Remus slammed his elbows down, hard, on the kitchen table, wincing as pain shot up into his wrists. He rested his head on his hands, pressing his fingers into his forehead, enjoying the distraction from his thoughts that the momentary discomfort provided.

Things had not gone well.

In fact, that was a massive understatement, but he wasn't sure why he'd ever expected anything different, under the circumstances; it wasn't exactly good news he was breaking. But, even given that, it had been beyond awful.

Tonks had answered the door with a smile and pulled him inside, telling him that she'd had a rotten first day back and asking, in a slow, suggestive voice if he had any ideas about how to make it pick up. She'd stepped closer and wrapped her arms around his waist –

He'd closed his eyes for a second, stalled by the incongruity of what he had to say and how at home he felt with her arms around him, as if one meant the other couldn't exist, and yet, there they'd been, jostling for his attention. He supposed it had been partly because in all the possible scenarios he'd mapped out, everything had been earnest from the get-go – the Tonks he'd imagined had never looked at him like that, with her dark eyes twinkling and beckoning. And he'd been tempted – oh so very tempted – to wrap his arms around her and take her to bed and have everything melt away.

But it wouldn't have helped. He still would have had to tell her at some point, and putting it off, in however pleasant a way, would do neither of them any favours.

He'd said – forced the words out – that they needed to talk, and Tonks had bitten her lip in a way he'd always found irresistible, met his eye almost shyly and said that if it was about that morning, about him moving in, that he didn't have to, that she just thought if the Burrow was getting too hectic he might like somewhere quiet, and she wouldn't mind the company –

Remus had wished with all his heart that that was what they needed to talk about, but concerns and problems as normal as that had seemed so far away they almost felt alien. Had he ever had a life like that? Had he really expected it to last?

He'd told her that it wasn't that, that it was something that had arisen from his meeting with Dumbledore, and they'd sat down on her little red sofa, and he'd taken her hand –

He wiped his fingers across his mouth and swallowed heavily.

He'd told her everything – what they suspected, what Dumbledore had asked him to do, how dangerous and difficult it was going to be, that he'd be away indefinitely. She'd squeezed his hand, and met his eye with a sympathetic, steely gaze, and said that they'd always known one of them might have to go away, undercover or something, for the Order.

He'd gone on to explain, unnecessarily, probably, since she hadn't questioned it, that he didn't feel he could say no, stand by and damn these people – children – to a life they didn't deserve, and as he'd talked, a thought had crept in. It was unbidden and definitely unwanted, but once it was there, he couldn't unthink it. Wasn't that what he was doing to her? Damning her to a life she didn't deserve?

He wanted the very best for her, but what kind of life would it be, he'd thought, sitting around, waiting for her impoverished werewolf lover to show up, not knowing from one day to the next if he was alive or dead? Every time someone owled or Flooed she'd wonder if it was bad news –

His thoughts had spiralled and his heart had raced, and he hadn't been able to help but picture her scrambling to collect the newspaper every day to check for news of werewolf attacks, ashen-faced from lack of sleep, or owling Dumbledore from work for news, putting her position at the Ministry in jeopardy, and worse – he'd seen flashes of scenarios where even her life was at risk because she wasn't entirely focused on the task in hand, faceless Death Eaters with their wands to her throat –

It had all led him to one conclusion. It wouldn't be fair, and it certainly wasn't the life he wanted for her – and subjecting her to it because of him, what he was….

Wouldn't that have made him just as bad as the feral werewolves, insisting others suffered because they did? Wasn't it selfish to put her through all that?

She'd met his eye with a tentative hopefulness, and said that she'd always thought a long distance relationship could be interesting, that it wouldn't be forever and he'd be back to report –

But the more he'd thought about it, the more 'damned' had beaten itself on the front of his skull, and the words had been out of his mouth before he'd really had chance to think them through:

I think it might be better if we didn't see each other any more.

Had he really meant them?

He wasn't sure.

At the time, panic had his chest in a vice-like grip, and thoughts had swirled through his head so fast they made his vision blurry. He'd thought that the least he could do was protect her from a life of worry and uncertainty, that she didn't deserve that after everything she'd already been through, that the least he could do if he cared at all was set her free. He'd thought that, maybe, in spite of everything, if she didn't have this, too, she could be happy – and that was what he wanted more than anything, for her to have the future he'd half imagined, even if he wasn't there to share it.

Or maybe, he thought, he'd just said it because he wanted her to get angry, to argue, to convince him that he was wrong.

He closed his eyes for a moment and took a shaky breath, but all he saw was her, and so he opened them again and sent his gaze on a frantic search of the kitchen, willing it to fasten on something and hold his attention.

There was a lasagne in a stout oven dish on the work surface, and, suddenly feeling the utterly hungerless need to fill himself with something, he Summoned it, and grabbed a fork from the dresser.

But it didn't stop his thoughts from forming.

Tonks had let out a rather hollow 'oh', and let her hand fall from his, and his insides twisted as he remembered the look of shock and hurt in her eyes.

He'd been torn. Half of him had wanted to snatch her hand back, to press it to his chest and say he hadn't meant it, that he'd just thought they should talk about the possibility that that was what would be best for her, and if that wasn't what she wanted then all she had to do was say –

But the other half had thought that hurting her a little bit now was better than the slow drip-drip decline, the gradual slide apart and continued hurt that a relationship under these circumstances would cause them, and so he'd just sat there and waited for her to say something, his heart thundering in his chest.

He'd thought that maybe she'd be angry, that she'd call him a pathetic, evasive, emotionally-crippled wanker again, tell him he was using this as an excuse to run away from what he felt because he was so used to being alone it scared him to deal with even the possibility of not being. He'd thought that maybe she'd just say no, that they'd messed around so much about getting together that she just wasn't having it. Or say that she understood what he was trying to do, but that he was a moron and it didn't have to be like that….

But she didn't. Maybe she didn't know him very well at all, he'd thought. Or maybe he didn't know her.

'What about – everything?' she'd said, gesturing between them, and he'd winced at how her voice shook. It wasn't that she was obviously hurt, because he'd always known that she would be, whatever happened, more that she was surprised – she really hadn't seen this coming, even entertained the possibility – and the thought of how certain she'd been of him, how much she'd trusted him, counted on him –

His insides twisted at the thought.

He hadn't really known what to say.

His actions – if nothing else – had just proven what he'd suspected all along; he didn't deserve her trust, her certainty, her at all, and so he'd just avoided her eyes and swallowed heavily, and then told her he was sorry.

And then he'd left.

He hadn't known what else to do, even though as he'd closed the door behind him he'd pictured her wrenching it back open again and shouting at him, telling him that what they had was too good, too special to throw away and she wouldn't let him. He'd leant on the doorframe for a second and pictured the frantic reconciliatory kiss he longed for –

But the door stayed closed.

He'd walked.

Even though his feet were sore and his legs ached, he'd walked for hours, two warring thoughts in his head: you've done the right thing, she's young, she'll get over it; you've just made the biggest mistake of your life.

He'd made it back to the Burrow eventually, glad to find downstairs utterly deserted, and had sunk into a chair, the latter thought winning out.

He looked at the lasagne in front of him on the table, and, for wont of better things to do, he shovelled a pile of it onto his fork and raised it to his lips.

The kitchen door flew open with a bang, startling him and making him jump a little. "Remus J Lupin," Molly hissed. "I have never heard of such disgusting behaviour."

Remus froze, his fork full of left-over lasagne half-way to his open mouth, eyes darting between it and the oven dish in front of him. It did seem a bit uncouth –

"Not that, dear," Molly said, rolling her eyes at him. "Carry on. You look like you could do with a good meal, and I'm perfectly capable of shouting at you while you eat."

"Oh good," Remus said, shoving his fork into his mouth and staring determinedly at the contents of the oven dish.

Out of the corner of his eye, he could see Molly on the other side of the kitchen, one hand on her hip and a furious expression on her face. He didn't need to ask what had caused it. He swallowed the lasagne he was half-heartedly chewing with difficulty, wincing a little as he raised his gaze to hers. "Tonks was here," Molly said, her voice clipped and pointed.

"Oh."

His 'oh' sounded even more hollow than Tonks' had earlier, and suddenly the lasagne he hadn't really wanted to eat anyway lost any of its meagre appeal. He set the fork down in the dish and met Molly's eye properly, because he had to know. He didn't care if it made Molly angry, if she woke the whole house up screaming at him that he had no right to ask – he had to know. "How is she?" he said quietly.

He leant heavily on one elbow, pressing his fingers into his jaw, and for a moment Molly just stared at him incredulously, considering him and how to play things, he thought, although searching for what answers in his features he couldn't say.

Eventually, though, her gaze softened a little, and she pulled out a chair at the table and thumped down into it. "Distraught," she said, although she said it as if it were rather more a matter of fact than something she was saying to make him feel guilty.

Not that it stopped him. Remus nodded dumbly, but what else had he expected? The way she'd looked at him….

"She tried to hide it, of course," Molly continued, "but as soon as I told her you weren't here she – well the fight rather went out of her and – we had a chat."

Remus pressed his fingers harder into his mouth. "I didn't realise you two were – " Molly broke off into a vague gesture he supposed was meant to illustrate the word 'together', and Remus managed to force half a smile, biting back a joke that she didn't need to worry about being behind the times because whatever they had been, they weren't any more – but the phrase formed a lump in his throat and wouldn't budge. "Merlin's beard, Remus," Molly said, "how could you break up with her at a time like this, after everything she's been through?"

Remus couldn't deny that the same question had been rattling around in his head for the last few hours, and he shifted in his seat, and rubbed his forehead, where a knot of tension and worry had formed. It was, in addition to everything else, he thought, truly appalling timing.

"I'm going away, Molly," he said, pushing the oven dish across the table as what was left of his appetite suddenly deserted him.

"Away?" Molly said, gazing at him, brow furrowed.

"Yes," he said. "And I'm not sure when I'll be coming back."

Molly's eyes widened in alarm, and she leant forward, concern in her eyes where there had been disapproval. "Whatever do you mean?"

"Dumbledore has asked me to go on a mission," he said. "I'm to live with a pack of werewolves, spy on them, and try to stop as many of them as possible following Greyback into the ranks of the Death Eaters. I'll be away for months."

"But you'll be back to report to Dumbledore, won't you?" Molly said, resting her hands together on the table, eyeing him encouragingly. "For meetings, like Professor Snape? You could see Tonks then. It won't be easy but it seems a bit of an overreaction to –"

"If they find out what I'm up to," Remus said, "they'll kill me."

Molly's face took on a rather ghostly shade, and Remus sighed. "I didn't want her to spend months fretting, waking up every day, wondering if I was alive, running to the Floo, just in case of bad news," he said quietly. "She'd be distracted – I'm not worth it."

"But Remus, surely – "

"Is that what you want for her, a life like that? Is that what you'd want for Arthur, or Bill, or Ginny?"

Remus met her eye, imploring her to understand.

Molly stiffened in her chair a little, her lips pinched together as she thought. "It wouldn't be easy," she said slowly, "but nothing is at a time like this. When Arthur goes away, of course I worry, but that doesn't mean I don't want us to be together because of it. It's worth it, when he comes back."

"It's different," Remus said, and Molly smiled gently, although her eyes said she disagreed.

"Tonks said you'd been together for a few months," she said, and he nodded, "but that she thought – well, she hoped – that things were leading somewhere."

Remus sighed, because of course he'd thought that too – but that was before –

"I know," he said. "I shouldn't have let her build up – expectations. In the long run it's probably better this way anyway – " Molly scoffed. "Really, Molly," he said, although he wasn't entirely sure it was her he was trying to convince. "I'm not sure we were entirely suited to begin with. I'm far too old for her, and what do I really have to offer her except a regular date with a monster once a month?"

Molly opened her mouth to say something, and then evidently changed her mind. She leant back in her chair, and sighed, her eyes darting around the kitchen. "She was really very upset," she said, her eyebrows dipping into a frown.

"I didn't mean to hurt her."

"Well, you did."

"And for that I am truly sorry," he said.

He took a deep breath, steeling himself to say something, to utter some justification for his actions, to come up with some excuse – but he couldn't think of anything, and so he let the breath out as a sigh instead. He leant on his hand and stared into the fire for a moment, wondering where Tonks was now, if she'd come back, try and see him again, what she would have said if he'd been here….

He'd made up his mind, though, hadn't he? There was nothing she could say.

It was for the best. This way she had a chance at a decent life. Really, he should never have let things get as far as they did. It had been foolish of him to think that he – someone like him – could ever have anything approaching a future with a girl like Tonks. She deserved more. She deserved better. She deserved someone who had more to offer.

It saddened him to think that the only thing he had to give her was the chance to be happy with someone else, but that didn't mean it wasn't true.

The flames danced in the grate, and he watched them until his eyes hurt, and then let his eyelids fall.

"You love her," Molly said.

It wasn't a question.

Remus opened his eyes slowly, the corners of his mouth twitching into a sad half smile at the thought. "That's why I have to let her go," he said, rubbing at his jaw as his voice cracked.

For a moment, he thought Molly was going to say something, but instead she pressed her lip together for a moment, and then reached across the table and patted his arm. She offered him a sympathetic smile that he couldn't help thinking was a little tinged with disappointment, and then picked up the oven dish and got to her feet.

"I'll heat this up for you," she said.

Remus nodded, not even having the energy to protest, to say he really wasn't hungry, never had been, possibly never would be again.

He let himself fall back in the chair, and something rustled at his hip.

With a sigh, he closed his eyes again, realising what it was: he still had the bag of strawberry sherbets in his pocket.

A/N: Many thanks to those of you who reviewed the last chapter :D. Reviewers this time get extra special rewards for braving the angst. Take your pick from: calling Remus a ninny and giving him a swift cuff round the ear, or giving him a hug and telling him it'll be all right, that you've seen how it ends and there's hand-holding. Or you could just pick-pocket him for his sweets ;).