AN: Well, wow. These just keep coming. Damn muse. Just wanted be be sure everybody understands that this is a series of one-shots, not short and badly written chapters. Heh heh.

Many thanks to my reveiwers, especially Aegle, who is my fanfiction heroine.You guys push me to write more, which is evil. :) And a shout out to my lovely friend Katelyn, who upon reading the first two vignettes had this to say:

"For a second, I thought there was a bunch of gay people in Remus Lupin's glove compartment. Worry not, I get it. "

She's laying in the crook of his arm, tracing the scars on his chest so lightly that he can barely feel her touch at all. It occurs to him that he has work to do for the Order, that he should be looking after Harry, that he ought to trying to track down Sape, that he shouldn't be here in her flat.

"When d' think you're finally going to crack, Lupin?" She asked lazily, never stopping her ministrations.

"What now?" He asks hoarsely, wishing he could fall asleep here and not have to face the world ever again. She stops her tracing and lays her hand firmly on his chest.

"When will you admit it, I mean." He opens one eye, catches slight of vividly pink hair and sighs.

"Admit what?"

She sighs mightily, and sits up.

"Bugger, Remus. That you need me." He doesn't say anything for a bit, merely opens his eyes to stare at the ceiling, making a mental note of the water spots. She turns away from him, clambering out the bed and snatching a robe from a pile of laundry on the floor. He turns his head to look at her, to see that she's biting down on her lip again. The robe is far too big for her, and he wishes it didn't make her look so curiously small.

"Right." She whispers, heading for the bedroom door. Or lack thereof, really, he corrects himself, because her door is just a curtain of beads that occasionally catch the sunlight. "Loony Lupin, love's martyr." She laughs softly, and he hates that it's tainted with bitterness. And the beads are starting to part when he lets out a great heaving breath that he hadn't even realized that he'd been holding and says, "Tonks. Don't go." He's thinking he ought to have worded it better, because it's her fucking flat, and he should be the one who leaves it. But then the pieces are sliding together in his head and he realizes he doesn't want to be love's martyr, because martyrs leave behind babies and great gaping voids where there used to laughter and light. He's resigned to the wetness on his cheeks, the silent tears that seem so out of place in Tonk's flat that is so full of color and comfort. She stops, and studies him intently.

"Oh. Remus." And she lets the fucking robe drop to the floor, and is across the room and back under the sheets. He holds her close to him, watching the beads sway back and forth and thanking whatever gods are listening that Tonks didn't give up on him.

For once, he'll let himself fall asleep in her bed and not regret it in the morning, and he wonders if that's what love really is.

AN: You know what's a good song to write Lupin/Tonks to? Here in My Room by Incubus.

This party is old and uninviting
Participants all in black and white
You enter in fullblown technicolor
Nothing is the same after tonight

If the world would fall apart
In a fiction worthy wind
I wouldn't change a thing
Now that you're here

Yeah, love is a verb here in my room
Here in my room, here in my room

You enter and close the door behind you
Now show me the world as seen from the stars
If only the lights would dim a little
I'm weary about eyes upon my scars

Pink tractor beam into your incision
Head spinning as free as dervishs' whirl
I came here expecting next to nothing
So thank you for being that kind of girl
That kind of girl

More one-shots if so compelled by muse and reveiws.