Title: Hello, Stranger
Author: Mucada
Rating: PG
Disclaimer: Not mine. They're pretty, but not mine.
Summary: Tonks is a stranger to Remus. Or, she tries to be, even years after the war. Remus/Tonks love.
A/N: It's been a while.
In central London, as always, the weather was nondescript. A little rain and perhaps some sunshine are promised. The sky was colourless, which leads one to suspect snow in the forecast, but all know that snow rarely falls in London. That is just a wish many have, one that rarely comes true. Although, it had snowed for about an hour last Friday yet it didn't amount to anything of note. It left as quickly as it came, changing into sharp and freezing rain that came at an angle.
Tonks stood for a moment after she exited the westbound train, to feel the wind push her hair as it rushed by. This station was South Kensington. She was happy that she only had to stay on the tube for two stops because the Piccadilly line was always so crowded in the mornings. Not that she minded standing, but today was especially congested. Tonks was becoming quite familiar with the Underground. She actually preferred it above any other transportation, after Remus had introduced it to her a few months ago. It was quick and easy, and it gave her time to think. People always rushing all over the place, the sounds of cards being swiped, footsteps against the hard floors in the tunnels, she loved moving along with it all.
Across the street was his café. Not literally his, he didn't own it, but she knew she would find him in there. It was 10:27 in the morning, and as she stood on the platform, she imagined him sitting in the shop, a muggle newspaper in one hand and a cigarette in the other, with his cup of coffee set at his left wrist. Occasionally he would place the cigarette in the ashtray and run a hand through his hair. He ran like a time, and she was beginning to learn how to set her own internal clock to fit his.
She was mindful as she crossed the street. Tonks loved this part of town because of this exact area. Only a few streets away, muggle London was alive and pulsing with people rushing down Brompton Road, passing museums and designer stores. Right here things were a little more subdued. On this island between the station and his coffee shop were a flower stand, and a few benches, one which housed a sleeping homeless man. Who would have known today was Wednesday, because there were so little people moving about.
This was all too comfortably familiar. He sat at the window at his usual table. And today Tonks was going to join him. The only reason she knew that was his table was because she walked by the café, with the only intent of seeing him. Sometimes she would sit on a bench opposite the street, with a face he would never recognize. That was where she found her boldness, behind a stranger's face. Today was different. She took the tube to see him, delaying work. Her face wasn't a mystery. Clear blue eyes. Heart shaped face. Short pink hair. He would see her and know her, not the stranger he would glance at over his newspaper.
With boldness, she entered the café. The interior was modern and muggle, the walls black, and the tables and chairs matching. Pictures of people drinking coffee and tea were on the wall, frameless. Was there any need for that, she wondered. Pictures of people drinking coffee on the walls inside a café. Only slightly redundant.
It was crowded, and she was glad because the waitresses didn't seem to notice her quick enough before she sat down at his table, her back to the window. The harsh noises of a busy kitchen came from the back, but traveled throughout the room because it was so small.
"Hello, stranger," came the all too familiar husky voice. His tone was a pleasant mixture of accents, the two must noticeable were French and English, specifically London. He didn't move, or look up from his paper. The cigarette in-between his long fingers burned, the smoke rising.
"Hello yourself," she replied, her anxiety hidden.
"I see you found me."
"It wasn't that hard." She wished that he would put down his paper. She wanted to see his eyes.
"I wasn't expecting you." He folded his paper, as if sensing her thoughts, and placed it under the table near his bag. The table was small, and in a naturally comfortable position, his hands almost touched hers. He continued, in a voice unfazed, "I wasn't expecting you to join me. Why so bold today?" She could feel the heat coming from his hands. She didn't move.
"It was cold out."
"It is always cold out," he said, reclining slightly and placing the cigarette to his lips. Her eyes were on his mouth, watching the smoke exhale. Of course he knew.
"How did you know." She didn't ask him, but rather stated it. He had fooled her well, and this almost made her mad. More at herself than him.
He smiled through the smoke and made direct eye contact with her. She refused to let her self break it through her plain embarrassment. He must think of her as a stalker now. "Well love, I must be able to read you, is all. Simple as that."
She had worked hard on her disguises, with the intent to fool him in mind. She was more embarrassed now than she had ever felt before.
"In all honesty though, the washed out purple hair on the old woman was so clearly a concoction of yours." She heard change against a plate as someone next to them paid. She stared at his hands on the top of the table. They were long and elegant and the thought of them made her heart race faster than it already was. Too true was the fact that she had desired him for a long time now.
Tonks laughed nervously, wishing she could just die right now and not have to live through this.
"Would you like to walk? Or stay for a cup of coffee?" The hand in her coat pocket felt for loose change: a couple of twenty pence pieces, and a ten pence piece. She wouldn't dare ask him for some money right now.
"A walk," she said to his hands, not looking at his face.
"Hyde Park?"
"Piccadilly's crowded today."
"When is it not?" He was counting out money in his hand, and he placed the right amount on the small plate the waitress had left. They stood up, and she waited for him to gather his things while she gazed out the window, her eyes on the brick wall across the street.
As they left, he held the door for her, which made her feel even worse. He treats her too well, and she doesn't deserve his kindness. Her mind was always too clouded with her desire for him, and she wondered how he could put up with her. It was inevitable that he didn't share her feelings. From the time they had first met, and throughout the war and Sirius' death, he was at a distance. Never unkind, but he treated her as a coworker, or a neighbor you might pass in the morning. She had always wanted more.
The tube was as expected, and they were forced to stand for the entire trip. Tonks leaned against the glass near the door and he stood close to her, one hand on the pole above her head. Throughout her humiliation she couldn't help but admire his appearance, which today seemed so put together for a man of his salary. In fact, she had never seen him so finely dressed. He wore a pale green oxford, the first two buttons undone, under a black coat. His trousers were fitted and pinstriped with a black belt. The shoes matched his belt, black leather. His thick, sandy brown hair was back from his face, and dare she say, styled. Did he have a meeting? This man was a teacher though, not a businessman. Any other day she would have tried to nonchalantly compliment him, but she didn't utter a word.
They swayed back and forth with the movement of the train, their bodies slightly touching. With one jolt, she almost lost her balance and she pressed against him, her hand grabbing his side without thinking. He held her elbow.
They left the station without speaking, the rush of people carrying them along. Walking under the huge arches into the park, he spoke, "I don't hate you, Tonks."
"How's that for subtle," she said sarcastically. Sometimes when she was nervous, all she could do was act sardonic, to cover up the tension. She had mastered that, hiding behind things. And she let herself believe she could work that magic with him, but clearly not.
They walked side by side, arms brushing. "I really don't, Tonks." If he didn't hate her, that didn't mean he would ever like her. It was just that he tolerated her.
She exhaled hard, mad at herself. "I can't believe I embarrass myself like this."
He gently moved against her, steering her in the direction of a bench. They sat, knees touching. Wherever they were, their bodies always brushed, like strangers on a busy street. The contact was either expected or unnoticed, and no words were ever used, or looks ever shared, to acknowledge anything.
"I don't want you to think you embarrass yourself." His green eyes were patient. "I find it endearing."
"I stalk you, and anyone else would find that frightening."
"You are the least frightening person I know." He was smiling.
Tonks didn't respond. She didn't know what to say; he made her speechless.
He continued, still smiling, "I'm glad to know where your interests lie."
She looked up at him, mouth slightly open, and laughed slightly. Was he mocking her?
"You think this is funny, don't you?" her voice incredulous. "You think I'm ridiculous, that this is all some game."
"I didn't say that," he said calmly.
"Yes. Yes, you did. I can't believe you!" She stood up. Bastard!
"Tonks, please, I didn't say that." He stood up and stepped in front of her before she walked. "You are a wonderful woman Tonks. That is what I am saying."
She could feel her face getting red. Tonks couldn't tell if she was relieved, or just more embarrassed. Outside of the park, traffic noises could be heard. Neither said anything as he moved closer to her.
"It is what I've been trying to say for many years," he said in a low voice. She fixed her eyes on his, as he ran a hand through her short hair.
She didn't know who moved first, but everything inside of her stopped when they kissed. She noticed nothing other than him. His lips were soft, tasting of the coffee and cigarettes he just had. The kiss deepened, and she wrapped her arms around his neck, her small hands in his silky hair. She felt his hands against her back, pulling her against him. As they pulled apart, he rested his forehead against hers, their noses touching. Heat radiated from both their bodies, transferring in their contact, and Tonks didn't think the day was that cold after all.
"Remus?" She pulled him closer, one hand in the hair at the nape of his neck and the other under his coat resting on his chest. His heart beat under her fingers, and she tried to find its pattern in her own and in the city's pulse around them.
"Yes, love?"
"I think it's snowing."