Tina wakes after 12 hours of sleep feeling much refreshed, but with a pressing need that requires relief.
She grumbles as she treks into the light morning rain to use the privy, which has been freshly scrubbed and whitewashed—most likely on account of her visit—and is still grumbling when she washes her hands in the kitchen. Newt watches her with distinct amusement from behind his newspaper, already dressed for the day and with Pickett roosting happily on his shoulder.
"How are you feeling?" he asks as a plate of food floats over to her—simple eggs and toast, she's pleased to note. Tina chews and swallows gratefully before answering.
"Better," she settles on, reaching up to rub the back of her neck. "What you did last night...it helped. A lot. My head still hurts but it's not as bad, and I can eat again." She smiles rather awkwardly, and his eyes fall to her mouth for a moment before focusing on her ear. She doesn't let this bother her; instead, she dips her toast into the runny yolk and closing her eyes in appreciation as she chews.
When she opens them again, he's returned to his newspaper, though there's a new tension in his shoulders.
"Did you have anything in mind for today?" Newt asks idly. She thinks for a moment before shaking her head. He nods as if he expected this, mouth twitching into a small frown. "I had a few ideas," he says slowly, and his eyes flicker to her momentarily before returning to the paper. "But I'm not sure you're up for them."
Tina sets down her toast to wipe her buttery fingers on her napkin. "What were you thinking?" she asks as evenly as she can manage. He lowers the newspaper to stare at her from across the table. His eyes are disarmingly direct, and she can only meet them for a few moments before looking away. He sighs tiredly, shoulders slumping. Tina flinches at the pang of guilt that action produces.
"I just want to talk to you," Newt says to the tabletop, and Tina squeezes her eyes shut in pained self-reproach. "It seems that lately, we never talk—not like we used to, anyway. You're one of the few people on Earth I can talk to, Tina, and I...I miss it."
I miss you hangs between them, unacknowledged and unspoken as she puts her head in her hands.
"I'm sorry," she mumbles through her fingers. She takes a fortifying breath before forcing herself to look him in the eye, putting on an air of forced casualness. "I know we usually talk so easily, and I am sorry. It's just...work." It's an incredibly weak excuse, and they both know it. Newt looks skeptical, frowning when he sets down the newspaper to send their dishes to the sink.
"Work," he repeats. Tina watches his throat bob when he swallows. "Work," he echoes bitterly, savoring the words, and she watches an unfamiliar cynicism bleeds into the lines of his face.
"Well," Newt says abruptly, chair scraping across the floor. Her mouth falls open when he stands, and his gaze is direct. "When you realize that you aren't at work, Tina—come and find me. Until then...I'll be in my case."
His voice cracks on the last syllable but he doesn't stammer out an apology, only ducks his head and walks away.
Tina watches him go, admiring the fine, straight line of his shoulders and back, grinding the heel of her hands into her eyes when her headache returns with a vengeance.
Tina holds out for two hours.
In that time, she unpacks her suitcase and hangs her clothes beside his in the wardrobe; enjoys a hot bath using the ancient basin in the kitchen (ruefully daring him to come up and see her, in the vain hope that it would erode some of the tension between them); and argues fruitlessly with herself.
You came specifically to see him, maybe even to tell him that you love him. You should go and apologize, and see if you can't start over, she thinks, and nods as she scrubs her skin with harsh lye soap.
MACUSA trusted you. You know that revealing anything about the mission is almost impossible, and puts you all in danger. Especially him. And in the end, aren't you doing this for him, to keep him safe? she argues back and dunks her head in the water until her lungs burn and black spots danced before her eyes.
Doing so doesn't help her headache, but the resulting surge of adrenaline does serve to clear her head. Temporarily, at least. Then it's back to arguing with herself, round and round until her head spins and she feels ill.
She boldly dresses in the kitchen, foregoing many of her underthings in deference to the unusual warmth of the day, and eyes the case ruefully until she can no longer deny the impulse. Her knees tremble when she crosses the room, heart fluttering and palms sweaty when she bends to open the latches.
"This is ridiculous," she growls to herself. "It's just Newt!"
Yes, Newt, her subconscious helpfully supplies, and she grimaces. He's the reason you're here, isn't he? So stop this. Go talk to him. You know he'll forgive you, and if you tell him, he can help you support this burden. You don't have to do this alone.
"But I do," she reminds herself with a moan, and opens the lid.
Newt's not in his shed, hunched over his typewriter, or in any of the immediate enclosures.
She pokes her head in on the heavily-pregnant Erumpent, who trumpets a hello, and spends a few minutes with Dougal and the newest clutch of Occamy hatchlings.
It's the Demiguise who finds him, gently taking her hand and leading her to a rough meadow she's never seen before, an endless expanse of green with a hint of mountains sketched on the artificial horizon. He's sitting in the slough grass, chin on his knees and staring moodily into the distance.
Tina whispers her thanks when Dougal disappears before approaching the Magizoologist.
"You're a difficult man to find when you want to be," she says lightly as she settles beside him. His eyes cut to her momentarily before returning to the far-off, dreaming mountains. Tina smothers a sigh while mirroring his posture, and sets her eyes on the horizon—prepared to wait him out until chore time if need be, settling in for the long-haul and grimly ignoring the renewed thumping in her temples.
"I'm glad you came," he says without preamble, sometime around the time her feet start to tingle. Tina casually stretches her legs and leans back on her hands, wiggling her toes to encourage blood flow. She doesn't look at him, but she sees his chin angle toward her in her extreme periphery. Inwardly heartened, she keeps her expression serene before tilting her head toward the sky, closing her eyes as a soft breeze caresses her skin.
"Could have fooled me," she finally rejoins, and knows she's scored a hit when she feels him tense beside her. The realization brings no triumph though, and she turns to find him frowning deeply, careworn lines bracketing his mouth and eyes. Those are because of me, she thinks, and feels her own face cramp into a momentary wince.
He blinks at her expression but makes no motion to soothe her as Tina steels her resolve.
"I'm sorry," she sighs. "It seems like all I can do lately is snipe at the people I...care about. I was a nightmare before I left New York, you should have seen it. Poor Queenie didn't know what to do with me."
Thinking about her sister hurts, but not as much as the sustained ache she's carrying for the man in front of her. Yet, she sets both aside when his gaze drops to where her hands curl into the grass before slowly raising his eyes to meet hers.
"If you came here to heap abuse on my head," Newt whispers, "you should have stayed home. I believe a letter would have sufficed if your only reason for visiting was to tell me you're off to war."
He takes a deep but unsteady breath. "You insist you came here for me, yet you've made no effort to show me this, Tina. So, I ask again: why are you here? What has you so tied into knots that you are pushing away the people who...the people who care the most about you?"
It's asked baldly, almost boldly, but Tina can see the proof of how difficult it is for him to ask in his shiny eyes and trembling hands. She draws perverse courage from his nervousness and meets the question head-on, no longer content with being evasive.
"I've been given a mission," she says simply, ignoring the warning tingle in her wrist. He blinks at her confusedly, fingers worrying a stalk of grass. "I've received orders and I really am going to the front-lines. Apparently, you and I were the first to apprehend Grindelwald successfully. We both know he broke out of MACUSA not long after, but that's not what's important to them." She rolls her eyes eloquently. "They want me to go help train other Aurors. It's a good bet that I'll be engaging in combat while I'm there."
Newt processes her incomplete answer as he moistens his lips and curls a sprig of grass around his fingers.
"There's more," he prompts eventually, and she nods.
"Yes. But...I can't tell you most of it. That's actually part of the reason I came." She exhales slowly and meets his eyes. "I really did want to see you. I have two weeks here—can't we try to make them good ones?"
"Why me?" He asks before she's barely finished answering the question, and now it's her turn to flinch. Tina tries to look away but his hand flashes out to catch her wrist, effectively stalling her evasion. Shocked, she whips her head up to meet his eyes, his gaze hard and searching. He nods at whatever he finds on her face. "There's another reason, isn't there, Tina? Something you aren't telling me that has nothing to do with your orders. So I ask again: why me? What drove you to leave your sister and cross the ocean? Why are you here?"
"Because I couldn't leave it like that," she whispers, voice cracking. Ashamed, she makes to duck her head again, only for calloused fingers to gently, gently tip her chin up to face him.
Newt's eyes are radiantly blue, almost preternaturally bright in his freckled face. He shows a wobbly smile.
"Keep talking," he breathes, and now it's her turn to swallow. She moves her gaze to his ear, a technique she's seen him use countless times, and he drops his hand away from her skin as if burned. She pretends not to notice the slump that takes his shoulders.
"I couldn't leave you like that," she warbles, and she notices distantly that her headache has relented, allowing her to think past the pain-induced fog. "I wanted to see you because I wanted it to be you I brought with me. Not Queenie." Her eyes sting and she blinks the threat of tears away until she feels more in control. "I love my sister, but Newt...she's not you."
Newt sighs and shifts onto his haunches. "So you came because you only wanted to see me before you left? That's all this is?" He sounds weary and terribly disappointed. Tina jerks her head up in shock.
"No! Well, I mean, yes, but no! I wanted it to be you, don't you see that? I'm going off to war, and I know you know what that means because you've done it, and all I can think is—" She cuts herself off with a choked sound when Newt's hands go to her upper arms, squeezing insistently.
"Say it," he urges desperately, and when did he move so close? Tina stares at his damp eyes before tracing the curve of his cheek when he nods down at her. "Please say it," he breathes, but the words are clogging her throat and he's too close, the weight of what she's agreed to do is too heavy, and her lungs are too small and refuse to admit any air.
She wheezes hopelessly, and his face falls in increments until he moves away, rising to his feet to stare down at her crumpled form.
"You could have said it at any time, you know," Newt husks out, and makes no effort to wipe away his tears. "I came back to you time and time again, and I was happy to do it because you are you, and you are precious to me. But I have no frame of reference for this, and I don't know how to handle it because I don't know if you're rejecting something that I've only ever dreamed of, or if you're refusing to say it because you're afraid. Tina, have I ever given you a reason to fear me?"
She miserably shakes her head, and he swallows thickly before going on. "I speak best in action, as you know, and I believe my actions have said it clearly. And I know you've recognized it, because you've never not welcomed me, and your welcome went beyond mere friendship. But..." His breath hitches, and he lifts a hand to absently flick his tears away. She stares with avid fascination. "Tina, you could have simply told me you loved me, and saved us both so much pain."
The words fall between them like heavy stones. She drops her eyes to the ground, feeling simultaneously crushed and exulted that, at last, one of them has found the resolve to acknowledge it. She watches him shift his weight from one foot to the other as she processed his words, until he makes a harsh sound and pivots smartly on his heel.
There's a rushing sound in her ears when he walks away, a rigid line of brown and yellow against the backdrop of grass and sky, until the canvas snaps shut behind him and she is once more alone.
Only then does she allow the tears to fall.