Tonks' flat
Remus apparated into the impossibly cluttered living room of Dora's flat. Surveying the situation, he saw the radio perched on the edge of a table covered in what appeared to be a clutter of maps and dossiers. The evidence of her occupation was everywhere; dozens of books were piled on every surface, with titles such as, "Stunning the Cunning Thief," "Advanced Self-Defense Tactics for Aurors," and "Avoiding Collateral Damage: Meddling Muggles and Magical Manoeuvres." An array of dark detection devices were displayed across overstuffed bookshelves and the sofa was buried in a pile of unlaundered Auror robes. He hadn't wanted to bother any of the girls to join him, so he hoped that her wardrobe would be a bit more organized. He didn't particularly like the idea of pawing through a young lady's unmentionables more than was strictly necessary.
He gingerly stepped over the piles of papers and clutter until he reached her bedroom. Thankfully, it appeared that she delegated this room for less hectic endeavours. The bed was neatly made, though there was a rather tacky print of the Weird Sisters pinned to the wall and the contents of her closet were obviously beginning to escape the confines of the wardrobe. He quickly found the drawer containing her knickers and chose a few of the more conservative pairs. He found his mind wandering momentarily to an image of Dora wearing the lacy purple things he saw tucked in the back, but reminded himself sternly that this was definitely not the time.
Another drawer contained long t-shirts, which he took to be pyjamas. He neatly re-folded them and dropped them into the bag he carried. A quick search revealed her bedroom slippers, a few pairs of socks, and a cozy sweater, as well as a pair of jeans, a blouse, and a pair of trainers for the trip home. He returned to the underwear drawer to select a bra, realizing that she might need one for the outfit. While Remus had had little experience with the fairer sex, he still had a good idea what they generally wore under their robes. As he rummaged through the drawer, he felt something incongruously hard under the folds of silk and cotton. As he moved things aside, he saw that it was a frame, containing an old photograph. Through the glass, he could see a much younger Remus, carrying a 4-year-old Dora on his shoulders. The easy grin on his face belied the shadows under his eyes, but Dora was beaming. He quickly replaced the clothing and tucked a bra into the bag. This was getting very complicated for him, emotionally and practically. She wasn't going to be able to stay here much longer, given the exponentially more dangerous situation they were all in after tonight. Even the rather impressive array of wards she had placed on this flat would not be enough, he feared, if one of the more proficient Death Eaters made her a target. She wasn't one to enjoy being taken care of, but she'd just have to accept it for the time being. He'd see what he could do about convincing her to pare down her possessions and get a little more organized. After all, he was the net-freak of the order. How would he deal with living under the same roof with her, though? Could he just pretend that his avoidance of her had to do with some other mundane reason? She was well aware that he had been avoiding her and she had been trying to corner him for weeks. She knew he fancied her, just as he knew that the feeling was very much reciprocated. How could he preserve their friendship but put an end to this nonsense? He was much too old for her. Not to mention the fact that he was poorer than a church mouse and a snarling, vicious, blood-thirsty werewolf every full moon! She was a smart girl, as Molly said. And she would be smart enough to see that nothing more than friendship could ever be possible between them.
He quickly scooped up what appeared to be her current leisure reading from the bed side table, a worn volume of Muggle poetry, and beat a hasty retreat from the room. He clutched the radio to his side, re-warded the front door, and disapparated with a crack.
Tonks sighed as Remus closed the door behind him. She knew what he'd find in her apartment. The disorganized, dishevelled evidence of her complete lack of organization. He was as opposite her in his domestic habits as could be imagined, but she was hoping that this could be an opportunity for them to spend a bit more time together. Sirius had been no house-keeping whiz, either – she twinged at his memory and then redoubled her efforts to swallow the tears. As an Auror, an Order member, and a person living in dark times, she would need all the happy memories of Sirius she could gather. One of the most ecstatic moments had been finding Sirius, to whom she had not spoken since her childhood, standing before her on her first visit to Headquarters. He would approve of her plan, and wholeheartedly support her if he were here. In fact, Sirius was probably watching things from wherever he was and cheering her on. She would ask for Remus's assistance, as a self-professed neat-freak, in sorting through the detritus of her life and down-sizing to one of the vacant bedrooms at Grimmauld Place. She was so rarely at her flat, she had come to the decision that it was a frivolous expense that could be done away with and too isolated for her to be of assistance to the Order on a moment's notice. Remus was just the man for the task. The weeks they had spent scouring Headquarters were, despite the nastiness of the task, some of the most intensely satisfying of her life.
Here was a man who shared her passion for knowledge and was not afraid to admit to it. The younger male Aurors she worked with were so driven by their misplaced machismo and desire to appear dashing and dangerous that they often suppressed what, presumably, generous supply of brain cells they had in favor of maintaining their "images." They treated her like an affable side-kick but rarely engaged her in intelligent conversation. Remus respected her professional skills highly and never hesitated to run his thoughts by her regarding the best way to execute missions for the Order. When she had a question about the Dark Arts, he answered her as an informed colleague and not as a curious child. They had joked about the days when Remus had been an adored older brother to Dora, but it was not until recently that difference in their ages had been an issue. How to repair the damage was to be her convalescent project. She was never one to quietly watch the world go by without her. A week of bed rest would probably be the death of her, and she knew that Remus would agree with little prodding. Much better to help her in her little project than suffer the consequences of her boredom. She needed to put some serious thought into the plan; while her ability to wheedle information out of unwilling subjects was nearly legendary, despite her short time as an Auror, her proficiency at stealth was decidedly sub-par. He would see what she was up to from a mile away. She had messed things up, and now she needed to find a way to repair the damage. This required no fancy spell-work, complicated potions, or brute strength. This was a finesse job.
To fix the problem, she needed to ascertain exactly what had gone wrong and allay Remus' fears little by little. The error she had made was impulsive; the remedy would have to be methodically planned. In one night, they had gone from close companions to well-acquainted strangers. Remus lived by the measured waxing and waning of the moon. He relied on logic, patterns and academic rigor to make sense of the world. Along she had come, with her impulsive intuition, day-glow hair, clumsiness, and disregard for precedent and thrown him for a loop. While all this disparity had been healthy fodder for their friendship, it had proved dangerous when, in an unguarded moment, Tonks had tipped her cards. Sirius had plied her with a little firewhisky, something she rarely partook of given the need for alertness in her field of work, and gotten her reminiscing about their childhoods. In response to his question of who she had fancied of his friends, she had made the imminently poor decision to admit to a long-standing crush on Remus. Of course, by the time she had sobered up and realized what she had said, Remus was quite aware of the situation. Sirius had teased him mercilessly (what else did he have to do besides live vicariously through his friends, anyway) and, though Remus had neither heard it from her directly nor broached the subject with her, he had been avoiding her as if she had a roaring case of kneezle pox. Years of friendship, ruined by a foolish admission in an unguarded moment. She rarely had these, but this one was making up for all the care she normally took. That was a trait they shared: hiding their feelings in order to spare others the need to be sympathetic. And also to retain a bit of dignity, of course. She had to take that into account when deciding what to do about the problem. She loved him. He loved her. She wanted to snog him senseless. The cat was out of the bag, and there was no fixing that, but did she really want to? He wanted to protect them both. She wasn't blind, she knew his motivations. Now, how to break down thirty-odd years of carefully tended emotional wall?