From the Truth

When they were in school, Remus had secretly delighted in the times he'd been able to wring a laugh out of a moody Sirius Black. James had made an art of making those around him whoop with laughter, and Peter had always had a gift of telling jokes so laced with innuendo that all those within hearing distance blushed madly while chuckling.

Remus, however, had never had James' smug confidence or Peter's careless abandon. To achieve his goal, he'd had to rely on carefully timed, wry comments and surprise witticisms that caught Sirius unawares. His successes - Sirius' bright smile and bold, deep laugh - filled him with warmth, and no small amount of pride.

But they were no longer schoolchildren, and the world had changed greatly from those simpler days. Now, the laughter that had once been a prize to be won was little more than another obstacle.

The laughter mocked him. It poked and pried and snuck up to catch him unsuspecting and punch him in the gut, a low, cold reminder of the distance that had grown between them.

Subtle at first, the result of attempts at breaking long silences and distracting from uncomfortable conversations, Sirius' jokes had grown in both frequency and spite. Any prolonged periods spent alone with him – though such precious times were increasingly rare in the growing madness of the war – inevitably ended in hurt feelings and unanswered questions - and unresolved suspicions.

Remus came to dread both the times when they were quarreling and the times they weren't. When they weren't blistering the air with a row, they suffered through long stretches of stony silence.

The laughter was sneaky and mean, and these days, plentiful. Sirius hated showing weakness, so any emotion he associated with it he replaced with sarcasm and sly, cutting insults.

They couldn't speak to each other as themselves anymore; their true identity was clouded by the shadows of their other roles: soldier, godfather, wizard, half-blood, rebel, werewolf, and protector.

Gone were the handsome, promising youths, and in their place stood older, less trusting wizards. And with that transition, so much had been lost.

Regret churned in Remus' chest as he ate yet another cold dinner while standing at the counter staring at his own tired and haggard reflection in the window. He would leave in the morning to follow orders that he couldn't share with a single soul, and he didn't know when – if – he would return.

Or what he would return to. He'd noticed a thin welt on Sirius' shoulder as the other man had emerged from the bath that morning with only a towel wrapped carelessly at his waist. Remus had stared at it, wondering when Sirius' had received it, and why he hadn't known about it before, but Sirius had avoided his gaze and locked himself in the bedroom to brood.

Remus undressed and climbed into bed. The figure in the bed slept with his back to the door, and Remus didn't rub his hands down Sirius' back as had once been his habit. He would not be the first to reach out, not this time. He simply turned his back, and slept.

"What's happened to us?" Hands thrown up in the air in anger, and then drawn through hair gone wild from lack of a proper cut. "What?"

"Why don't you tell me? You seem to be the only one with any answers at the moment!" Anger curled Sirius' lips and hid the handsomeness of his face.

"I don't! I don't have /i any i right now!" Remus put a hand to the bridge of his nose and pressed, hard. In a calmer tone, he continued, "We used to have something, Sirius. Something that kept us together, helped us through this crap-"

Sirius interrupted with a derisive snort and angry retort, "What? Blind, stupid trust? Faith that we were doing the right thing? Love? Is that what you're talking about, Remus? What happened to love? Well why don't you tell me? Huh? Tell me! Do you still love me?"

Remus merely stared at him, refusing to bare his belly, in the face of such anger and contempt, when he had no idea if Sirius still suffered from the same foolish vulnerability.

And he was afraid of the answers, Sirius'… and his.

It was barely morning when dandelion-soft kisses woke him and slender-fingered hands traced patterns on his stomach. Gray eyes implored him to lose himself to their feverish call. For that moment, that time just after waking before the real world set itself to rights within his mind, Remus felt peace, lust, and something more. His lips and hands sought Sirius and pleasured in the simple contact.

And then reality and common sense reasserted themselves and Remus pulled away with wide eyes. Tearing his eyes away from Sirius' face, he looked to the mantle, searching for the clock that stood there.

Early, but still not enough time. His indrawn breath was answered by a gentle shushing as a hand curled around his side and Sirius' lips claimed his.

Too long a wait...

He relented without another thought. Unleashing himself into pools of gray, pushing aside thoughts of truth and reality and the them of recent months, Remus surrendered to now. This phantom pair made up of searching fingers and curling toes, playful nips and tireless caresses. And silence broken only by increasingly harsh breathing and the occasional squeak of a worn bedspring.

Afterward, he clung to that sweaty, wonderful body, and memorized every breath, every touch, and every taste. He stored them away for later. When he returned, he wouldn't be able to suffer the biting words and jaded laughter without the balancing salve of this morning's memories.

They were both aware that it was past time for him to have left, and instead of the doubts or voices raised in frustration, there were these stolen moments.

The first truly happy time of just being them in months, unsullied by suspicion and war and death, had just occurred… and he needed to go.

Can we only appreciate this, each other, when we are risking it being the last time?

The hidden truth of that thought gnawed him. This is so fucked up...

And so he laughed, and shook his head against Sirius' shoulder. It was the only things he could do to keep himself from shouting and releasing every pent up emotion he's been saving for months – no, years - to rail at fate, time, and Voldemort.

And with that laugh, the spell was broken. Sirius pulled away from Remus and sat up, staring in disbelief, as Remus' laughter darkened and trailed off. He clearly didn't recognize his own manner of coping coming from the face of another.

He stood up and left the room, leaving Remus to dress alone.

The darkness of the very early morning still clung to this side of the house, away from the barest hint of the coming sunrise. Remus could see Sirius' dark figure in the doorway, framed by the light from within. Arms crossed, one shoulder leaning against the frame, head tilted just so.

Arrogant, certainly. And cocky, without a doubt. But also watchful and worried, but unwilling to reveal those treacherous feelings to the world. To do so would admit vulnerability, and the great Sirius Black had none.

So very Sirius.

Remus knew Sirius would remain there until he had gone, and so Remus turned and began to walk, slowly down the road, not yet ready to Apparate away and sever that link, that knowledge.

"Do you? Still?"

"I think that I do."