July 1927
Tina spots him first and is unable to contain an ecstatic smile. She raises a hand to her face, feeling her grin as though it were an unfamiliar item of clothing while surrendering herself to joy. She clasps her hands and vibrates with impatience while she awaits him, shifting restlessly from foot to foot.
Newt allows the crowds to disperse before ambling down the gangplank, familiar battered case in hand. He raises his fingers in greeting when he spots her, before queuing in the line for customs. He makes it through quickly enough, avoiding the agent's eyes the entire time, and before long his familiar duck-footed walk has brought him to her, where he smiles at her shoes in greeting.
"Tina. Hello," he says, and his smoky voice curls tendrils of warmth around her heart. He lifts his head and his gaze is green-gold and wide and all for her. His smile unfurls, slow and sure as Tina's eyes prick with delight.
"You're back," she manages. He nods jerkily, eyes drinking in her features. He stares for a moment longer before dropping into a squat and laying his case flat. Tina watches him open it, spotting pajamas, a flurry of maps, his battered alarm clock, a pearl-handled straight razor and badger brush—and a discrete brown rectangle, wrapped carefully with twine. He lifts it reverently and locks his case before passing it to her.
"My book, as promised" There's pride in his voice, as well as a touch of hesitation. He catches her eye. "That's the very first copy printed. I made sure of it. My mother and brother received the second and third copies, respectively. They are...unaware of this fact. Mother thinks she has the first, Theseus the second." He smirks. "Someday, perhaps I'll tell them the truth."
Tina laughs while holding the book against her chest, holding it tightly. "Thank you, Newt."
Newt ducks his head and shifts from foot to foot, restless fingers clenching at his side. He watches her carefully from the corner of his eye and doesn't say anything. Tina looks around, finding the sudden silence uncomfortably familiar, and finally, settles on the one thing she knows will bring him out of his shell.
"Are you hungry?" He nods without hesitation. Tina tucks the book under her arm and smiles at him. "C'mon, let's go have something to eat. You must be tired of ship food."
He smiles slightly and gathers his case, tucking his other hand into his pocket. He follows her away from the port, and if their arms brush occasionally, or their eyes meet for a heated second, neither of them comments on it.
"It's not the food that's the problem," Newt explains as they push through the Manhattan crowds. "It's the fact that I suffer from ghastly bouts of seasickness. I inevitably lose weight with every long voyage, and I've yet to find a potion or curative that eliminates the problem." Tina frowns while sidestepping a couple that stops directly in front of them, narrowly avoiding a collision. Newt, despite his distracted air, avoids the obstacle neatly and seemingly without thought.
"There's gotta be something that works," Tina argues, pitching her voice low in the crowd of No-Majs. "A potion or a charm?" She shares a dubious look with him until he grimaces and looks away.
"Nothing. I've even resorted to trying Muggle methods. They work little better. The best I've found is a leaf I discovered in Greece, but chewing it has the unfortunate side-effect of making me feel rather disconnected from reality, and I can't effectively take care of my creatures that way. So I suffer for their sake."
Tina touches his arm and he stops, looking at her in confusion. She juts her chin toward the busy road. "Didn't want you to get hit by a car." There's a small smile playing around her mouth and eyes. She takes his arm and drags him across the broad avenue, stepping through traffic with practiced ease. Newt follows bemusedly, reminded acutely of the first time they'd met until she stops at her preferred kosher hot dog vendor and grins at him conspiratorially.
"It's not a New York experience unless you've had a wiener," she confides, and orders two with extra mustard, not bothering to consult him on the issue. She also requests two bottles of Coca-Cola, dropping her change into the tip cup. She passes his food over before tucking into her own with relish. Newt eats slowly—the food tastes little better than gutter leavings but he's learned, through the years, to adopt to obscure cultural phenomenon.
Tina pockets her trash, and when Newt steps aside to drink deeply from his green glass bottle, she watches his throat work above the crisp edge of his collar. Mouth suddenly dry, she wrenches her eyes away to gulp her own beverage.
He looks at her strangely when he's finished, eyebrows hoisted, and Tina realizes she's staring. Flustered, she drops her eyes while mumbling about mustard on his lip. He wipes it away before they continue on, the remainder of their journey shrouded in awkward silence.
Queenie greets them at the door with typical enthusiasm, wrapping Newt in a powder-scented embrace he doesn't bother trying to evade, and giggling at whatever stray thoughts she plucks from their heads. She urges them to sit while lighting candles, filling the small room with a soft, flickering glow. Queenie flits around to prepare a meal, chatting lightly while they shed their shoes and outer layers.
Tina is somewhat ashamed of her lack of appetite but Newt tucks in with enthusiasm. She notes that he favors the vegetables and starches, eating only enough meat to be polite. He's a steady eater, fussily polite about the entire thing, and Queenie sometimes looks at him and giggles. He either doesn't notice or chooses not to comment on it.
"So, Mr. Scamander," she says as Tina uses her wand to clean up the meal. "Now that you're back, my sister can stop moping around." Queenie directs a delicate lemon pound cake to the table and places a large slice in front of Newt. "She missed ya terribly, ya know." She giggles and dodges a napkin Tina sends flying her way, smirking happily. "I know you brought your book. Has Teenie opened it yet?"
Newt swivels his head to look at Tina until she drops her eyes. "It's on the table by the door," she mumbles. Queenie directs an Accio toward it. She sets it by Tina's chair with a playfully raised eyebrow as they tuck into their dessert, allowing the issue to rest for now.
"Well, c'mon Teenie—I'm dying to see it!" Queenie enthuses after they've finished, face split into a radiant smile. Tina and Newt share an amused glance. Tina lifts the book carefully, and her fingers tremble slightly as she loosens the twine and delicately peels back the brown paper. Newt watches her face nervously, one tense hand clutching a fork. Queenie makes a delighted sound when the book is revealed, and Tina lifts it with breathless reverence.
FANTASTIC BEASTS AND WHERE TO FIND THEM, the title announces in fine gold-foil lettering, bright against a midnight blue, pebbled cover. Smaller letters proclaim that the book is written by one Newton Scamander, and the scent of fine leather fills her nose. Tina sighs shakily while flipping to the first page, where she finds the publishing information before turning to the dedication:
This book is for J. and Q.—may their love shine eternally; and for T., who's taught me more of friendship, bravery and selflessness than I ever thought possible.
Beneath that, in the same peacock-blue ink used in all their correspondences, is his own name, signed with a flourish.
Queenie sighs happily beside her, and Tina's hands shake as she turns the pages. The sisters watch with matching amused expressions as a flush infuses Newt's face, starting at his collar and marching upwards. He clears his throat roughly while fidgeting the fork in his hand. He finally chances a look at Queenie, who beams at him before touching his wrist.
"It's wonderful," she assures him, and he relaxes with a deep exhale. "Tina's so excited you used her title, even though she won't admit it." Queenie cuts her eyes to her sister but Tina is already immersed, eyes flickering over the page as she reads.
The blond smiled in fond exasperation before cleaning up the dessert dishes and turning the full strength of her personality onto Newt. "Come on, you're not staying at that crummy hotel. We'll set ya up here. I'll sleep on the couch, Tina can sleep in my bed and you can sleep in hers. She doesn't mind, we already talked about it before ya showed up."
She plucks the inevitable question from his head and giggles while bringing down the spare linen. "Didn't she tell ya? Jacob remembered me when I went to visit shortly after he opened his bakery. He remembers you, too, and the murtlap, and the Thunderbird—oh Newt, you should see his pastries, they're the berries! He makes little cheese nifflers and occamy pretzels, and he sells out every morning. The No-Majs' love him."
Newt's foot almost catches on the edge of a carpet at that proclamation. Queenie laughs merrily as she continues. "Here, help me with these sheets, Tina's lost in your book—yes, he remembers you. He wants to thank ya in person." She ducks her head with uncharacteristic shyness before continuing, voice pitched lower. "Tina worries. She always worries. Rappaport's law says what Jacob and I share is illegal." The smile slips from her face, and he experiences a faint pang. "Thank you for being discreet in your dedication."
Newt roughly clears his throat. He speaks as though he's picking his way from word to word, intent on not offending his hosts. "I don't agree with the laws here. I find them backward and rather churlish. If ever it should happen that you and Jacob are threatened, you always have a safe place in England. I haven't much, but I am set up with a small cottage in Dorset, which sits empty most of the year. It would make a suitable home for a young couple."
He meets her eyes to project his confidence and good intention directly into her head until she dabs at her face with a delicate lace hankie. Newt looks away while she composes herself. "You're sweet," Queenie declares with a watery sigh. "I'll tell him. Maybe a trip to England wouldn't be so bad, after all."
Then she smiles, and her eyes crinkle impishly. "Ya know, that cottage in Dorset would make a nice home, and my sister would love it. You should ask her, Mr. Scamander. She wouldn't say no."
Newt blushes while watching her dress the bed with clean sheets, choosing not to dignify her implications with a response. He's careful to avoid her eyes for the rest of the evening, however, and as the sun sets and darkness draws around them, he does his best to avoid disturbing Tina, retreating into his case to tend to his creatures before accepting a snifter of brandy from Queenie.
Tina's well into his book by the time he surfaces, turning pages carefully as she absorbs the information, while Newt simply watches. It isn't until Queenie flits about in her nighty and housecoat that Tina looks up and notes the time. "Merlin's beard," she exclaims, scrambling up from the table. "Why didn't you guys say anything?"
Newt feels something warm blossom in his chest when she uses his epitaph. Queenie's sudden fit of giggles makes him realize he's projected the accompanying thought. He ignores her to instead direct a shy smile at Tina. "You looked comfortable and happy. Besides, Miss Goldstein and I handled cleaning up, didn't we?"
Queenie nods with wide-eyed innocence before deliberately plopping onto the couch, her face splitting into a yawn that fools no one. "Oh Morrigan, but I am tired. You two should scat, I need my beauty sleep." She waves an imperious arm but Newt catches the edge of a well-hidden smirk. He somehow refrains from rolling his eyes, but just only.
"Oh. Uh. Pajamas." Tina says presently, blinking at the sudden directional change of their conversation before trotting into the room she shares with her sister. She pulls out her sensible blue night clothes and a light robe before nearly colliding with Newt when she turns, finding him almost directly behind her. He holds up his hands in a non-threatening manner while taking a hasty step back.
"So sorry! Sorry. Um, I can go sleep in my case, if you prefer. I've got a cot down there. I truly don't mind." He shifts, his eyes darting to the twin beds. Then he steels himself and meets her eyes. "Or I can stay here. Erm, with you. I don't mind that, either." His voice drops as he speaks, doing something strange to Tina's insides. She finds herself nodding rather idiotically long after he's fallen quiet.
"Stay. Please stay. Um, I'm going down the hall to change, you...you can use this room to put on your pajamas, just, uh, close the door. I'll knock before I come...in." She doesn't give him a chance to respond before hurrying away. Newt watches her leave with faint amusement before closing the door to shed his many layers.
He sets Pickett into his hair while he pulls on his preferred brown-and-blue striped pajamas. The bowtruckle chirrups at him happily before nesting down on his head. Newt looks down at himself with a critical eye—mismatched, poorly-mended wool socks, faded pajamas and wild hair with a creature tangled into it—and sighs ruefully. Then a tentative knock sounds at the door, and he has to take a few even breaths before he can cross the room.
"Newt! Are you decent?"
"I'm always decent," he mumbles without thinking. She looks at him with distinct amusement when he slides back the door. Newt watches her from over the threshold, and Tina stares steadily back as they grow serious and quiet at the frank perusal, cataloging and noting their new vulnerability. Then he steps aside and the spell is broken, gesturing her into the room with an odd little half-bow. She smiles at Pickett before climbing into her sister's bed.
They settle quickly, and the sheets have only just stopped rustling when she asks hesitantly, "Do you mind if I read? I'm used to later hours and I'm not very tired yet."
Newt shakes his head while answering around a yawn. "Not at all. I'll be asleep soon either way. I warn you, though, that I snore. A parting gift from the war—I took a knock to the face, and even though we healed my nose, it set crookedly. I've never gotten around to fixing it."
Tina sets her wand to glowing, bright enough to read but low enough to not bother him. She settles back with her book as he shifts and kicks off the blankets. He casts a cooling charm over the space while closing his eyes. "Well. Goodnight, Tina. Sweet dreams."
She responds absently in kind, attention already turning to her book. The sheets rustle as he sighs and settles, and next time she glances up from the page she finds him deeply asleep, head crooked on the pillow, hands folded over his stomach with his mouth slightly parted. He does snore but she can barely hear it, and the sound is gentle and peaceful and curiously endearing besides her.
She reads until she drowses and the precious book wavers before her eyes. Then she sets it aside and douses the light, turning over to watch him in repose until sleep claims her.