends if she can’t bring herself to ask about the important things in his life. “How’s Leta?”

“Well enough, I think.”

She looks at her tea. Her stomach turns. “Is the wedding soon?”

“June. I didn’t mention in my letters? I thought I had.”

She glances up, startled out of any indignation, and says flatly, “You hadn’t.”

He stands and takes down a pile of papers from one of the shelves on his nearby writing desk. He looks through the stack, and with a jolt she realizes that the handwriting on many is familiar. They’re her letters. All of them, or close to it. He’s kept them.

He seems to find what he was looking for, and offers her a stack of three pages that have been written through on both sides. They’re addressed to her.

“You never sent this,” she observes unnecessarily.

“I was writing it when you…stopped.”

Her stomach drops. She looks at him almost pleadingly. “We couldn’t. I couldn’t, anymore…”

His voice trembles. “Why not?”

Oh, Morrigan, it really never did occur to him. He’d thought their letters to be between passing acquaintances. It seems he never had been interested in—How can she explain that—She feels small and stupid. “We were…At least, I thought they were…somethin’ they weren’t.”

His eyes fill with tears, but he looks almost angry. “Oh.”

She searches his face. Her auror senses are screaming that she’s missing something, but she cannot fathom what.

“Queenie also said that you were seeing someone else? An—an auror.”

“What? Oh, I, that is, I guess…” One sort of date weeks ago, and suddenly Queenie’s telling people they’re seeing each other? But why—someone else?—Had he cared for her, once? Is he unhappy with Leta?

A loud clatter makes them both startle.

“Dougal?” Newt jumps from his chair to steady the writing desk that the demiguise had knocked into. The pile of papers that he’d retrieved flutters to the ground around them.

Newt begins to pick them up. Tina goes to help, and finds herself reading the familiar opening of a letter she’d written to him months ago. The creases are well worn, as though the letter has been read more than once.

Newt faces away from her, gathering her letters carefully. She’s reaching for one that’s slipped beneath the desk chair when she catches sight of some other papers on his desk. She knows his handwriting too, of course, but it is the address that she notices first. Dear Tina, one begins, and then she sees a second page with the same address, and a third. She stands without thinking to get a closer look. The dates range throughout the past few weeks. She trails her hand over one of the pages, feeling his eyes on her. “You didn’t send these, either.”

She glances back at him. She doesn’t think she’s imagining the way he looks at her, wary and eager all at once. “I couldn’t stop writing. I had so much more to say, and I wanted…I’ve never felt like this around anyone, and you’re so…you’re remarkable, and I…”

She touches the neat, familiar loop of the T in her own name. “But. You’re—You’re gettin’ married.”

“I’m what?”

“To Leta. You’re getting married to Leta?” she squeaks.

“No, I’m not.”

“You’re not?” Her chest is tight.

“No.”

“But the weddin’.”

“Leta and Theseus’s wedding?”

She tries to take this in. Her head is spinning. “Leta and—“

“My older brother? Theseus?”

“The magazine said you and Leta were engaged.“

“Those rubbish magazines are always getting things wrong. Last month one of them claimed I lured Teddy into my case and keep him confined, as if anyone could tell Teddy where to live and...that’s what I was trying to say. I told Queenie they got it all wrong and…mixing up two Scamanders is the least of their offenses, really, although in this case I…” he trails off.

“I don’t understand,” she whispers.

“I know you’re seeing someone else. I’m happy for you. That you’re happy, I mean. Not that I am. No that’s not what I mean. I…”

“I don’t understand.” She’s trembling even as she fights it fiercely.

He closes her hand around a piece of paper. Is it possible that their letters have meant everything to him that they have to her?

Dear Tina, it says. I wish I knew why you’d stopped writing back. Whatever I’ve said, or not said, I never wanted us to stop writing. I wanted to tell you this in person, but it seems the Ministry has no intention of lifting my travel ban. You see, I’m falling in love with you. If I’d Would

The letter stops there, with several false starts. She gasps and looks up to find his gaze, but he is looking down. She takes a step closer.

He begins to ramble. “The Ministry wouldn’t let me come, you see, I applied five times, and—“

So he had tried to return to New York, just as Queenie’d said, but that’s not the point anymore, because, “—you love me?”

“What? Oh, yes, of course.” He glances up, and suddenly she sees his behavior tonight in a new light. He’s been wondering about many of the same things as her. He’s been wondering if she was here to break his heart.

Carefully, she brings her hand to cup his jaw. She doesn’t force his gaze to hers; just holds gently, her thumb slowly caressing his skin. He leans into the touch, still looking at some point past her shoulder.

“You can say it, you know. If you don’t—if I misunderstood.“

“What?”

“You said you couldn’t continue with our letters the way they were. If you don’t want—we don’t have to—I never meant to make you uncomfortable. If you want—“

“—Newt—“

“—we can—“

“—Newt,” she repeats gently, and he falls silent. She finds his hand by his side and threads their fingers together.

His shoulders fall.

When he does look at her, she tries very hard to let him see beyond the armor she’s piled on these past weeks, to the way her eyes want to be when she looks at him. Carefully, deliberately, she brings his hand to her lips. He melts, like an injured person who’s been given a potion for the pain. “Newt,” she whispers. He looks hopeful, and a tiny bit wary. Now that she understands, she is frustrated with herself for making him doubt. She pushes herself to speak, even though these words have scared her since long before she met him. She’s always crashed right into things that scare her, that’s who she is, but Queenie’d been right, not with things like this. She promises herself that she’s going to start. “I love you, too.”

She can feel his body jolt beneath her hands. He huffs out a moaning, happy sort of sound. “You—”

She laughs. His smile and his joy feel like sunlight spilling into her chest.

“But—you stopped writing. You said we couldn’t write like that anymore. I thought—”

She runs her thumb back and forth along his jaw. “I meant—When you stopped talkin’ about visitin’ in your last few letters, and then your book came out and you didn’t come…and then I saw that magazine.” She huffs in frustration. “I thought I’d misunderstood. I thought you’d decided—I thought the letters’d been somethin’ else to you. I was just someone you’d been on an adventure with, once. An auror you disliked a little bit less than the others.”

He brings his hands to her neck and cradles her face gently: brow furrowed; calloused, gentle fingers brushing her skin.

His eyes find hers. And now that she’s allowing herself to look, she can see it. How he looks at her. Much as he had on the docks, and on his doorstep a few hours ago—in that photograph on the wall behind them, too. Warm, relieved, tender, hopeful.“I tried with the Ministry so many times. When Queenie and Jacob walked in, I looked for you. You weren’t there. I thought you must not want…”

“Want what?” she prompts when he doesn’t finish the thought. Her voice is low and warm.

He blinks slowly and swallows hard. “Me?”

She kisses him. He lets out a short, stunned gasp that turns into a whimper. His lips are chapped from winter, but still somehow soft. He smells of grass and soil and fresh winter air, and he is warm and close and gentle, and kisses her back with the sort of single-minded attention he gives everything that matters to him. His fingers press into her neck and jaw. Mercy Lewis, it feels good. When she pulls back, his soft moan of protest goes right to her gut. She takes his hand and kisses his inner wrist, and his fingers flutter against her palm. “We were both wrong then.”

“Yes.” He begins to cry. They are quiet, happy, relieved tears, the release of months of tension.

She draws him into her arms. They hold each other tightly, with Newt’s face pressed into her neck, and his arms tight across her shoulders, and hers wrapped around his waist.

She laughs wetly into his shoulder. “Newt?”

“Mm?” His voice vibrates against her skin.

“Did Dougal knock into your desk on purpose?”

“Hm?”

“He wanted me to see the letters.”

“Oh. Oh,” he says again. He lifts his head, looking amused. “I think he did.”

They laugh together.

He kisses her wrist. Her eyes slip shut. “Tina—the auror Queenie mentioned?”

She opens her eyes. “Mercy Lewis, I went to lunch with this boring guy once and now Queenie’s goin’ around tellin’ you that—I didn’t even like him. I was just tryin’ to prove somethin’ to myself.”

He strokes her jaw with his thumb and shifts closer. “And what was that?”

“That I, um—” it’s very hard to keep a train of thought when Newt is touching her like this. She had been trying to prove a lot of things, really. That Newt hadn’t broken her heart. (A lie that Queenie had tried not to let Tina tell herself.) That she still deserved this, even if not with him. That somebody might want—“That it was possible for someone to…like me, the way I’d hoped you…did,” she finishes.

“Why wouldn’t it be?”

He asks the question so innocently, like he really doesn’t understand. And the thing is, he doesn’t. He’s been in love with her all the while, waiting for her to write back. It’s going to take her more than a few minutes to reconcile this knowledge with everything she’s been imagining these past few weeks. “Tina Goldstein,” she repeats Grindelwald’s words, “always showing up where you’re least wanted.”

“I’ve never been so happy to see anyone on my doorstep in my life.”

She laughs tearfully.

This time, he kisses her. He rests his hands on her waist and coaxes her just that little bit closer, then slides his palms up and around her shoulders. This kiss is slow and deep. Her breath shudders from her lips. As they begin to part, they chase after each others’ lips for one more kiss, another. And Tina steals a third, because she can, and he wants her, and he always has.

They turn slightly as they catch their breath. Tina notices of a paper tacked to the side of the letter desk shelf, which she hadn’t been at the right angle to see clearly before.

“Is that—is that me?”

He turns to follow her gaze to the newspaper clipping, then promptly blushes and ducks his face into her neck.

“It is, isn’t it?” She cradles his jaw and lifts his head.

His expression is suddenly serious. “Tina? Are you alright?”

She guides his mouth back to hers.

-&-

Tina wakes to the sounds of the menagerie—a splash of water here, a croak there. She must’ve drifted off while Newt was closing up for the night. She’d offered to help, but he’d been right to observe that she was dead on her feet. She’d settled down on a camp chair to watch, but she doesn’t suppose that lasted more than a couple of minutes before her exhaustion caught up to her.

There’s a blanket spread across her lap that hadn’t been there before. Newt brought her a blanket.

“Hello,” he says softly.

She turns to his voice. “Hi.” She stretches muscles cramped from the odd position.

He studies her. It’s a nice feeling. It makes all of this feel very…real.

“I’ve made up my bed for you.”

“Newt, I couldn’t.”

“I hardly sleep there.”

She raises an eyebrow. “Then where—”

“Down here, mostly. In the shed. I have a cot.”

She tilts her head.

“Promise. I don’t need it.” He smiles at her. “You offered me yours, once.”

She smiles back. “I suppose I did.”

He sits on the floor beside her. His head is close enough that she can thread her fingers into his hair, and so she does. She combs through his hair slowly. “Have you thought of what you’ll do next? About Queenie, I mean.”

She hadn’t thought that far, except with vague hopes of some sort of lead. She’d hoped to learn whether they’d settled in London, or headed to the continent to travel. Queenie’d always wanted to travel. “I was so preoccupied , I didn’t even—they’re coming back, you said?”

“They said they’d be back in London in a couple of weeks. I’m not sure where they went—they mentioned Paris.”

“I can try the train stations in the morning, then. Perhaps someone saw them. People always seem to remember Queenie.”

He hums in agreement. “When did you tell MACUSA you’d be back?”

“I left things a little vague. Graves’ll cover for me for a few weeks at least. This was more important.”

“Middle-headed,” he murmurs.

“Hm?”

“It’s the three heads of the—”

“—Runespoor,” she finishes.

“Yes.” He glances at her, clearly pleased she knows the reference. “Most aurors aren’t, but you’re middle-headed.”

She laughs softly.

“I know you’ll want to try and find them, but you can stay here with me, if you want. Until they come back. You can always stay here.”

“Thank you.”

He leans into her hand.

“Tina?”

“Mm?”

“You’re in London.”

She smiles at the wonder in his voice.“I am.”

He looks away. “When you stopped writing. At first, I thought I’d been too harsh about aurors. Or said something that—”

She turns to see his profile.

“But then I thought perhaps you hadn’t—you see, people seem to like me, sometimes, but then it turns out that they didn’t. Don’t. And I thought—“

“I was one of them.” He’s explained so plainly, but she can feel the pain behind it. She pushes his hair back from his forehead. His eyelids flutter as though nothing’s ever felt so good. “I’m sorry,” she whispers.

He relaxes into her touch. “Don’t be. I’m—” he looks at her. His expression is giddy. “I’m happy.”

She laughs. “Me, too.” Her face falls. “I just wish Queenie…”

“We’ll find her. You’ll work things out.”

“You think?”

“Mm.” He slides his palm down her forearm, then lifts her hand into his.

Tina fights a yawn.

“You’re tired.”

“It was a long trip.”

“Not that sort of tired.”

She squeezes his hand in assent. “I am.” She takes a deep breath. “I’m better than I was.”

He rubs circles into her hand with his thumb.

“Can we stay here for a few more minutes?”

“Of course,” he agrees, settling in beside her chair. “As long as you’d like.”

-&-

(Across the room, Dougal watches them, satisfied. He may have only helped them along by a few minutes, but every second was worth it.)

#newtina fanfiction #newtina #my writing #newt in new york #tina in london #in which tina shows up on a certain doorstep

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multlfndm · 2 years

Conversation

Tina:*starring at Newt*

Newt:*starring at Tina*

Queenie:*knowing what ist going on and smiling*

Jacob: *starring at everyone and having no idea what's going on*

46 notes · View notes

literary-creature · 2 years

Text

Our Days in New York: Chapter 8

Hi there! It's been a while… To read my excuses for not updating in ages you can go to the end of the chapter. Enjoy!

December 13th, 1926

Newt made sure to rush through all the feedings that morning. It was Tina's first day of work, and he wanted to see her before she left. Queenie would make a wholesome breakfast, and Tina would be radiant, talkative, and bursting with enthusiasm. He didn't want to miss it.

His surprise was big when he came out of the case and found Tina sitting at the table alone. She had turned at hearing the sound of the latches, but her gaze fell to her coffee again as she murmured her greetings.

At first glance, he knew something wasn't right. It was on how she sat, on how she held the cup tightly with both hands, and in the way she carefully avoided looking at him. Only when he came close enough to the table did he notice her eyes were swollen. Even though she wasn't crying, she had been. Or maybe she hadn't slept at all.

“Tina, what's wrong?” he asked softly.

“Oh, it's nothing,” she answered, voice strained. “A bad night, that's all.”

He knew it would be prudent to let her be, but he just couldn't. She had that headache the day before, what if she was ill? He pushed a little more. “Did you receive any bad news today? Are you feeling unwell?”

“It's...” Tina sent a nervous look to the bedroom door and gulped. She opened and closed her mouth a couple of times before emitting any sound. When she finally spoke, it was in a murmur. “It's about Queenie.”

“What happened to her?” Newt slid into the chair across from her, his concern growing.

She hesitated. It was like she wanted to tell him, but thought she should not. “We talked last night. About Jacob.”

“Oh.”

“I woke up in the middle of the night and she wasn't in bed. She was crying on the sofa." Tina explained. "She didn't want to disturb me. I bet she has been doing that all these days.”

“I knew she was sad, it's just...I didn't think it had affected her that much. I thought this was just something of the moment, that it would pass, but after last night..." her voice was beginning to break. "She cared so much about Jacob, she told me so. I suppose I should have known how serious she was about him. She is so sad.”

“And you?”

“What?” the question startled her, and she eyed him with suspicion. She had been behaving like that since the day before. Jumpy, defensive for a reason he couldn't fathom, and much quieter. There were times of the day when she seemed to forget it and became cheerful again, but some invisible trigger always made her troubled again. And it was odd because since her reinstatement she had been more affectionate towards him as if deciding she could trust him.

Tina had talked about her concern for Queenie, but he hadn't observed anything in the legilimens attitude that could cause that impact the day before.

“Are you alright?” he clarified.

“Me?" she blinked, confused by the question. "Well, I'm...I feel so... " she took a deep breath before continuing. “It breaks me not being capable of protecting the ones I love. I can't see a solution. Jacob doesn't remember her, or any of us. Even if the situation was different, I couldn't encourage this. It would be dangerous for both of them. But I can't expect Queenie to get over this soon. I haven't seen her cry so much since she was little.”

Her coffee must have grown cold long ago, for the cup was still full, but Tina wasn't drinking it. She seemed to have forgotten she even had it in her hands.

“I've been too wrapped up over my job and with...” she bit her lip, stopping herself at the last minute, and leaving the sentence incomplete. “I should have paid more attention to her.”

She looked about to cry, and he felt distressed at not being able to prevent it. One of her hands had separated from the cup and was resting on the table. He had the strange impulse to take it between his and hold it.

For most creatures touching was soothing, they used it for reassurance, but in cases when they found themselves in a vulnerable state, it could make them react harshly, retract, attack even. What would Tina do? It was not a time to experiment. Still, the hand was right there, so close. He could just reach for it if he dared.

Tina produced a small hiccup and brought him back to his senses. No, he should not touch her. Tina was going through a delicate time, doing that would probably startle her again.

“Don't say that, it's not your fault,” he muttered at last. “You've had this on your mind all week; Queenie wasn't ready to talk yet. There's not much you could do about it.”

Tina discreetly wiped a tear. “I don't know...”

They stayed in silence, Tina trying to recover composure, and Newt trying to find a way to help her feel better. “I wish I could tell you something useful.”

“That's what I said to Queenie. Maybe there's nothing useful to be said.” she shrugged, sadly. “I don't know what else I can do for her. And I can't miss work today; she shouldn't either. Her shift starts at nine, so I'm letting her sleep a bit more.”

“I'll keep an eye on her until she goes to work, don't you worry,” he promised, sounding more sure than he felt. If he couldn't help Tina, he doubted he would be of more use to Queenie. But he would try his best for his friends. “I'll try to think of something to cheer her up. I can't assure you I will come out with anything of course...”

Tina's eyes shone with unshed tears, but she smiled at him. “You’re so good.”

It seemed that somehow he had managed to say the right thing. He wondered at his good luck.

“Thank you for listening, Newt.”

They stared at each other for a moment, Tina's expression one of undeniable fondness. He carefully saved it in his memory. He wanted to say something else. "You can count on me." or "I'm here whenever you need to talk." But as it was the rule these days, it was not long before she cast her eyes away from him, and her smile faltered.

“I should go wake Queenie,” One of her hands went to fix her hair, and as she stood up he got to see her flushed face. She was nervous, self-conscious. Ashamed, even. Why, though? Did she regret sharing her problems with him? Had his gaze become too insistent and was making her uncomfortable? He watched her fidgeting with her cup, her hands unable to decide whether to leave it on the table or carry it.

“No need, I'm awake already.”

Queenie had appeared by the door frame without being noticed.

Tina went to her side immediately. “How are you feeling? I thought it would be better for you to get some rest, that's why I didn't call you earlier.”

“Speaking of getting some rest, you look like you stayed awake all night.” the legillimens commented, her hand touching Tina's pale cheek. “Don't worry about me, Teen. I'll be fine, I promise. I feel a lot better now that I'd let it all out.”

The statement didn't convince her sister, who remained anxious.

“I'm telling you the truth.” she insisted. “Now, go wash your face. You shouldn't be late on your first day back.”

To Newt's surprise, Tina didn't insist and did as she was told. Once she was out of his sight, his attention focused on Queenie. In some way, he understood her. As much as he treasured the sisters' friendship, he also felt Jacob's loss. And unlike Tina, he had come to know the baker quite well.

“I know you do,” Queenie said. “That's alright sweetheart, I'll be fine.”

Tina came back, announcing she was off to work, still looking unsettled. Queenie fixed her coat lapels and gave her a hug, wishing her good luck. He wanted to do the same, but she marched to the door with a quick “Bye.”, barely sparing him another glance.

He felt confused and slightly hurt. She had smiled at him, said he had been of help, and a minute later she wouldn't look at him. What had he missed? Was she mad at him?

“She's not mad at you, quite the opposite.”

Newt turned to find Queenie staring at him in concentration, taking in all the work his mind was doing, no doubt.

“Quite the opposite?”

“She's had a tough year,” she explained, sitting in the place Tina had occupied minutes before, and handing him a cup of tea. “And she's not used to people being like that with her.”

“Being how?” he asked, disoriented.

“Well, supportive. Caring,” she continued, her tone placid. “Teen is far more reserved than you imagine. It might be hard to believe because she speaks so much to you. Everything has been getting worse for her for the past months, losing her job and all. Now she has her promotion, and she's made friends with you. She's getting used to the changes; making peace with lots of things. She's got so much on her mind.”

Queenie’s gaze was intent, as if she was trying to suggest something. He didn't get it.

“I should go get changed. What I'm saying is... you're doing nothing wrong. She thinks the world of you.” she added. “Just have some patience. And drink your tea, it'll get cold.”

With that, Queenie got up, leaving him even more confused.

-------------------

Dear Theseus,

I apologize for my delay in answering your last letter, but I'm sure you're aware by now that my trip to New York ended up being much more eventful than expected, and my attention has been elsewhere.

Looking at the paper, Newt thought it was quite alright. It had taken him half an hour to come up with a good beginning for his letter: He didn't want Theseus to believe he felt as if he owed him an explanation, but he didn't want to be impolite either. As annoying as it was to have his brother trying to meddle in his life from time to time, he knew Theseus had good intentions. He kept going.

I'm staying with some friends. One of them is an auror, she has helped me to get all the right permissions for some creatures I brought with me and oriented me as to MACUSA's investigation. Her name is Tina, she's quite bright…

There he made a stop. He shouldn’t get carried away with that. Spilling all those details would invite Theseus to ask questions, and he wasn't sure he wanted to go through that. His friendship with Tina was far too personal to share with his brother. No, he better kept it quiet. He crossed out all that last paragraph and started it again.

I've reprogrammed my journey back to England, in hopes to collaborate with MACUSA's investigation. Nothing to worry about, I'm staying with some friends (and out of trouble) until then.

Newt

That was much better. Contented with his work, he opened one of the desk drawers in search of an envelope, to leave the missive ready to be sent. That would placate Theseus until he got back, in a couple of days.

The thought of leaving had started to make him anxious. Nothing prevented him from coming back to New York in the future. Of course, MACUSA considering him a menace could be a problem, but the real question was: Would the sisters want to see him again? Would Tina receive him in such a warm way?

He felt a light weight on his leg, and became aware of a pair of misty eyes on him.

“Dougal.”

The demiguise climbed onto the desk, and let his caretaker pet him. He had fed him half and hour ago, but the creature seemed to perceive whenever he needed support.

“I wish you could talk,” Newt murmured, more to himself than to Dougal. “You could tell me if you see another trip to America in my future. Or some news from Tina.”

He could always come up with an excuse innocent enough to keep in touch. Friends wrote each other letters, didn't they? And Tina had said on more than one occasion that she was his friend. Following that logic, perhaps it would be acceptable for them to correspond. But how was that arranged? Should he suggest it? Ask for her permission to write to her once in a while? Should he write without further ado and pray for her to answer?

His trips had given him freedom, and he delighted in that. It meant no social ties, no commitments or obligations to be placed upon him. He adored this kind of life, far from the crowded Ministry desks. But he didn't want to sever ties this time. How did someone express their wish to be part of another person's life?

In any case, his most immediate concern was his current situation with Tina. While Queenie had assured him she wasn't mad at him, she seemed to be hinting at something else; something he hadn't caught on.

He was convinced by now that the legilimens wouldn't hesitate to tell him anything to his face if necessary, especially if she thought he was at fault. The most possible reason for her to be so cryptic must be Tina's privacy.

Queenie didn't only know things about Tina; she also knew things about him. Newt had noticed her teasing smiles every time she caught him staring at her older sister, or thinking about her, which happened with increasing frequency. Not that he could help it; she was one of the most complex and fascinating creatures he had ever met. Observing her, noticing every small detail about her was becoming second nature to him. He was learning to tell, just by looking at the twist of her brows, or the curve of her lips how she was feeling, if she was happy, or amused, or worried, or irritated. He knew how she liked her coffee, the things that made her laugh, and the ones that scared her.

Maybe Tina had become aware of that too, be it by her sister or by her own observation, and it was the reason for her trouble. Yes, it had to be that. She had no doubt interpreted his stares the wrong way. Or even worse, she had interpreted them correctly, and she didn't know how to get rid of the unwanted attention. She wasn't mad, but she was embarrassed? Was that what Queenie had meant? Was she trying to prevent him from any further embarrassment?

The truth was, he didn't even know what he could do about it, or what was it that he wanted from Tina. Her friendship. Her company, her regard, her admiration. Her full attention. In which plain of the human conventions would that place them? What would be correct for a person to do in that situation?

Even if Tina hadn't noticed this “admiration” already, she would certainly do in time. She was too smart not to. And that placed him in a very awkward position.

He wished he had someone to get advice from. Jacob would know what to do, he thought while caressing Dougal's fur. He seemed to understand people (and women) quite well, and he wouldn't laugh at his awkwardness. If only he had him around, he could ask.

What would Jacob do?

--------------------

Tina appeared downstairs earlier than expected, in a more placid mood, but silent and thoughtful. Newt was busy feeding the occamies. Instead of rolling up her sleeves and lending a hand, she sat by the nest and answered his questions about her day, commenting in passing that Queenie had gone out shopping with some of the office girls.

“She is in better spirits then.”

Tina shrugged. “Or at least she's making an effort.”

The niffler appeared out of nowhere and found his way onto the witch's lap. While her body seemed to relax a little bit as she petted the creature, her expression kept restless. She wanted to talk about something. He would have liked to ask, but he was decided to not give her any reasons to be uncomfortable. If he had overstepped, if he had upset her by being too informal, he would be more careful. Fortunately, his curiosity wouldn’t be left unsatisfied for long.

“I don't understand Queenie,” Tina spat out all of the sudden, sounding rather guilty. She seemed to be in need to confide this to someone. “I mean... She knew Jacob for such a short time. She talks as if she could see her entire life with him, but they barely got to spend any time together. I know Queenie can see more of people than I ever could, even without her legilimency, but still.”

“Well, I suppose sometimes when people go through a lot together they form an attachment, regardless of the time they've spent in each other’s company.” Newt reflected. As soon as he said it, he realized it may appear he was talking about the two of them. After all, they'd known each other for a week. He couldn't be trusted to hold a normal conversation.

“That's true, I guess.” Tina agreed calmly, gaze still fixed on a distant spot in front of her. Either she didn’t connect the comment to them, or she chose not to understand it. “I didn't get to know him. It's strange, given he's so important to my sister. He looked like a good man, though. Queenie says he has a beautiful mind, and that's a big compliment considering all the things she has to hear from guys on daily bases.”

“He is a good man,” Newt agreed, relieved by the change of topic. “Jacob wanted to open a bakery. Pastries make people happy, he said. He's working at a canning factory and he despises it. He was in the bank to get a loan, and was rejected because he had no collateral to offer.”

“That explains the case full of pastries.” she half-smiled. “He and Queen could have been a good match indeed.”

“I think so. I observed them when we had dinner together. They are the sort of people who everybody likes.” he said, recalling the situation. It seemed like it had been a lifetime ago. “It always sparks a scientific interest within me, because I don't know how to do it.”

“Me neither.” she chuckled. Then she got serious again. “I suppose I could check on him once in a while. Jacob. See if he needs anything. I just don't want to encourage Queenie to do the same.”

“Do you think she'll try to go see him?”

“She might.”

“As long as they don't interact it wouldn't be a problem, would it?”

“Newt, she cannot!” she exclaimed, her gaze becoming hard and reproachful. For a second he could see the cross, bossy woman that had arrested him a week ago. His eyes must have expressed that because she immediately looked regretful. “I'm so sorry, I didn't mean to snap at you like that. You're trying to help. I'm sorry.”

“It's fine. All these American laws are still not making sense to me.”

“You can be sent to jail for fraternizing with no-majs. We could both lose our jobs. And then, what would we do?” Tina sighed, the thought alone seeming too terrifying to dwell much on it. “We can't afford that, it's out of the question. But it's not just that...”

“Jacob doesn't remember her; he doesn't remember Queenie even exists. She's aware of that, I know, but it's not the same as seeing it with her own eyes. Imagine what it would feel like. I don't want her to suffer more than necessary.”

“It’s not in your hands to prevent her from feeling unhappy right now,” Newt interjected. “The only thing you can do is be supportive, as you've been doing.”

“I know, I…” she muttered, frustrated. “If only there was a way of giving her some sort of closure, to assure her that Jacob will be fine.”

“We may be able to make that possible.”

“How?”

“I've been giving it some thought. I can provide the collateral for Jacob's bakery.”

“You're thinking about giving him money?" she asked, pondering his solution. "I have some notion of the no-maj currency, but how do we know how much he needs?”

“Not money, I'm rather short of that myself," Newt confessed. "I happen to know what could work as collateral.” He leaned forward and took an occamy eggshell from the nest. “These are pure silver. I don’t think the bank will reject them, though they may be curious about their origin.”

Tina looked impressed. “That's... quite smart. And very generous of you.”

Her approval made him blush. “Jacob is my friend. He was of so much help to me, if there's something I can do for him in return, I have to do it.”

“I think it's a remarkable initiative. But how do you get the occamy eggshells to Jacob?”

“I have an idea.” he confided. “I'll need your help.”

“Count on me.” she nodded, eager.

“And we have to tell Queenie.”

There she hesitated.

“She's gonna know anyway. My occlumency is still terrible.” he reasoned. “Besides, I think she has the right to decide whether she wants to be involved or not.”

“Alright.” she agreed, reluctant. He could tell she didn't like it at all. “We'll talk to Queenie, then.”

“It's the best we can do,” he said, making to stand up. “Shall we see if she's back? We can settle this now.“

“Wait.” Tina blurted, gesturing with her arm to stop him from leaving. “I want to hear all about that plan of yours, but first...” she put a strand of hair behind her ear, tense once again. “I wanted to ask you something.”

“About Jacob?”

“No, about you” she admitted. “I believe it may be too personal, so you don't have to tell me if you don't want to.”

Newt couldn't help a slight panic. He couldn't imagine what could be so personal for her to be so hesitant to ask.

“It's about Credence. About the obscurus.” she started. “The department has assigned me to tie the loose ends given my... involvement in the case.”

“That's good news. You're the right person to do it, no doubt.”

Despite the crudeness of the topic, a small smile graced her lips at his comment. “I've been thinking...If Grindelwald wanted Credence as a weapon, wouldn't it be possible for him to find another child with the same capacity? I don't believe he was interested in Credence particularly. What I mean is, if there's a chance of that happening and I have to interfere, I need to know more. I need to be prepared to take the right course of action.”

Now he knew where she was going. “You want me to tell you about my experience with obscurus.”

She nodded. “When you told Jacob and me about it, it seemed to be a difficult topic. I understand if you don't want to talk about it.”

“It's difficult. That little girl... it was heartbreaking.” he stammered. “I'm no expert on the subject, by any means, but I can share my limited knowledge if it's of any use. You know what causes it, and what it can do. Going from there, what do you want to know?”

“When you talked about the girl you met in Sudan, you said you tried to save her. How?”

Newt took his time to meditate on his answer. When he spoke, he did it slowly, minding his words. “There's a spell. It's complicated to perform and requires the host to be in a particular state for it to work. The obscurus ends up consuming the host. When you try to extract it...it fights. It was one of the most terrifying things I've ever witnessed. The force is too powerful for an adult wizard to control, imagine what it can do to a child.”

He stood up, and walk a few steps away. “She was dying. I befriended her, and offer to try and cure her, but it was too late. I don't know, maybe I couldn't have made it work either way. I don't believe I'll ever forget it, or stop wondering if there was something else I could have done for her.”

“Don't say that, you tried your best. At least, she knew that someone cared.” she comforted him. “But I get how you feel, I’ve been thinking the same about Credence. If I could have done something else.”

“I'm afraid when it comes to Credence I can't tell you much more of what you already know. To be honest I'm quite in the dark myself. I've never seen anything like it. Credence possessing some sort of control over that power, surviving this long with it... it's unbelievable.”

“I didn't expect you to have an answer,” she assured him. “Every piece of information could be important. Thank you for telling me all that.”

Newt nodded. He had never told that story before and remembering it sadden him.

“I wish I had realized before. It didn’t occur to me that we could be dealing with an obscurus.” Tina murmured, staring at the niffler again. “If only had I known, I may have prevented Credence's death.”

“If he died.”

Tina looked up at him in shock. “What do you mean?” she asked, disbelieving. “Newt you were there, you saw it. That's not...”

“Why not?” he retorted. “We saw the kind of wreckage it created in the city. A bunch of aurors is not likely to match that force.”

“You're implying he may have survived?” she wanted to be sure she had understood.

“I can't assure that. But it's at least, possible.”

Newt contemplated Tina trying to digest all the new information, and knew he had given the witch something else to be worried about.

“I guess I have a lot of work ahead of me.” was her only comment.

Ok, I'm not gonna promise to update soon, because I said that last time and it's been months. Sorry. This year so far has been quite bad, and I couldn't find the energy or motivation to sit and finish this. Also, the last movie was a terrible disappointment for me. I didn't like it at all, so it didn't help fuel my imagination. Despite all that, I've loved working on this little piece these past months, and I want to give it a conclusion. This story is going to have three or four chapters more, as I had initially planned. I have a draft of what I want, but it needs waaay more work to be worth anybody's time. I don't know how long is gonna take, but I promise you this: I'll finish this story. If you're still reading, thank you!

#fanfiction #newtina fanfiction #fantastic beasts and where to find them #fantastic beasts #fbawtft #newt scamander #tina goldstein #queenie goldstein #jacob kowalski #literarycreature #Our Days in New York

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