Things I Have But Could Have Done Without

Chapter Four - Eye Opener

**************

"Mobilicorpus," I hear Scrimgeour mutter disgustedly, without as much as a warning or acknowledgement to me.

"No, stop! I'm fine!" I say, as he tries to levitate me onto the stretcher against my will.

"Shut up, Tonks! I've got enough to worry about here without having to baby-sit you. Now lie down like a good little girl so we can transport you to the medi-witch."

Goddamn, this is so embarrassing. Of course, I couldn't sustain a heroic injury at the hands of some dark wizard. I have to go and injure myself during routine training exercises. And four days before Christmas. And on the first day in a month Scrimgeour drops by to observe, too. Fuck, I can't believe my luck.

I can see three other Aurors chuckling as I hold onto the bench I'm sitting on in an attempt to prevent myself being lifted. An unsuccessful attempt. Soon I'm on the stretcher and being moved. Just as I accept my fate and lie back, I hear Scrimgeour lay into Kingsley.

"You told me this team was in top form! You've got Aurors down here who that can't even make it through basic drills without sustaining serious injury . . ."

Serious injury? What? It can't be more than a sprain. Fell hard on my ankle after I overcompensated and pulled too hard out of an oncoming body-bind curse. He's acting like it's the end of the world to . . . Oh, shite, that hurts. What the hell is that?! There's a searing pain in my side and all of a sudden I feel like I can't fill my lungs properly. Don't remember taking a hit to the side, though. Starting to feel a bit woozy now. Oh, my God. It's like someone's taking their sweet time about pulling a dull knife through my torso. What the hell did I do now?

**********************

Before I am even fully awake, I know that more is going on with me than just a sprained ankle. I feel like I've been mauled by a chimaera, and my head is pounding to beat the band. Gingerly, I open my eyes and make out a familiar looking Y-shaped crack in the ceiling. What am I doing in my own flat?

"Molly, I think she's waking," comes a quiet, but recognizable voice.

I struggle to sit up, and feel his hands around mine, reassuring me. "Remus?" Ow. Talking is bad. Must not talk.

Through blurry eyes, I see Molly rush over. "Try to lay still, dear. You've had quite a morning."

I settle back down, but look anxiously to Remus. "What the hell happened?"

"You injured your ankle, and you have a broken rib. Just a small break, actually, but the angle was odd. It almost pierced your lung - close call. The healer in Spell Damage wanted to keep you." He's still got my hand in between both of his, making small circles on my wrist.

"They took me all the way in to St. Mungo's?" I groan. I must be the laughingstock of the department, breaking a bloody rib during exercises.

Remus seems to read my thoughts, because he immediately offers, "Tonks, it wasn't your fault. The two aurors involved received written warnings. They were fooling about with unapproved spells and one went off the mark. Caught you from behind, I believe."

"Rogers and Anning?"

"Yes, that sounds right."

"Those tossers. They're always fucking around."

Molly clucks at my language, but Remus just smiles at me. "There, there. That's our little lady." I can't help but smile back, despite my feeling like complete shite.

"How did you get me out of St. Mungo's?"

Molly pipes in, flustered. "We had nothing to do with it. To my mind, you should have stayed there and recovered properly. But Kingsley took it upon himself to get you released. Your parents were listed as emergency contacts, but he told the healers your folks they were out of town for Christmas, and that he'd be responsible for you. Hospital staff transported you, so they couldn't bring you to Grimmauld Place." Good on you, Kingsley. I feel like an arse for ever griping about him.

"Oh, thank Merlin. He knew I'd go spare if they contacted my parents. Mum has a tough time handling the physical part of my job. I owe him one. Makes up for his usually being a pain in my arse."

Remus only nods. "That's how he explained it to us as well. He sent a patronus for us to come. He couldn't stay - he's on duty for the Order tonight. So we came to take over. Or, well, Molly did. I just wanted to make sure you were okay." He makes to rise, but I won't release his hand.

"So, can we go to Number Twelve now, then?" My voice sounds a bit desperate, even to my own ears.

"You're not going anywhere, dear," Molly scoffs. "They sent you home with a potion to heal the rib and the bruise on your lung, but you need to be lying still for the next 24 hours. No more moving around." She's still affronted, presumably on my mother's behalf.

"Here, drink this. This one's just for the headache." And with a stern look, she turns and leaves my bedroom. Again, I look to Remus as I down the potion. He's actually chuckling now, because he too knows the wrath of Molly.

"She's already cleaned your kitchen and bathroom. When you're feeling better, I'm sure she'll have some domestic charms to brush up with you." He's laughing, but I'm not feeling the humor of the situation.

I clutch his hand possessively, and whisper, "Please, Remus, don't leave me alone with her. It will be even worse than my own mother. Can't you stay instead? I'd much rather it was you taking care of me."

His expression softens, but he shakes his head. "Tonks, Molly is much better suited for the job. Someone needs to help you change, and get you to the loo - "

"Ugh, no. I can't bear having Molly doing those things. She's sure to lecture me all night about lying to Mum. I'll go mad. Please, Remus. Stay with me. I will be forever in your debt. Please?"

He rolls his eyes, but I know I've got him. "A talented young auror, forever in my debt? I'm in no position to refuse an offer like that! Let me see what I can do." Only then do I release my death grip on his hand.

A few minutes later, he returns, followed by Molly, who rattles off about five hundred instructions to me. Then, she turns to Remus. "If you two need help, send word right away. Arthur and I will be back to the Burrow this weekend." Then she leaves us. Finally.

Remus plops himself down on the edge of my bed, even though there is a chair in the corner.

"Did you get all that?" I ask him, "Because you're in charge, you know."

"Yes, I think I've got it. But don't even consider being uncooperative or I'll call her right back." Me? Uncooperative? Of course not.

"What did you tell her, anyway?"

"I just told her that she and Arthur should enjoy their night off. First one without Order business in awhile. She seemed to see the benefit in that."

"Oh. Good. They deserve a break." He nods.

We both just sit there for a few quiet moments, before he asks, "So how are you really feeling?"

"A bit better, I guess. The headache's already passing. I'm just sore now. Hurts like hell to sit up."

"Well, then don't. You should probably get some more sleep. In a bit it'll be time for another dose of the potion and then I'll make us something to eat." He then proceeds to tuck me in. He's actually tucking me in.

At the door, he says, "You gave us a bit of a scare today, Tonks. I'm glad you're alright." And indeed, he does look drained. He must have been worried. About me. I think I like that.

******************

This is the most relaxed I've been in ages, I think, lying here on my favourite beach in a very comfortable lounge. It's late afternoon, so it's not too hot, but still my bones all feel comfortably warm and relaxed. Although my eyes are closed, it's easy to identify my surroundings; the distant crashing of the surf, children calling to one another. A gentle breeze brushes the hair from my brow. So slight I can hardly feel it. I could stay on this beach forever.

"Tonks?" I know that voice. What are you doing here, at my beach?

"Tonks?" says the voice again, so softly it's almost a whisper. My eyes flutter open now to see Remus, once again at my bedside. He is gently stroking the hair from my face, and he smiles when he sees me return to the waking world. "Are you hungry yet? I made us some stew."

I can't seem to find my voice, so I croak out, "You made stew? Out of what?" I haven't been here in weeks. There's no food here.

"I just popped out to the market for a bit. Thought you'd need something when you woke up. I'm sorry to wake you even now, but it's late and you're overdue to take your potion. Molly'll have my head." Then, he slides his arm under my back and slowly pulls me up into a sitting position. He hands me the vial, but keeps his other arm in place to steady me.

"Oh. Thanks." The potion is loathsome, of course. And I must be pulling quite a face, because he's grimacing right along with me. He takes the vial back and proceeds to prop me up in the bed.

"Let's eat, then, shall we?" Remus's stew is not to be believed. He just knocked it up, like it was no big deal. Tender chunks of beef, carrots, and potatoes in a mouth-watering dark sauce. Guinness stew, he says. He also picked up some crusty bread, which I am shamelessly using to mop up every last tasty drop. Not very lady-like, I know, but I'm starving.

He helps me to the bathroom afterwards so I can 'freshen up,' and waits just outside for me in case I need help. Initially I scoff at this, but it is actually quite difficult to maneuver. The ache in my side prevents me from standing up completely straight, so I am leaning heavily on my one good foot. Still, I manage to clean my teeth, wash my face, and use the toilet without calling for backup. I am, however, exhausted by this series of events, and grateful for his assistance to get back to the bed. Molly said that I'd feel good as new tomorrow but it's hard to envision, given how I suffer at the moment.

As soon as I am back in bed, Remus throws me for another loop. "Tonks, I think we should try to apply that salve before it gets too late," he calls as he returns from the loo with a couple of clean towels. I'm so impressed that there are clean towels to be found here, that I don't completely process what he said at first.

"Sorry?"

"I was saying that we should get that balm on your injuries."

"What balm?"

"You really weren't paying attention to Molly at all, were you?" Nope.

"No. I told you that was your job," I say, with false penitence. He gives me that what-am-I-going-to-do-with-you look that I'm quite used to receiving from him by now, and proceeds to open a short, fat bell jar.

"So how should we do this? I need to put this all along your ribs where the bruise was, and on your ankle as well," he explains while rolling up his sleeves. You've got to be kidding me. Remus is going to be the one doing the applying? On me?

Must try not to appear as flummoxed as I feel. Why am I feeling flummoxed? It's just Remus.

"Er . . .I suppose if I were to lay on my stomach? Then I could just take this top off, rather than you trying to work around it?" I swear I just saw him swallow harder than necessary as he evaluates this suggestion. Is he nervous? Maybe he really doesn't want to do this, but is just trying to be gracious? Shite.

"I'm sorry, Remus. Is this uncomfortable for you? I didn't know about this when I asked you to stay. Maybe I should have stuck with Molly - "

"No, no. Don't be silly. It's fine." He sits on the bed next to me once more and wraps both arms around my upper body to help me sit up. Oh, my goodness.

Getting changed is going to be problematic, though. I can't exactly lift my arms over my head. Not my left one, anyway. "Sorry. I'm gonna need some help getting this off."

Nodding, he moves a bit down the bed, so he is positioned behind me. Then, he slips his hands under the hem of my shirt at my sides and begins to very gently lift the thin shirt over my head. I can feel the soft hair on his forearms against my bare skin and it makes me shiver. I'm holding my breath. Even though he's behind my back, I sneak a peek at him and observe that his head is turned away. It's lovely how desperately he's trying to be a gentleman. "Tell me when you're ready, Tonks."

It takes me a few laborious seconds to settle back down onto the mattress on my stomach. "All set, then," I say into the side of the pillow. I feel him lean forward to retrieve the jar from the bedside table. When he moves back toward me, however, I hear his sharp intake of breath. I jump instinctively, which is a mistake. "Ow!" Bugger. Sudden movements are not good.

"Oh, Tonks! I'm so sorry I startled you. It's just . . . well, you're so bruised. I wasn't expecting . . ." Though I can't see his face, his voice is so full of distress, worry. And apparently he's forgotten about modesty, because his fingers are immediately touching my side, gently examining the injury without reservation. One of Remus's hands is flat on my back, and the other about two inches from my left breast, which unfortunately is tucked between me and the bed. Unfortunately?

And then before I can muse on it any longer, he starts applying the balm, and all rational thoughts are driven from my head. I was expecting it to smell foul, like every other remedy I've encountered in my long history of physical misfortunes. But it doesn't. It smells like oranges, and maybe sage, and it's warming my skin in the most remarkable way. Or maybe that's just his hands, but, Oh my God. He's got great hands.

I'm surprised at how pleasurable this process is while my body still feels like a bag of bones. But just as I'm thinking this, the balm seems to start taking effect. It feels like it's working its way straight into my body, spreading warmth in its path and leaving relaxation in its wake. And when the pain begins to lessen, I notice that I'm feeling sensations that don't have much to do with injuries. After all, I'm bruised, not dead. And this feels amazing.

Remus has actually slid down to his knees on the floor to position himself better for his task, and I can feel his warm breath on my side, in addition to the movement of his hands. Rather than just dabbing the salve onto the injured area with a finger or two, his technique is to rub it between his palms and then slide them over my skin - along my side, down to my hip, and across to my back. He has fairly large hands, and is covering a big area at once. Although I have no view of this activity, the vision in my head is quite . . . engaging, for lack of a better word.

I'm so glad I can pretend it's the fatigue that is causing me to lie here with my eyes closed and face partially hidden. Because I'm sure if I made eye contact with Remus I'd scare the shite out of him. The ideas that are running through my head at the moment wouldn't be tough to read on my face. Silently I begin to plead with the fates to make this procedure last for at least another hour, when it occurs to me that he's spent a lot longer on this than he probably needed to. Makes me wonder . . .

Stop. I try to think of something to say, to break the intimacy of the scene, and to distract myself from the sensations he's creating with those amazing hands. To keep myself from moaning like some tart.

Luckily, he relieves me of the burden of coming up with something, when he actually does stop. "Okay, I think I've covered this area well. Let's get you dressed so I can have a go at your ankle."

I point him to my closet to retrieve a clean top, and once again he helps me slide it over my head. Then he props me up on my pillows, and I think my heart momentarily stops as he takes my bare leg in his lap.

What's wrong with me? Perhaps the potions are affecting my judgment? This is Remus. My friend. One of the few I have left, at that. Still, the way he touches me, looks at me. And the way he looks: sleeves rolled up to reveal strong forearms with a soft sheen of light brown hair. The way one lock of hair drops forward into his eyes as he leans forward to concentrate on applying the remedy perfectly. Not missing a spot. He's dead sexy. Why have I never noticed any of this before?

I'm stealing little looks at him as he goes about his work, and pondering this, when an unknown ache takes up residence in my chest. Nothing like I've felt before and now truly I'm wondering . . . hell, I don't even know what I'm thinking. And I'm sure he thinks of me the same way they all do. Clumsy, tomboy Tonks. Always good for a laugh; nice kid. And there's the matter of the virtual fortress he's built around himself.

Oh, shite. Didn't realize it, but he's looking at me. Quickly my mind races to come up with something to fill the verbal vacuum.

"I'm sorry for the state of my flat." Better than nothing.

"It's been a while since you've been here." I don't think he means this to be a question, but I nod anyway.

"I've just been in and out to collect some things. Haven't slept here."

I'm surprised at what he asks next. "Is it because being here reminds you of him?"

"Curtis, you mean?"

"Yes."

I think on this a bit before I answer. "I don't think so." He raises his eyebrows in question; a gesture that I assume means for me to continue, so I do. "I mean, yes - I guess at first it felt strange coming back after that whole . . . thing. It felt empty. I mean, I missed him. But, now, I don't know. Just doesn't feel like my space anymore. Does that make sense?"

"Perfect sense," he says quietly. "I haven't been home to my place very often since joining the Order, either." For some reason, this doesn't surprise me as much as it should. I mean, he certainly must have people near home he'd like to see, places to go. And yet, those people, places - they're tied to a past that doesn't really connect with our present situation. What's the point of stopping in to see an old friend when they'd only have questions you can't answer?

He's quiet. Thinking the same thoughts I am, no doubt. Understanding.

He's still spreading the balm around my ankle, down under my heel, and up under the arch of my foot. It's ticklish as hell, but I'll die before I flinch and give him reason to stop. I've had men touch me who were forceful, moving me about as if I were a rag doll. And I've had others who have put their hands on me as if I were made of porcelain, about to break at any moment - even more irritating than the rough ones, if you ask me.

But Remus fits into neither of these groups. His touch is painstakingly gentle. But I don't feel like he thinks I'm fragile. He lifts my foot and holds it with care, but also with confidence. Or reverence, I suppose is a better word. Not as if I'm crystal vase, but maybe a rare book. Something you'd handle with respect and admiration, but not hesitation.

It touches me, and I find that I want to touch him. If that is at all possible.

When he's done, he uses a towel to wipe off the balm and then slides my foot under the covers for me. Again, with the tucking in. Wasn't nearly this sexy when my dad used to do it.

Standing up, he bids me goodnight. My first thought is to object; it feels early to go to sleep. But it's no use. I can't deny that I'm still tired. The potion obviously must contain some type of tranquilizer.

Remus pauses at the door. "I'll just be out on the settee if you need to get up in the night. Do not try to make your way to the washroom by yourself. The potion can't do its work if you exert yourself. Remember, that's why I stayed." And then, smiling, he teases, "Besides, I'll only have to get up anyway when you fall and break your other ankle." And with that, he's gone. Leaving me to drift off to sleep trying to mediate the growing debate between the two confused voices in my head.

**********

When I come around once more, the sun seems pretty high in the sky. It must already be midmorning. For the third time in less than a day, I awake to a surprise. This time it's Remus, in my room, asleep in the chair in the corner. He looks terribly uncomfortable. Don't remember him coming back in.

Cautiously, I begin to stretch, expecting to be met with the searing pain in my upper body I negotiated all day yesterday. But it's not there. I tentatively finger my side and back, and feel only the normal muscles there, flexing and relaxing normally. I'm a bit stiff, to be sure, but by and large the pain itself is gone. Even my ankle seems fairly nimble, as I rotate it around. Feels as if I merely bruised it or something.

Just as I slide around to the side of the bed and place my feet on the floor, Remus wakes with a start. "Tonks! What are you doing?" I can't contain my wide smile at him.

"So stern, Mr Lupin! I'm fine. Really. Potion seems to have worked wonderfully. I feel great. See?" I lift my arms up high over my head and do a little dance. He rolls his smiling eyes at me.

"I swear, Remus, you never used to roll your eyes this much."

"It's a gesture of surrender, Tonks. Sometimes, I just don't know what to make of you." What does that mean?

"What were you doing in here, anyway?" Can't resist asking.

He stammers a bit. "I, er - I was afraid I wouldn't hear you. So I kipped in here, you know, just in case." He looks a bit embarrassed, so I don't pursue it. Instead, I busy myself with cleaning up all the towels, medicines and assorted junk on my night table. Remus moves to help with this task and generally just takes over.

He bends down to retrieve something from the floor, and his head is level with my waist. He's so close to me that I can see every strand of grey in his soft brown hair. Is it as soft as it looks? I would love to find out. For a moment, I wrestle the impulse to reach out and tangle my hands in it; to draw his head the remaining few inches to my abdomen. Distracted by this pleasant thought, I am slow to realize that he's rising back up and is looking at me. When I finally do meet his eyes, I'm surprised at what I find there.

The way he looks down at me; his thoughts are unmistakable. Something is changing between us, I'm sure of it. Something unnamable.

-Tap-tap-tap-

"Oh!"

I feel like a right idiot, as I have actually physically jumped, calling great attention to the fact that I was previously mesmerized. It's just an owl.

As Remus opens the window, I try to regain some composure by turning to make my bed.

Then I hear him mutter, "Oh, God, no - "

"Remus?"

"It's Arthur. He's been attacked."

Oh, no. "Is he alright? I thought he was off duty last night!"

"So did I. All it says is that he's at St. Mungo's, but you and I have different orders. Dumbledore wants me to come to him, and you are to return to Headquarters right away."

"I'll get my things."

"I'll help."

I throw on clothes while he packs up my bag. He looks at me, concerned. "Feel alright to apparate?"

"Yeah. Really, I feel fine."

He nods. "Let's go."