cigarette halves

"Courage is not the absence of fear but rather the judgement that something else is more important than fear. The brave may not live forever but the cautious do not live at all." - Ambrose Redmoon

"Who are you?"

"Who are you?"

"Tonks."

"That's a funny name." I smile.

"You've got a funny face," she replies tartly. "My first name is Nymphadora, but you'd go by Tonks too if your mother gave you that name."

"I'm Remus."

"Nice to meet you, Remus."

I sigh. "Tonks, this isn't working."

She frowns deeply and adjusts her position in the hospital bed. "I know."

"Well, since we can't start over, let's talk about what we know."

"I'm going to die, and you're going to live."

I roll my eyes and play with her hand. "How cheery." And painful.

"Well, yes, I'm known for my cheeriness. And my perfect behaviour, too. I was a model student. Do you know they made me a Prefect?"

"Being diagnosed with a terminal illness doesn't mean that you get to blatantly tell lies, darling."

"Oh, hush."

The sound of nurses bustling about in the hallway fills the silence, and one comes in to briefly check Tonks's vitals. Her hair slowly begins to fade from a bright bubblegum pink to a brownish-grey; deflating and lying flat and lifeless on her shoulders.

I run my fingers through it gently; lovingly. She seems so fragile now. She would hate me if she knew I thought that. "What's wrong?"

She laughs half-heartedly. "Oh, nothing. Everything's just peachy keen. Shall we go home and have dinner, then?"

"You've got to stay here overnight," I say. It's just like Tonks to make light of everything. But she can't go home, and she knows that. And if she can't go, I'm not going either. "I'm staying with you."

"Oh, just go home," she says, waving a hand at me. "Our bed is much more comfortable than a couch." I shake my head, and she protests. "It's fine, Remus, really, love. It's not like I'm going to die or anything if you're not here." She grimaces. "Okay, wrong choice of words, but you understand."

"I do, and that's why I'm staying. In sickness and in health, right?"

"Oh, you old sentimental lump." Tonks mutters. Her hair turns completely brown, matching the shade of mine. "I'm taking a nap. Actually, no, I'm going to sleep. I'm tired."

I plant a kiss on her forehead, and a seed of hatred is planted within me. As she drifts off to sleep almost immediately, I wish to Merlin that I could just save her from this disease. My hands clench into balled fists. I would do anything to save her. Give anything. Myself, even. If only it worked like that. If only someone said "Hi, Mr. and Mrs. Lupin, one of you has to die, who would you like it to be?" Life without Tonks…it shouldn't be a possibility, let alone a reality.

I brush her hair back from her face as she sleeps and straighten the messy sheets. I'm not going to let these last two months disappear.

I stare at the room in front of me. What happened? I feel an emptiness tear at my insides. There's nothing there anymore—nothing except longing and loss.

It'd be better if she was dead, I think, but immediately shudder at the thought. Any of Tonks was better than none of her. Even if she was so far gone you couldn't tell it was her anymore.

She sits on the bed, drinking a bottle of Firewhiskey and reading a magazine, with a cigarette in one hand. "Hello," she says, obviously drunk.

"Tonks," I say. "Are you alright?" What a stupid question. She's obviously not.

"Oh, I'm great. I took a couple extra pills that Doctor Elaine gave me." She giggles girlishly, and I feel another piece of me rip at the seams. How did I let this happen?

"I leave for a week," I say, walking over to the bed. "And this is what happens?" The closer I get, the quieter she becomes, until she's just taking long drags on her cigarette and looking down at her fingernails. "This isn't the end, Tonks. We have to do something. Make the most of it." Millions of warning signs are flashing; signs that we're going down the wrong road. Turn Back Now. Cliff Ahead. Sharp Turn.

Road Ends in Two Miles.

She doesn't respond.

"Please say something."

Nothing.

Three weeks into her death sentence, she's given up talking to me completely. Whenever I'm around, she makes a habit of pulling out a cigarette and lighting it—she knows I can't stand the fumes. The drinking is worse. Her face looks pallid and I can't help hating this disease with all of my being for turning her into this—this version of her that I don't know.

Her new favorite habit is to break a cigarette in half once she's done smoking it and before she puts it in the trash. Those are the only times she talks to me, or makes a sound while I'm in the room. Sometimes she just smiles at it. "Look," she says. "Look how much power I have." Often, she'll frown after those words. "It's bad to get attached to me, Remus. I break things."

Sometimes, I think she's not just talking about the cigarette halves lying forlornly in the trash can.

Five weeks in. Sometimes, I want to take the cancer by the throat and shake it to death for making her the way she is. Some of her hair is falling out, yet amid the long face and the cigarette breath she still looks beautiful. I know that she's in there, somewhere. I just don't know if I can save her before it's too late. She wouldn't want to die like this—like some strange, half version of herself.

The worst times are when we have to talk about the cancer. She recoils at any mention of the word. She's taken to telling me that it doesn't exist, so I shouldn't worry about it. Her drinking isn't confined to Firewhiskey anymore, and she's been taking way too many prescription pills. I've tried to stop her, but she was always clever. Is clever. She's not dead yet. She's still in there. The damage hasn't been done. It's not irrevocable.

At least, that's what I'm telling myself.

Seven weeks. If what the doctor said was true, I have a week left to get her out. To do all the things we wanted to do. To visit family and friends, to spend time together, to say our last goodbyes and be ready. And yet here I am, sitting in our room, staring at a picture of us from our wedding day.

Her eyes shone with happiness, and I was waving. We both looked happier, back then. Healthier. Alive. Now we're both dying, but only one of us gets to go.

"Hi, Mr. and Mrs. Lupin, one of you is going to go crazy, who would you like it to be?"

Me. Me a million times. Because it is so unbearably painful to watch her descend like this into a pit that I can't dig her out of, though I've tried more times than I thought it would take. I can't just sit here and watch her die. I can't. Because it's going to kill me, too. I set the picture down on the bed and stare at it.

I have to be brave. I can't sit in the bedroom, waiting for her to stagger in and fall asleep, leaving me smelling cigarettes for the rest of the night. I can't watch as she destroys herself like she's got all the time in the world instead of less than a week. This isn't living. This isn't how it was supposed to be. I'm going to do it.

For Tonks.

When I walk into the kitchen, she's looking sadly at her fingers as she breaks another cigarette into two pieces. She's got another one lying on the counter, ready for execution.

"We have to talk."

She continues to twist the cylinder in her hands.

"Tonks, please, listen to me! You're not okay, and neither am I! We need to just…to just…wake up! This isn't a dream, and you're not going to live forever. You know, the worst part about all of this is that I'm watching you drown and the only thing that you have to do to save yourself is stand up!"

"Don't worry," she says, her voice distant. "The cancer's gone. Don't worry. It's fine."

"It's not about the cancer," I say, and my voice breaks. She meets my eyes for the first time in a month.

"It was never about the cancer," she whispers. "Forgive me."

"For what?"

"All of this. For hurting you. I'm sorry, Remus. I'm so sorry." She begins to cry, and snaps the last cigarette in two. "I didn't mean to hurt you, I swear."

I cross the distance between us and cradle her in my arms. "It's okay, I promise. I love you."

"I thought-" She hiccups from her crying. "I thought that it would be easier for you. To watch me die, I mean. If, you know, you didn't love me anymore. I thought I could make you not love me. And then you wouldn't hurt as much when I died." She spoke so sincerely that I wanted to hold her forever.

"No," I say, and kiss the top of her head. "I could never stop loving you."

"I'll stop it all. I'll stop everything. We'll go have a picnic tomorrow, in the park, like we always wanted to do."

I smile. "Okay. I love you."

"I love you, too." She rests her head on my chest while I close the lid of the trash can to hide the broken cigarettes, and we pretend that she's not going to die.

The coroner says she died at one-forty in the morning. We just returned from our picnic. She was still smiling when they took her.

I sit on the bed once again, staring at a new picture of the two of us. Tonks's hair is bubblegum pink and we're dressed to the nines, sitting on a picnic blanket at the park, laughing and smiling.

"I love you," she'd whispered as we climbed into bed. I was falling asleep at the time, so I just smiled and took her hand.

"I love you, too," I say to her picture now, and put it on my bedside table.

In the end, we are the broken halves of the cigarette. All smoked out. Finished. Except only she gets thrown in the trash.

I am sitting on the counter, waiting.

A/N: This fic is dedicated to xThe Painted Lady, for the Gift Giving Extravaganza 2013-April I. I hope this wasn't too angsty for you :3 Please enjoy.

Also written for the Last Ship Standing Competition, Round 4, with the emotion, quote, and dialogue; and Camp Potter: Angst.

A review on your way out would be lovely and very much appreciated.

Allie