Prompt #1 - Russia
Title: Russia
Author: purebristles
Format & Word Count: Short Fic (1139 words)
Rating: PG (for swear words)
Prompt: #1 "Dost thou think because thou art virtuous that there shall be no more cakes and ale?" Sir Toby Belch, Twelfth Night
Warning: None
Summary: Our quarrels are often about the money.
Author's Note: Please be kind. Written for the rtchallenge in July 2006.

Russia

"Love doesn't feed the belly, Nym."

"But love feeds the soul."

"You're such a romantic."

"With a boyfriend who's a poetic werewolf? I'd have to be a romantic to fall in love with you."

"Romance dries up sooner or later."

"That's the big bad wolf talking. I'd like my Remus back please."

"I am not a toy."

"Never said you were. But I like playing with you anyway."

Those were the days, the heady days where passion overruled sense, where love reigned supreme, where the mundane details of life disappeared into the background, and all that I could hear in my ears was the rushing of blood as he kissed, and kissed, and kissed me. The feeling of utter freedom and sheer joy overwhelmed me then, filled me to the point where I felt fair to bursting with the sensation of him, and me, and us, finally.

I felt safe. I felt home.

"You don't know what it's like, living on the streets."

"I may not know what it's like, but that doesn't mean that we have to live that way!"

"Then tell me, Nym, tell me how we're supposed to live on nothing but air?"

"We won't be living on air!"

"And would you have me live off you for the rest of our natural lives, knowing that it could be for the next 200 years?"

"Yes!"

"It's not right."

"But it is if I love you. You don't have to worry about anything, it's alright, I can support the both of us. It's not charity if I love you."

"It's not… it's not that, Nym. Imagine if I were a fellow friend. Imagine I were Sirius. Staying with you. For a lifetime. Staying in your house rent-free, mooching off your food, drinking your booze –wouldn't you throw me out in a month or less?"

"It's not the same!"

"It is. It's about honour and fairness to you."

"That's utter bollocks, Remus Lupin, and you know it."

"No, Nym, it's not. It wouldn't be fair to you."

"I don't want fair, I want YOU!"

"Why can't we just go back to the way things were?"

"Because we'd drown like sharks if we don't keep things moving!"

After we got married, we'd occasionally have these blowouts. He was so controlled most of the time that sometimes, he just needed a place to let the human feelings through. Remus seems to forget that anger and frustration are not wholly the wolf's domain. Humans feel them too. But he seems intent on categorizing them as belonging to the wolf, and locks them up accordingly. I willingly take the pummels that his psyche dishes out when it needs release.

Our quarrels are often about the money.

"Why, Remus, why?"

"Because I need to work, Nym. I need to. Please understand. I can't do this anymore, this… nothingness. It's driving me mad."

"But… this is quasi-legal at best! Don't do it, Remus, please, no. It's not worth your pride to stoop so low. Let them get someone else deliver the package. You don't even know what you're a runner for!"

"They were the only shop which would accept a werewolf as an employee."

I stopped yelling and shut my eyes. It always came down to this. The employment. The werewolf. The fucking money. Although I had lost my Auror job after we got married (Umbridge's anti-dark creature laws passed), I earned enough as a private detective for the both of us to live modestly, and yet he couldn't be allow me to be the one to fill the purse. For all his sensitivity, his pride wouldn't allow it.

I looked up at him. Walked slowly into him, feeling his arms wrap around me like a well-worn blanket.

"Don't do it. Please, don't do it. Not because it's dangerous, not because it's quasi-legal and might get both of us into serious trouble, not because of the money. Don't do it because it's not you."

"You don't know this me anymore."

Tears spring to my eyes as I hear his broken tone. It's been coming to us for some time now. I could tell from the increased restlessness and edginess that no amount of wolfsbane could settle. He was on the brink of snapping…from something which I perceived as a non-issue. I knew it was coming, and I could do nothing to prevent it from happening. Like a rubber-band pulled too far for too long, this was its time.

"Good guys finish last, Nym. I wanted to give you flowers, fresh every day. I wanted to give you a diamond solitaire. I wanted to give you boots and buy you clothes and go on holidays for the rest of our natural lives. But we're living in a rented, flea-infested apartment in the dodgy end of Knockturn. We've not been to Gringotts for decades because all our cash is always liquid and in our pockets. Nym, when I married you, I wanted to give you the world. I wanted you to be happy."

"Remus… I am happy, and… and you are my world. You are the solitaire in my wedding ring, always the centrepiece." I pull away from his hug, and look straight into his eyes. "Clarity. Integrity. It is not me who doesn't know you anymore; you have forgot yourself." I kiss his lips. "Come back to me, please."

I feel his body tense, then as he looks at me, he sighs and the tension leaves his weary body. "I love you, you know?"

I smile. "I know."

Life got harder, and we talked of moving to Italy, or further north to Russia, where an existence could be eked out from the harsh lands.

"Bollocks."

"I know."

"BOLlocks."

"I know."

"BolLOCKS."

"Will you stop?"

Instead of stopping, I start to cry. I feel Remus' arms wrap around me again, and I sob unabashedly and unreservedly in his arms. Despite my strong words, I never realised what a heavy burden it was until it was lifted from me. From us.

My crying jag tapered off, and I slide away from his embrace. Sniffling, I finger the book on the table gently. Twelfth Night. By William Shakespeare.

Sirius left this. For Remus. In his Gringotts vault. Along with, oh, about a third of the Black family fortune. And a couple of libraries worth of books. It was there all this time. And we never checked. Never. Not until we had decided to uproot ourselves and move to Russia.

We never checked our vault.

Never.

Not once in twenty years.

What was that the bible had to say about seeking, knocking and doors opening?