(no subject)
Title: Taking the Cure
Author: Nikkita (nfwbls)
Format & Word Count: ficlet, 702 words
Rating: G
Prompt: #3 (buoyant)
Warnings: angst
Summary: Remus takes the waters
Author's Note: "Taking the waters" or "Taking the cure" was a common practice among the elite in England in the 18th century and referred to spa retreats in Bath to partake of its curative waters. This piece is strongly inspired by a dream sequence in Battlestar Galactica involving Lee Adama during the midseason multi-parter (it is not, however, a dream sequence).
He floats on his back in the drifting sea, staring up at the blue sky. The sun is high and bright, highlighting the paleness of his body against the murky water. In Britain he would already have been pink as a lobster, but here, fourteen hundred feet below sea level, the sun is kinder.
His heart thrums in his ears, magnified by the water into a slow echo that drowns out all other sound. The limitless sky above, the viscous water underneath pushing at his limbs and the drum of his blood comprise the entirety of his world at this moment, an isolation of the senses at once magnificent and unsettling. He feels as if he could float like this for a millennium and yet, simultaneously, he has an irresistible urge to break the silence and make human contact.
"Nymphadora? Did you know that the Dead Sea averages 330 days of sunshine a year?" As soon as he speaks he regrets it. The water acts as a damper, turning his voice harsh and tinny and underscoring his solitude, making him feel foolish. He doesn't expect her to answer; he's drifted too far away from her to be heard.
"You know I hate it when you call me Nymphadora."
Ah, so not too far after all.
"Sorry." There's more regret in the word than his slip up warrants. He knows she's unhappy with him and he tries to make amends. "It's very peaceful here, isn't it?"
"It reeks."
"Well, yes, I'm afraid the smell is rather strong. I'm sorry."
She laughs, accepting his apology. "It is rather beautiful, in a weird and barren way. It must have looked very strange to you when you were little."
When Remus was ten, his parents had taken him to the Dead Sea in search of cure for lycanthropy. The water had terrified him then; its thick greasy feel and the lurking lifelessness of the sediment below had given him nightmare upon nightmare, and the wizard who swore that submersion in its muddy depths would drive out the curse had had to drag Remus kicking and screaming into the sea and hold his head under the waves with both hands until he'd lost consciousness.
His Tonks was already quite familiar with the story, so Remus says nothing, content to bask in the water and her renewed good will. His lapse into silence brings a return of that smothering isolation, but her presence makes it bearable.
"I'm sorry I fought you for so long about coming here," she says quietly. "I should have listened to you sooner."
He snorts. "You never listen to me, even when you know I'm right. No, especially when you know I'm right."
"'Too old, too poor, too dangerous?' You're not going to start on that old riff again, are you?"
"It was true."
"Only the last bit, and none of it matters anymore."
He sighs and stares hard at the sun which is dipping towards the horizon, letting its intensity sting his eyes. "No, none of it matters anymore."
Her voice is hesitant. "You know, if I were really here, I'd be telling you not to do this. I'd say something like 'I forgive you, so you should forgive yourself.'"
"You only think you'd say that because you're the part of me that idealizes Tonks as eternally optimistic and unfailingly kind. I'm sure she'd say something like 'Snap out of it, you stupid git.'"
"Would you have listened to her?" His Tonks sounds a little wistful, a little jealous.
"No. No more than she listened to me when I told her that if I ever got loose, she should kill first, ask questions later. We were never much good at listening to each other, I'm afraid."
He feels the wind shift over his skin and notices the sky has darkened to sapphire. Pretty soon the moon will rise. "It's time," he says quietly. He murmurs the incantation - it's a particularly complicated one that he's spent the last few months mastering - and the density of his bones increases until they're the weight of lead. At first the water resists, but eventually even the Dead Sea yields to the pressure of his body and he sinks through the chemical soup into the poisoned depths below, cured of his curse at last.
Author: Nikkita (nfwbls)
Format & Word Count: ficlet, 702 words
Rating: G
Prompt: #3 (buoyant)
Warnings: angst
Summary: Remus takes the waters
Author's Note: "Taking the waters" or "Taking the cure" was a common practice among the elite in England in the 18th century and referred to spa retreats in Bath to partake of its curative waters. This piece is strongly inspired by a dream sequence in Battlestar Galactica involving Lee Adama during the midseason multi-parter (it is not, however, a dream sequence).
He floats on his back in the drifting sea, staring up at the blue sky. The sun is high and bright, highlighting the paleness of his body against the murky water. In Britain he would already have been pink as a lobster, but here, fourteen hundred feet below sea level, the sun is kinder.
His heart thrums in his ears, magnified by the water into a slow echo that drowns out all other sound. The limitless sky above, the viscous water underneath pushing at his limbs and the drum of his blood comprise the entirety of his world at this moment, an isolation of the senses at once magnificent and unsettling. He feels as if he could float like this for a millennium and yet, simultaneously, he has an irresistible urge to break the silence and make human contact.
"Nymphadora? Did you know that the Dead Sea averages 330 days of sunshine a year?" As soon as he speaks he regrets it. The water acts as a damper, turning his voice harsh and tinny and underscoring his solitude, making him feel foolish. He doesn't expect her to answer; he's drifted too far away from her to be heard.
"You know I hate it when you call me Nymphadora."
Ah, so not too far after all.
"Sorry." There's more regret in the word than his slip up warrants. He knows she's unhappy with him and he tries to make amends. "It's very peaceful here, isn't it?"
"It reeks."
"Well, yes, I'm afraid the smell is rather strong. I'm sorry."
She laughs, accepting his apology. "It is rather beautiful, in a weird and barren way. It must have looked very strange to you when you were little."
When Remus was ten, his parents had taken him to the Dead Sea in search of cure for lycanthropy. The water had terrified him then; its thick greasy feel and the lurking lifelessness of the sediment below had given him nightmare upon nightmare, and the wizard who swore that submersion in its muddy depths would drive out the curse had had to drag Remus kicking and screaming into the sea and hold his head under the waves with both hands until he'd lost consciousness.
His Tonks was already quite familiar with the story, so Remus says nothing, content to bask in the water and her renewed good will. His lapse into silence brings a return of that smothering isolation, but her presence makes it bearable.
"I'm sorry I fought you for so long about coming here," she says quietly. "I should have listened to you sooner."
He snorts. "You never listen to me, even when you know I'm right. No, especially when you know I'm right."
"'Too old, too poor, too dangerous?' You're not going to start on that old riff again, are you?"
"It was true."
"Only the last bit, and none of it matters anymore."
He sighs and stares hard at the sun which is dipping towards the horizon, letting its intensity sting his eyes. "No, none of it matters anymore."
Her voice is hesitant. "You know, if I were really here, I'd be telling you not to do this. I'd say something like 'I forgive you, so you should forgive yourself.'"
"You only think you'd say that because you're the part of me that idealizes Tonks as eternally optimistic and unfailingly kind. I'm sure she'd say something like 'Snap out of it, you stupid git.'"
"Would you have listened to her?" His Tonks sounds a little wistful, a little jealous.
"No. No more than she listened to me when I told her that if I ever got loose, she should kill first, ask questions later. We were never much good at listening to each other, I'm afraid."
He feels the wind shift over his skin and notices the sky has darkened to sapphire. Pretty soon the moon will rise. "It's time," he says quietly. He murmurs the incantation - it's a particularly complicated one that he's spent the last few months mastering - and the density of his bones increases until they're the weight of lead. At first the water resists, but eventually even the Dead Sea yields to the pressure of his body and he sinks through the chemical soup into the poisoned depths below, cured of his curse at last.