Percival Graves wakes up with a throbbing head and a large bruise on his throat. When he blinks, he sees another figure across from him. His brow furrows and he tries to remember what happened, where he is, who he is. Percival Graves. He knows that much. But who is this woman? The figure across from him? And where is this place? This tiny, dim place?
She stirs when he reaches out and touches her knee. A soft groan signals her consciousness, and when her head pokes up, Graves finds himself struck by a strange familiarity. A scar runs across her face, and it sends a jolt of tender concern through him. He tries to form words in his sore throat and dry mouth, but she succeeds first.
"Mr. Graves?" she rasps.
Mr. Graves. He has status - oh, yes. He remembers now, through the fog. Partially remembers. He is the head of... something. This is his employee. A favorite one, his mind suggests as his eyes roam over her scar. "Are you okay?" he rasps back, wincing at the sandpaper sensation in his throat.
Her mouth quirks. "Been better."
He nods, notes the bruises around her throat, similar to where he has pain. "Grindelwald," he grunts.
She blinks, nods. "Grindelwald... and his minion, too. What was her name?"
Graves shuts his eyes, shakes his head. The room, or whatever they're in, spins too fast for him to focus. The wood paneling feels rough beneath his fingers, and when he drags his palm across it the splinters stick him like a porcupine. He should know what spell this is. What curse lays on them. The pain in his palm grounds him.
He ignores the images pressing at the back of his eyelids, the illusions seeking to spin him around in the dark.
A soft hand touches his cheek. "Lay down, sleep," she urges in a whisper.
"We need to... to..." He rubs his eyes with his shackled wrists. "To..."
She vomits. He hears and smells it.
Hair pulls from his head in little pin pricks.
She vomits.
Someone pulls hair from her head.
She vomits.
Nothing comes out.
He sets his head against the wall and gasps for breath. She dry heaves. He sweats. How many times did she throw up?
He can't sweat anymore.
What he would give for water. Food, too. Just a slice of bread. A cube of a potato.
It smells like shit and piss at first, but the stench fades into the background.
"My name's Sam," she tells him. "I work for you, remember? You hired me." He doesn't know when she tells him that. He wonders if he asked. He still can't remember anything.
"Sam, you're cold," he replies.
"You seem hot, sir."
"Come here," he orders. But his order comes out more as a plea. His skin feels dry.
In the tiny, formless, dim space, she shifts and drags herself to him. He puts his arms over her, shackles and all, and pulls her against his chest. She shivers.
"I'm cold," he croaks.
She presses her face into his neck.
He presses his mouth to her forehead. "We'll get out," he promises. Her skin feels dry, too.
"I'll be sure you get out, sir."
Through the haze, he smiles down at her. Is the scar new? "Loyalty goes both ways, Sam."
"I'll always put your life over mine, sir."
"You'll do no such thing. You'll get out of here first."
Their conversations meld together, but the feeling of her in his arms grounds him. It gives him something to hold, to grasp, to try and use as the center of sense in this place.
But when MACUSA finds them, Percival has lost all consciousness. MACUSA finds Sam Cooper and Percival Graves embracing each other, sleeping, on the brink of death. They drag Graves out first. Sam had heard their footsteps and let a flare loose against the ceiling, an impressive display of wandless magic that alerted the aurors to their hiding place.
Grindelwald had kept them for three weeks in a suitcase under Percival Graves' bed. In the middle of New York. He and his "minion," a woman named Lella, had kept Sam and Percival close by so that they could retrieve hair for their polyjuice potions.
It takes a full month for their bodies to recover.
The nurses can't separate them from each other in that time. Even when Madame President Picquery visits Percival to apologize and apologize and apologize and finally ask him if he wants a hot dog like he so loves and if he's ready to make a statement to the public, Sam lies right next to him in her own cot. When Percival starts to get tired, he panics at the thought of slipping into another haze state. Sam practically falls from bed in her rush to press her cheek to his forehead and gently rub his back, one hand crushing his.
Picquery resigns herself to silence and just watches them for a few moments, smiling tenderly at the pair. She's glad her school friend and her most trusted confidante has someone to look after him. She says, "I'll let you recover in peace," and disapparates before either can bid her a proper goodbye.
When Sam's family comes, they try to draw the curtains between her and Percival. Sam panics at the sudden reduction of open space. Percival scrambles out of bed to her. He grasps her hand and presses his other hand to her forehead, softly whispering to her. She hugs him tight, burying her head in his neck, and her family turns their questions from her to him. He answers best he can. After she calms down, Percival keeps a hold of her hand as she talks to her family.
They cast him suspicious glances.
"There's a huge age difference," Sam's grandmother whispers once they leave.
"There is," Sam's father absently agrees. "And he's her boss."
"Oh, shush," her mother snaps. "Did you see them? Let them be happy. It'll be a long while until they're normal again."
"If they ever are," David, Sam's brother, mutters. Sam has never been his idea of "normal".
"He was so unkempt," Grandma says. "A disgrace."
"They've been bedridden for two weeks and trapped in a suitcase for three," Mother replies. "Of course he needs a shave. Sam's in dire need of a haircut, too."
David tries to hide an amused smile. Obviously Mother approves of them together.
When MACUSA finally comes to debrief Percival and Sam, they don't even attempt to get separate statements from the pair. They get more coherent, calm statements that way, plus truth be told, the two have some memory issues. Two months prior to their kidnapping has a haze wrapped loosely around it. The scattered visits help dissipate parts of the haze. Between the two of them, MACUSA manages to piece together the sequence of events leading to their kidnapping.
When Tina and Queenie visit them (Newt's still being questioned over and over about the Obscurus, even though he's explained near one thousand times to the MACUSA officials), Queenie pushes their cots together without a word. Sam blushes. Percival's lips quirk upwards.
Tina sits down next to Sam's side and gently strokes her apprentice's wrist, fingers gliding over the raised bumps. "I'm so glad you're okay," she whispers. "I felt a bit lost without my clumsy shadow."
Percival turns on his side and gazes at Sam. "You spilled coffee on my desk your first day. Then you spilled five mugs on Abernathy's. On purpose."
"And let a porcupine loose in your office," Queenie reminds him. Oh, yes. He can't forget that incident. He had never met someone at work so blatantly un-intimidated by him.
"And pushed Abernathy's desk into the elevator," Percival adds, mostly to himself. As the memories flood back, a soft smile touches his lips. "You brightened my day."
"I think you told me that I caused the gray in your hair," Sam murmurs.
Percival chuckles. "That, too. You made my paper fold into rats for a day. Every time I touched a piece of paper, more origami rats."
"That set the trend," Tina laughs. "Everyone uses rat folds, now."
"I still call your office the rats' nest," Queenie confesses.
Percival remembers the first time he met her.
"These are the finalists," Abernathy informs Graves. He hands him the three files.
"What are they like? In your own words, Abernathy," Graves says. If his current employees don't like one of the interviewees, then he will waste no time. He's only interested in candidates his aurors can get along with. If they don't push each other to excel and don't work as a team, then Graves has no need for them.
Abernathy flashes a small, grateful smile. "Ms. Goldstein and I are leaning toward this one," he answers, tapping the middle file. "Samantha Cooper. She seems strong, has a good personality. Tina really likes her."
Graves nods and glances over the file. "I'll interview her last, keep her in mind. Send the first in, Abernathy. And thank you."
He is not impressed with the first two. It worries him. If those two made it to the finals, then Ms. Cooper holds no potential. It wouldn't take much for her to seem better than those two fools.
"Sam," Abernathy calls.
A young woman with a scar across her face steps into the office and wipes her hands on her trousers. Graves stands and holds out his hand. "Percival Graves," he introduces, looking over her body language. Sweaty palms, slightly flushed face and neck, and a stiff spine.
"Sam Cooper," she replies, firmly shaking his hand.
"Have a seat," he says. "And relax. You're in a good position right now."
Her spine relaxes, but her foot starts to tap uncontrollably. He lifts a brow but says nothing. At least she has a healthy set of nerves—if she succeeds, they'll have to harness those nerves into positive outlets.
"Where did you get the scar?" he questions, folding his hands together. "I don't see many of those outside our department."
"Wrangling a dragon," she answers. "Just a feisty adolescent, but he still had sharp claws."
"A dragon? Where?"
"Ukraine," she replies. He waits and she supplies, "My father's a travelling salesman, takes the family with him. I got bored once in Ukraine. Eastern Ukraine."
"You were bored. So you wrestled a dragon."
"I promise I've gained more common sense since then."
"Has your courage lessened?"
"I like to think not, Mr. Graves."
"Good." He understands why Tina likes her. "Do you get along well with others?"
"The dragon and I are good friends now. Frequently write. No bad blood at all."
He smirks. A sense of humor—she would be a good partner for Abernathy. "Do you work well with other humans, Ms. Cooper?"
"I do, I do. My last job involved a lot of teamwork and partner work."
"What job was that?"
"Legal Office." Ah, good with language, then. Knows the laws. No wonder Abernathy likes her. "Defending clients alongside my partner, sometimes with an entire staff of legal representatives, depending on the size and importance of the case."
"What made you change course from defending people to sending them into situations in which they have to defend themselves?" he inquires, leaning forward.
She pauses, thinking through her answer. He appreciates that. "I found it difficult to defend clients when I felt they were in the wrong, and even more difficult to sit by when they were innocently sent to prison. This job feels better, I suppose. Just a step before the legal process. This feels like… like a safer method. I feel like I won't be acquitting criminals rather than innocents."
"We make mistakes, too."
"I've made many of those, and I have no doubt I'll make more. But I'll always aim for no mistakes."
He nods and leans back in his chair. Okay, he likes her. A good amount of bravery, humor, rational thought, and a sense of justice. The rest of the department will like her if she just passed the Abernathy-Graves-Goldstein test. Graves stands and holds out his hand. "Welcome to the team, Ms. Cooper," he says, allowing himself to smile.
Her face lights up and she shakes his hand again. "Thank you, Mr. Graves."
His eyes feel heavy. He scoots closer to Sam and lets his eyes shut. Queenie and Tina exchange a look. They squeeze Sam's hand, wink at her, and leave their flowers on the windowsill. Once they exit, Sam faces Percival and inches close enough to reach across and kiss his forehead. He grasps her hand and smiles. They fall asleep. Needless to say, the pair is the gossip topic of the nursing staff.
One night, Percival wakes to find Sam's cot cold. He jerks up, heartbeat skyrocketing, only to whip his head around and find her gazing out the window. His eyes soften and his panic subsides. "Are you okay?" he asks.
She glances back at him and smiles. "I'm... sick of sleeping. Laying."
He gets to unsteady feet. The floor feels like ice. It makes him shudder, and his skin feels dry. But instead of saying anything, he just wraps his arms around her, like when they were in the case, and presses a kiss to her neck. She shudders and blushes. Percival kisses her again.
He rests his head on hers and stares out the window with her. His skin feels normal now.
Safe.
There are moments when he doesn't dare believe it. Those are the moments when he wonders if this is a part of his imagination, of his memories swirling together. But when he grabs onto Sam, it doesn't matter. As long as she's here, he thinks he can pull through. Even if she's imaginary, if it is just an illusion and he's still in the case, then at least he'll die in comfort.
She turns around and gently pushes him back to his cot.
They distract each other from their guilt. They both think they should have done more to keep themselves from being kidnapped, and they should have tried harder when they were in the case. No one else thinks that. Everyone else feels guilty for not noticing until Grindelwald's speech in the subway station.
After their full month of recovery, they get discharged. She argues to let her walk him home. "I live near there, anyway," she lies. Too tired to argue, he lets her.
But when they get there, he can't stand his apartment. She shudders just looking at the outside of the building. Instead of saying anything, she takes a hold of his arm and leads him back toward the hospital and to the other side of the city to her tiny apartment.
He tries to protect her decency by sleeping on the couch, but halfway through the night she curls up with him, ear pressed against his heart. In the morning, he confesses, "I can't stay at home. I can't be there. I can't be..." He presses his face into her hair before she can see the tears forming in his eyes.
"Don't leave me," she whispers, clutching him like he'll vanish.
After another couple days of quiet, they return to work.
He finds it hard to leave her at her office.
He finds it harder to sit alone in his own office.
But above all, he finds it hardest to endure the pitying stares, the countless apologies. Finally, when the next apologizer comes in with a shallow apology and a stack of paperwork, he says, "If you really felt bad, you would do that paper work instead of leaving it."
He plays the blame game, pressing it to his favor like he always does; Percival Graves did not become Head of Magical Security by sitting back an waiting for opportunities to arise.
At lunch, he hurries to Sam's office, hoping to catch her for even a few moments of quiet sanity. Instead, he finds Abernathy ripping her desk apart. "What are you doing?" Percival demands, alarmed.
Abernathy, red-faced, slams his fists on the desk. "She super-glued all of my papers to my desk! She's been back for four hours, and she already—gah!" He kicks the desk. "Why does she use all of these damned no-maj tricks? They're not even clever, and they take forever to undo!"
Percival pinches the bridge of his nose. This feels familiar. "I'll talk to her."
Instead he finds Tina. "It's been four hours," is all he has to say, half-exasperated and half-laughing.
"It's refreshing," Tina answers as she shoves files into their respective cabinets. "We should have known you two were kidnapped after you yelled at her and she actually stopped pranking Abernathy."
Percival chuckles, grateful that Tina doesn't tiptoe around him. "Where is she?"
"Check the vents above Abernathy's office after lunch."
"I…why?"
"To quote Sam, 'Abernathy hasn't seen me in over a month. I have a lot of catching up to do.' And then she disappeared with a stick, string, and a feather."
"I'm going back to my office."
"Queenie and I will know if you punish her," Tina calls, and he's not quite sure if that is the Goldsteins' "hurt her and answer to me" talk. But he doesn't want to find out.
At least Sam doesn't seem to be manipulating the blame game. She just flat out ignores it. It warms him. But it makes him worry, too. What if she thinks that their current relationship is just a by-product of Grindelwald's charade? Does she know that he cared for her well before the suitcase?
He tries to show it to her instead of telling her. He wants to show her that she means far more to him than just the person that helped him live through their kidnapping and recovery. He wants to show her that he has fallen in love with her and wants to spend every moment he can get with her. He thinks about the few times he tried to show her before. Maybe his gestures hadn't been blatant enough, even if they sure had felt obvious to him.
"What are you doing, Ms. Cooper?"
She pauses and looks up at Graves with wide eyes. "It's hot sauce," she says. "Abernathy, uh, said he likes spicy women."
"I… didn't need to know that part. Put the hot sauce down. Don't play with your co-workers' food."
She nods. "Yes, sir."
Abernathy appears around the corner, grinning. Sam glares at him and silently mouths a few choice words.
"Hope you enjoyed your quill-filled sandwich," Abernathy whispers, apparently believing to be out of Graves' earshot.
Graves shakes his head, smiling. At least their pranks go both ways. "Cooper, come help me," he orders. She hurries to his side. He pushes some dragon scales into her hands, scales that had been found on the streets of New York. "What kind of dragon?"
She frowns and examines the scales. She holds it up to the light, presses her fingers against an edge until it cuts her skin, and tastes the scale. Abernathy gags.
"Standard Russian Ridged-Wing Wyvern."
"You can tell by licking it!?" Abernathy exclaims.
"Tasting is vital to identifying species of magical creatures, thank you very much."
(Tina had asked Newt about that before he left New York. He fixed her with a confused, mildly concerned stare and shook his head no. She has never believed Sam's "scientific" explanations since. But she still thoroughly enjoys watching Abernathy's reactions to them.)
"Help me track it down," Graves orders.
They track it as far as Central Park, but judging by the broken branches and absence of flaming buildings, it had flown away in the night. Sam promises to request Tina to question her contact about any sort of dragon. On the way back to MACUSA, Graves buys her a sandwich. "I'll tell Abernathy to stay away from your lunch, too," he explains before apparating back to MACUSA. Sam grins. She walks instead of apparating, devouring the sandwich.
He'll admit it, he finds the young woman charming, even if her eccentricity causes a few headaches when it comes to discipline. But she's never made him doubt her ability as an auror.
So when he hears two men making fun of her scar, he has no trouble punishing them with pageboy and coffee girl duties for a month. When Tina catches wind of the incident, she pokes fun at Sam. Percival Graves does not punish small things like that. At most, he scolds the offenders and lectures them on professionalism—Tina and Abernathy easily derive Graves' feelings from the incident.
"My apprentice is growing up," Tina jokes. "Off chasing men, men chasing her..."
"Aw, piss off, Tina. I'm off chasing dragons, clearly."
"Careful," she warns. "When dragons chase back they have more a of an unpleasant bite than men."
"I'll stuff whizpops in your desk if you don't stop."
Tina resumes working, but she makes faces at Sam when Graves is around. He finds it amusing. A few times, when Tina makes a particularly obvious expression, he glances at Sam just to see the blush dust her cheeks. It's cute.
At the New Year's party, Graves dares to make a move.
Sam successfully avoids the dance floor all night. She leans against the wall, just close enough to a corner to go unnoticed, a smile on her lips and eyes bright as she watches the band. Her fingers twitch. A little fact from Tina pops into Graves' head: Sam plays the saxophone, and apparently very well. He'll have to convince her to play for him some time.
He slips to her side. Their shoulders brush and she glances up at him. "Evening, Mr. Graves."
"Call me Percival here, Sam."
"Alrighty, Percival. What brings you to my corner?"
"I'm avoiding Abernathy's shame corner," he replies. Both look over at Abernathy fuming in the corner, trapped by one of Sam's spells. Queenie takes pity on the poor man and lets him out.
"He deserves the shame corner."
Percival chuckles. He looks down at her. "Would you like to dance?"
Her eyes go wide. "No, sir."
Oh. He looks down at his feet and glances back up at her. "Forgive me for bothering you."
Abernathy makes his appearance, Tina smirking behind him. "We're dancing, quill-girl," he says and grabs her arm, ignoring Graves. "Charleston or Lindy hop?"
"Ah! Neither! Tina, help!"
"Revenge for the whizpops."
"Traitor!" Sam howls. She looks at Percival. "Help!"
He smirks and lifts his shoulders in answer. Queenie covers her mouth in laughter.
But after two minutes of painful dancing, in which they become the laughingstock of the party, Percival takes pity on her. He swoops in, gives Abernathy a look that sends the young auror scurrying away, grinning like a satisfied devil, and Percival saves Sam from the dance floor. "When Tina said you were better at wandless magic than dancing, I thought she was lying."
Sam scowls.
He pulls her away, back to the corner and away from Tina, Queenie, and Abernathy's watchful eyes. "I wanted to tell you something tonight," he says.
She narrows her eyes. "Is this a part of their revenge?"
"Depends on how you react," he jokes. Nerves settle in his stomach, but he knows how to quell and ignore them.
The trio slinks through the crowd to watch them like hippogriffs after rabbits. Percival lifts his hands in a harmless gesture and says, "I just wanted to ask for a dance, but since that is clearly out of the question, can I pay you a compliment?" Her suspicious glare makes him smile softly. "You're beautiful," he says earnestly. "And you brighten my day—all of our days. Even Abernathy would admit to that."
She blinks, surprised. "Th-thank you, Mr. Graves."
"Percival," he reminds her. He brushes a thumb along her scar, licks his lips, hesitates while looking into her eyes, and turns away. "Enjoy the party, Sam."
Sam calls, "You too, Percival."
He smiles, exits the party and hurries home, determined to get away from all of those watchful eyes. He didn't want to embarrass Sam in public if she didn't want his attention.
Back at the party, Sam turns and finds herself facing Queenie, Abernathy, and Tina.
Tina frowns. "I thought he was going to kiss you."
"He sure wanted to, honey," Queenie adds.
"He doesn't know much about dames," Abernathy comments. "Strange for a man like him."
"What's that supposed to mean?" Sam asks. All three women look at him with raised eyebrows.
He downs his drink. "I'm going to grab another," he yelps before scurrying away.
Two weeks later, and Percival still finds himself wondering how to approach the subject. He wants to show her that he has cared and still does care for her, well beyond their kidnapping, but he's at a loss of how. Dating hasn't been on his mind for years.
And that's another thing. What about their age difference? He rubs his mouth in thought, wondering if her family will put up a fight against him. He really hopes not. But that's in the future.
What about today?
"I know just the thing!' Queenie exclaims.
Percival jumps. When did she get here?
"Just a minute ago, honey. I was delivering coffee, but as soon as I heard Sam's name in your head I just had to listen—I just worry about her."
"I appreciate your concern... I think she does, too."
Queenie giggles. "I suppose she doesn't broach the subject, does she?"
"We try not to," he admits. They prefer to ignore the kidnapping. They don't need to discuss it, not when they both know each other's feelings about it very well.
Queenie grabs a hold of his arm and leads him out the front door. "I know just the right thing for her. It's small and sweet, but that's what Sam appreciates. She doesn't like those grand gestures her former boyfriend in Ukraine was so fond of."
"The… dragon?"
Queenie gives him a vacant look, very rare for her. Then she witnesses the interview through his mind and she giggles. "No, Mr. Graves. An actual boy. But he's a far memory now. We had to give her a few drinks before that fell out, and that was only because we were discussing all of our past relationships."
"Mm."
"She really does like you, you know. Even before Grindelwald."
"Really?"
"She was disappointed when you didn't kiss her at that New Year's party."
He ducks his head in embarrassment. He was disappointed, too.
"Oh, I think you've more than made up for it," Queenie says. "Stop thinking so much and just enjoy yourself. Here it is!"
Percival and Queenie find themselves at Kowalski's Bakery, and Percival has to admit that the pastries in the windows are dazzling. A line winds its way around the block, but Queenie uses her charm and a swift spell to meld their way to the front of the line, right inside the shop.
"Excuse me honey, but my friend here is looking for an early Valentine's day gift," Queenie says.
"You need a gift for a steady?" the bakery owner asks. Percival finds himself struck by the short man's genuine excitement and charm. His eyes shine brightly and he has the most contagious smile Percival has ever come across. "Here—I got the perfect one, just for your lucky dame!"
Percival blinks in surprise, finding himself staring down at the unmistakable figures of an occamy and a demiguise holding each other. "This is…"
"Absolutely wonderful, Mr. Kowalski," Queenie interrupts, giving the man his money. "Absolutely wonderful."
Mr. Kowalski has a dazed expression on his face, but Percival chalks it up to Queenie's effect on men. "Thank you, she'll love this," Percival tells the man. "Thank you, Queenie."
"Just run along, honey. I'll see you tomorrow."
Percival glances between the two and realization dawns on him. This must be the no-maj they had obliviated under Madame President's orders. He ducks out of the store, desperate to get away from the sweet smell and the too-sweet looks Queenie casts the no-maj. He won't say a thing to Madame President.
He makes his way back to Sam's office and waits there. Abernathy gives him an odd look until he sees the pastry bag in Graves' hands. Then he makes sure to disappear.
She comes into the office, flakes of snow stuck in her hair. Percival asks, "What happened?"
"Someone enchanted a no-maj bank into a Winter Wonderland." She pauses. "What are you doing here?"
He smiles and hands her the pastry bag. "Just something small," he says, watching her open it up pull out the pastry and stare at it with a grin. She sets it on her desk and throws her arms around him. Percival lets out a laugh. "I didn't realize you liked pastries so much."
"I like sweet things," she says before locking him in a long kiss that sends whizpops through his stomach. His eyes slip shut and he pulls her against him, hands firm on her waist. He breaks the kiss first and clears his throat, suddenly hyperaware of their very professional surroundings. She blinks, blushes, and disentangles herself from him. "Sorry, forgot where we are."
"Can I take you to dinner tonight?" he asks, breathless.
Her face lights up. "I would love that."
"I'll see you after work, then. Unless you have something nasty planned for Abernathy."
She blanches. "Well…"
"Nevermind. I don't want to know. Back to work, Cooper."
"Yes, Percival," she answers with a smirk.
After dinner, he walks her home. She invites him in. They light every single lamp in her apartment, light every candle, and sit wrapped in blankets for good measure. A glass of wine later, and they both admit to a newfound fear of the dark. Despite the first night, they sleep separately now, him on the couch and her in bed. "I also can't stand being cold," Percival confesses. She nuzzles against his neck, breath soft over his skin.
After two hours, he offers to leave.
"No," she firmly says. "You're not going back there. You're staying here. Why do we have to do this every night?"
Relief floods him. "I just want you to know that I respect you," he softly answers, touching her knees. "If you tell me to leave, I will."
"If I tell you to sleep in my bed with me tonight?"
This time, his face heats up instead of hers. "I won't deny you my company."
She chuckles. "What a gentleman."
He gets rid of his apartment and permanently stays with her. They get on as normal at work, doing their best to ignore the pitying glances, the apologies from co-workers, and the wagging tongues of the gossipers. No one misses the soft touches they give each other when they pass in the hall, the briefest touches of reassurance. Not a single person misses the fact that they come in to work together and leave together, even when Percival stays until the wee hours of the morning. No one misses Percival's shadow on missions. No matter how big or small the mission, Sam is there by his side. He can't stand to be alone, or to leave her alone.
But she certainly earns the privilege. No one can argue that. She fights harder than anyone else and comes up with ridiculous plans that always manage to snag the offending wizards and witches. She has a harder time staying inconspicuous, though. Tina continues teaching her in that regard.
After a few months, they may as well be a married couple. No one questions them, no one second-guesses the propriety of their relationship. Percival stops worrying about their age difference, their reputations, everything. All he cares about is her happiness, safety, and their work well done.
But accidents happen.
Sam ends up in a bloody pool on the ground, hands fumbling for her wand. The Grindelwald fanatic stands over her, triumphant. "You thought you could make a comeback after he smuggled you away?" he hisses, licking his lips. "You made a mistake in believing that."
Percival swoops upon them. He petrifies the fanatic, drops to his knees beside Sam, and points his wand at her stomach. His wand shakes uncontrollably. He can't help it. Not in this state. Tina finds them next. She gasps and drops down like Percival did, but she uses her hands instead of her wand. She passes her hands over Sam's stomach, stems the bleeding, and pulls a vial from her pocket.
"It'll hurt," she warns Sam.
Percival holds Sam in his arms, cradling her head. Tina pours the potion over Sam's stomach. The young woman grits her teeth and does her best to stay still, but she thrashes until Percival has to restrain her. "Sh, sh," he soothes. A tear falls from his eyes. "I'm here, Sam. I'm here."
Eventually she stills. Percival picks her up, limp in his arms. It reminds him of the case and his heart leaps into his throat. They bring her to the hospital and she makes a full recovery in two days' time. But the hospital doesn't allow visitors—part of the new security against kidnappings.
When they release her, Percival meets her first. He crushes her against his chest. "I thought I was going to lose you," comes his shuddering whisper.
"I'm so sorry," Sam whispers back. "I thought I had him, but then he apparated behind me..."
He cuts her off with a kiss, one arm around her waist and the other hand on her cheek. She holds onto his arms. "Don't leave me," he whispers. "Don't leave me." That's the first time anyone from MACUSA sees Mr. Graves cry.
They avert their eyes.
He trains her harder than before. Tina steps up their exercises. Tina refuses to let her apprentice or her former mentor break like she's already seen twice now. She refuses. They will both live happy lives, if it's the last thing she does.
Abernathy steps up his own pranks.
Percival and Tina both know that everything is back to normal when they come into the office and find Abernathy and Sam covered head to toe in honey and thyme, chasing down Henrietta the Porcupine and Thomas the Honey Badger while screaming insults and curses at each other.
Percival and Tina eat lunch far away from the pair, shaking their heads.
"They'll never change," Tina remarks.
"Thank Merlin for that."