September 1927
Newt has been exceptionally fidgety and nervous all day, causing Tina untold amounts of distraction. Two months together had worn him down enough to distance him from his typical awkwardness and bring about a state of easy familiarity. Now, on the cusp of leaving, it's like those first tentative days all over again.
Tina sets her paperwork aside to bury her head in her hands, patience wearing thin. He notices her frustration and goes uncomfortably still.
"Newt," she says slowly. "You've been scratching the same spot for ten straight minutes. You aren't doing any revisions because you've been staring at the wall. Pickett can't even stand to be near you and went back into the case." She takes a deep breath, holds it, and releases it with a long exhale. "Will you please tell me what bothering you?"
He shifts guiltily, cheeks infusing with color before gathering his items. "Sorry to have disturbed you, Tina. I'll, er...go down into my case."
Tina makes a frustrated sound before striding across the room in two steps, moving boldly into his space while reaching for his hand. He freezes for the second time, eyes riveted to where she holds him. Newt swallows audibly when Tina rolls her eyes in exasperation.
"It's been two months. You've held my elbow and we've held hands while walking through the park, and you're going to get squirrelly about it now? Mercy Lewis, Newt!"
Newt jerks his head to the side while taking measured breaths. He seems calmer after a short time and tightens his grip on her hand while rotating his upper body to face her properly. Tina smiles tentatively, and he relaxes even further.
"No, I'm sorry. I don't mean to," he says finally. Tina hears the rasp of stubble as calloused fingers rub his jaw. She watches him as he thinks, emotions drifting over his features like clouds before the words are jerked out of him.
"I want to come back and see you," he admits, and can't quite meet her eyes. He focuses somewhere around her shoulder instead. "But I haven't a pretext. I find myself wondering if I need one, or if you'll let me visit on m-merit alone." He finally looks at her, wide eyes an ocean of blue-green. Tina allows the tremulous smile that tugs at her lips as he stares. She takes his other hand, winding their fingers together reassuringly until he blinks down at them when she runs a soothing thumb over his knuckles.
"You can come whenever you want, Newt. You don't need a reason. I'm always happy to see you." Newt releases a pent up breath while brushing her cheek with rough knuckles. He tucks her hair back, much like he had all those months ago, and the magnitude of Tina's smile increases. "You're my dearest friend, I'm always happy to see you."
The smile drops from his face as tension infuses his frame. He lowers his head and steps away, deftly avoiding her eyes. "iFriends/i. Yes. Of course." He turns toward the case while mumbling about the Occamy nest and Dougal. Alarmed, Tina scrambles to catch up to him, grabbing hold of his shoulder to force him to stop. Tina tugs gently until he turns to her, face turned away. She crouches to catch his eyes, desperate to read what's hidden there.
"What did I say?" she asks urgently, desperate to remove the devastated look on his face. She touches his hair and he goes preternaturally still, eyes wide as she leans close enough to feel the ragged puff of his breathing. "We are friends, aren't we?" He swallows loudly, and Tina nods. "Yes, we are. So what did I say? What hurt you?"
Tina squares her stance and straightens her shoulders when he makes no move to answer, willing to wait all day if necessary. His eyes dart from her face to her arms, before rolling up to where she holds him. He voices a frustrated sigh that ends with a growl, and his eyes are flinty when they meet hers. "Is this how you want to hear it?" he asks, and there's an edge of steel in his tone.
Tina steps back, folding her arms over her chest. She tilts her chin in challenge when Newt firms his jaw and keeps his gaze level. "Fine. Tell me like this," she says in an even voice, and Newt rises to meet her halfway, allowing his frustration to bleed into the words while his eyes bore into her.
"I don't want to come back as a friend," he says with forced levity, fingers curling in frustration. "My affections for you are far deeper than that. I wish to come back and see you as a man comes to see a woman: with the intent and purpose of perhaps, someday, forming a mutually-acceptable pair bond."
He snaps a measured breath out of the air before squeezing his eyes shut. Tina watches, mouth hanging open when his posture wilts as much of the fight drains out of him. "I will be your friend if that is what you require, Tina, but I feel that there is the potential between us for something far greater than that." He opens his eyes, and they do not flinch when they meet hers. "And I believe you feel it, too."
Tina looks away and swallows, feeling suddenly barbaric. "I do," she admits around the lump in her throat. She allows her arms to fall to her sides, unwilling to meet his eyes and the recrimination she imagines resides in them. "I'm sorry, I truly am, because I do know that." She winces and begins to turn away. "I know this isn't how you wanted this to happen, I'll just—"
Strong but gentle fingers wrap around her wrist, effectively halting her movements. "No, Tina. Don't walk away from me. Not now." Newt brushes his thumb gently over her skin and Tina shivers. His other hand lands on her shoulder and hold firm. Now it's his turn to crouch to meet her gaze, smiling in his gentle way. Her eyes, he notes, are inky pools in the light streaming through the window, wide and dark and beautiful.
"My Newt," she murmurs and lifts a hand to cup his cheek. He presses into it with a happy sound. She feels the prick of his stubble against her skin, the sharp ridge of his jaw. Tina wonders how it would feel against her mouth, and represses a shiver.
"Your Newt," he confirms. He leans into her hand more firmly before turning his head and brushing her palm with his lips. "My Tina," he says, and his eyes positively dance. "You understand my intentions, then?" The tickle of his mouth causes the flesh covering her hand and arm to hump into goosebumps. Tina wrenches her mind back to the conversation, feeling suddenly overwhelmed.
"Yes," she says simply, and he smiles. "But there are things we should discuss first."
He nods and guides her to the couch, where he hastily shoves aside his parchment and quills to make room. He settles her before striding over to the stove and making tea—the No-Maj way, without a single lick of magic. It allows her time to calm herself, which she suspects may have been the entire point, and to work through the tangle of her thoughts.
Newt settles beside her armed with teacups and biscuits, which he passes to her without comment. She nibbles on raspberry cream wafers as he sips his tea, and she carefully ignores the way his cup rattles gently in its saucer. Newt eventually clears his throat and sets his drink down, turning to her with a politely questioning look.
Tina casts about for the right way to begin, before finally going straight to the heart of the issue. "Scamander—where is that from?"
Newt blinks around a frown, one hand rising to scratch behind his ear. "Er—it's Greek, I believe."
Tina nods while nibbling her wafer. "Newt...you know I'm Jewish, don't you?"
Newt looks at her thoughtfully. Tina lets him digest this before continuing. "When I was growing up, we observed certain things, but others were allowed to fall away in favor of being modern. After my parents died, Queenie and I became wards of the state before moving to Ilvermorny. They did their best, and we did ours, but I never did learn or absorb as much as I wanted. We keep these traditions alive now, as best we can, to honor Ma and Pa and our culture."
Tina takes a deep breath, remembering joyful childhood celebrations, along with the endlessly gray time after the death of her parents. Newt touches her wrist with the tip of his finger, drawing patternless shapes into her skin until Tina finds the resolve to continue.
"I never thought much about marriage, but I always assumed I would marry a Jewish man. Generally, we aren't allowed to marry a goy—someone who isn't Jewish—but my instincts tell me that my family would have made an exception for you, Newt. If, uh, we decide to...take that step."
Newt considers this information quietly, eyes thoughtful. "The preferred method of human pair-bonding is marriage," he concedes. He looks at her, and she gets the sense that he's feeling his words out before he speaks, weighing them against his intent. "Tina, if marriage is the goal, then I will do whatever it takes to reach it. What do I need to know?"
"Well," Tina begins, "what about children?" Newt blinks. "I may not be as familiar with my culture as I'd like, but I feel that any children we have should be raised with the customs I can pass along. We'd celebrate Hanukkah and Shabbat, as Queenie and I do and have Seders on Passover. On Rosh Hashanah and Yom Kippur, we'd go to synagogue."
She hesitates at his wide, blank expression before hurrying on. "I'm sorry, I am, I know it's different from what you're used to, but you should know this now before we...before you..." She twitches her hands helplessly. Newt sighs gently before lifting their hands to drop a kiss onto her knuckles. The gesture is new and unexpected, and Tina marvels.
He's smiling when she looks at him with wide eyes and quirks a brow at her confusion. "As long as you understand that I also come with my own customs. If we can agree to celebrate Christmas alongside Hanukkah, as long as you aren't opposed to teaching our brood all our individual cultural facets, then I see no problem. It is my firm belief that a varied education is never a bad thing."
Tina nods happily, emboldened by his quiet confidence, and goes on. "There won't ever be pork in the house because I keep kosher, so you'll have to give up bacon. You don't eat much meat so I don't think it's really a sacrifice, but you should know. And...if we have a son, he will have a bris. I'm sorry but that's something I insist on."
Newt looks away thoughtfully, eyes going distant as he scourers his encyclopedic brain for everything he knows on the subject. "Is that..." he asks hesitantly, and he makes an odd little snipping gesture with two fingers. Tina stares before dissolving into giggles. He endures them stoically before moving on. "It is. Right. Um, I suppose if it's necessary, then I can raise no reasonable argument." He blanches without warning, and Tina can read the question on his face. She laughs harder, tears streaming down her cheeks.
"No," she gasps, pressing the stitch in her side. Newt watches with faint amusement until the last of her laughter gallops away and she can fetch a few grateful breaths. "No," she continues calmly. "You don't have to...do that. Just be aware that it will...it's something I have to work out on my own." Newt considers this as a thoughtful but comfortable silence falls between them.
"Is there anything else?" he asks eventually. Tina's been hypnotized by the feel of his thumb on her knuckles, and she hesitates before answering. Newt watches in fascination when crimson colors her cheeks, and her eyes fall to his lap before skipping away. The flush spreads, infusing her forehead and neck.
"The last thing is personal," she mumbles, and he wisely chooses not to move closer. Instead, he strains his ears as she dissembles to the couch. "I have stepped out with a gentleman or two, and I've allowed them to kiss me. But that's it. It never went any further than that, and neither have...neither have iI/i. I don't intend to go further with you, Newt. I will go to my husband on our wedding night without..." She flounders helplessly, words caught in her throat. Newt saves her.
"I understand," he speaks in his gentlest tones. Tina takes a deep breath and he joins her, breathing together until her skin tone returns to normal and his stilted mannerism has receded. "I would never expect it of you, besides," he reassures softly. Tina dares a shy smile. He tightens his hold on her hand as his eyes smile back—strong and bright, with no hint of awkwardness.
"Is that everything?" Newt asks, and Tina nods. His mouth softens as he brushes his lips over her knuckles. "So, you wish to raise your future children with your customs. You cannot eat pork because it is anathema in your culture, which means I will also give it up. You have female mysteries that I can only know after marriage—ah, sorry, that came out entirely wrong," he winces and drops his gaze to his feet while Tina grins at him affectionately. He hurries on, "and you wish for any male offspring to observe a bris, to strengthen your cultural norms."
Tina nods. "Yes. That's pretty much everything. I'm sure I'll think of more as we go along, but for now, that's the basics of what you need to know." She swallows nervously. "If you can accept all that, Newt, then I would be delighted and honored if you would come visit me, whenever you can. As a man likes to visit a woman." She squeezes his hands as Newt stares at her, transfixed.
His smile, when it happens, is a slow, tremulous thing. It transforms his face into something joyous and almost childlike as Tina watches it light him from within. He finds her eyes, all traces of hesitancy gone. "Tina," he breathes. "Allow me to ask formally: may I come back, after I've fulfilled my duty to the Ministry, and see you? May I come bringing only myself, and with the intention of perhaps someday being more to you than simply 'Newt'?"
Tina nods, and his eyes soften as he drinks in her face. "You're my Newt but...yes," she says plainly, and she can't contain her ecstatic smile. "Yes, Newt. Come whenever you want, as often as you want."
"I will," he sighs shakily, and it isn't only joy that makes his eyes shine now. Tina thumbs his tears away, and he presses into her touch gratefully. "My Tina," he husks, and when he kisses her wrist, she doesn't turn him away.
"Your Tina," she confirms, and they sit together in quiet wonder until darkness falls around them.
Tina sees him off two days later.
Newt stands before her awkwardly, clutching his case and watching her from the corner of his eye. He seems unable to formulate a parting statement, Tina doesn't hold this against him; she can't think of one herself. Then the ship's horn blows a 10-minute warning and Newt flinches before craning his head over his shoulder.
"I should—" he begins, and then his case clatters to the ground as he grips her hands, nearly hard enough to ache. "I don't know what to say," he breathes in a rush, his eyes intent on her. "I don't have a frame of reference for this." He searches her face while his fingers relax until he lifts her hands to his mouth to lather her palms with kisses. "I shall write every week," he promises. Tina smiles around the tears blurring her vision. "And I shall return in three months. Sooner, if I can manage it."
Tina moves closer, stepping into his space until her toes touch the case at his feet. She hesitates only a moment before leaning forward and wrapping her arms around him, pulling him into a close embrace. He sighs deeply while pressing his face into the crook of her neck, and she can feel his labored breathing. "Three months," she confirms, and his arms tighten convulsively. She inhales his constant scent of wool and parchment and sunshine, committing it all to the memory of her heart before squeezing him one last time and stepping back. His hands, she's pleased to note, do not leave hers.
"Three months," Newt repeats, and his smile strives to be reassuring. He squeezes her hands one last time before releasing them, bending to scoop up his case and striding away. He doesn't look back. She watches him hesitate on the gangplank, head tipped back while blinking hard at the sky. Then he squares his shoulders and the ship swallows him. Tina is left feeling bereft and empty, and unfathomably alone.
It's a long, lonely walk back to her apartment.
