This story was originally published on Ao3 on August 19th, 2017 and is being included here for the sake of completion.
There's a lot of warnings on this one, including some smut, mentions of menstruation (and the resultant caretaking), allusions to PTSD and non-explicit past sexual assault, and discussions of military service. Read at your own risk if these things are triggery to you!
Tina's eyes are gritty with exhaustion and tears, but she refuses to indulge in the luxury of crying.
Mr. Kowalski avoids her scrutiny when he crosses his arms over his chest, absorbing the information that's just been dumped on them. She envies him, in a way—he has no comprehension of just how bad the situation is for him, and though she could dispel the notion, some dim vestige of sympathy prevents her from doing so.
Her compassion isn't just for him, though. He's a No-Maj, all but anathema to her despite what her sister seemed to think; she has to keep him in his convenient mental box lest she gives in to despair.
No.
Her primary concern crouches across from her, the blue of his great coat seeming to lose vibrancy as he alternates between staring into the middle distance and rubbing his leaking eyes. Mr. Scamander does not sniffle, and he does not apologize for his tears. He seems simultaneously breathless and ancient, carved from obdurate stone as he slumps in his chosen corner, radiating dejection.
Tina is opening her mouth to apologize again—though he still hasn't acknowledged her first attempt—when Mr. Kowalski voices the question they're all thinking.
"So, what happens now?"
She opens her mouth to answer, only to discover that she can't find the words. Across from her, Mr. Scamander shifts uncomfortably, fingers knotting disconsolately before him when he hesitantly meets her eyes. He raises his eyebrows in question, jaw clenching rhythmically, and Tina has her answer.
"We're going to be stuck in here for the night," she says. "With the International Confederation here, they'll take priority." She exhales slowly, watching Newt digest this information before dampening his lips. He opens his mouth as if to speak and she rushes to talk over him, desperate to say her piece.
"We'll be interrogated in the morning. Well, Mr. Scamander and I will be interrogated." She cuts her eyes over to Jacob, who meets them evenly. "You, they're just going to Obliviate."
Tina winces at her own tactless delivery before plowing on. "I'm sorry, it's nothing personal, it's just..."
Newt makes a rude tch! sound and meets her eyes when she turns back to him. "And my case?" he asks in a low, broken voice. "What's going to happen to my...my creatures?" His eyes swim but he doesn't look away. Tina finds that as much as she'd like to lie to him, she is unable to do so.
"I can't say for sure," she admits in a low voice, "but they're likely going to inspect it, gather any evidence they need, and then…" She trails off to watch his eyes widen in understanding until his face crumples, tears flowing anew.
"Frank," he moans while burying his head in his hands. Newt goes on to hitch out a few more names before scrubbing his eyes, making a visible effort to gather himself. Across the way, Tina feels Mr. Kowalski's glare on her before turning to Newt, his expression and tone soft and conciliatory.
"Hey, pal," he tries desperately, "it ain't...it ain't all bad. I mean, this is America, right? Land of the Free?" He flashes a thin, desperate smile from beneath his neat mustache. "There's gonna be a trial, and as soon as they see that you didn't mean any harm, they're gonna let you and your case go." He looks at Tina imploringly, his eyes hard. "Right?"
Tina crosses her arms over her chest as goosebumps dot her skin, a combination of stress, nerves, and the persistent, damp chill of the stone cells.
"Right," she echoed dully, unsurprised to find that she doesn't even believe it herself.
Newt unfolds from his corner sometime after Tina and Jacob have fallen into tense silence.
He stands to cross the cell on shaky legs, dropping to his knees in front of the tap and grate. Tina watches him drink deeply before shedding his great coat and pushing up his sleeves. He scrubs his face, washing away the salt of his tears before drying it with a wrinkled handkerchief.
"We should sleep. Make sure we have enough strength for tomorrow," Newt says in a hoarse voice, turning toward them.
Jacob gives him a long, considering look before sighing heavily and leveraging his considerable bulk off the cot.
"You're right," he says, and glances at Tina. "Let's let her have the bed, yeah, Newt? I'm still used to sleeping in mud, a stone floor ain't gonna bother me."
Newt eyes him narrowly before offering his blue jacket. "Someone should stay up in case a guard comes along," he agrees. "You may use my coat as a blanket if you'd like, Jacob. I'm fine without it."
Jacob reaches out to take it. "You sure?" After the man in question nods, Jacob inclines his head in thanks before trundling into the corner with the least amount of draft.
He's just folded his suit coat into a rudimentary pillow when Newt starts and ambles over to him.
"Jacob—"
The shorter man passes over the blue jacket with a faint smirk, bending to remove his shoes and inspect his feet while Newt quickly rummages through its pockets. Bading them good night, Jacob settles onto the floor, exhaling gustily when Newt drapes his coat over him and squirming to get comfortable before closing his eyes.
The soft cadence of his snores drifts to them moments later. Tina stares, faintly jealous, before turning to Newt.
He sets down the items—she recognizes a tin of cookies, a battered leather pouch, and a well-traveled alarm clock—before turning to speak to her shoes.
"You'll have the cot," he murmurs. Newt looks beyond her, eyes hard in his otherwise blank face, before glancing somewhere in the vicinity of her chin while passing the leather bag. "I'll allow you your privacy to clean up."
Tina watches him cross the room to put his back to her, the line of his spine rigid, arms folded tensely over his chest. Curiosity getting the better of her, she crosses over to the watershed, frowning thunderously until his cryptic statement about privacy catches up to her.
The tap, she knows, is connected to the Woolworth building's plumbing, so they don't need to worry about running out of water. There's no toilet, however, and no sink or mirror. Instead, there's a simple bucket, the purpose of which she quickly discerns, and nothing to hide behind when she performs her necessary business.
Blood slams into her face, heating it against the chill, and she glances over her shoulder on instinct. Newt is still standing away from her, though now he grips the cell bars with white knuckles, his shoulders almost screaming with tension.
Tina swallows, momentarily frozen with indecision before digging deep for her Brooklyn-bred forbearance and trotting over to the cot.
"I'll just be another moment, Mr. Scamander," she assures him as she opens the leather pouch.
Unsurprisingly, reaching inside sinks her arm to the shoulder, and she riffles around the space to pull out nothing less than a small basin, a toothbrush, a tin of tooth powder, a cake of shaving foam, a badger brush, a straight-razor with an edge that's been honed to lethal sharpness, and a bar of sweet-smelling soap. Much of it is useless to her, so she puts everything except the basin and soap back into the pouch before lugging it all over to the tap.
Tina uses the empty chamber pot for its intended purpose, ducking behind the stone foundation of the cot for privacy, teeth grit to deny the blush ravaging her face the entire time. She fastens her slacks and watches anxiously to make sure the mess disappears—it does—before scrubbing her face and hands with his soap. She's unusually brisk in her ablutions, eyes pinched shut against tears she tells herself are from getting suds in her eye before slicking her hair back from her temples.
She dries her skin with her handkerchief and drains the gray water out of the basin before calling to him. "I'm done, Mr. Scamander." She keeps her voice pitched low and even, watching him carefully when he turns to her with a sigh.
"All right, then?" She nods as he crosses the space between them. He hovers for a moment, eyes bouncing between her hands and the empty bucket behind them until she catches on. Blushing, she takes a big step back, nearly stumbling in the process.
"I'll...go," Tina blusters with a vague wave of her hand. "To give you—privacy. So you can, um. Clean up, too."
"I'd appreciate that," he says quickly, and drops his eyes. There's an awkward moment when they nearly collide while heading in opposite directions until Tina steps aside to allow Newt to duck around her. She takes up his vacated spot by the cell bars to ignore him as he performs his evening toilet.
Newt indicates that he's finished a few minutes later. She turns to find that he looks precisely the same, save for the darker hair at his temples from washing up. He avoids her eyes while admonishing her, again, to get some rest. Tina's hands curl into helpless fists when the strain proves to be too much and she wearily slumps.
"I'm sorry," she repeats, speaking to his boots. "I know you're angry with me, and I know I deserve it, but it's true. I never intended for any of this to happen, Mr. Scamander."
She watches tension creep back into his frame, but he doesn't move to accept her apology. Instead, he reiterates that she should rest before putting his back to her, once more taking up a watchful position by the bars.
Tina sighs wearily while climbing into the cot. Newt stands as still as a statue, jaw tense and lips a bloodless gash above what little of his chin she can see.
She does her best to ignore him as her eyes drift out of focus, the combined weight of the day slowly pressing down on her.
She fails.
She must have fallen asleep because she opens her eyes sometime later to find that Newt has moved.
No longer does he stand sentry by the bars; instead, he's seated in the corner he'd staked out earlier, long arms wrapped around his knees with his head tipped against the wall, eyes closed. A quick check of the opposite corner reveals that Mr. Kowalski is still snoring blissfully away.
Tina smothers a sigh while carefully rolling over.
"It's only been an hour." His voice drifts over to her cautiously, almost begrudgingly. She stares wordlessly at the ceiling until the unmistakable metallic snick! of a pocket-watch being flipped closed reaches her ears.
Tina glances over just in time to see him stash it away before shifting, grimacing as he repositions his skinny shanks against the stone.
Much of the defensiveness and tension has bled out of his posture, replaced with a heavy mantle of fatigue that sits strangely on him; it ages him beyond his years and dims the lively spark in his eye. Tina stares as the renewed understanding that she put that look there fills her with remorse.
The sudden, inexplicable need to make things right, or as right as they can be, takes her breath away, and she doesn't question the impulse when she sits up and forces a neutral expression.
"Aren't you cold?" she asks softly. She shrugs off the thin blanket, stoically ignoring the chill creeping over her neck and shoulders while holding it out as a peace offering. "I'm sure the floor must be freezing. You can have the blanket, I really don't mind."
Newt looks somewhere in the vicinity of her feet. Tina watches his jaw clench before shaking his head. "I have endured far colder temperatures, and in more dire circumstances, Miss Goldstein." He curls into himself in direct negation of his words, wrapping thin fingers around his elbows while defiantly meeting her eyes. "I'll be all right."
Tina sucks her teeth in disbelief of his sheer stubbornness. "Let me know when you've frozen to the floor," she says caustically, "and maybe I'll come help you up."
He looks away, his thin face flaming, and Tina, feeling suddenly barbaric, rolls over. I'm not apologizing again, she tells herself.
But she can't help thinking it, over and over, and the refrain follows her once more into a thin, gray sleep.
Tina wakes for the second time that endless night because of a small, well-smothered but nonetheless intrusive sound. Sighing heavily at the gray ceiling, she rolls over to take in the self-appointed guardian of their cell, only to come up short. She spends a moment riddled with indecision before sitting determinedly, gathering the blanket to stride across the room.
There's no mistaking the fact that he's cold: Newt's visibly shivering, trembling like an autumn leaf in a gale. He doesn't look up when she sits beside him, careful to make sure they aren't touching, before tossing the blanket around his knees and shoulders.
"There," Tina says tightly, "now we can both be warm."
There's a long, long moment when he goes eerily still, jaw flexing until he shifts and all the fight bleeds out of him. "Thank you," Newt murmurs without opening his eyes, and draws the coarse wool up to his chin.
Biting back a triumphant smirk, Tina inclines her head regally before leaning against the stone wall, staring at the opposite cell as she casts about for something, anything to fill the silence.
"You should be sleeping." Newt doesn't look at her, and his lips barely move. Still, Tina starts as if he'd shouted, eying him warily before looking away.
"You're right, I should be," she mumbles, "but I have a hard time sleeping when thick-headed men take it upon themselves to be my chaperone, and freeze themselves half to death in the process."
He jerks his chin up to meet her eyes, and she nods once, sharply, before going on. "Tell me, Mr. Scamander: why exactly do you think you need to stay awake and keep guard? Surely you know that we're safe down here."
"I know no such thing," he rejoins sharply, "and neither should you." It's a good sign that his jaw is firm enough to speak without chattering, and she bites her inner cheek to contain a triumphant smirk before rolling her eyes.
He opens his mouth to say something else but Tina hurries to talk over him, still anxious to bridge the deep rift between them.
"I'm sorry," she says quickly, "but you are warmer now. Aren't you?"
He closes his mouth with an audible snap. Tina carefully contains the inward jolt she feels when green-gold eyes find her own, plastering a bland expression on her face while lifting an ironic eyebrow. "It's better to be warm together than to freeze alone. Isn't it?"
"I don't know," he admits in a sulky grumble. "I've never really had to...had to—" Whatever he's trying to say is cut off by an unexpected, jaw-cracking yawn. He hastily smothers it as his ears turn a rather endearing shade of pink. "So sorry," he mumbles while discreetly wiping his eyes. "I'm really not sure what came over me."
"You're tired," Tina says in exasperation, "and being a stubborn ass about it." She makes a conscious effort to soften her tone while watching him from the corner of her eye. "You should get some sleep. You can have the cot if you'd like; I'm gonna be up for a while anyway. I'm used to long hours."
Newt eyes her curiously. "I'm not sure that's entirely appropriate," he finally decides. "We gave it to you, Miss Goldstein. I wouldn't be able to sleep if I took it."
"And what, you can sleep like this?" She makes an expansive gesture to the floor and iron bars. "Because you're welcome to try, but I'm telling you that you can use the cot, I don't care." Then, before her strange bravado can abandon her entirely: "And for the love of Morrigan, please call me Tina. I think being arrested together kinda suspends the rules of polite society, don't you?"
"Absolutely not," Newt snaps. Then, seemingly surprised by his own forceful reaction, he blinks rapidly a few times while looking away. The back of his neck burns red beneath his ragged hair, and Tina presses her lips together to contain an ill-timed giggle. He takes a deep breath, holds it, and lets it out slowly before haltingly turning back to her.
"My apologies, Miss Goldstein," he murmurs in a stiffly formal tone. "I don't mean to be unpleasant."
Could have fooled me, Tina thinks, a little nastily, but is wise enough to keep the comment to herself. Sighing, she shifts to relieve the numbness creeping into her hips and thighs before closing her eyes. "It's okay." The blanket rustles when he moves. "I can't really say I blame you. I had no idea all this would happen."
There's a long, tense moment of stillness from her companion. Then he exhales slowly, and Tina gets the sense that he's letting go of something heavy along with it. She hides a smile when he angles his head toward her, blinking hard as he studiously avoids her eyes.
"I know you didn't," Newt concedes in a low rumble, "and I apologize if I seemed…" His mouth twitches when he can't find the words until he blinks at his hands and looks away.
Tina allows her smile to show, just a little. "You are forgiven."
She can feel that his shaking has stopped, and his skin no longer looks quite so bloodless. Satisfied with a job well done, feeling him gradually relax beside her, Tina tilts her head back against the wall and closes her eyes.
Unpleasant numbness in her hips and ass rouses her after a while. Grimacing, Tina shifts as discreetly as she can, stretching her legs and pointing her toes before curling her knees to encourage blood flow, all while rubbing the large muscle in her thigh.
"You should probably get up and have a walkabout," a low voice says in her ear. She jerks her head to find Newt with his eyes closed, head canted toward her as she fidgets. "It's no good to stay in one place for so long."
"Well, you seem to be doing just fine," she grumbles, wincing when pins-and-needles begin to tingle in her feet.
Newt blinks his eyes open. "That's because I'm quite used to it," he says in a low voice while stretching languidly. "Between tracking my—my creatures and long patrols during the war, I've learned how to move my muscles while at rest to keep blood flowing." His voice grows hoarse toward the end, and a pronounced pang works through Tina when she recalls the confiscation of his case and the probable destruction of its content.
She's sworn to herself that she wouldn't apologize again, but Newt is visibly distraught with the reminder of their situation. Sensing intuitively that mentioning the Great War would likely lead him down an equally dark path, Tina supports herself on her hands before boldly meeting his eyes. "You're right, I need to move around," she admits and pushes upwards to get her tingly-numb legs beneath her. "Can you help me up?"
He throws the blanket off before rolling into a crouch, only to spring lightly to his feet. She grumbles darkly when he turns to her, eyeing her with a distinct note of hesitation before taking her hand. "Up you get," he murmurs and steadies her by the elbow.
Tina recalls the coiled strength of him when she'd brought him to MACUSA the first time, the sense of tightly-controlled power in his arms, and swallows hard despite her flannel-dry throat. Then she's hauled unceremoniously upright, joints creaking with protest at the sudden movement, and can't quite smother her pained groan.
"Easy there, Tina." Newt spreads his feet to brace them before taking her other elbow, allowing her a moment to get her legs beneath her. "Wait until the pains stop, or mostly stop; then start with small steps."
Tears prickle her eyes as her entire lower half first tingles, then burns in protest of its callous treatment. He catches sight of them and clucks his tongue soothingly before squeezing her arm. "It will pass soon, I promise."
No sooner are the words spoken than the awful pain reaches fever pitch, causing her to tremble until, just as suddenly as it had begun, the sensation passes. Tina gasps her relief, and she can hear the smile in his voice when he tugs gently on her arm. "Go on, then. You'll feel better once you've walked around a bit."
She manages a few circuits of the cell, careful to avoid the blissfully snoring Mr. Kowalski along the way. Tina's third lap is interrupted by a yawn, and Newt, who persists in hovering with a careful solicitousness, shares a tiny smile. "You should be sleeping," he reminds her.
Tina eyes the cot distastefully and is preparing to argue when Newt blinks pointedly while squaring his shoulders. He arches an eyebrow and she drops her head with a smirk, not quite able to believe that he's bested her without words, but also unwilling to argue the point. "All right, Dad, I'm going," she says with faux exasperation.
She waits until he's resettled in his corner before allowing herself to relax, pulling her coat closer while bunching the flat pillow beneath her head. "Sleep well, Tina," floats to her ears after a few minutes, but she's already sliding down into sleep and can't be sure if it's real or imagined.
It isn't until her mind has disconnected, caught in that twilight state between wakefulness and true slumber, that she realizes that he's been calling her 'Tina' this entire time.
Slender fingers brush her arm as something heavy and warm, redolent with the scent of animals and fading cologne, is draped around her shoulders. Tina mumbles her thanks, and a lilting, newly-familiar voice murmurs that she should think nothing of it. She hums agreement while snuggling deeper into the lingering warmth of the drape, smiling as she drifts serenely.
Male voices reach her ears, conversing in whispers before muffling a strained bit of laughter. She knows those voices, and her smile expands into a grin when she recalls their names. Jacob Kowalski, she remembers, and her sister's bright and ecstatic face floats across her mind. And Newt. Mr. Scamander. And his creatures.
Her brow wrinkles when her sleep-mind recalls everything that's happened: the hot dog and the bank, Mary Lou and Credence Barebone. Odd little thieves called Nifflers. extermination guides and hot cocoa, a gesture meant for peace. The death of No-Maj's, laid at the feet of someone she knows, on an instinctive level, isn't responsible—neither he nor his beasts. Then her ill-timed intervention, done in the name of righteousness but also, deep down, spurred on by her all-consuming need to prove herself right—and MACUSA wrong.
She must make a pained sound in her sleep because suddenly Newt's distinctive voice is close.
"You're all right," he murmurs, and she senses the shifting air current as he debates whether or not to touch her. "You're safe, Tina." She reaches out blindly, guided by something even baser than instinct, and catches his wrist. He tenses beneath her. She squeezes to let him know she's there before burrowing deeper into sleep.
"Alright," he whispers finally, and she feels his muscles coil as he moves. The slide of his boots and a low sigh tell her that he's settled on the stone side of the cot. Newt rotates his hand within hers until they are pressed palm to palm, fingers lightly touching.
"Go back to sleep," he whispers, and she has to strain to hear him. "I'm not going anywhere."
She does.
Tina wakes early the next morning if the dull thudding within her temples and the grit scouring her eyes are any indications. She has no watch but her internal clock tells her it is still well before sunrise. She makes to stretch when she realizes that, while her left arm is curled comfortably beneath her, her right arm is almost numb with cold.
Confusedly opening her eyes, she smothers a gasp when she recognizes the reason for its numbness before hiding a soft smile in the pillow.
Newt is sitting beside the cot, knees curled to his chest with his free arm wrapped around them. His head is at an angle, his lips slightly parted as he breathes in long, slow draws. There's no mistaking the fact that he is well and truly asleep, and Tina takes a moment to admire the coppery gleam of his hair, brash in the low light, and the bronze of the freckles dusting his cheeks and hands and even the back of his neck, before squeezing his fingers.
Still deeply asleep, Newt squeezes back in wordless affirmation.
And Tina, for the first time in this seemingly endless night, is warm.
