A/N: Theseus going to the wedding and just spending most of that scene smiling at how happy Newt is was ADORABLE and I love it so much, but that scene also really needed some Leta angst, so here it is
Title from happiness by Taylor Swift
One grabbed happiness wherever possible in times like these, in the tenuous lull between narrowly thwarting the most dangerous wizard alive and the inevitable moment he would resurface, likely more hellbent than ever on starting the war he dreamed of. It was the perfect time for an intimate, once-impossible wedding in a bakery, the perfect time for a celebration of love, the perfect time to gather with his closest friends, the ragtag little group that had become a family, and laugh and be merry well into the night, welcoming a new era of Jacob and Queenie's lives. Theseus knew this, and he could hardly decline the invitation to be part of this joyous occasion.
That didn't make putting on the tuxedo any easier.
Here, in the privacy of his hotel room – the hotel room he had insisted on getting, despite Jacob's offer to house him as well as Newt – he let his hands tremble. He donned the tuxedo with a wave of his wand, buttoning it up with a flick of his wrist rather than fighting with fumbling fingers. Fixing the boutonniere into place was the last straw, bringing tears to his eyes as his fingers brushed through the petals, wearing no ring of his own to catch the light as he fidgeted with its positioning, aching for the wedding he should have been attending.
His gaze drifted, drifted to the photograph on the nightstand, crinkled and worn from months of spending every day in his pocket. He forced his hand to steady, picking it up with a delicate touch, smiling instinctively through his tears, warmed as always even as his heart shattered anew at the rare, genuine, glowing grin on Leta's face as she leaned into his embrace, showing off her new engagement ring. "I miss you," he whispered, sinking onto the edge of the bed.
Jacob and Queenie had fought for this wedding, and they deserved every second of happiness it would bring them. He knew that, and he knew his joy when he arrived would be as genuine as Leta's smile, thrilled that they would get this time together after everything they had been through, after overcoming everything that had torn them apart.
It did little, in this moment, to quell his bitter jealousy.
He and Leta had fought, too. He had fought the guilt of falling for his brother's first – and, at the time, only – love, she her crushing disbelief that anyone could truly choose to love her. They had fought to trust each other, to share the weight of their demons, the nightmares he still had from the war, the callouses she carried from a lifetime of being shoved to the fringes of society. Maybe it hadn't been quite so grand as a forbidden love such as Jacob and Queenie's, but it had felt grand to them, to him, a battle he would face again and again and again, so long as he could watch the woman he loved more than life itself walk down that aisle and finally, finally be granted the privilege of calling her his wife.
A privilege he would never know, but Jacob soon would.
He clenched his eyes shut, barely stopping himself from accidentally crushing the photograph in a fist. Don't think about that, he scolded himself. Think about almost literally anything else. Don't go feeling like this.
He cast about for something more cheerful, something to clear his mind before he had to leave, and found it quickly. "He's going to be the best man, you know," he told Leta's photograph, blinking his eyes open, tone softening. "Newt is, I mean. Can you believe it?"
He knew he was imagining it, but he pretended anyway that Leta shook her head, looking every bit as proud as he felt.
"I was always so worried about him," he admitted, for the first time to the photograph, far from the first time to his fiancée. "He was never good at making human friends, but now… They love him so much, Leta. They love everything that used to get him picked on. And the way he lights up around Tina…" He sniffled, ducking his head. "I think he looks the way I feel – felt – whenever I se- saw you. I just… I wish you could see it."
I love you.
Her last time saying those precious words echoed through his mind, like they had every day and night since, the words he so desperately wished he had been able to say back, the words she had been saying to Newt as much as to him. He had been insecure, privately, for a while, about the bond she and Newt shared, but how could he begrudge them for it? He was the popular kid who grew up to be a war hero, fitting in easily wherever he went. He didn't know how it felt to be the odd one out, to be the one bullied and desperate for even a single friend, but they did. They had been there for each other at a time when he couldn't be, in a way he could never understand, and he had learned to live with that, even to be grateful for it.
Maybe that's how I get through this.
She had worried, too, worried that he was stagnating in the past, in their childhood, while she moved on, preparing to build a life with Theseus. But this wedding, this wedding where he was chosen to be the best man, where he was in love with the bride's sister… it was proof that her worrying was over, that their worrying was over, that Newt had, at long last, found the people with whom he belonged, and they loved him with full hearts and open arms. Leta wasn't here to see it, but Theseus…
I'm here.
And wasn't that what she had died for? To give them a chance. A chance to escape, to survive, to live. That was certainly what Newt was doing, conquering his anxiety to give a best man's speech, to entrust his heart to a new love, both people who had been strangers only a year ago, and Theseus was here to see it because Leta had made her choice, and Newt had supported it by holding him back and taking him to safety. And wasn't that worth celebrating? That despite the pain, despite the loss, he still had someone who loved him that much, loved him enough to push aside his own pain for him, and they were here because of it, here and alive and living.
He had been the one stagnating these last few months, trapped in Leta's final moments, pretending he was fine while falling apart inside, as clearly evidenced by the fact that he was sitting here talking to a photograph instead of spending time with his brother on the happiest day of Jacob and Queenie's lives, but that was never what she would've wanted.
She certainly wouldn't have wanted him to be bitter at his friends' wedding.
"I have to let you go now, don't I?" he murmured, trailing his thumb over her photograph, wishing he could hold her again. "Not fully, not yet, but… enough. Enough to be happy again, to see the future again, and… and enough to move on."
I have to, if I want your sacrifice to mean anything.
He allowed himself one more minute, one more minute to look at her, at the happiest they had ever been, one more tear falling down his cheek. "I love you," he breathed, one last time.
Then he tucked the photograph away, nestled out of his sight over his heart, dried his eyes, and went to the wedding.
And if he took the earliest opportunity to throw his arm around his brother's shoulders and hold on tight, well, Newt didn't seem to mind.
