"I know," Remus answered. He'd already come to terms with that. Or he thought he had. He wasn't unhappy about the baby. Just. . . worried. And restlessly uncertain in a way that made him turn in on himself. Remus was very good at picking apart all the ways things could go wrong, and at finding all the ways they could go wrong because of him.
"Then I want to be there," Remus answered simply. And that much he could say with utter honesty. Whatever hsi doubts - and he had many - about his own fitness as a father figure, and what he had to offer a child, and the wisdom of someone with his condition being around children - he did want that.
The rest of the questions made him flinch, shabby shoulders of his coat wrinkling as he drew them together. "I didn't go off to snog him purposely. It was a bit of fun with the twins - just drinking one under the table. They remind me of James, and Sirius, and Peter and I, and the things we got up to. It wasn't meant to be more than that. Nostalgia for the days when I got pissed and stupid, I suppose." He hadn't gone there with the intention of doing anything. "You did nothing wrong. And no, I wasn't unhappy. I was happier with you than I've been in a very long time. You were - are - someone amazing who made me feel. . . more like myself, I suppose."
He rubbed a hand through his hair. "I don't know," he admitted. "I wanted to marry you, for the most part. But there was part of me that just. . . wasn't sure. There's always a part of me that doubts, Tonks. And wonders. And you deserve someone who doesn't question the way that I do. Someone who. . . wouldn't do what I did." Throw her away because of a few drinks and a nagging certainty that he wasn't meant to end up with anyone.