026. Miscommunication
"Fuck no!"
"Sirius --"
"No, Moony!"
"It's Order work, Sirius, it's hardly my idea of a lark." Remus presses the balls of his hands into his eyes, fighting against the inevitable headache that will result from this argument. "Dumbledore needs someone to go underground – Death Eaters have been visiting the Werewolves already, and I'm ideal –-"
"Imagine how dangerous it will be!" Sirius is in one of his moods - too much energy and too much passion and not a lot of anything else. "Especially if they've already joined Voldemort! They'll kill you in seconds. Anyway, since when has Moody let anyone do anything without partners? If you go, I'm coming with you."
Remus exhales slowly, leaning his head back against the wall. "It's only a month, Sirius. Just to see what the—the situation is. One moon."
The glass he's holding slips from Sirius's fingers and shatters against the kitchen floor. Sirius ignores it.
"Dumbledore wants you to stay for a full? Fuck that, Moony, you haven't transformed alone since Fifth Year!"
Remus straightens up, suddenly angry. "Well, Padfoot, believe it or not, I can look after myself. I'm not as pathetic as you seem to think."
"Bullocks, don't—don't twist my words. Where are you going?"
Remus is already in the hallway, pulling on his coat. "Out. I'm going out."
"Come on, Moony, don't–-"
The door slams. Sirius counts to one hundred in his head. He half expects Remus to burst back in, not smiling, but still ready to talk things out.
The door stays shut.
"Fuck. Fuck, fuck, fuck."
Sirius punches the wall, the cheap plaster collapsing under his fist. He sighs, sliding down the wall and pulling his legs up to his chest. He rests his forehead on his knees.
"Fuck."