Title: Truce
Summary: Somehow, the entire world had been divided by a mental line into Tonks's side and Remus's side. Set during HBP.
Author's note: This was very much influenced by the song "Truce" by the Dresden Dolls – I even went as far as to steal a line. I've spent the last week and two days reading Lupin/Tonks (quite obsessively, might I add) and writing this seemed like a semi-good idea. And here we have it, the Tonks way of handling a break-up. Quite light on the angst, surprisingly.
Tonks was quite proud of how well she'd managed to avoid Remus recently, and she had a sneaking suspicion he'd been deliberately avoiding her too. Somehow, the entire world had been divided by a mental line into Tonks's side and Remus's side. He got Diagon Alley, she got Hogsmeade (obvious – she was on duty there now). If there was even a chance they'd be travelling abroad, Tonks was sure they'd divide up the other countries as well. She'd be glad to give him Asia and Africa, as well as most of Europe, but Spain and Australia would be hers without question – the Americas, she felt, should also be hers, although she was willing to negotiate on Canada.
And then she put away the map and told herself she was being quite stupid, not to mention childish, and those were not qualities that would help get him back, not that she was even trying anymore.
Another Order meeting. She'd been worried about those, but he wasn't around much. When he was, they'd greet each other politely, and that was all. Nobody thought much of it, there were other things to worry about – until the third meeting had passed and somebody had asked Remus why he wasn't talking to Tonks, hadn't they been close? Yes, he'd replied, they had grown rather close, but-
"For fuck's sake, Remus. Just say we were lovers." She left without another word.
It'd been amazing, all of it, until the day Remus Fucking Lupin had decided he didn't want to be happy after all. And despite his arguments for why they couldn't be together (which were probably more than reasonable, everything about that man was logical and reasonable and made sense, but she didn't like to give that too much thought), he'd been the one to call if off. He'd broken up with her, not the other way around. That hadn't felt too good. When he'd said he was too old, she felt he was really saying she was too young. "I'm poor", to her, translated to "you're too high maintenance" and "I'm dangerous" to "you're inexperienced and naive and don't know much about the real world".
But he'd loved her. She knew that. He'd adored her.
And she loved him, probably far too much for her own good. It was painfully obvious to her that while she had the pride (for now) to stay on her side, she'd gladly let him cross over the line. She wasn't entirely (=at all) comfortable with that idea, but she'd given up trying to lie to herself – she knew why her hair wouldn't change colour, and she had to live with it.
Months went by. And she stayed on her side, and he stayed on his, because no matter what either of them felt, they'd called a truce.