It all started when he came to see her at St. Mungo's. She was lying in one of those horrible beds, one arm splinted and bandages around her head, and he walked in the door.

His smile did it. That slight tilt at the corner of his lips, the way he tried to look cheerful despite the sorrow in his eyes.

"Hello Nymphadora." He said quietly.

And suddenly, her heart stuttered, and her stomach flopped about. "Wotcher, Remus."

She looked so pale, so fragile in the narrow hospital bed. Stark white bandages circled her head, calling attention to the fact that her hair was not, as usual, pink, but a rather mousy brown.

He didn't want to see her like this. Not like this, injured and vulnerable. That wasn't at all his Tonks. His Tonks was bright, inquisitive, and energetic. Not this heartbreakingly young woman whose smile was brittle on the edges.

"May I come in?" He asked.

She gestured with her uninjured hand.

He entered the room and crossed to her bedside, sitting down on a wooden chair that was not suited for his tall frame.

"How are you?" He asked, carefully lacing his hands together in his lap.

"Alright." She shrugged. "At least I didn't do it to meself this time."

His eyes met hers briefly, then dropped to his hands.

He looked so tired, she thought. And too thin. Didn't the man ever eat?

She shifted in the bed, wincing a little. "How're you?"

He heaved a bit of a sigh. "I'll be alright."

Silence. If there was one thing Tonks hated, it was silence. But not with Remus. With him, it was comfortable. Mostly.

"Remus?" Her voice wavered.

He lifted his head. "Tonks?"

"I'm sorry. I'm so sorry. I should have been better, should have been faster. It's my fault Sirius is dead."

Remus gaped at her for a moment. "What?"

"It's my fault. If I had been better, Bellatrix…"

He reached out abruptly to grip her uninjured hand. "No! Tonks. No. It's not your fault at all."

She shook her head.

"Nymphadora." He said softly. "You might have been killed. In fact, when I saw you lying there, I thought…" He trailed off, taking a deep shuddering breath. "It's not your fault. It's war."

He did not let go of her hand, she noticed. Slowly, ever so slowly, she turned her hand over, twining her fingers with his. She didn't dare look at him now, so instead she studied their linked hands.

His hand, long fingered and strong, the back marked faintly with scars. Her hand, what she could see of it, was scraped, her nail polish chipped.

"How long do they plan on keeping you?" He asked.

"Couple days. They're afraid I might do myself a harm if they let me go too soon."

"Ah. Seems they know you well." He replied.

"Wanker." She said, without heat. She sneaked a glance at him.

His eyes were on their hands, his brows drawn together in a slight frown. Then he looked up, catching her gaze.

"I should go. Let you rest." He said abruptly.

"Remus…"

He tugged his hand free and rose, straightening his robes. "Good night, Tonks."

"Will you come see me again?" She blurted.

He seemed to consider for a moment. "If you like."

"Please?" She whispered.

He nodded. "Very well. Tomorrow, then."

He turned and walked away, shutting the door carefully behind him. Then he let out his breath.

What the bleeding hell was he doing? Holding her hand for Merlin's sake. He had no right; no right at all to touch her.