exwyezed
The flames whip around her, and then she's spinning out of the fireplace into the dark, and then out into the hearth of Remus' cramped living room. Tonks grabs the sides of the fireplace to steady herself. She's always found Flooing disorientating.
"Hello," Remus chirps, standing up from the sofa. Tonks' stomach flutters at the sight of him, then flutters harder at how pleased he looks that she's here.
"Mmm, am I glad to see you," she sighs, and she means it literally. Just seeing Remus' face can cheer her up. Knowing that she's going to be with him for a while. Even when they're at Grimmauld and can't hold hands or snog or cuddle, it's still a relief to know that they'll be together and she'll be able to talk to him. Talking to him makes her happier than anything. As usual, he holds out his hand to help her out of the fireplace, and as usual, Tonks ignores it.
"Difficult couple of days?" Remus asks. Tonks slings her rucksack onto the floor.
"You can say that again," she sighs, climbing out of the fireplace and into his arms. Remus is the best hugger. His embrace is cosy and solid. He smells of soap and tea, and she likes to press her press her face into his chest or against his neck to hear the timbre of his croaky voice.
He isn't a pusher, so he doesn't ask any further, but she wants to tell him. "I've done three days of waking up at four with the Muggle bodyguards, checking the Muggle security, escorting the ambassadors to the meeting for eight, waiting ten hours outside, then escorting everybody home, and then writing up a three-roll report for the Ministry about the nothing which happened,"
"Sounds a lot. How are peace talks going?"
"Dunno, couldn't hear what was happening inside and you can't exactly whip out an extendable ear when you're surrounded by Muggle bodyguards and hacks,"
"I suppose not," he agrees.
Tonks exhales into his shoulder and presses a kiss to his cheek. "Missed you,"
"I missed you, too,"
One of Fudge's tactics to divert Ministry personnel and public interest away from You-Know-Who's return, is to direct focus, money and staff at the Northern Ireland Peace Process. British cabinet members, ambassadors and notable politicians have always protection from the Ministry, although until recently that was always the role of the Magic-Muggle Relations Department. A few months ago, however, Fudge announced that the politicians attending the Northern Ireland Peace Process talks would be transferred to the Department of Magical Law Enforcement, and that the role of Ministry bodyguards would now be undertaken by Aurors. Therefore, whenever a meeting is scheduled regarding the Peace Process, a couple of Aurors are dispatched to Belfast to protect all attendees. There's no doubt that it's important work, though it's been handled competently by Magic-Muggle Relations for years. It's pointless that it's been transferred to Aurors, especially as the Death Eater threat becomes increasingly serious.
Given how busy they both are, Tonks is used to going a few days or even more than a week without seeing Remus. The long, tedious the Belfast assignments, though, make her exhausted and bored and liable to sway into daydreams about him. His face, his eyes, his mouth, his conversation, his chuckle, the words he uses and the stories he tells, the things which interest him and his way of seeing the world.
"I've got a pie in the oven," he murmurs. Tonks resists the temptation to giggle at how much of an innuendo that sounds (he won't get it).
"What type?"
"Steak and kidney. Do you want it?"
"Nah, not right now. You eat if you're hungry. I had about four thousand croissants for breakfast at the hotel,"
"So it wasn't a completely awful trip, then?" says Remus, moving away to smile down at her.
"I suppose not when you put it like that," Tonks can't help but beam back at him. Then she remembers something, "By the way, there was a WH Smiths across the street and I saw this,"
She reaches for her bag and pulls out a book.
"That's nice," Remus replies.
Tonks doesn't think he's understood her properly. "It's for you," she elaborates, holding the book out.
Remus stares at her, and then down at the book.
"It's a present," Tonks clarifies, "It's the new John Grisham. You like him, don't you?"
"Yes," he murmurs, "But why?"
He smiles again although it's rather wan, and then his eyes flash with bewilderment, almost shock. Nobody had been this kind to him for a long time, she realises.
Remus shakes his head as if clearing water from his ears, "Thank you very much, this is very generous,"
"You sure you're okay?" Tonks asks. Remus is odd, but he's being extra odd now.
He forces another grin. "Yes. Thank you. Let's sit down,"
She nods, and lets Remus hold her hand and lead her over to the sofa. He sits down and Tonks nestles against him, leaning her head against his chest. Remus rests his chin on top of her head and wraps an arm around her shoulder.
"Tell me a story," she asks.
Remus presses his mouth to her hair. "About what?"
"Anything. Do one of your lessons,"
She likes him to talk her through one of the Defence Against the Dark Arts lessons he taught at Hogwarts. That's the only way of saying it, although it sounds infuriatingly like she's got a teacher/pupil fetish. It isn't like that. She likes Remus teaching her stuff because he's good at it. Tonks has nagged Harry, Hermione and the Weasleys to tell her about what kind of teacher Remus was (to the extent that Ginny's got suspicious. Tonks has considered, on occasion, telling Ginny about herself and Remus. Ginny's a mate, and she knows and likes Remus, and she's told Tonks all of her relationship drama. But that's a Hogwarts romance, and Ginny's only fourteen, and her boyfriend trouble extends to Michael being whiney about Quidditch and Harry Potter still making her heart skip. Ginny's pretty mature, but not enough to understand what it's like to date a chronically ill older man with no job and no money, and who society believes to be a brute. Sometimes Tonks isn't sure if she's mature enough to deal with it herself). The kids all agree that Remus was a brilliant teacher: Ron says he was "cool" and Harry, awkward as he is, admitted than Remus helped him a lot. Even the twins admit that "he wasn't bad, as teachers go", although George had pointed out that their third-year Defence teacher had had Voldemort stuck to the back of his head, so the bar wasn't set high.
Tonks likes imagining Remus in the Defence classroom at Hogwarts, capable and confident. She likes imagining him in the Defence office (which she'd visited many times as a pupil, getting told off for one misdemeanour or another), sleeves rolled up and wrists flecked with ink as he marked essays.
"I thought you said you were tired. One of my lessons will send you to sleep," Remus says. His self-deprecation can be infuriating, especially as it's hard to tell if he's being serious or not.
"It won't," Tonks insists.
"How about we sit quietly," he suggests. Tonks wants to respond that that "sit" and "quietly" are two of the dullest words in the English language. But Remus often prefers peace and stillness, and honestly she is shattered.
"Let's cwtch," Remus adds. She knows that he knows that'll win her over- "cwtch" is such a cute, daft word. A couple of times Tonks has persuaded him to teach her Welsh. The vowels are ridiculous, bamboozling and hilarious.
"Fine," she sighs theatrically, and shifts to snuggle against his shoulder. Despite Molly's best efforts, he's bony. But because it's Remus' boniness, it's comfortable and cosy.
He wraps his arm around her, and kisses the crown of her head again. She moves her arm up to his chest and strokes her palm across his shirt buttons the way he likes.
"I really did miss you, Tonks," he adds.
She exhales contentedly. "I know".
She can feel his shoulder digging into her cheek even before she opens her eyes. Bugger. She's fallen asleep. On the sofa, on Remus. Tonks grimaces. This is going to spook him. They haven't done anything like this yet, and she knows that for Remus this is a big step. She's been to his cottage many times, but never upstairs. She hasn't been inside his bedroom at Grimmauld Place. Tonks is familiar enough with Remus' wariness to know that this will rattle and baffle him. She cringes at herself for not being more self-conscious. She's kept promising Remus that whatever he wants is fine, that however slow he wants to take this is okay with her, and that she'll never ask him to do anything he doesn't want to. And now she's scuppered that by nodding off on his shoulder. It'd be normal for most blokes, but for Remus it'll seem momentous, potentially invasive.
Tonks lifts an eye open. She's going to have to act like this isn't a big deal. Remus will go all, "Are you sure? You know what I am, don't you?" and she'll have to insist that yes she is sure, yes he has mentioned once or twice or constantly that he's a werewolf, and yes, she still wants to snuggle up and fall asleep with him regardless. If she moves her head, Tonks predicts, she'll see him staring at her in shock, perhaps horror.
Better get it over with.
But when she shifts her cheek off his shoulder and looks directly at him, Remus isn't staring at her at all. He's gazing at the front cover of the book, which is resting face-up on his lap. His long fingers are lightly touching the spine, and he seems lost in thought.
Well. This is unexpected.
"Hi," Tonks says hoarsely.
Remus' eyes flick across to her, then back to the book. "Why did you get this?" he whispers.
"What?"
"Why did you buy me this book?"
"Because you told me like John Grisham. It was only half-price," Tonks says, although it feels more of an excuse than an answer. She feels embarrassed at the fact that Remus is acting like she's given him a thousand galleons, when all she's given him is a detective novel.
He exhales pensively. Then he looks directly at her. "Tonks. Why are you so nice to me?"
"Because I'm in love with you, you moron,"
In a book or a movie, she would then clap her hands over her mouth for coming out with that so brazenly and unexpectedly. Although in reality, Tonks doesn't feel any panic or humiliation. Firstly, because she's said it before but only indirectly, or to a roomful of people of which Remus happens to be in. Second, because it's the truth. She's been in love with him for ages, probably weeks longer than she'd like to admit. Saying it out loud doesn't feel momentous. Remus is equal parts emotional intelligence and relationship cluelessness, so Tonks isn't sure how much of her feelings for him he's worked out, or at least admitted to himself. He's good at denial. He nods reflectively and stares back down at the book, and Tonks reminds herself that he's also good at surprising her. She's just told him she's in love with him, and instead he's still focussed on the fact that she got him a present. That's weird good, she reckons. Saying I love you didn't feel like a big deal to her, and it seems that it isn't to Remus either.
"Thank you," he mumbles, and Tonks isn't sure what he means for.
She pecks his cheek. "You're so bizarre,"
And then he looks away from the book and at her, grinning. "Am I meant to say 'thank you' for that as well?"
"Of course,"
"Alright. Thank you for calling me bizarre,"
"Any time. Anyway," Tonks continues, realising that only spoke to him for about half a minute before nodding off, "What have you been up to?"
Remus leans back against the sofa cushions. "Department of Mysteries on Monday and Tuesday nights. I spent Tuesday with Sirius trawling through those photos Dumbledore's got him doing. I had a day off on Wednesday so I sorted some things out here. Yesterday I helped Dedalus out with the Gibbon stuff. So overall, not much,"
"How's Sirius?"
"He's perked up. We found his photographs from our graduation. No practical use to anybody, but he enjoyed looking through it,"
"Did you?"
Remus considers. "I have an album of similar photographs at home, and it's been long enough now that pictures of James and Lily don't upset me. Quite the opposite. Although seeing photos of myself looking young is always jarring,"
Tonks knows that he knows she hates it when he goes on about how old he is. He talks as if he's just turned eight-six, not thirty-six. Usually she manages to have patience with Remus' odd, detached ways, but bringing up the age thing irritates her.
She elbows him in the ribs. "If you're just saying that so I tell you that you don't look old, it won't work,"
"Sorry. In answer to your question, I did enjoy looking through Sirius' photo album," he replies.
"Good. I'll try go come over to see him tomorrow morning. He hates it when we talk about him like this, doesn't he, like he's in hospital,"
"Sirius hates many things," Remus points out.
"You're such a diplomat," Tonks says, and yawns. She's got work in the morning so she'll have to head to bed soon. She wants Remus to ask her to come upstairs with him. Just to sleep- he's not ready for anything more than that, and that's fine. She's too knackered to want anything else apart from falling asleep with him. But she knows that he isn't going to do that, so she'll have to head home.
Tonks is still vaguely trying to find a way to make going out on dates seem less horrifying to Remus, but evenings like this show why, actually, they might be better off staying in. For a start, Remus is more relaxed at home. Perhaps if she'd told him she loved him at a bar or a restaurant he'd have been spooked, but on his own sofa in his own cottage it didn't feel so alarming. For another, you can't fall asleep on your boyfriend in the pub. And for a third, hanging round at home is preferable to dragging herself out to a restaurant when she's this exhausted. Like dealing with Sirius, and the Northern Ireland Peace Process, and like having to traipse over to Belfast for it, this relationship is a question of compromise.
