Thicker than Water (Marauders Era) PART II

19 June, 1996 - Processing (II)

Remus was quietly, selfishly glad when Lavinia didn't say anything at all for the rest of the night. Of course, the minute he thought that he felt terribly guilty because Merlin knew her silence was only because she was hurting right now. Which was exactly why he hadn't wanted to talk about this with her. And exactly why he was glad she'd decided to go to stay silent on the matter.

Because though he had known she would have told him otherwise, he had also known that talking to Lavinia about love... Well. It felt like a recipe for disaster. Like one too many ticking time bombs all lumped into a single bad idea. And all it would take was for one of them to go off. One thing to send her over the edge. Just one. And whether that was the fight he knew she'd put up over his reasoning or the lack of transparency as this whole thing had bloomed and died before his eyes or the grief that he knew was still too fresh, it didn't matter. Because one of them would set off all the others and the resulting spiral wouldn't do anyone any good.

Better, he had decided, to stay quiet. Because he also knew that he was right about his decision. It was one thing to live with Lavinia but another thing entirely to let himself fall in love. To risk someone else's life. And if it got far enough that she ever wanted children... no he was absolutely not going to risk that. And it was better to crack Tonks's heart now then to shatter it later when he had already let it get too far. Which was was why, for his whole damn life, Remus had run from the idea of loving anyone like that. Every time he'd felt even the tiniest hint of something that might have been attraction, he had shoved it aside and pushed it away and made absolutely certain to avoid the person who had caused it. Because it was easier that way. And as the years had gone on, he had convinced himself that it was better that way. Better for everyone.

And he had known as he had spent more and more time with Tonks that he should have stopped. He should have held back. He should have walked away and kept it from ever getting this far, but she was funny and quirky and joyful and Remus had loved being able to run away from this house that was dark and quiet and full of that silent, aching thing he and Lavinia never talked about. That thing they had both lost.

It wasn't that the silence hadn't offered its own kind of comfort. It had. Because Lavinia understood the grief. And she didn't press him about it. She just... took care of him. As she always had. Like it was second nature to her.

She loved him easily and quietly and there was never any need to say it out loud. Because they both knew it. They both showed it. And neither ever had to ask the other for anything because they understood each other in a way Remus supposed two people who had lived together for nearly two decades must.

She understood when he was silent and couldn't get out of his own head. When the days and nights were long and nightmares chased him from sleep. When he couldn't bear the full moon alone. And more than that, she did something about it. She accepted the silence. She stayed up in the wee hours. And when, trapped in that body with fur and claws, his grief had redoubled at the reminder of all the ways Sirius had helped him over the years, she had been there, silent and gentle, with hands that never hesitated, never flinched, no matter what skin he wore. Because taking care of him... it was what Lavinia did.

But it was not what Tonks did. In so many ways, the two of them were polar opposites. Lavinia was quiet, contemplative and prone to getting stuck in her head. And she treated him gently, with the sort of softness he had never been sure he deserved. She never questioned who he was, never hesitated about his illness. She just... took care of it. Took care of him.

But Tonks... Tonks treated him like the lycanthropy really did mean nothing. She didn't coddle him, didn't bend over backwards to take care of him the way Lavinia did. She treated him like he was just another human being. Like his issues were his to handle and his to bring up and he would ask for help if he needed it. She laughed often and thoughtlessly, frequently doing things before she'd completely considered the consequences. And when he was around her, it was like the grief disappeared. Like he might really be just that normal person she seemed so convinced he was.