Her Newt is the fullness of the earth, the promise of renewal after a long and hard winter.
He enters her life during winter, a bronze whirlwind of gangling limbs and floppy red hair and the most remarkable golden eyes she's even seen. Her initial feeling toward him is a supreme annoyance: he is disrupting the peace she sacrificed herself to maintain, but he does it in such an affable fashion that she can't quite hold it against him.
He is exasperating in his single-mindedness (and maybe part of her annoyance is because she recognizes that trait in herself), babbling on about his case, and she finds him to be wholly inept with people. He attempts to get away from her when she drags him and the No-Maj home, but his protests are either token, or he truly is terrible at subterfuge. Despite her grudging admiration for his convictions, he is still technically a criminal, and she can't let that slide.
Still, with the inevitability of a solstice, it all...shifts. It gets away from her. She feeds them both (the No-Maj and her radiant sister strike up instant chemistry, of course, while drab, prickly Porpentina is spent entertaining a man who grimaces and yanks his eyes away every time he looks at her) and is relieved when they are no longer actively hostile. Until there's a moment when the sky has darkened and the apartment is gently shadowed, he catches her gaze and holds it.
In the flickering light of the candle, he is freckles and a shy smile, and nearly too bright to look at; Tina realizes with a jolt that she's falling into his orbit. She thinks maybe she has been all evening.
In the winter of her soul, Tina feels the first thaw of impending spring.
When he leaves her at the docks, it is as though the sun has gone from her sky. She knows she isn't in love with him; the plain sister doesn't get to entertain such romantic notions. But, she also knows that she is in something with him because the spring thaw he has awakened in her is frozen in stasis, waiting for the return of his warmth.
He writes, and it brightens her world temporarily. He transcribes for her extraordinary tales of his beasts; he keeps her apprised of his progress with the book (frustration with his slow pace bleeding from each line). In between these words, hidden in the subtext, he tells her others things: that he misses her terribly; that he misses their easy companionship and the cool breeze she visits upon his restless soul. These ideas are not explicit, but she understands them anyway. They're evidenced in the subtle evolution of his salutation, and there in the extravagant curl he uses when he signs his name (Ever Yours, Newt—and it never fails to warm her).
The day comes when he informs her of his impending arrival, and his relief spills from the parchment. His obvious joy is enough to transpose her, and her co-workers don't seem to know what to make of this newly luminous Tina. She takes to marking off the days on her calendar, each stroke of her quill heralding a new season—and with each line, her smile grows a little brighter, a little stronger.
She arrives hours early on the appointed day and tilts her face toward the May sky, warmed at last.
Her Newt is the sun.
On their bed of stars, she is free of winter's chill. Sheltered in the ring of his arms, his hands and mouth are molten as he finds her frozen crevices and thaws them. He is heat and vitality pressed into her, and she is helpless but to dissolve under the onslaught. Their intimate connection burns until it can no longer be contained, and is released from them in a supernova of purifying heat and light and names offered up in prayer. Then it's over, and he is there to catch and sooth her.
Tina melts into him and basks in his warmth, both within and without.