Warning for some non-explicit sexual content, blood, canon-typical violence, and mentions of baby loss - don't worry, everyone is fine in the end!

Newt's body tells the story of a life well lived, a roadmap of scars and freckles etched across his skin.

They fall into bed with desperate, clinging urgency, making love as if their lives depended on it. Maybe they do, Tina thinks before sucking a bruise into his neck, tasting sweat and musk and the timber of his moan. Newt pushes into her at her encouraging murmur, gasping her name before folding her into his embrace. Her resulting orgasm is gentle and bright, wrapping her in bliss until he shivers and follows after, irrevocable words unfurling from the freckled lips pressed to her ear.

"Save that for when I come home," she whispers, a promise and a plea spoken directly to his heart. Newt agrees with a tearful sound, burying his face in her throat.

Come morning, he performs the spell to Disillusion her brand-new engagement ring before kissing her goodbye.

Eight weeks later, and Tina frowns at her body in the full-length mirror.

The tiny villa is situated just outside of Draguignan. She spends her days soaking in the sunshine while awaiting her orders, marveling at the aptness of the city's motto to her current assignment. The fragrant southern breeze fills the airy space as she touches the darkening line beneath her navel and her newly-sensitive breasts with a curious detachment.

"Hmm," she murmurs, wondering only if she'll have to seduce her mark to get close; wondering if the odd changes to her body and the constant nausea of these past few weeks will prove a hindrance to her goal.

An owl crashes unsubtly into the kitchen window, and she shrugs on a light wrap before granting it entrance. The bird extends a clawed talon, and she offers a treat in return before taking the missive — only to sigh, a headache blossoming behind her eyes.

"Damn it, Duvalier, we were just in Lyon," she growls, tossing the letter aside in disgust before storming into the bedroom to dress, assigning nothing more than the stress of undercover work to her sudden and uncharacteristic irritation.

Tina watches the ebb and flow of guests at the party, eyes sharp and ears open while ignoring the glass of champagne clutched in her white-knuckled hand.

Men and women draped in the current vogue fashion of Strasbourg twirl around her in plumes of exotic fabric. A waiter with a tray of pickled fish and piles of complacent-looking black caviar glides by, and she recoils in disgust when the scent wafts to her. Her stomach rolls slowly, sudden sweat prickling her brow, and she wonders again at how uniquely the stress of this mission is affecting her until a woman in full plumage rounds the corner.

She is walking with the unique waddle of females in the full flush of pregnancy, her stomach preceding her into the room. She laughs with one of her companions — the father if Tina had to guess; he has that doting look about him — before wrinkling her nose and waving away an offer of food. The expectant mother does accept a glass of mineral water, and something about the way she holds herself, the pride in the slant of her hips and the glow of good health in her cheeks—

Tina stares as the pieces come together, her stomach lurching in realization. She has just enough time to set down her glass before bolting toward the toilet, the room a blur of color as tears stream over her cheeks.

Tina's spirit trembles, but her hands are steady as she performs the simple diagnostic spell.

Runes appear over her stomach, and she stares in stunned disbelief before recasting. She repeats the incantation again and again, but there's no mistaking the results: they taunt and tease her in turn.

She chokes out a sob before canceling them with a wave of her wand. The safe-house she's currently holed up in is large enough for thirty people, and the sound of her lonesome footsteps echo when she makes yet another trip to the toilet, cursing herself for a fool the entire time before stopping to glare at her reflection.

Her color is bad, the planes and angles of her face thrown into stark relief by the harsh electric lighting.

"How could you have been so stupid?" she asks herself. The mirror is non-magical and so she doesn't get an answer, not that she was expecting one.

Tina sets her jaw before touching her stomach with trembling hands. There's no outward sign of her altered condition, no fullness to speak of another beneath her navel. She makes a tight fist before forcing herself to look away.

"You still have a job to finish. This changes nothing," Tina reminds the strained woman in the mirror before dousing the light and using the toilet in the dark.

A hex zings by her, close enough to sizzle across her skin. Tina grits her teeth and tightens her grip on her wand before counting to ten.

Her opponent isn't expecting her to turn and confront him, and she uses the element of surprise to fire off a series of curses before binding his hands. He goes down like a sack of potatoes and Tina experiences a profound relief that he was bested and she wouldn't have to defile herself with him any longer, until the door of the room jams with bodies.

Morrigan's Tits, she wasn't even aware there were that many people in the house.

Tina has just enough time to palm the enchanted Dragot that will call in reinforcements before they are on her, hexing and cursing with vicious glee. She holds her own despite the exhaustion weighing down her limbs and the headache throbbing in her temples, but there are so many and they are all fresh and strong, and she is only one.

She dives behind a splintered wardrobe for cover. There, she presses her thumb to the Dragot and thinks of her location until a shadow falls across her.

"Going somewhere?" Sarousch, the leader of this particular band of fanatics, asks in heavily-accented English, his lips peeling back to reveal stinking, half-rotted teeth. He disarms her with a lazy flick of his wand and pockets the Dragot before reaching for her.

"No, but you are," she says archly, recoiling instinctively from the fetid stink of him.

He laughs while twisting his hand into her hair, hauling her roughly to her feet.

"I think we'll have some fun with you first," he muses, ignoring the tears gathering in her eyes while placing his wand at the base of her throat. "Duvalier says you purred like a kitten for him. I wonder if I can make you scream. Shall we find out?"

Tina laughs derisively despite the pain in her scalp. "I don't think you could handle me," she spits at him, using his momentary surprise to haul her knee into the thick slab of his groin.

Sarousch howls and folds over himself, cupping his abused manhood. She sneers down at him in triumph until a body crashes into her from behind, bowling them both over. Blows rain over her back and sides and ribs, swears and curses in multiple languages weaving over her ears as she curls instinctively around her midsection.

Not Newt's baby, she has time to think until the toe of a boot slams into the curve of her spine, the fierce pain causing her to cry out. Not my baby, please, please—

Behind her, someone shouts in English. Tina's head perks up at the distantly familiar voice despite the risks, craning her neck to squint toward the door only to be blocked by Sarousch, eyes wide and face flushed with hectic color.

"Checkmate," she hisses when he turns to her with the terrible weight of understanding his eyes, his face purple with rage.

"Then I take you with me," he says succinctly.

Tina stares at the pattern on the tread of his boot, watching as if through cotton gauze when he raises his foot only to bring it down in a long sweep.

Pain explodes across her left temple, drowning out the complaints of the rest of her body. She screams despite her determination not to, stars bursting in front of her eyes as he laughs, hunched over and held at wandpoint.

The last thing she knows is a voice shouting her name and a hand fumbling for her own.

"Tina…"

The voice is distant but familiar, weaving through the tattered edge of her consciousness. She wants to tell it to go away, to let her sleep, but it calls again — more insistently yet still gentle.

"Tina…"

Red-gold light filters through the screen of her eyelids, gentle pressure on her hand causing her to push and pummel her way toward it, struggling out of the blessed darkness and into awareness.

"That's it."

The voice acts as a guiding light, a lantern blazing in the dark. It pulls her inexorably toward him until she can feel the weight of her sore and battered body, the warmth of the sunlit room and the brush of familiar freckled lips across the knuckles of her hand.

"Come back to me."

She opens her eyes and the first thing she sees are his, blue-gold, red-rimmed, and lined with exhaustion. Newt leans forward to rest his forehead against their joined hands before exhaling roughly.

"Tina. Thank Paracelsus, you're awake." He lifts his head to examine her closely despite the tears standing in his eyes, a calloused thumb pushing a lank strand of hair behind her ear. "How do you feel?"

Tina touches her aching head with a hand that weighs about a thousand pounds before wincing. "Like I've been hit by a train," she murmurs, wincing a little at her hoarse voice before squeezing his hand. "Did you...are we... Newt, what happened?"

Newt lowers his head to kiss her knuckles, over and over. "You don't remember?" he asks when he finally calms, palming tears off his cheeks. "The healers said that might happen."

She frowns down at the vivid white bed sheets, straining the limits of her memory before signing. "I remember a fight," she says slowly. "I know I took out Duvalier and I think I brought down Sarousch. I remember being kicked in the back and then — nothing. It's like the entire memory is gone." She levels him a look. "Did you ask them to remove it?"

"No," Newt says, straightening to reach for the call button. "Theseus says you were struck in the head just when he arrived. He said that you fell unconscious shortly afterward, babbling about...well. What you said isn't important right now."

"Theseus," Tina murmurs, tasting the name. She shivers with recalled memory before pulling the blanket to her chin. "It was Theseus who was shouting for me, wasn't it? I'm sorry, Newt. I thought he was you."

Newt stands to bend over her, fussily tucking in her shoulders. "I was still in Brazil," he says apologetically, "but I came as soon as I caught wind of what had happened. Theseus says you were in awful shape when he finally got to your side, but they managed to stabilize you and get you here. The healers say you'll be fine after you've had a few more days to recover." His restless hands fall still, and he looks at the wall, out the window — anywhere but at her. "They also said...something else."

Tina closes her eyes and lays her hand over her stomach. The baby should have been her first thought, she realizes with a guilty jolt, and yet…

"I'm so sorry," she breathes, taking a deep breath before forcing herself to meet his eyes. "I know I should have told you but I couldn't find the words, and it seemed wrong to do it in a letter. Is it…" She manages another careful breath, watching Newt watch her before squaring her shoulders. "Did I lose the baby?"

The tension seems to leave Newt's frame all at once, leaving him unsteady on his feet. He exhales roughly before leaning over her to tip their foreheads together, his hand cupping her cheek.

"The baby is fine," he says softly. "The healers made sure of it." He slides his hands the length of her torso to the slightly rounded plane of her belly, cradling it gently. "There were a few scary moments when you started to bleed, but my fiancee is a warrior so I'm not surprised to find our child is precisely the same."

Tina laughs wetly before gathering the wrinkled fabric of his shirt to haul him in. He eagerly meets her halfway, and they kiss until the sound of her heartbeat is too loud in her ears and Tina comes up for air, gasping against his mouth.

"I'm sorry," she repeats as he pulls her into his arms, hiding her aching face in his chest. "I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm so sorry—"

Newt croons to her, his fingers smoothing over her hair until the tears pass and she's left with a tender but clear head. She lifts her face to find him smiling at her, his own cheeks stained with the outpouring of emotion.

"I love you," he says before shifting to allow them to lay in her narrow bed.

The healer finds them that way, tangled together as Newt protectively holds her close.

Thanks, as always, to Kemara for beta-reading! Written as a prompt fill - want one of your own? Come to find me on Tumblr at katiehavok, and send it in!