the old grind.

[TED ASHER TONKS]

this is not what i intended

ted didn't really ask for much in life. just - a nice greeting when he got home or even really - a non-violent greeting when he walked into the kithcen to find his wife doing the dishes. or rather, flinging the dishes about violently as he walked through the door. there was no warning, simply a plate flying his direction at the same moment he walked in. really, they were probably compeltely unrelated. she might just - not have liked that plate or something. he'd just - come home at a really bad time or something. to see a plate sailing toward a wall and shattering. you know. no big deal.

"you see normally, that woulda been my fault." he said, casually as he took his wand out of his pocket and repaired the plate, settling it on the table as he shook his head. "but i've only just gotten home and i literally could not have made you that mad in the last five seconds." he'd gone over a list of things he could've done wrong, things they might be fighting over - on his way home. and there wasn't actually much on that list. which meant that, well, this plate thing wasn't his fault. not directly anyways. "and i assume, perhaps wrongly, that you weren't aiming for me, because you've got much better aim than that. wouldn't have married you if you didn't." because good aim was such a good trait in a spouse. "which means it probably just slipped, yeah?" he was giving her an opening and silently begging her to take it as he swept into the kitchen, taking his place by her side and casually shoving a handful of flowers her direction. it was clumsy and the flowers were sort of crumpled because he'd dropped them on the way home, but it was the thought that counted wasn't it? he didn't even think they had a vase to put them in, because they weren't really - the flower type. but he'd felt the need to do something special and it seemed that his hunch that he'd need the extra brownie points that evening was right.

"do you want me to go? i'm rather good at finding excuses for not being here. we've got the kid. i can set something on fire and go put it out. i can just walk away and you can yell at me for not letting you throw things at me. really the possibilities are endless." this was clearly the night for him to be the punching bag. and if he had to, he was perfectly willing to stand around and wait for it to all come his direction.

ANDROMEDA NEREID TONKS

[ANDROMEDA NEREID TONKS]

Today had been going so well, too. It really had been a fantastic day for her – she’d woken up just a bit before Dora had, and the house was utterly quiet. Ted had already gone, and she’d just spent a few minutes putzing around, mug of coffee in hand. It was just nice, to have a few moments completely and utterly to herself. And then Dora had woken up, sweet as can be, and they’d spent the morning playing and Dromeda had even had the opportunity to make a really nice lunch for the both of them – grilled cheese with tomato soup, served with pumpkin juice. It may have been simple, but it was great. And then there had been the clean up – of the kitchen and of Dora, of course – and before she knew it, it was coming up on time for Ted to come home.

Today was her day off. Usually, she made plans for her days off – at least until a time when both of them would just be too tired to fight, or it would at least wake up Dora. But it was such a golden opportunity to tuck in her baby girl, read her a bedtime story. To actually be there for bath time and dinner. And today had been such a good day – maybe things could be different. She thought that way sometimes, usually when Dora had been a little angel all day and when things were just going so well. But then Dora had gone down for a nap and she had decided to do a little extra cleaning in the kitchen. While she tried to keep on top of it – and Ted did too, she knew that, she couldn’t blame him for not taking up slack around the house – sometimes the dishes did stack up a bit. She’d already done the pots and pans and the things from lunch – but the second half of the sink was a bit inundated with the remainders from previous meals.

She could have just done it with magic. She could have. She should have – she was a whiz with cleaning charms, after all. If she’d just done it by magic, none of this would have happened. None of it. But as she was having a good day, she felt like doing it by hand. Putting some elbow grease into it, as they say. That was supposed to be more satisfying, wasn’t it? Except the dish clattered against a knife and—it got chipped. And one thing led to another and then the two wineglasses shattered—the bowl cracked—everything went to hell. And then so did her temper. She started flinging the remains about the kitchen, barely suppressing a furious yell. She could clean it all up later, but for now she needed to throw a temper—

Of course. Of course he would come home now. Her temper spiked further. Her eyes narrowed as he spoke. She was rather proud of herself as she replied in even tones. ”You would be surprised.” Why did she say that? None of it was his fault. None of it at all. And twenty minutes ago – she’d been happy. Even thinking that maybe they’d have a nice night as a family for the first time in – well. Certainly in Dora’s memory, as such. She sighed, and dragged a hand through her hair. ”There was an incident, washing the dishes. Just a fit of the temper.” She glanced at the repaired plate, remembered the crack. ”I was going to clean it up after.” She felt like a petulant child, explaining the unfortunate tantrum. She wished her temper wasn’t quite so wild. She wished she could be better at – all of this.

She wondered, often, how her husband managed to be such a flirt – even in the face of shattering china. It was rather impressive, really. Not that she’d ever tell him so. And then he gave her flowers. God, she was such a bitch. ”Um. Thank you.” She felt awkward, taking flowers from her husband. She shouldn’t. He was her husband, for Merlin’s sake. And yet she did. Why did they have to be so screwed up? She took them anyway, and it just… it made her feel better. She didn’t know why, or how. And they made her feel a little guilty, too, but that was normal for her anymore. ”No—don’t. Don’t do that.” She looked at him, tilting her head, trying to decide. ”Don’t go running off. The—the fit’s over. Sorry about the plate.” Apologies. That wasn’t much like them, was it? Apologies and flowers and truces. ”How do you feel at trying to pretend to be a normal family for the night?” She smiled – taking that step to meet him, even as she deeply inhaled the scent of the flowers she was clutching.

TED ASHER TONKS