When she opened her eyes they were trimmed with sleep gunk and her cheek was plastered to the kitchen table. Her bitter breath clouded the sides of the empty bottle beside her, the moisture swelling and shrinking like the movements of tiny galaxies. Dimly aware of the lanky dust-brown hair that attempted to curl at the tops of her shoulders, she thought to morph it shorter so it wasn't in her face, at the very least. The first effort left her with only an empty ache, followed by a sultry warmth that made her stomach churn. And she'd begged him to do what, now?

"Oh-you're still...like that,"

She felt herself jerk upward, but still had to force herself to raise her head to face him. "How long have you been here?"

This was superfluous. She knew exactly when he had come in, had heard the slight shift in the air when he'd pushed the swinging doors. He knew this, too, but answered her nevertheless. "About thirty seconds. I can leave," he offered.

She shook her head imperceptibly, but he wasn't going anywhere. "Remus," she said, again, "marry me."

He shifted his weight behind her, and she already knew. The silence hung between them like damp cloth. "I...I wasn't gone too long, was I?"

"No," she said, and tried to smile at him. He'd brought groceries, she could hear the happy rustling of the paper bags as he put them down next to the stove. She thought about asking him to stay the night, again, but he'd done so much for her since Sirius' death. Not that she could very well ask him NOW.

"Good," he said, "I mean..." he trailed off. She looked straight at him now, her eyes slightly more capable of focusing, and was surprised to see him meet her gaze. He held it for a moment before she broke it, cursing the rippling pond that seemed to be forming in her stomach. He cleared his throat. "I just thought you'd be...not feeling better, that's a stupid-I just hoped you'd be...stable."

"Can't shake when you're sitting down," she mumbled.

His face looked hollow and raw; his eyes had fallen into a mournful gray. Tonks remembered that he'd be indisposed within three days, maybe two what with the extra stress.

There was no color, not anywhere in the world. "You really should eat something," Remus told her.

"You really should marry me," she said weakly.

He unsheathed a head of lettuce from its protective wrapping and ran it under the faucet. "Okay."

A fly buzzed, drunk, against the only-too-visible windowpane. "What?"

"Okay."

"Yes?"

She stood up, ignoring her body's protests, and walked the two steps to the kitchen sink. "Okay," he told her again, and she searched his face.

He was gone. Buried so deep she wasn't sure if he'd ever return. But all she knew was that her mouth was pressed fitfully against his and they were running hands and hair and tongues and falling through a preconscious state where the world was frozen before it caught fire and incinerated them back into the highest numbness.