Back for More-Prompt 8
Title: Back for More
Author: Viki (no_sweeter_song)
Format and Word Count: Fic, 2485 words
Rating: PG
Prompt: 8-Damien Rice lyrics
Warning: Mostly just fluff, very mild angst
Summary: What makes her stay? Tonks works to earn her spot in Remus’ life, no matter how desperately he’s trying to push her away.
Her presence at his doorstep wasn't entirely unwelcome, but it was completely and totally unexpected. Remus glanced over her shoulder before tugging on her arm, pulling her inside and shutting the door hard behind her.
"What are you doing here?" he hissed, glaring down at her with eyes that weren't quite as angry as they seemed.
Tonks looked up at him defiantly, her chin lifted. "What does it look like?" she asked, tossing shoulder length, mousy brown hair over her shoulder.
The colour bothered him at first but he tried to ignore it as he leaned against the wall of the tiny foyer. It wasn't because it wasn't attractive on her. On the contrary, it was a nice touch. It was the reasoning behind the colour. The fact that she physically was unable to change it. "It looks," he finally said, "like you're trying to get yourself killed."
A look of shock registered on her features, and for a moment, he wanted to take it back. But she was acting like a child; she needed to hear, to understand the danger she was in.
"I'm here," she began, her tone acidic, "to help you, you ungrateful git."
But why?
Remus shook his head, rubbing at his temples with his thumb and index finger. "I've told you, Tonks, I don't need your help."
The expression she wore was purely defiant. He could see the blood of the Blacks running through her just then, a hint of Narcissa Malfoy's trademark sneer showing on her lips and in her eyes. "Prat," she chided, rolling her eyes at him. "You need someone tonight, and it may as well be me."
How many times did he have to push her away? Why in Merlin's name would she keep coming back? "Why?" he replied, head tilting with a slight smirk of his own. "I've made it several years alone. I think I'll manage just fine."
"Maybe you can," Tonks replied, her tone suddenly much softer. "But do you want to?"
Well of course he didn't want to. Who would want to go through the morning after a painful, aching transformation alone? "I'm quite good at it, you know," Remus insisted stubbornly.
She stared at him with wide, rounded eyes for a long time. For a moment, he actually was under the impression that he'd won. Then, as Tonks often did, she stunned him. Stepped forward, raised up on her toes, placed her hands on his thin shoulders to steady herself, and brushed his lips with a kiss.
"You're too stubborn for your own good," she scolded, settling her weight back to the balls of her feet. Gingerly, she ran her finger along the side of his cheek, smiling at the slight scruff. "Have we not shaved yet today? Or is this some side effect I should know about?"
No matter how wonderful the touch felt--and it did feel amazing--he turned his head away, escaping both the lingering finger and the playfulness in her eyes. "Tonks, stop," he insisted, narrowing his eyes slightly.
"No," she insisted, lifting her chin. "You stop. Stop pushing me away like you don't need me."
Did she think he liked pushing her aside, again and again as if she meant nothing? As if each tiny touch didn't make him want to give up the rest of his life for one lasting moment with her? Did she think it was easy? "There's a lot you don't know," he mumbled under his breath.
A smug look passed over her features and she pulled a book out of the messenger bag she was carrying. "Oh, really?"
He made a move to stop her, but she was already marching confidently towards the living room, collapsing in a large easy chair without the slightest hint of grace. Before she could open it, he strained to see the book's front cover. It looked familiar...
"The werewolf," she began, and he felt his heart drop, "transforms once a month, turning at the light of the full moon. The transformation is neither simple, nor painless, and causes a great deal of stress on the werewolf's human form. They can show signs of an impending transformation up to a week in advance, and are often left with signs at least three to five days after."
With a resounding thud, she shut the book and looked up at him, eyes wide. "If you think I don't know what I'm getting into here, Remus, you're mistaken."
"It's a book," he said softly, kneeling by her side. "Living With Dark Creatures, if I'm not mistaken." She nodded. "Revised edition?"
She flipped open the front cover and nodded again. "You know your literature."
Slowly, he walked over, taking the book from her hand and perching on the chair's arm. "My parents had it. When I was little, I mean. Vampires, giants, centaurs...and us. Werewolves, that is."
He'd begun absently flipping through the pages, barely glancing at the pictures. He hadn't even noticed her hand on his arm. "Had it memorised for a while. Still can probably recite the werewolf passages, for whatever it's worth. Don't know if it was entirely accurate."
"What do you mean?" Tonks shifted in the chair, propping one knee beneath her so she could turn to face him.
He looked down at the heart-shaped face and shrugged. "Just that I don't think that any book not written by a werewolf can convey everything that happens. The way you feel, the 'symptoms' as they put it..." He shut the book, resting it on his thigh as he moved to cover her hand with his own. "You shouldn't be here."
"You've mentioned that," she replied with a roll of her eyes. "Now this is the part where you ask me if I care at all."
Swallowing back a sharp retort, Remus gave her words a few moments thought. "This isn't just about you, you know. It's about what I want, too." What he wanted was her. Wasn't it? But he couldn't. She needed more. She didn't need to be coming to his aid. What Nymphadora Tonks should've had in her life was a man who could take care of her, not the other way around.
She lifted a perfectly arched pink eyebrow at him and smirked. "You really think that's how it works?"
"Excuse me?"
Chuckling, Tonks pulled both knees beneath her, lifting herself into a kneel and brushing his cheek with a tender kiss. "Love's a two way street, Remus. You won't be getting away from me that easily."
"You should go," he told her, trying to ignore the soft tingling the touch of her lips had caused. Avoiding her eyes, he turned his gaze to the floor. "I don't want you here."
For a moment, her eyes flew open, and a peek in her direction all but broke his heart. He'd hurt her. Of course he had, because all he'd ever be able to do in life was hurt her. It wasn't the first time and it wouldn't be the last.
But she surprised him. Instead of crying, or putting up a fight, she got to her feet--none too gracefully, but she wore a determined smile. "You don't mean it. I'll be back, you know."
"Don't," he whispered, his voice choked. "Please, just... This isn't what you need."
Tonks walked toward the door, but glanced back at him with a shrug. "You'll change your mind. Again. You always do."
***
The first thing that registered in his mind was how incredibly cold he was. He was shaking from head to toe, his skin icy to even his own touch. It was the shaking that registered the second thing in his mind. He hurt. All over, mostly in his arms and legs, but his back was throbbing, and there were fresh, stinging scratches. On top of it all, he felt as if his head would split.
Remus pressed both hands to his throbbing temples and pulled his knees up, leaning against the wall with a sigh. If Wolfsbane weren't so damn hard to get a hold of, he wouldn't have to worry about any of this. He'd be curled up by a fire on a blanket like a common house pet on transformation nights. But Potions was never his strongest subject and to buy it bottled was expensive. And extra expenses weren't exactly something Remus could afford.
Sighing, he began to pull himself to his feet when he heard a knock on the door. Making a quick grab for the blanket he'd placed nearby the night before-only a few scratches, this time-he stood and wrapped it around himself, stepping gingerly towards the door. "Yes?" he called through it, not quite ready to undo the locks, just in case.
"It's me," the ordinarily perky voice called back, sounding a bit more drained than usual.
Startled, Remus rushed through the locks and threw the door open, staring at her in surprise. "What're you doing here?" As if it were something she did every day, Tonks bypassed his foot, standing in the way of her and the door. She walked into the small room and handed him a change of clothes from his own room. "How did you...?"
She shook her head, as if irritated that he even had to ask. And knowing her, she was. "For Merlin's sake, you fool, I'm not stupid. If you transformed fully-clothed, you'd be needing new trousers every month, wouldn't you? And no offense, love, you know I mean no harm, but I'm doubting you can be handing out the sickles for that."
Of course, she had a point. Whether Remus would tolerate that or not remained to be seen. "You shouldn't have come," he protested, finally realising that he stood before her in nothing but a blanket. He pulled the fabric more tightly around himself and avoided her eyes.
But she was still staring at him intently. He knew what she was seeing, though he hadn't seen a mirror yet that day. It looked like he'd practically tried to chew his own arm off, his arms and legs hurt from the shortening and lengthening they'd done, and his sides were aching and probably bruised--usually from ramming his own body into the walls in an effort to free himself. "You really ought to go," he protested, shifting under her gaze.
"Remus," Tonks began, in a tone she might have used if speaking with a rebellious child, "I'm not going anywhere except downstairs to get your breakfast. Get dressed."
Though he began to protest again, she gave him a glare with firm, light brown eyes. Closing his mouth, he shut the door quietly behind her. She'd obviously taken great care with picking out what she'd brought him. The trousers weren't familiar. They actually looked newer than any of his own. The jumper was an old one, but heavy and comfortable. She'd even thought to take him the warmest socks he owned.
Despite himself, he was touched by the effort she'd gone through. Changing as quickly as he could manage-he'd done more damage to his arm than he'd thought-he slowly made his way out toward the kitchen. The idea of Tonks cooking brought forth images of his kitchen being a wreck, things burnt, possibly her lying on the floor in pain. Instead he walked in and found her at the stove, stirring a large pot of something that smelled warmly of cinnamon and nutmeg.
She glanced over her shoulder and offered him a small but tired smile. "How're you feeling?" she questioned, spooning the mixture into a bowl and nodding for him to sit down.
"Like hell, honestly," he admitted, pulling back the sleeve of his jumper and reaching for a napkin to dab at the wounds.
Shaking her head, she rushed over, making a grab for the hand reaching for the napkin. "Don't you dare," she chided, taking his opposite wrist gently. "Did a number on that one," she said softly, reaching for a jar he hadn't seen sitting there. Instinct told him to pull his arm away, but her fingers, though soft, held firm.
She made a soft clucking noise with her tongue, vaguely reminiscent of the one his mother had always made when she was babying and coddling him. When he looked up to scold her for it, though, the look on her face was so sincere that he couldn't speak. "Is it always this bad?" she murmured, using a soft cloth to dab the gelatin-like substance on his arm.
Realising she was actually asking and he'd have to reply, Remus shook his head. "Not always. Some months are better than others. The cold months are the worst." It was only August. It shouldn’t have been as bad as all of this, and he knew a lot of it had to do with the goings on in his own life. But for it, every fiber of his body hurt, aches and pains he hadn’t realised he could have. But the throbbing in his arm was soothing already, and the skin he'd ripped at had already stopped swelling. "What is that?"
Tonks tied a bandage around the wound, murmuring a sticking charm to keep it in place. "Mum always used to have some on hand. Apparently when you've a klutz for a child, you tend to heal a lot of injuries. I... Sirius used to say you sometimes came out of this a bit tattered."
At that, the edges of his lips tilted slightly. Sirius would’ve used the exact words, ‘he looks like a sodding hobo off the streets who’s been beaten’. "Just a bit," he acknowledged, admiring her handiwork as she pulled her hand away. "You didn't need to do all this." His words were accompanied by a look of amazement as a bowl of still warm oatmeal was set in front of him.
To his surprise, she dropped a soft kiss against his forehead before he could take a bite. "I know," she told him, amusement flickering in her eyes. "But I wanted to. I love you."
"You don't," he countered, shaking his head. He couldn't let her say it.
But again, she interrupted him. Placed a finger against his lips and nodded down toward his bowl. "Shut up. Just eat. I'll love you if I want to love you."
He did take a bite, but he paused, shaking his head again. "I just don't understand. You went through so much. How did you--?"
"I read the book, you daft, daft man." Tonks rolled her eyes and laughed under her breath. "If I'm going to love a werewolf--and I do, so don't start--I'm going to learn to take care of him."
"I sent you away," he whispered, avoiding her eyes.
But Tonks only grinned. "You did. You usually do. What, you think something silly like your superior, noble attitude is going to keep me away?"
Author: Viki (no_sweeter_song)
Format and Word Count: Fic, 2485 words
Rating: PG
Prompt: 8-Damien Rice lyrics
Warning: Mostly just fluff, very mild angst
Summary: What makes her stay? Tonks works to earn her spot in Remus’ life, no matter how desperately he’s trying to push her away.
Her presence at his doorstep wasn't entirely unwelcome, but it was completely and totally unexpected. Remus glanced over her shoulder before tugging on her arm, pulling her inside and shutting the door hard behind her.
"What are you doing here?" he hissed, glaring down at her with eyes that weren't quite as angry as they seemed.
Tonks looked up at him defiantly, her chin lifted. "What does it look like?" she asked, tossing shoulder length, mousy brown hair over her shoulder.
The colour bothered him at first but he tried to ignore it as he leaned against the wall of the tiny foyer. It wasn't because it wasn't attractive on her. On the contrary, it was a nice touch. It was the reasoning behind the colour. The fact that she physically was unable to change it. "It looks," he finally said, "like you're trying to get yourself killed."
A look of shock registered on her features, and for a moment, he wanted to take it back. But she was acting like a child; she needed to hear, to understand the danger she was in.
"I'm here," she began, her tone acidic, "to help you, you ungrateful git."
But why?
Remus shook his head, rubbing at his temples with his thumb and index finger. "I've told you, Tonks, I don't need your help."
The expression she wore was purely defiant. He could see the blood of the Blacks running through her just then, a hint of Narcissa Malfoy's trademark sneer showing on her lips and in her eyes. "Prat," she chided, rolling her eyes at him. "You need someone tonight, and it may as well be me."
How many times did he have to push her away? Why in Merlin's name would she keep coming back? "Why?" he replied, head tilting with a slight smirk of his own. "I've made it several years alone. I think I'll manage just fine."
"Maybe you can," Tonks replied, her tone suddenly much softer. "But do you want to?"
Well of course he didn't want to. Who would want to go through the morning after a painful, aching transformation alone? "I'm quite good at it, you know," Remus insisted stubbornly.
She stared at him with wide, rounded eyes for a long time. For a moment, he actually was under the impression that he'd won. Then, as Tonks often did, she stunned him. Stepped forward, raised up on her toes, placed her hands on his thin shoulders to steady herself, and brushed his lips with a kiss.
"You're too stubborn for your own good," she scolded, settling her weight back to the balls of her feet. Gingerly, she ran her finger along the side of his cheek, smiling at the slight scruff. "Have we not shaved yet today? Or is this some side effect I should know about?"
No matter how wonderful the touch felt--and it did feel amazing--he turned his head away, escaping both the lingering finger and the playfulness in her eyes. "Tonks, stop," he insisted, narrowing his eyes slightly.
"No," she insisted, lifting her chin. "You stop. Stop pushing me away like you don't need me."
Did she think he liked pushing her aside, again and again as if she meant nothing? As if each tiny touch didn't make him want to give up the rest of his life for one lasting moment with her? Did she think it was easy? "There's a lot you don't know," he mumbled under his breath.
A smug look passed over her features and she pulled a book out of the messenger bag she was carrying. "Oh, really?"
He made a move to stop her, but she was already marching confidently towards the living room, collapsing in a large easy chair without the slightest hint of grace. Before she could open it, he strained to see the book's front cover. It looked familiar...
"The werewolf," she began, and he felt his heart drop, "transforms once a month, turning at the light of the full moon. The transformation is neither simple, nor painless, and causes a great deal of stress on the werewolf's human form. They can show signs of an impending transformation up to a week in advance, and are often left with signs at least three to five days after."
With a resounding thud, she shut the book and looked up at him, eyes wide. "If you think I don't know what I'm getting into here, Remus, you're mistaken."
"It's a book," he said softly, kneeling by her side. "Living With Dark Creatures, if I'm not mistaken." She nodded. "Revised edition?"
She flipped open the front cover and nodded again. "You know your literature."
Slowly, he walked over, taking the book from her hand and perching on the chair's arm. "My parents had it. When I was little, I mean. Vampires, giants, centaurs...and us. Werewolves, that is."
He'd begun absently flipping through the pages, barely glancing at the pictures. He hadn't even noticed her hand on his arm. "Had it memorised for a while. Still can probably recite the werewolf passages, for whatever it's worth. Don't know if it was entirely accurate."
"What do you mean?" Tonks shifted in the chair, propping one knee beneath her so she could turn to face him.
He looked down at the heart-shaped face and shrugged. "Just that I don't think that any book not written by a werewolf can convey everything that happens. The way you feel, the 'symptoms' as they put it..." He shut the book, resting it on his thigh as he moved to cover her hand with his own. "You shouldn't be here."
"You've mentioned that," she replied with a roll of her eyes. "Now this is the part where you ask me if I care at all."
Swallowing back a sharp retort, Remus gave her words a few moments thought. "This isn't just about you, you know. It's about what I want, too." What he wanted was her. Wasn't it? But he couldn't. She needed more. She didn't need to be coming to his aid. What Nymphadora Tonks should've had in her life was a man who could take care of her, not the other way around.
She lifted a perfectly arched pink eyebrow at him and smirked. "You really think that's how it works?"
"Excuse me?"
Chuckling, Tonks pulled both knees beneath her, lifting herself into a kneel and brushing his cheek with a tender kiss. "Love's a two way street, Remus. You won't be getting away from me that easily."
"You should go," he told her, trying to ignore the soft tingling the touch of her lips had caused. Avoiding her eyes, he turned his gaze to the floor. "I don't want you here."
For a moment, her eyes flew open, and a peek in her direction all but broke his heart. He'd hurt her. Of course he had, because all he'd ever be able to do in life was hurt her. It wasn't the first time and it wouldn't be the last.
But she surprised him. Instead of crying, or putting up a fight, she got to her feet--none too gracefully, but she wore a determined smile. "You don't mean it. I'll be back, you know."
"Don't," he whispered, his voice choked. "Please, just... This isn't what you need."
Tonks walked toward the door, but glanced back at him with a shrug. "You'll change your mind. Again. You always do."
***
The first thing that registered in his mind was how incredibly cold he was. He was shaking from head to toe, his skin icy to even his own touch. It was the shaking that registered the second thing in his mind. He hurt. All over, mostly in his arms and legs, but his back was throbbing, and there were fresh, stinging scratches. On top of it all, he felt as if his head would split.
Remus pressed both hands to his throbbing temples and pulled his knees up, leaning against the wall with a sigh. If Wolfsbane weren't so damn hard to get a hold of, he wouldn't have to worry about any of this. He'd be curled up by a fire on a blanket like a common house pet on transformation nights. But Potions was never his strongest subject and to buy it bottled was expensive. And extra expenses weren't exactly something Remus could afford.
Sighing, he began to pull himself to his feet when he heard a knock on the door. Making a quick grab for the blanket he'd placed nearby the night before-only a few scratches, this time-he stood and wrapped it around himself, stepping gingerly towards the door. "Yes?" he called through it, not quite ready to undo the locks, just in case.
"It's me," the ordinarily perky voice called back, sounding a bit more drained than usual.
Startled, Remus rushed through the locks and threw the door open, staring at her in surprise. "What're you doing here?" As if it were something she did every day, Tonks bypassed his foot, standing in the way of her and the door. She walked into the small room and handed him a change of clothes from his own room. "How did you...?"
She shook her head, as if irritated that he even had to ask. And knowing her, she was. "For Merlin's sake, you fool, I'm not stupid. If you transformed fully-clothed, you'd be needing new trousers every month, wouldn't you? And no offense, love, you know I mean no harm, but I'm doubting you can be handing out the sickles for that."
Of course, she had a point. Whether Remus would tolerate that or not remained to be seen. "You shouldn't have come," he protested, finally realising that he stood before her in nothing but a blanket. He pulled the fabric more tightly around himself and avoided her eyes.
But she was still staring at him intently. He knew what she was seeing, though he hadn't seen a mirror yet that day. It looked like he'd practically tried to chew his own arm off, his arms and legs hurt from the shortening and lengthening they'd done, and his sides were aching and probably bruised--usually from ramming his own body into the walls in an effort to free himself. "You really ought to go," he protested, shifting under her gaze.
"Remus," Tonks began, in a tone she might have used if speaking with a rebellious child, "I'm not going anywhere except downstairs to get your breakfast. Get dressed."
Though he began to protest again, she gave him a glare with firm, light brown eyes. Closing his mouth, he shut the door quietly behind her. She'd obviously taken great care with picking out what she'd brought him. The trousers weren't familiar. They actually looked newer than any of his own. The jumper was an old one, but heavy and comfortable. She'd even thought to take him the warmest socks he owned.
Despite himself, he was touched by the effort she'd gone through. Changing as quickly as he could manage-he'd done more damage to his arm than he'd thought-he slowly made his way out toward the kitchen. The idea of Tonks cooking brought forth images of his kitchen being a wreck, things burnt, possibly her lying on the floor in pain. Instead he walked in and found her at the stove, stirring a large pot of something that smelled warmly of cinnamon and nutmeg.
She glanced over her shoulder and offered him a small but tired smile. "How're you feeling?" she questioned, spooning the mixture into a bowl and nodding for him to sit down.
"Like hell, honestly," he admitted, pulling back the sleeve of his jumper and reaching for a napkin to dab at the wounds.
Shaking her head, she rushed over, making a grab for the hand reaching for the napkin. "Don't you dare," she chided, taking his opposite wrist gently. "Did a number on that one," she said softly, reaching for a jar he hadn't seen sitting there. Instinct told him to pull his arm away, but her fingers, though soft, held firm.
She made a soft clucking noise with her tongue, vaguely reminiscent of the one his mother had always made when she was babying and coddling him. When he looked up to scold her for it, though, the look on her face was so sincere that he couldn't speak. "Is it always this bad?" she murmured, using a soft cloth to dab the gelatin-like substance on his arm.
Realising she was actually asking and he'd have to reply, Remus shook his head. "Not always. Some months are better than others. The cold months are the worst." It was only August. It shouldn’t have been as bad as all of this, and he knew a lot of it had to do with the goings on in his own life. But for it, every fiber of his body hurt, aches and pains he hadn’t realised he could have. But the throbbing in his arm was soothing already, and the skin he'd ripped at had already stopped swelling. "What is that?"
Tonks tied a bandage around the wound, murmuring a sticking charm to keep it in place. "Mum always used to have some on hand. Apparently when you've a klutz for a child, you tend to heal a lot of injuries. I... Sirius used to say you sometimes came out of this a bit tattered."
At that, the edges of his lips tilted slightly. Sirius would’ve used the exact words, ‘he looks like a sodding hobo off the streets who’s been beaten’. "Just a bit," he acknowledged, admiring her handiwork as she pulled her hand away. "You didn't need to do all this." His words were accompanied by a look of amazement as a bowl of still warm oatmeal was set in front of him.
To his surprise, she dropped a soft kiss against his forehead before he could take a bite. "I know," she told him, amusement flickering in her eyes. "But I wanted to. I love you."
"You don't," he countered, shaking his head. He couldn't let her say it.
But again, she interrupted him. Placed a finger against his lips and nodded down toward his bowl. "Shut up. Just eat. I'll love you if I want to love you."
He did take a bite, but he paused, shaking his head again. "I just don't understand. You went through so much. How did you--?"
"I read the book, you daft, daft man." Tonks rolled her eyes and laughed under her breath. "If I'm going to love a werewolf--and I do, so don't start--I'm going to learn to take care of him."
"I sent you away," he whispered, avoiding her eyes.
But Tonks only grinned. "You did. You usually do. What, you think something silly like your superior, noble attitude is going to keep me away?"