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Finally - Gramander Sickfic.
Warnings: contains fluff, swooning Directors of Magical security, Tina and Seraphina because The Power of Friendship, protective Newts, and a good dose of snark.
Serious Warnings: Malnutrition, exhaustion, unhealthy behaviors
It was Tina who saw it, of course – it tends to happen when you’ve worked side by side almost every day and a good amount of nights and weekends, sharing stale coffees and endless stakeouts, sweat trickling down the back in summer and shivers running through your bodies in winter, when you huddle up close together to prevent frostbite. When working in an Auror task force, when being Aurors together, you learn to read each other. Through the haze of her own crush-tinted awe, which Tina was honest enough to admit had existed and probably would always exist, she had learned to recognize in a slight frown on Percival’s face a promise of stress migraine, to see the difference between his Charming Formal smile and the smile he donned up with the sole purpose of not ripping someone’s throat out, to know when he was tired or just pissed or ravaged by some pain you could only try to ease with a cup of actual decent caffeine and a pat on the back, because this was a shit job and you both love it way too much for your own good.
Then, after Grindelwald, Tina’s admiration for her boss had turned into something sharper, harder and warmer at the same time, and her understanding of his little signals had grown and deepened. They had grown closer; they had grown into something like comrades.
Which was why that morning Tina just knew something was off. She knew immediately.
“Mister Graves,” she said, pushing a freshly-brewed cup and a pile of reports towards him as way of greeting. Here in the office he was still Mister Graves, even if had long since turned into Percival. “You look like hell.”
“My, Tina,” Percival replied weakly. “Way to boost a fellow officer’s ego. Next morning try with a kick in the nuts, it’d be more encouraging.”
Tina let the jab roll off her like raindrops. She frowned harder. Percival’s tone was aiming for casual, but she had not missed the way he had stumbled his way through the office, how he half-crashed on his chair, elbows propped up on his desk, head in his hands. There was a pink flush peering from under his fingers, spreading across his cheeks; she wasn’t completely sure, but she suspected reaching out she’d feel the heat waving off his skin in waves.
“I didn’t mean that. You know it,” she said. “It’s just that you’re not well.”
Slowly, painfully, Percival lifted his head to look her in the eye – all furrowed brow and rightful outrage. “I’m perfectly well,” he said.
“You’re not,” Tina snapped back. What she saw in his face gave her all the proofs she needed, but it gave her no satisfaction – just a coil of worry twisting sharply in her guts. “You’ve stayed on your feet as little as possible the whole morning. You can’t read or concentrate on your reports, as I’ve seen the O’Donnell one opened on your desk and is still there, you’ve barely sipped your coffee and you’ve not smirked at Santiago’s flirting even if she has walked past your desk with those ridiculous heels three times now.” She leant in, palms flat against his desk, squinting. “I see you, Mister Graves. You’ve taught me yourself how to. I see you.”
Percival’s eyes went wide – mouth hanging slightly open in something close to shock. It made him look even more tired, more ruffled. The flush she’d glimpsed under his hands was growing into an angry, unhealthy red. He was so pale – veins showing faintly through on his wrists and his temples – his black hair stood against it in an almost jarring contrast.
He was probably simply surprised, but the general sorry state of his face made him look distraught, and Tina felt like she had just kicked a puppy. A sick puppy, while at it.
“Wow. You’re good.” He coughed in his hand. “But I regret to inform you this time you’re wrong. I’m fine. I’m just… tired.”
“This is bullshit, Percival,” Tina said – more gently. “Did you eat anything this morning?”
He was stalling, but the flash of guilty knowledge crossing his face was answer enough for her. “No time.”
She sighed. “Percival…”
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