Title: Let Sleeping Wolves Lie
Author: Pheo
Disclaimer: I own nothing.
Summary: Remus would take no pity, not even from her. This was written for the January rt challenge at LiveJournal (prompt 16, "mercy").

She would take pity on him, if she thought it would help.

But Remus would take no pity, not even from her. Curled up, asleep, on the Weasley sofa—an obvious relinquishing of guest quarters in deferral to another, with an even more obvious Molly Weasley extending charm on the worn but comfortable thing—he still dared her to defy him.

Too old.

Merlin, but the gray in his hair stood out tonight. In the twinkling lights of the Weasley tree, it seemed more gray than anything else. His gaunt features seemed so tight and drawn—despite Molly's best efforts, he was rail-thin.

Tonks felt her bottom lip tremble as she stooped, ever so slowly, to drink his image, his scent in—who knew when she would see him next? Did he really think she'd not want to see him on the one occasion he was in town?

Too poor.

She knew he was terribly self-conscious about not being able to afford a present for her; last Christmas, he had half-seriously inquired if he were truly boyfriend material if he couldn't get his girl something shiny for Christmas—to which she, of course, laughed, shimmied in her sparkly off-shoulder top, and announced that she were already shiny enough, thank-you-very-much, but did he happen to have anything chocolaty on his person, by chance?

They'd spent the entire evening kissing, whispering, and caressing beneath the tree, and Tonks couldn't remember a better holiday.

Of course, this year, she wasn't shiny at all.

Too dangerous.

In her melancholy, Tonks had been put in much more danger than she'd been in the previous year. Without her morphing abilities, she was unable to carry out special missions that she'd normally been assigned, and had been placed on dementor duty. While her new patronus gave her comfort, it was still quite difficult to conjure it at all; the young Auror was secretly fearful that one day, in her bleak state, she wouldn't be able to do it, leaving her as a vulnerable dementor treat.

"Nymphadora."

She gasped at Remus' slurred word, nearly tripping over Molly's quite conspicuous sewing basket. Righting herself, she calmed, noting that he was still asleep.

"Yes?" she whispered, both cursing herself and wondering, wondering—

"Love you," he mumbled, releasing a little sigh.

She swallowed hard. "Love you too, Remus."

"Too much," he murmured. "Can't." He let out a deeper sigh, and suddenly his left arm flopped up above his head.

Tonks was sure she would start to cry—Merlin knew she did it enough—but she found herself smiling down at him through blurred vision.

"Tonks, dear!" She spun at Molly's hushed voice.

"Molly." She was immediately swallowed into the woman's warm embrace.

"Did you find the food okay? I'm sorry I had to leave right in the middle of tea like that, but--" The older woman's voice broke as the Auror continued to stare at the man sleeping on the sofa. "You really should wake him, dear. He deserves a piece of your mind."

Tonks grinned at Molly's protective, if cross, words. "No, Molly. The pie was lovely, but I really must run." She kissed her on the cheek and prepared to leave.

At the door, Tonks turned. "When he does wake, Molly—have mercy on him."