Ficlet: Little Habits (Rufus/Tonks, PG)
Apr. 11th, 2008 05:55 pm![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
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rarepair_shortsTitle: Little Habits
Pairing: Rufus/Tonks
Prompt: Idiosyncrasies
Rating: PG
Word Count: 1074
Summary: In which Tonks has a twitch, and proceeds to make life much harder for Rufus.
Author's Notes: You'll want to have read Midweek and Office Politics beforehand.
Link to Prompt Table: [link]
Tonks had an oral fixation. She was always chewing at her quill while writing, or gnawing on her lower lip, or peeling the skin from her cuticles with her teeth. Occasionally Rufus found these traits endearing, but mostly it annoyed him; he didn’t like disorder in his world, and her inability to sit still combined with the raw skin on her fingers and the contorted feathers of her quills drove him absolutely bloody insane. In his mind, it was just one step from minor disarray to total anarchy. And he couldn’t have that.
(Rufus himself had a slight issue with control, or rather the concept that anyone but he could ever have any. Although naturally, trying to force him to admit it was an impossibility, rather like trying to force a lion into eating a garden salad instead of a zebra. It was unnatural for either to appear dainty or weak.)
Right now she was rocking slightly in her chair while poking her lip resolutely with the tip of her quill. It left a black dot of ink, which marred the symmetry of her small, pouting mouth, with the added effect of giving Rufus an excuse to stare at her lips without getting labeled a letch (or, of course, forcing him to acknowledge the fact that there actually were more reasons to look at her other than her asymmetry in his perfectly catalogued office).
“Auror Tonks,” he said, with a slight sigh. “If you don’t wipe the ink off your lip I’ll throw you out of my office. It’s unprofessional.”
“But sir, you haven’t given me paperwork in almost four months,” she said, taking her eyes off her documents and shooting him a grin. “I’ll go crazy without things to file.”
Rufus merely raised an eyebrow at her, an expression he had practiced on young recruits and junior Aurors for years. Sometimes the combination of his disturbingly yellow eyes and his uncanny ability to keep perfectly still for extended periods of time made them cower. It didn’t quite have the same effect on Tonks (but then again, Rufus thought resignedly, nothing I do does); she wiped the smear off with the back of her hand and continued watching him with an odd little grin on her face.
It evolved into a game of break-the-silence, since Rufus certainly wasn’t going to ask her just what she thought she was doing, and Tonks seemed to have no inclination to do anything but make him uncomfortable. Which she was skilled at; now that she was a true Auror, tested in the field and therefore not someone he could boss around (as much), she’d been sent out on missions and they hadn’t had lunch together in several months. Once, while eating curry in his office and going over paperwork late at night, he felt an odd stab of melancholy at the thought of her and wondered if he was lonely. He dismissed the thought immediately and stuffed it under the rug of his subconscious, along with the other things that made him uneasy.
“You know what you need?” she said, breaking the silence at last. Rufus considered, decided it was a rhetorical question and chose not to answer.
Tonks fidgeted, and Rufus appeased her by saying, “No. But I assume you’re going to enlighten me.”
“You need some disorder in your life!” Tonks delivered this death threat with a level of cheeriness Rufus found highly inappropriate for the situation.
“No,” he said, quite firmly. “I really don’t.”
Tonks took her quill, snapped most of the feather off, and laid it gently on his desk. Rufus stared at it, quite nonplussed.
“See?” she said happily. “Not so bad, is it?”
Rufus gave her a look that attempted to be scathing but ended up more amused, picked up the feather between two fingers, and dropped it in the trash bin.
“Ooh, that’s playing dirty,” she teased.
“This is just one of the many ways I can,” Rufus insinuated back. This was one of several comebacks he would have liked to have made, none of them exactly appropriate, but he couldn’t resist the opportunity to make Tonks discomfited, as she so often did to him.
She flushed, which was rather satisfying, but then she dared to reach across his desk, pluck a sheaf of paper from his files, and drop them. They scattered (in an area with an approximate diameter of three feet, but that was three feet too many for Rufus) and Tonks snickered at the expression on his face. He raised his eyes and held hers, distinctly unamused, but then she laughed and caught her lower lip between her teeth (one of those endearing habits he’d been thinking about).
Rufus felt an odd flicker of emotion, one he was very uncomfortable with, and shooed it away with a wave of his hand.
“It’s almost one,” he said, to cover up the inane gesture. “You should get back to your desk, shouldn’t you?”
“Hmm,” she replied, eyes following his hand as he lowered it to his desk. “I suppose so. But I’ll help you to clear up the papers, shall I?”
“I fear your organizational skills,” Rufus said dryly. “I think I’ll manage.”
Something danced across her expression; for a moment she looked taken aback, but she beamed at him and said, “If that’s what you want, okay. Oh, and thanks for lunch!”
Tonks exited with little fanfare, her pink hair winking at him before she turned the corner. He could hear her traipsing down the hallway with her usual grace, calling out to another Auror: “Wotcher, Rita!”
Rufus stood for a moment in contemplation, something he rarely did; he was much more a believer in action as opposed to introspection. With a gesture of his wand, his papers fluttered together and filed themselves neatly, dropping back on his desk with a thunk. The head of the Auror department seated himself and got back to work. It was what he was good at, really, now that he was (a cripple, the bitter, self-loathing part of his psyche hissed) unable to chase down criminals in the field, like his younger Aurors.
Later, Rufus marked his place in the thick document he was perusing and dug the feather out of the trash bin. He placed it across the front of his desk, a wild departure from the neat, orderly rows of ink vials and fountain pens. It stayed there for months.
Pairing: Rufus/Tonks
Prompt: Idiosyncrasies
Rating: PG
Word Count: 1074
Summary: In which Tonks has a twitch, and proceeds to make life much harder for Rufus.
Author's Notes: You'll want to have read Midweek and Office Politics beforehand.
Link to Prompt Table: [link]
Tonks had an oral fixation. She was always chewing at her quill while writing, or gnawing on her lower lip, or peeling the skin from her cuticles with her teeth. Occasionally Rufus found these traits endearing, but mostly it annoyed him; he didn’t like disorder in his world, and her inability to sit still combined with the raw skin on her fingers and the contorted feathers of her quills drove him absolutely bloody insane. In his mind, it was just one step from minor disarray to total anarchy. And he couldn’t have that.
(Rufus himself had a slight issue with control, or rather the concept that anyone but he could ever have any. Although naturally, trying to force him to admit it was an impossibility, rather like trying to force a lion into eating a garden salad instead of a zebra. It was unnatural for either to appear dainty or weak.)
Right now she was rocking slightly in her chair while poking her lip resolutely with the tip of her quill. It left a black dot of ink, which marred the symmetry of her small, pouting mouth, with the added effect of giving Rufus an excuse to stare at her lips without getting labeled a letch (or, of course, forcing him to acknowledge the fact that there actually were more reasons to look at her other than her asymmetry in his perfectly catalogued office).
“Auror Tonks,” he said, with a slight sigh. “If you don’t wipe the ink off your lip I’ll throw you out of my office. It’s unprofessional.”
“But sir, you haven’t given me paperwork in almost four months,” she said, taking her eyes off her documents and shooting him a grin. “I’ll go crazy without things to file.”
Rufus merely raised an eyebrow at her, an expression he had practiced on young recruits and junior Aurors for years. Sometimes the combination of his disturbingly yellow eyes and his uncanny ability to keep perfectly still for extended periods of time made them cower. It didn’t quite have the same effect on Tonks (but then again, Rufus thought resignedly, nothing I do does); she wiped the smear off with the back of her hand and continued watching him with an odd little grin on her face.
It evolved into a game of break-the-silence, since Rufus certainly wasn’t going to ask her just what she thought she was doing, and Tonks seemed to have no inclination to do anything but make him uncomfortable. Which she was skilled at; now that she was a true Auror, tested in the field and therefore not someone he could boss around (as much), she’d been sent out on missions and they hadn’t had lunch together in several months. Once, while eating curry in his office and going over paperwork late at night, he felt an odd stab of melancholy at the thought of her and wondered if he was lonely. He dismissed the thought immediately and stuffed it under the rug of his subconscious, along with the other things that made him uneasy.
“You know what you need?” she said, breaking the silence at last. Rufus considered, decided it was a rhetorical question and chose not to answer.
Tonks fidgeted, and Rufus appeased her by saying, “No. But I assume you’re going to enlighten me.”
“You need some disorder in your life!” Tonks delivered this death threat with a level of cheeriness Rufus found highly inappropriate for the situation.
“No,” he said, quite firmly. “I really don’t.”
Tonks took her quill, snapped most of the feather off, and laid it gently on his desk. Rufus stared at it, quite nonplussed.
“See?” she said happily. “Not so bad, is it?”
Rufus gave her a look that attempted to be scathing but ended up more amused, picked up the feather between two fingers, and dropped it in the trash bin.
“Ooh, that’s playing dirty,” she teased.
“This is just one of the many ways I can,” Rufus insinuated back. This was one of several comebacks he would have liked to have made, none of them exactly appropriate, but he couldn’t resist the opportunity to make Tonks discomfited, as she so often did to him.
She flushed, which was rather satisfying, but then she dared to reach across his desk, pluck a sheaf of paper from his files, and drop them. They scattered (in an area with an approximate diameter of three feet, but that was three feet too many for Rufus) and Tonks snickered at the expression on his face. He raised his eyes and held hers, distinctly unamused, but then she laughed and caught her lower lip between her teeth (one of those endearing habits he’d been thinking about).
Rufus felt an odd flicker of emotion, one he was very uncomfortable with, and shooed it away with a wave of his hand.
“It’s almost one,” he said, to cover up the inane gesture. “You should get back to your desk, shouldn’t you?”
“Hmm,” she replied, eyes following his hand as he lowered it to his desk. “I suppose so. But I’ll help you to clear up the papers, shall I?”
“I fear your organizational skills,” Rufus said dryly. “I think I’ll manage.”
Something danced across her expression; for a moment she looked taken aback, but she beamed at him and said, “If that’s what you want, okay. Oh, and thanks for lunch!”
Tonks exited with little fanfare, her pink hair winking at him before she turned the corner. He could hear her traipsing down the hallway with her usual grace, calling out to another Auror: “Wotcher, Rita!”
Rufus stood for a moment in contemplation, something he rarely did; he was much more a believer in action as opposed to introspection. With a gesture of his wand, his papers fluttered together and filed themselves neatly, dropping back on his desk with a thunk. The head of the Auror department seated himself and got back to work. It was what he was good at, really, now that he was (a cripple, the bitter, self-loathing part of his psyche hissed) unable to chase down criminals in the field, like his younger Aurors.
Later, Rufus marked his place in the thick document he was perusing and dug the feather out of the trash bin. He placed it across the front of his desk, a wild departure from the neat, orderly rows of ink vials and fountain pens. It stayed there for months.
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Date: 2008-04-12 06:33 pm (UTC)“You need some disorder in your life!” Tonks delivered this death threat with a level of cheeriness Rufus found highly inappropriate for the situation.
♥
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Date: 2008-05-20 06:29 pm (UTC)