Mission
He's back late from a mission, battered and bruised. His robes are stained with someone else's blood.
He lets himself into Grimmauld with a weary sigh, tip-toes past the dreaded portrait, down into the kitchen. It's cold and dark. Remus wonders what corner of the house Sirius has passed out in tonight. Not like him not to wait up, actually.
Something in his chest constricts at the absence of another familiar, welcome face, but he ignores it. He moves around the kitchen, slowly - methodically lighting the fire, putting on water to boil, finding left-over food.
He eats propped up at the counter, lazily. He's tired, and no-one is there to see.
That's when the door creaks open and she comes in, all bed-hair and ruffled pyjamas, rubbing sleep out of her eyes.
He starts, splutters round a mouthful, tries to regain a semblance of composure. She smiles, pleased to see him. Lips curling to see him in this dishevelled state, so unlike his usual composed self.
Her face falls when she takes his appearance in more fully.
"Remus!"
She's by his side in a moment, knocking a slice of bread out of his grasp, taking his face gently between her hands to inspect the bruising more closely. She takes in his split lip, the burn down his neck and arm, the dried blood around his nose.
She's focused on him, brow furrowed, totally absorbed in the task at hand. All Remus is aware of is that she is extremely close. Close enough to see the light dusting of freckles over the bridge of her nose, to see her soft, dark eyelashes against her pale skin. Close enough to kiss her.
He's so distracted by this line of thought he doesn't hear her question.
"Sorry?"
"What happened? Are you alright?" She's guiding him gently into a chair and draws one up next to him.
"I'm ok," He smiles to reassure her, which makes his lip throb. "Bit battered. I've been worse."
They're sitting extremely close now. Knees brush together as she leans over him. She waves her wand delicately, and he feels the heat of healing magic skim and run over his skin.
He closes his eyes and relaxes. He hopes she doesn't think it looks creepy. He's just trying to fix this moment in his mind forever.
"You idiot. Why didn't you wake me?" She sounds concerned still, almost guilty.
"It's late. I didn't want to disturb you."
"You wouldn't have. I was going to wait up. But I fell asleep on the sofa, and Sirius ordered me to bed."
Remus smiles at the image she's conjured in his mind. "S'good. You need to rest."
She shakes her head at him. "You always wait up for me."
He feels it then. The weight of this shifting, shimmering thing between them. Neither mentions it, or alludes to it, and yet, it's there, almost as tangible as the table he's resting his hands on. He looks at her, and she's so close. He thinks she feels it too.
He's tongue-tied. Doesn't know what to say, what he could say. Something that would incriminate him further, probably. Best to stay silent, but his heart hammers so loudly in his chest he thinks she must be able to hear it.
She looks at him, and he shifts his gaze away, guiltily.
She pauses for a moment, but then keeps dabbing at his forehead with the essence of dittany. Gently. She's surprisingly gentle, is Tonks.
She moves down to tend to the injury on his neck. He feels her breath on him and a bolt of electricity runs through him.
"I'm so glad I came downstairs. I did listen out for you." She whispers softly.
He needs to put a stop to her proximity before he does something he can't take back.
"You don't have to explain. It's alright. Please don't feel as if you owe me anything."
It comes out all wrong and her hand suddenly falls away, back to her side. She doesn't look at him a she turns away. "I think that should do the trick. I'll get you some more dittany for your arm. Then I'll let you finish your dinner in peace."
He turns to her, wanting to explain, wanting to ask her to stay by his side, preferably forever. But the weight of years and years of silence falls on him, and he doesn't say a word.
