DISCLAIMER: Anything you recognise belongs to JKR.
"Don't be ridiculous."
"I'm not being ridiculous. It's too dangerous, and besides…"
"Besides what? Do you not love me anymore? Look me in the eye and tell me that Remus."
The words sounded horribly shallow even to her, like she was some desperate teenager talking of forever after two months. She was somewhat mollified by the fact that he looked away first.
He had changed back into his oldest robes for his most recent mission, and her eyes followed the trail of one of the many loose threads back to the frayed cuff. His hands were clenched white, trembling, and she wondered absently if it was fear or anger. She had never really seen him angry before.
She wasn't surprised then when she saw him take a deep calming breath and steadily meet her gaze. She wasn't prepared for the words that followed.
"I don't love you Nympadora Tonks. I have been selfish and blinded by desire, but I won't let that destroy your life anymore. You would do much better without me. Please leave."
Just like that he turned away and closed the door of the tiny apartment he rented when not living out in the forest. She was left staring at the peeling paint and tarnished brass 4, her mind reeling as it tried to process his last words to her.
The fact that he thought he could dictate her life to her angered her almost as much as the fact he had lied to her face. And she knew it was a lie, it had to be a lie, because all the other times couldn't be lies.
Luckily for him he had stepped back from the door, and he jumped and turned from the counter as she blasted it in. He was still white, and she thought she could see a glisten on his cheeks that suggested tears. It made her hesitate for a second, and she realised how she must look, oversized tie-dyed tee-shirt with a fuchsia half-robe and knee-length skirt over leggings. More of the angsty teenager, the world centred on her problems and moods and turquoise curls.
"That was immature."
He gestured to the smoking door, his voice lacking the note of warmth she had come to expect and love. It was a light, soft voice, the hoarse note drifting in and out with the moon. A teacher's voice, a father's voice, inspiring calm confidence and care. There had been bitterness too, but she had driven it out one kiss, one touch at a time, or so she thought.
There was no point trying to argue with him now, she realised through the haze of anger and swooping feeling of loss that was now settling in her stomach. He would say those same words over and over; too old, too poor, too dangerous.
She caught a glimpse of her reflection in the cracked window as she turned and swept out the door, repairing it with a flick of her wand over her shoulder, though no doubt he would undo her charm-work and fix it himself later. Her hair was that awful mouse-brown of fourth-year-from-hell and her face was flushed. She gritted her teeth and forced the fair skin back, though the hair stayed despondently brown.
A day or two to calm down was all they both needed; then she would make him see sense.