This was first uploaded to Ao3 on March 30th, 2017 and is being included here for the sake of my ego.
Warning: eventual smut. Also, this story deals with some fairly heavy "problematic" themes. Tina's line of work and being a prostitute almost demands a certain treatment. So be warned for implied (non-graphic) non-consensual sex, historical depictions of poverty, maltreatment of working women, and the like.
Obviously, this is an alternate universe, but let's be real: one small change to the timeline and this is how the Goldstein sisters could have wound up. Let's all be thankful they didn't...
The day that changes Tina Goldstein's life dawns bright and clear and unseasonably cold.
Her trip to the market is uneventful and goes like most other mornings. Tina's tired brogues clatter over cobblestone when she skirts the rougher sections of downtown for the business district, stray dogs fleeing before her. In her line of work, it isn't good to be seen by potential clientèle in the light of day—even if many of those clients wouldn't know her face from her bottom, a part of her many of them are intimately familiar with.
If there is one thing her long and storied life has taught her, it is that when one lives both above and below the law, it is never wise to flaunt it.
A familiar ache settles into her belly, so she purchases a hot dog from her preferred kosher deli. She noshes it while perusing the market wares. The cabbage is dreadfully wilted so she skips it, choosing instead a flat sack of beans and a few pounds of potatoes—enough for the next few days. The offal smells like poison, but she and Queenie haven't had meat in weeks and she's feeling it in her muscles. She buys a pound and tucks it into her basket with the intent of using it right away.
Tina sets off for home with the weak December sun on her shoulders and her collar turned against the chill. She glanced curiously at a newspaper stand, seeing reports of another subway attack, and spares a moment of sympathy for those affected.
There's a scuffle on the steps of Steen National Bank when she approaches—a wiry man in a blue greatcoat, apparently giving chase to some sort of small animal.
She stops to watch, uncharacteristically bemused and rather charmed as Blue Coat dives to pluck up a small, black beast. The creature has sharp claws and a duck-billed mouth, and she stops to stare when she experiences a slight glimmer of recollection. Well, that's certainly not a dog! Intrigued, Tina's careful to keep to his periphery as she creeps up the broad marble steps.
Mr. Greatcoat sets down his brown suitcase, scolding the creature with exasperated but unmistakable fondness as Tina moves stealthily closer. The man bends to open his burden at the same instant the door of the bank ejects a stout fellow in an ill-fitted suit. He's carrying a case that is almost identical to the one owned by the man wrangling the animal. Tina predicts his trajectory while noting the distracted air of Blue Coat when Mr. Stout heads directly toward him and can see the almost inevitable result with preternatural clarity.
She opens her mouth to call a warning.
Too late, it turns out. Mr. Ill-Fitting Suit trips over Mr. Coat's case and pitches head-first down the steps in an ungraceful sprawl, sending his battered case and suit jacket flying every which way. Mr. Blue witnesses the accident and its cause and, in his haste, knocks his own suitcase into the fray, wincing when it clatters down the steps. This doesn't prevent him from helping Mr. Rotund to his feet, however, or murmuring an apology.
"So sorry—my case," he says, and Tina notes curiously that his accent is almost as crisp as his clothes. And his hair—a deep sandy-red, framing startlingly green eyes. A smattering of freckles across his nose gives him a boyish quality, highlighted by his loose movements and hesitant smile. He dusts off a scowling Mr. Rotund and straightens his lapels before smiling sheepishly.
The tripped man gives the one fussing over him a baleful look. "No harm done," he finally, begrudgingly admits and bends to scoop up his case before trundling onwards. He cranes his neck as though it hurts as short, mincing steps carry him off into the street. Mr. Blue watches him go as if observing a species in its native habitat, before reaching into his coat and retrieving the heretofore forgotten animal. Tina steps closer until her shadow falls over him. He doesn't seem to notice.
"For the last time, you pilfering pest," Red Hair picks up his monologue, tone exasperated but infinitely patient, "paws off what doesn't belong to you!"
He drops onto his haunches to open his case, and the creature—which she thinks she may finally recognize—gives a great, heaving wriggle in a last-ditch attempt to break free. Blue Coat scowls in irritation before subtly tightening his hold when Tina unthinking drops into a squat and sets aside her basket.
"Here," she says quickly, deft fingers flicking open the locks on the case. "Put him away, quickly!"
Blue Coat levels green eyes at her but affects no surprise at her presence. Instead, he examines her hat, her hair, her face, before dropping over the rest of her, as quick as blinking. Perusal made, he flashes a boyishly crooked smile before reaching for his case—and freezing. Tina watches his face go pale beneath the remnants of his light summer tan, his freckles thrown into sudden, sharp contrast, with a sinking feeling.
Tina hesitantly follows his gaze to take in an open case and odd assortment of...pastries? She tilts her head curiously before wrinkling her eyes in a small smile, the sudden absurdity of this entire situation coming to the fore.
"Um," she asks eloquently. "I'm guessing this isn't what you were expecting?"
Blue Coat sighs deeply before rolling his eyes skyward. He narrows his eyes, making him look momentarily feline, before darting them out over the street and om the direction Mr. Ill-Fitting Suit had gone. Finding no sign of him, he slumps and sighs heavily before pinching the bridge of his nose.
"Bugger!" Blue Coat says with feeling, and Tina bites her lip to contain an inappropriate bray of laughter as he snaps the case closed and smoothly rises to his feet.
"Who are you?" She asks curiously after he's stashed the odd little beast into an inner pocket of his coat with a stern admonishment to "behave!".
"Newt Scamander," he says promptly enough, but with a highly distracted air. He scans the heavy crowd for a long moment, shoulders tense, then cuts his eyes back to her. "And you are?"
Tina worries her lip, suddenly and inexplicably nervous. She bends to pick up her basket and the potatoes that had rolled down the steps, smoothing her hands over her threadbare coat before answering. "Um, Tina. Goldstein. But most people just call me Tina."
Mr. Scamander inclines his head in acknowledgment before turning his attention back to the mass of people. "I suppose there's no finding him, is there Miss Goldstein?" he asks in a resigned murmur, and she shakes her head with a small, disbelieving smile.
"In New York City? I'm afraid not, Mr. Scamander." His lapel wriggles, and she looks at it curiously before taking the plunge. "I'm sorry, but...is that a Niffler?"
His eyes return to her, and now the full weight of his gaze holds her in place. Her scalp prickles strangely, and his eyes go distant for a moment before narrowing. "You can see him?" he asks, and in any other scenario, Tina would giggle at the absurdity of the question. As it stands, she hesitates and wonders, for the first time, if perhaps she's in over her head.
"Um, yes," she finally answers with false bravado. "That is what it is, isn't it?"
He nods. A surreptitious glance around sees him stepping closer, until their shadows pool together at their feet and she can see the small scar across the bridge of his nose. Another scar neatly bisects his upper lip, just beneath his philtrum, and she wonders absently if they're badges from the Niffler—or from something else entirely.
"You aren't associated with MACUSA, are you?" he asks in a stage-whisper, and she gapes as things click into place. Tina moves back, higher up the steps instead of down, and he watches her go with a mildly raised eyebrow. She takes in the bright blue coat, the trousers that are just this side of too-short, and the battered brown boots. His strange December tan is the final piece of the puzzle, and she closes her eyes in realization.
"I'm not associated with MACUSA, no," she declares softly, and he nods in apparent relief. She draws another breath before staring out into the street and the square beyond, mind spinning along rapidly. "He was probably a No-Maj," she thinks aloud. "Which means he has your magical suitcase, which could have all manner of...anything, really. Am I right?"
She directs this last question at him and he palms the back of his neck awkwardly before nodding. "Yes," Mr. Scamander agrees. "So you can understand why it's important that I get my case back. Before he opens it."
Tina puffs her cheeks out in momentary indecision. A small part of her, alight with the innocent wonder that hard-living and a lifetime of disappointments hadn't managed to scour away, delights at the chance for adventure. The other part, harshly pragmatic and coldly logical, points out that she still needs to nap before work, and that gallivanting around the city with a strange man is sure to bring its own set of problems. She gnaws her lip while adjusting her grip on the basket, and sighs regretfully.
"He went that way," she says, pointing unhelpfully to the busy crowds of people flowing around them. "You're going to have to find him on your own. I'm sorry, but I need to get home. My sister is waiting for me." She's surprised to discover that she is sorry, and she experiences a sharp pang when he seems to deflate.
"Thank you for your help, Miss Goldstein," he politely acknowledges while inclining his head, eyes dropping to her shoes. "I have my maps, I'm sure I'll be able to track him down. I've some experience in these matters, you see."
I'll bet you do, she thinks pointedly as he executes a strange, awkward half bow before turning, coat swirling dramatically around him. She watches him go, frozen with sudden indecision and seeming to feel the earth rotating on its axis. He descends the marbled steps quickly and his vibrant coat tail stands out against the drab throng—a strange bird on foreign soil. One more turn and he'll be gone, out of her life forever...if she allows it. If she stays here and lets him go.
Tina decides, then and there, not to.
"Mr. Scamander!"
He pauses with one foot on the curb and the other in the gutter, turning to watch her curiously as Tina trots down the steps and across the broad avenue. A train clatters over their heads while she ducks and weaves through the crowd before skidding to a halt beside him.
"New York is a big place," she explains breathlessly, her cheeks warming with exertion and something she doesn't quite recognize. "It's hard enough for people who live here to find their way around, and you—you are obviously not from around here. So c'mon. Let's go find your case."
Mr. Scamander stares at her with a furrowed brow for a long moment before he smiles, the expression slow and shy. It crinkles the corner of his eyes as the sun glints into them, turning them into warm amber, which shines down at her. It transforms his angular face entirely, and she swallows past the sudden dryness in her throat.
"Thank you, Miss Goldstein," he breathes, and she spurs herself into action, lest she continues to stare and lose herself to his exotic gaze.
"This way," Tina says while nodding her head in the direction Mr. Portly had gone, and he's still smiling faintly as she bravely leads him into the crush.