Just An Ordinary Week: Tuesday
Title: Just An Ordinary Week: Tuesday
Author: bratty_jedi (Rachael)
Format: Ficlet (just under 1,000 words)
Rating: All Audiences
Prompt: 19 (July 4): "You're the kind of person
You meet at certain dismal dull affairs.
Center of a crowd, talking much too loud
Running up and down the stairs.
Well, it seems to me that you have seen too much in too few years.
And though you've tried you just can't hide
Your eyes are edged with tears."
Warning: None.
Summary: "She had said those same words hundreds of times and told him in thousands of kisses, yet he still felt a thrill of excitement run through him when she whispered them again."
Disclaimer: I own none of this. J. K. Rowling and assorted companies including but not limited to Bloomsbury, Scholastic, and Warner Brothers own everything. They also make all the money. I am just having fun and in no way seek financial profit from their property.
Author's Note: I am going to try to tell one continuous story over this week (Saturday to Friday). Each prompt will be one day in a week in the lives of Remus and Tonks. Don’t be fooled by the title. This will (hopefully) not be a boring week for our hero and heroine. Late again. Yesterday's should also be up sometime today.
This story follows Just an Ordinary Week: Saturday, Sunday, and Monday.
His elongated stride and his frantic pace, just short of a run, carried him quickly down the long corridor. His aura was that of a man on a mission who would tolerate no interruption and people scurried out of his way. At last, he reached his destination. He turned into the open doorway and froze. She was sitting up in her bed, idly gazing out the window. Relief flooded through him at the sight and he slumped against the doorframe, content to watch her.
She drew her knees up to her chest, wrapped her arms around her legs, and rested her cheek on her knees. With a sigh, she began twirling a particularly long spike of pink hair around one finger. The only thing she needed to complete the picture of a bored and listless preteen was to begin chewing gum and popping bubbles; he laughed at the thought. Triggered by his low chuckle she whirled to face him. If any dictionary ever carried an entry for the phrase "pleasantly surprised," a picture of her face in that moment should be the required accompanying illustration. "Remus," she breathed.
"Wotcher, Tonks."
"Wotcher?" she repeated in surprise.
He shrugged. "You didn't say it and I thought someone should," he explained as he walked to her and sat on the edge of her bed.
"Sorry. I've been a little out of sorts lately," she said, sounding rather impenitent.
"So I heard. How are you?" he gently asked.
She reached over and pulled him it to a tight embrace. "Now I'm perfect," she whispered into his shoulder. "How about you?"
"Almost perfect."
She pulled back to look at him quizzically. "Almost?"
He brought one hand to her face and lightly brushed her soft cheek. His heart melted as she automatically leaned in to his touch. He leaned down and brought their faces closer together. "Almost," he repeated before closing the final distance and claiming her lips with his own.
That kiss told him so much. He knew she would be fine. He could feel it in the fervor with which her lips and tongue attacked his and the passion that caused her to twine her fingers in his hair, pulling them closer together. But he also detected a sharpness, a bitterness, in her taste. It was a realization of her own morality that far too much experience with war had taught him always lingered on those who had recently come to lose too death. He kissed her harder, whether to drive away her fears or his he could not say. When at last they broke apart, he gently guided her head to rest against his chest. "Perfection," he murmured into her hair and felt more than heard her answering purr of agreement.
They stayed there, safe in each other's arms, for minutes, hours, perhaps days. She finally broke the silence. "Take me home," she whispered in a tone that was part request and part command.
"What do the Healers say?"
"I'm fine. I'm just tired and they want me to stay another few days for observation."
"What do you say?"
She pulled back and looked at him curiously. "You're the first person to ask for my opinion," she said in awe.
"Did you give it to everyone else anyway?" he asked smiling in expectation of her answer.
"'Course I did. As long as I don't feel worse, I'm out of here tomorrow."
"As long as you're sure you feel up to it, I'll support you."
Remus never would comprehend how Tonks' lips had learned to communicate so much without saying a word. When she grabbed the neck of his shirt and pulled him in to another kiss, she spoke to him in a language he was certain no one else could ever understand. Her tongue dueling his told him of her conviction in her own abilities. Her firm lips meeting his in give-and-take told him of her appreciation for his support.
"I love you."
He knew that. She had said those same words hundreds of times and told him in thousands of kisses, yet he still felt a thrill of excitement run through him when she whispered them again.
"I love you, too," he whispered back.
She shivered slightly in his arms. "You OK?" he asked.
"Yeah. It's just been a long week and I'm glad you're here."
"Me, too. I'm just sorry I wasn't here sooner. What happened anyway? All Kingsley said was that you were hurt and I needed to get home."
"Death Eaters burned some Muggle flats and I had to run into the fire to get a little girl. I got burned in the process," she explained too calmly without looking at him.
He looked at her suspiciously. "What are you not telling me?"
"That's it. There will probably be some scarring across my stomach and the Healers are still worried there was something special in the fire but I'm fine and that's all there is to it."
Unshed tears were shining in eyes that pleaded with him not to push for more information. He brushed a single, stray teardrop from her cheek with his thumb. He searched her face for any hint to help explain her reluctance to share whatever it was with him. "Its war, Remus," she said with a sigh, "and for once no one died. Can't we just be happy with that?"
That was something else he never would understand. How this amazing young woman could be so experienced and wise in the ways of death and destruction and still remain the hopeful, bright, pink-haired beauty she had been before war touched her so intimately. He held her close and silently thanked whatever deities might be listening for the magic that was the soul of Nymphadora Tonks.