Saw this movie. They are adorable. I am obsessed. Side note if you still follow me for OQ I promise I am working on updating that stuff.
I hope I'm getting these characters close to how they should be. They are very…delicate to write.
Comments, thoughts? They make my day.
Tina says she's doing alright, in the days after the rally, throwing herself into her work and passing through his small and newly crowded flat for a few hours of light sleep and the occasional half-eaten meal.
But Newt's heard Tina crying late at night, when he's climbing into his case to rest and she thinks everyone else asleep, and in the daylight there always seem to be tears brimming in her dark eyes.
Newt doesn't think people who are alright are supposed to act like that.
Theseus appears most days with red eyes and sallow skin, seeking hugs it costs Newt a little less to give than it used to, years or even months ago, and conjures a second camp bed in Newt's room, murmuring about his flat too full of memories. Jacob's staying in Newt's bed, Tina on the sofa instead at her own insistence, until she can find something more permanent for her several-month posting to London. And Jacob, well, he just seems lost.
Newt…he's not sure how he feels, what he's mourning. Old memories. A person very dear to him who'd long since drifted far away. Someone he'd used to think he understood, until he discovered quite abruptly that he had perhaps never understood her at all.
As much as his own sadness, he feels he's mourning for that of his friends. For Theseus's loss of Leta, and Tina and Jacob's of Queenie. He's helpless at understanding his own thoughts, and wonders how he's supposed to help them with theirs.
One night, about a week after the rally, he steps out of the case to retrieve a book from the kitchen, research for Dumbledore on plants capable of breaking impenetrable objects, cursing himself as he emerges that he'd lost track of time and forgotten to move the case into the hall.
Tina sits up as he steps into the room.
"Sorry—I didn't mean to wake—"
"—you didn't." She wipes tears from each cheek, clearing her throat, and he sees that her wand is lit, a small handful of papers beside her. He catches a glimpse of the one on top, a photograph of a light haired little girl and a dark haired one, waving at the camera.
He hesitates, feeling the tug he always does, the way her eyes reach into his chest and hold him until even he, awkward and fumbling, can hardly look away.
"I'm sorry," she finally says after he looks down, shaking her head.
He looks up. "Whatever for?"
"Jacob and I are here, crowding your home, when you must have your own thoughts to…"
He takes a step closer. "I've never had nearly this many people in my flat before."
She looks up, lips parting.
"No—I—" he sighs, as frustrated as ever at his own clumsy words. "I didn't mean…I don't mind."
She swallows. "You never had Theseus and Leta over?"
A small, quiet laugh rushes over his lips. "They invited me. Many times. I never wanted to…"
She stares at him.
"Well, I'm not very fond of dinner parties."
She laughs, just a little, and he looks up into her eyes, smiling in response.
"Newt, Queenie wasn't angry with me, was she? When you saw her?"
"What? No. She said you were angry with me."
Tina's brow furrows.
He takes another step closer. "Look, what I said about aurors…"
She shakes her head. "I wasn't angry about that."
"Oh." He looks down, confused. He feels emotions in a room, sometimes, the anger built into her impassive Mr. Scamander in the sewers; the perplexed hurt of It was nice to see you again, Mr. Scamander, and her breaking voice. But he's always been such rubbish at understanding the cause.
"After I saw that magazine article about you, I read your letter again. And I thought what you'd said about aurors—I thought you'd written it to try to tell me that—why—that you'd changed your mind about…"
"What?"
"Me."
"Oh."
He curses his own stupidity. If he'd just written her another letter, like he'd wanted. But he'd thought she must be too busy to write, or…bored with him and his letters or…
"I have something for you."
She lets out a heavy breath, watching as he walks over to the bookshelf and pulls down a package wrapped in brown paper.
"I brought it to Paris, but then…" He hadn't been bold enough to give it to her then, confused as he had been by her Mr. Scamanders and her sharp, hurt eyes, the tremor in her voice he couldn't understand.
She takes the package from him, lit by the glow from her wand. Her eyes are dark and bright and make him shiver.
"You were supposed to have it earlier. I mean, I wanted to give it to you earlier, in New York."
"Newt," she breathes, running a finger over the embossed title, lifting the cover to see her name scrawled in his tight hand.
"If—if you already read it…" he grows nervous at her silence, gazing at the shadowy floor, "It's the first copy from the presses, because I thought—I wanted you to have it, and…"
He glances back at her to see tears welling up in her eyes. Startled, hopeful, he tries to think of what he might've said that…
"Thank you," she whispers roughly. He steps closer. "Queenie said it couldn't be true, at first. The magazine," she adds. "She said I should ask you."
"Oh—I—"
"But then I found out about Jacob and I—did I push her to do this?" Her voice breaks.
It feels almost like it does when he's building a bond with one of his creatures, the soft voice, determined but gentle footsteps. He sits on the sofa beside her at last, looking away. He's happy, usually, with himself as he is, and his creatures. But he wishes that, just for a moment, he could borrow somebody else's—Dumbledore's, perhaps, or even his brother's—skill with words. Then he might know what to say.
Instead, he reaches, his hand hovering, trembling, until he rests it on top of hers with the lightest of touches.
They sit together, Tina turning her hand and sliding her fingers between his. He takes a breath and lets it out, surprised at how nearly comfortable this is.
It hadn't been, with Leta. They'd been incredibly close, in their odd way, but it had always been…obvious, that they were from two different worlds. His world had been full enough with his creatures and books, and his craving for friendship, love, closeness with humans had existed as if of a separate life; distant.
It hadn't occurred to him until he'd met Tina that it could be any different. This past year he's found himself, rather than separating her from his work, finding ways that she might weave into it. Seeing gaps in his life where he never had before, because he could see how perfectly she'd fill them. And he'd filled his letters with that life, with his creatures and research and honest thoughts about his family and the Ministry and school. When her correspondence had dropped off, it had stung as a loss to his daily life, and he'd found himself composing letters in his head that he wished he could share. If he were writing her a letter, what would he be able say?
"You shouldn't blame yourself because—because," she turns to look at him, eyes wide. His gaze shifts away. "People don't make sense to me. My creatures, they do. And uh, I can't ever see what—but, it—it was always clear to me how much you care about your sister, and if I could tell, then I'm sure she—s…"
He feels her other hand cover their joined ones, and looks up, swallowing at the dark expression in her eyes. Like a salamander's, he thinks again. Beautiful.
"Tina, might I—that is, would you mind if—if I…"
He cups her face in one hand, trembling a little, and brushes her cheek with his thumb, wiping away a tear.
Her breath is loud, shaky between them, and he hesitates for a moment, wondering if he's somehow misunderstood. Her hand, trembling, comes to cover his.
He bends forward, and presses his lips to hers. Her hand tightens over his, his chest flooding with warmth, and he wonders, in remembering the few kisses he'd shared with Leta, how he'd ever thought her right for him. This isn't a tempest, unsettling, gangly-limbed, a boy thinking the girl in his arms a thousand miles above him. She makes him feel like he fits somewhere in the world, like it doesn't matter that most of it doesn't make sense to him.
Her fingers thread into his hair just as he pulls back, looking away, blushing, smiling, catching his breath. He glances back at her, and she smiles.
Then tears fill her eyes, and his face falls. "Sorry, should I not have—"
She shakes her head, leaning forward until she catches him up in an embrace. "Oh," he murmurs, as her quiet tears dampen his shirt. Hugs have always made him nervous, but this one is alright. Safe. He unfurls his tense hands, setting them gently on her back, overwhelmed with every inch of their bodies that touches, and her breath rising and falling against his. They stay like that for a moment, Tina sinking into him with what feels like weeks of exhaustion.
"Sorry," she murmurs, pulling away to wipe the tears from her eyes.
"No, I—please don't apologize…"
A gentle hand turns his face back toward her. She leans forward slowly, determined, and kisses him. Oh. This is…it's… She presses closer, her breath mingling with his, her hand gentle along his jaw. He places a hand on her wrist, hoping she does not misunderstand why it's trembling.
He looks to the side as she pulls away, his cheeks hot. "Tina?"
"Hm?"
He cannot help wondering, now. "Why didn't you use my name when I first got to Paris? Well you used my name but my first name, you only said that once and then…"
"I thought you were engaged, Newt. I thought…I'd misunderstood how close we were."
He frowns. "But you could never be too close to me. I—sorry I mean—"
She looks up, her face breaking into a gentle smile. "Don't apologize," she breathes, brushing her thumb across his cheek, and it takes him a moment to recall he'd gotten a bit of dirt there while checking on the bowtruckles.
His breath stutters out of his lungs, and only when she's moved her hand away can he find his voice again. "If you're having trouble sleeping, would you-would you like to come visit some of the creatures? That always helps me when…"
"I'd like that." They stand together.
He reaches a hand toward her shoulder, then stops himself. "Your—your necklace is caught."
She glances down, untangling it from her collar, speaking softly. "It was a gift from Queenie."
He squeezes her hand, the book he'd come up to retrieve forgotten. There will be time enough for that tomorrow.
All his life, he's spent whatever time he could with his creatures, learning about a world that makes sense to him. But learning about Tina Goldstein, he's finding, feels hardly less right.