December 1928

Tina hears the tell-tale pop in the hallway and disentangles herself from an enthusiastically dancing Baker to head toward the door. Queenie steps in smoothly to fill the gap, and Jacob beams at her.

She swings open the door before he gets the chance to knock, fist left hovering awkwardly in the air. Tina joyfully takes his hand and pulls him into the apartment, and Newt's face softens as she helps him shed his outer layers. There are snowflakes caught in his eyelashes and peppering his cheek, a sharp contrast to the smattering of freckles there, and she is helpless but to lean forward and kiss them away. He holds his breath until she retreats, her smile radiant.

"Hello, love," he says in greeting, pulling her close by dint of his school scarf, which is wound familiarly around her neck. Tina presses close, inhaling the scents of wintry earth and parchment and snow that clings to him, and kisses his cheek. His stubble is rough against her lips, and she feels him gasp when she presses her lips into the hinge of his jaw. There's a new warmth in his gaze when she leans away, and Tina has to make a conscious effort to break eye contact.

Jacob has Queenie wrapped in his arms, swinging her around the room enthusiastically. He disengages while Newt hangs his coats and loosens his tie, before ambling over to pull the other man into a hug intended to crack bone. "Newt, buddy, how are ya?" he enthuses, and Newt sounds rather breathless when he replies. They shake hands and fall into the easy talk of their respective careers, Newt's hands animatedly retelling some adventure or another.

Queenie pulls Tina aside, allowing their men privacy to converse. "I'm going to Jacob's tonight," she murmurs. Tina nods with resignation. Queenie wraps her in a floral embrace, and the elder sister sighs while hugging her back.

"You know how much I worry," Tina frets. Queenie's strawberry head bobs in her peripheral vision.

"You don't need to worry, though," she reassures Tina, wrinkling her nose delicately. "You heard what Newt said. We always have a safe place to go." Queenie looks over at their men, each nursing a glass of Jacob's wassel, and sighs happily. "Newt loves ya, you know. He couldn't stop thinking of you the entire time he was gone."

Tina sighs. "Please don't read his mind, you know he doesn't like it."

Queenie shrugs, unconcerned. "He doesn't hate it so much." Newt turns away from Jacob, eyes honing in on Tina and warming before turning back to his companion. Tina ducks her head to hide a blush as her sister smiles impishly. "He does. I know you see it, I know he feels it, and I know you both want it. You can be happy, Teenie. Please don't take it for granted."

Tina suppresses a pang of guilt while tightening her hold on her sister. "I'm sorry," she murmurs as Queenie hiccups into her shoulder. "I am sorry. You know if I could change the law, I would."

"He's going to ask me to marry him," Queenie whispers. Tina freezes. "And I'm going to say yes. Even if it means I have to snap my wand and walk away from magic forever." Her lips tremble when she meets Tina's gaze, but her eyes are defiant and sure. "It's not right. You know it's not right."

Tina shushes her. "Don't tell me anything else. Say yes if you have to, do whatever you need to be happy, but don't tell me because I can't support the guilt."

Queenie chokes out a laugh. "I'm glad you approve, Tina. He'll make me happy, and I'll give him the family he's always wanted. He has enough money saved so we can drop everything and leave if we have to. It'll all be okay, you'll see."

Tina nods, wanting desperately to believe her and so choosing to do so. By the time their men come to fetch them and cajole them into dancing, all traces of tears are gone from their faces, and they even manage wan smiles.

Queenie and Jacob leave shortly after supper.

Newt presses a small, cheerfully wrapped gift into each of their hands before accepting Queenie's kiss and Jacob's firm embrace. He sees them out and there's an air of relief about him when they are gone, leaving he and Tina blessedly alone. She crosses the room to put her arms around his shoulders, and before long he's pinned against the door as she presses warm, open-mouthed kisses to the stubble on his jaw and cheek.

"I've missed you," she breathes into his skin. He smiles faintly and ducks his head. Tina lays a finger beneath the shelf of his chin to raise his eyes to hers. "Don't hide from me," she admonishes as he blinks at her mildly.

"So sorry, Tina," Newt murmurs before pulling her close and dropping a kiss into her hair. "I'm still not used to all of...all of this. It's an adjustment."

She chuckles and presses her face into his chest, inhaling his scent. "Then you shouldn't have left for two months just before the holidays. We didn't think you'd make it back before New Years."

"Does this mean you don't have a gift for me?" He pouts playfully while Tina gasps in mock outrage. She swats him gently before pulling him over to the couch to settle him in with another glass of wassail, this one generously spiked with brandy. He hums happily as he sips, and his eyes glow when he turns toward her. "Thank you."

Tina curls at his side and tucks her feet beneath his legs. He slings his arm her shoulder as they watch the lowering dark through the heavy fall of snow, sipping their beverages and sometimes just looking at each other. She presses close and he makes a rumbling sound in his chest, one suspiciously resembles a purr. Smiling gently, she lifts her hand to rub his scalp. Newt really does purr then, radiating warmth and contentment like a large, peaceful cat.

"We've forgotten the gifts," he mumbles eventually. His eyes are heavy-lidded when she turns to look at him, and he smiles at her lazily. Tina leans forward until their noses touch, eyes fixed to his lips while Newt watches her with sleepy feline intensity.

"We've never really kissed," she muses aloud. He comes awake all at once, blinking wide eyes at her. "I've kissed your jaw and cheek, and you've kissed my hands and my wrists. But we've never kissed like men and women do. Why is that?"

Newt watches her carefully before draining the remains of his wassail in one drought. He looks at the empty glass mournfully before setting it aside. "I believe it's because a certain woman declared, in no uncertain terms, that she had no wish to do such things with me." His tone aims for flippancy but fails, falling instead into flat dismissal. He winces and reaches for his glass to run uncertain fingers around the rim.

Tina stills his hands to speak into his lap. "I'm sorry. I did say that, didn't I?" Newt nods, and Tina looks thoughtful. "Is it strange, that we haven't kissed? It's been over a year."

Newt shrugs one shoulder, warming to the subject. "There's an inherent sexuality in kissing another person on the mouth, Tina. It speaks of a certain level of trust and a willingness to share intimacies. There's no timetable for reaching that point, I don't think. I've never pursued a woman outside of you, so I've never really given it much thought. I suppose I figured that you'd come to me, if and when you were ready."

"You were waiting for me?" Tina asks tonelessly, and Newt nods carefully. He watches as Tina's face transfigures, shifting into an elated expression that steals his breath. "You were waiting for me," she breathes, and her smile is bright enough to light the room.

Something warm fills his chest. He absently lifts his hand to rub the skin over his heart, which suddenly feels three sizes too large for the space it occupies. Tina leans forward until their foreheads touch, and he can smell citrus and brandy on her breath.

"Would you kiss me now, if I asked you to?" Tina wonders. He has to swallow twice before he can answer.

"Yes," he murmurs and clutches the couch cushions to keep from floating away.

"Then kiss me," she breathes and closes her eyes while swaying close. Newt leans forward to meet her halfway.

Her lips are softer than the skin on her wrists, exquisitely sculpted and firm and a perfect fit against his own. They slant their mouths together to move in harmony, sharing air, heat and the essence of their souls. Newt finds she tastes much like she smells, sweet, slightly tangy and with a distinct undercurrent of alcohol.

Her lips part on a captive sigh and he daringly deepen the kiss, until the wet velvet of her tongue tentatively rises to meet his. He suckles the muscle into his mouth, groaning happily, and she permits it while her nails dig into his skin.

Then it's over, and she's leaning back to stare at him, lips swollen and eyes hooded and hair sensually mussed. He can't resist reaching out to touch so he does, the calloused pads of his fingers glancing over her cheek, her chin, the line of her jaw. She swallows convulsively while pressing his fingers to her mouth. Newt cannot quell the fissure of possessive pride that works through him.

"Merlin's beard," she breathes, and he nods in dumb agreement. "Merlin's beard," she repeats, a little stronger, and then she falls forward to wind her arms around his neck and everything else—gifts, snow, their lengthy separation—is forgotten in the mutual give-and-take of their mouths, hot on each other.