Warning for violence in this chapter.
Tina experiences a wretched night at work, an occurrence made worse by her own whiplash emotions. The temperature drops after dark so that the rain from earlier freezes into treacherous ice, and she can smell snow in the air when she breathes deeply. Worse, she's distracted—recollections of their earlier disagreement swirling around her head, interspersed with pleasant memories of Newt and worries for her sister, and all serving to dull her senses. She miserably draws her sheer shawl tighter around her shoulders as she picks her careful way to the shipyard.
The cold eventually cuts through the static of her thoughts. She realizes, as she does her best to hook her first customer, that she was harsh, and that perhaps she had been unnecessarily cruel to him. He will be missed, she finally admits to herself when a thick man grunts and leads her away. I don't want him to go because he brings something into my life. Something I didn't know I needed until now.
Her first client is easily served, and she does her best to clear her mind while performing her job. They leave her apartment together, and she even has time to clean and re-insert her pessary before finding another client. Tina picks up a third and is getting ready to close up for the night when her fourth customer comes along.
She knows from the start it'll be a bad experience, but it's been slow and she needs the money—especially after missing work the previous evening. She takes him home, and she endures the pain he inflicts without a sound, retreating deep inside her mind to separate her awareness from her body.
He leaves and she stays, fingering the bruises flowering over her cracked cheek and around her eyes, the splits on her bottom lip. Numbly, Tina creeps to the basin to clean herself, carefully scrubbing every inch of skin until she can no longer feel his hands on her. Their small chest of medical supplies is in the bedroom so that's where she heads, intent on changing out of her whore's clothes and healing the injuries before her sister or Newt can see them. A plan which grinds to a halt when she finds Newt in the middle of the room, crouching over his case as he seals the lid.
"Not to worry," he says without lifting his eyes. "I'll be leaving as soon as the sun is up. I just wanted to check...well. It doesn't matter."
Tina pulls open the battered wardrobe, casually dropping her revealing garments to pull on a dowdy cotton nightgown. She watches from the corner of her eye as his shoulders go tense, and finds she's too tired to be annoyed or endeared by this.
"It's...fine," she finally settles on while tying the laces at her throat. "You can stay. I didn't mean to use that against you. I was angry." Her intonation is mushy and talking hurts her lip, so she stops with a barely-contained wince. Newt sighs heavily, his hand curling into a frustrated fist on the lid of his case.
"That's twice in as many days that you've thrown me out, Tina. I should think that you very much meant to do it." He rolls smoothly to his feet, much of the stiffness and dizziness obviously having worked out of his body. Tina bends to pull on heavy wool socks and he finally turns to face her, profile colored starkly by the light from outside the window.
"You want me gone and I shall oblige. You should know, however, that I—" He cuts himself off abruptly, mouth falling open as he really sees her for the first time since she entered the room. Newt gestures toward her face as his brow furrows. "Tina," he asks slowly, "What happened? You're hurt. Did one of your—did a man do that to you?"
Tina smiles painfully while popping her jaw. "Yeah," she answers honestly. "He was upset about his girl. I don't know who she is, but I hope like hell that she's not part of his life anymore. He was angry, and I was a cheap and convenient target." She gingerly pats her cheek. "At least he paid me. Most of the time, they don't. I was just coming in here to change and get some supplies to patch myself up before tomorrow night."
Newt nods while dragging a finger down the bridge of his nose, lost in thought. "Come down into my case," he offers finally. She blinks at him in confusion and he rocks on his heels before going on. "I have high-quality supplies down there. Bruise salve, Essence of Dittany, and the like. Injuries are rather an occupational hazard, I'm afraid, so I always have a well-stocked medical kit." He clears his throat. "I will do my best to refrain from arguing with you, as well."
Tina wants to smile at the feeble joke, but her lip is starting to swell and she knows it'll come across as a grimace. She runs her tongue over her teeth in thought, only to taste blood—and that decides her. She follows him into the suitcase and allows him to help her down the last step, her hand lingering in his for a charged moment.
He really is different from most other men, she admits, if only to herself, and feels the shadows of the evening begin to draw away from her.
Newt dabs at her mouth with a clean white cloth before applying a poultice, something that smells and tastes strongly of mint. He applies an Arnica salve to her bruised cheek, and she winces at the freezing tingle it produces before going numb. "So sorry," he murmurs around a faint smile, "but that means it's working."
Tina rolls her eyes in good-nature when he asks her to open her mouth. She does, and he performs a cursory examination before pointing his fingers. "This...may hurt," is the only warning she gets before he murmurs a spell and she feels and hears a crack. Pain lances through her head, making her yelp before it's gone, as quickly as it had come. Then he's pushing a small glass vial of something into her hands, and sternly telling her to drink it all.
It tastes putrid, and he chuckles slightly when she wrinkles her nose. "Unpleasant, but highly effective. That tooth would have gone to rot, had I not repaired it. I just saved you a trip to the dentist, Miss Goldstein."
"Just call me Tina," she says tiredly, and he inclines his head in acknowledgment before staring at her. He appears indecisive, worrying his thumb against his fingernail before turning to the potions chest that had caused so much discord. She watches as he skips over the Virilis Actocium to withdraw two vials of the Mundo Mala Drought, uncorking them both and passing one to her.
"A man willing to hurt a woman," he says without preamble, "is not worthy of time or worry. I'd feel better if you'd take this, just to set my own mind at ease. I realize I hadn't taken my intended dose earlier—I was distracted by a rather argumentative witch, you see. So I propose that we take it together."
Tina hesitates. "What are you thinking, Newt? Why do I need this?"
He stalls before answering. She can see him making the effort to be open with her, and she appreciates the thought, if not the man making it. "I wonder if perhaps he was ill and if it is something you could, eventually, also be affected by. I only wish to use this as a preventive measure. Nothing else." A beat. "Please, Tina."
Tina has an epiphany. "You're thinking syphilis," she says on a shaky exhale, and he nods hesitantly. "Do you see a lot of that, in your travels?" Something occurs to her then. "Have you contracted it yourself? Is that why you wanted to create this brew?"
Newt holds up a hand to stem her flow of words. "Yes, that is what I'm thinking, and no, you'd be surprised how little of it I've seen since I embarked upon my year in the field." He tosses the contents of the small vial back without hesitation. Tina watches his throat work, fascinated, and drops her eyes before he can catch her observing him. "I did see it during the war though, and no, I've never, er, contracted it myself. At least, I don't believe I have; if I did, this would have taken care of it for me."
"Will it work very quickly?" she asks with unfeigned curiosity, and he nods.
"It's powerful magic," he says simply, and Tina needs no further convincing. Eyes never leaving his face, she swallows the potion, finding it pleasantly sweet with only the barest bitter undertone. He sighs in obvious relief when she's done, and withdraws another vial of the drought to pass to her. "Hang on to this," Newt intones softly. "Should you ever find yourself ill or in need, it will save you a trip to the apothecary."
Tina reaches out to take it and allows her fingers to linger on his. He looks at where they are joined before raising his eyes to her, his level gaze questioning and hopeful. "You could just say that you're sorry," she says in a shaky whisper, "but I think I like this way better. Thank you, Newt."
He drops his eyes to their hands and, boldly, runs the calloused pad of his thumb against her knuckles. He hypnotically sweeps small crescents over her skin as Tina relaxes in increments. "I am sorry," he whispers. "I should have known better than to be so casual about...what I've done, around you. Tina, please try to understand that I have as much respect for those women as I have for...for you, as I had for my mother. Who they are and what they do are entirely separate things, to my mind."
He searches her face for a reaction before going on, thumb never ceasing its gentle rubbing. "Many of those women are respected in their countries. They are seen as partners and confidants. They don't come cheaply, they receive regular medical care, and abuse of any sort is absolutely not tolerated. I did not want to believe that it was much different here. I realize now that I was mistaken, and I am sorry."
Newt makes as if to remove his hand. Tina, feeling entirely sure for the first time in days, curls her fingers around his in a proper embrace. His eyes widen until he shifts closer, the slide of his feet very loud in the poignant silence of the little shed. He looks at where they are joined before bringing his curious eyes back to her face.
"I'm sorry, too," Tina says quietly. "I shouldn't have jumped to conclusions and I shouldn't have gotten angry. It's been a very...tiring few days, and I'm exhausted. It's making it so that I'm not thinking very clearly." She bows her head. "You don't have to leave, either, and I promise to stop threatening you with it." She can't resist teasing, just a little. "I imagine that your legions of women across Europe must cost you a small fortune; I wouldn't want to cause you financial distress while you're here by forcing you to let a room."
He huffs a small laugh. "It's nothing like that," he demurrers softly. "But you're right, it would be prudent to reserve my funds. What little wealth I have is currently in the form of Occamy eggshells, and I'm careful to use those only when absolutely necessary. It's a humble thing, this life I lead." He moves fractionally closer and Tina squeezes his hand reassuringly.
"You're leaving in four days?" she murmurs after some quick math, and he nods. "Then you really should stay. It would make Queenie happy...and I'd be happy too."
His eyebrows rise into his hair as his face flushes, but he nods and adjusts their clasped hands to rub his thumb against the back of her wrist. Tina sighs happily. "That's better," she whispers. "I could still feel him. I think that's the hardest part of this job: feeling when I don't want to feel."
"I can believe that," Newt responds, equally quiet. He waves his free hand, and his kettle sets itself up to boil while a bundle of arcane leaves deposits themselves into a small teapot. Chipped cups line up like obedient soldiers, and the brew pours itself when it's steeped only to float over to them. His other hand, she's happy to note, never leaves hers.
The first sip is pure bliss, and she closes her eyes as warmth curls through her, seeping down to the very tips of her toes. "That's good," she sighs appreciatively. He nods while motioning for her to take the worn armchair before perching beside it. His arm tensed and she braces for the loss of his comforting grip until he shifts and grasps her even more firmly, threading their fingers to press their palms together.
"Yes, it is," he says around his own teacup. "I was introduced to this in the far north of Russia, almost into Siberia. The locals drink it regularly to help regulate their moods during the long, dark winter months." He smiles gently at her from over his rim. "I grow my own now, and drink it whenever I'm feeling particularly blue." He purses his lips to blow over the hot beverage, and Tina stares at them with avid fascination until he sips. She looks away, flushing, but the silence remains comfortable.
"Well," she says after they've finished. "I should, uh, head up. To bed. Go to bed, I mean. It'll be morning soon, and I have to go to the market and a few other small errands to run. I should be rested for that."
"Of course, of course," Newt says hastily. He scrambles to stand with her and then looks down at their joined hands. She clears her throat, and he releases her haltingly. Her sense of loss is palpable, and her palm tingles as a shiver rippled across her skin. She swallows it while Newt stares blankly at his fingers. "Merlin's beard," he breathes.
His green eyes seek and find her face, only to drop to her lips—and linger there. She stares back and the moment stretches languidly between them, Tina using his distraction to study him just as openly. His eyes flick to hers, only to return to her mouth. Up, then down, and Tina feels the back of her neck heat up. He swallows loudly while taking a step closer, causing an electric thrill to run through her.
"Tina," he whispers. He pauses to lick his lips before going on, and she watches his mouth with fascination. "Tina, would I be overstepping my boundaries if I—that is, may I—I would like to kiss you." He takes a tentative step closer, his hand once more reaching for hers while amber eyes plead into her own. "Would that be permissible?"
Part of Tina wishes, strongly, to run. To flee up the stairs and slam the lid of the case behind her. To lock it until morning and pretend desperately that this exchange never happened. Another part of her wants to sway towards him, to feel the heat of his body against her front and discover what a man like Newt Scamander tastes like.
"I don't know how to, " she blurts instead. His breath catches, expressive eyes going wide. "I've never done that before." Panic flares to life in her chest and she fumbles backward when his hand falls, his eyes moving to focus besides her. "Even in school, even when I—" She stops abruptly and clamors up the stairs, eyes never leaving his face.
"I'm sorry, I'm so sorry," she breathes and makes good her escape, the lid of the case slamming resolutely between them.