Work Text:
Newt was in the garden, picking the squash and carrots for dinner, when he heard a short exclamation and a crash on the other side of the cottage. He rushed there, full of concern that the voice he heard was that of his girlfriend.
His worries were validated when he rounded the building to see Anathema getting up from the ground half-way down the lane leading to the Jasmine Cottage. He was next to her in less than a minute, helping her up. Then he bent down to lift her trusty bike that apparently betrayed her, as evidenced by the chain still holding an edge of her long skirt.
“Are you alright?” he asked reflexively, even though it probably wasn’t the best question to ask, given her scraped palms.
“Reasonably, I think,” She answered, straightening up, then hissed as she tried to put weight on her ankle. “I don’t think anything is broken in any case.”
While Newt would have loved to be able to gallantly carry Anathema home while leading the bike, he was able to assess his abilities critically. He flipped the kickstand on the bike with his foot to leave it upright and placed his girlfriend’s arm around his shoulders. “You can lean on me, Ana. Do you want to go to A&E?”
“Absolutely not. I’m fine and in no mood for a trip to Oxford. I just need to rest a bit.”
A few minutes later Newt was fussing around, placing a bag of frozen peas on Anathema’s swollen ankle and making tea for both of them. Then he added another pillow to prop up her foot for good measure.
“You know, I didn’t want to say anything but I was always worried your long skirts would get in the way,” he ventured cautiously.
She scoffed and rolled her eyes. “I’ve been riding in my skirts ever since I was fourteen and solidified my preferred way of dressing. I’m not about to start riding a bike in my pants. It wouldn’t fit my style.”
Newt blushed at the image and coughed, trying to clear his throat. “Yeah, that might be too extreme a measure. But you might want to consider trying other options.”
“You are starting to sound like my dad. Back when I was fourteen.”
“I’m getting an impression he might have been making a valid point.”
“Not really, if nothing has happened since. Besides, I told him that if I were to have any serious accident, Agnes would have warned us about it.”
“Um, Ana? There are no more prophecies, remember? We’ve burnt the second book.”
She stilled, looking at him with wide eyes for a second. “Right. Would you believe that I keep forgetting?”
“You grew up used to it being there; it makes sense. But how about this—your birthday is coming up, we could go shopping when your ankle feels better and you could let me get you trousers or a skirt of a more bicycle-friendly length as a gift?”