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(When You're Gone)

He had said three days. Sirius glanced at the mantle clock. It was late evening of the third day and the librarian had yet to return. He would know - Sirius had been hiding in the library for the better part of the day. He had not wish to spend another moment with the peacocks of society that now ran rampant in his home. For the past three days, he had played his part, wore his smile, but today he could not. Reagan seemed to understand this, in her way. She had only come in search of him once and no doubt the state he was in was shocking enough that she would make his excuses for him. As he sat, waiting for Merlin knew what, Sirius could bring himself to do nothing more than stare out the window at the black overcast night. There was no bright layer of snow, reflecting off the streets like the crystals on a reveller's mask. It was a very different night and yet his every thought was a memory of that other place.

Whatever did he want in France anyways? Did he have a house there? Unlikely for someone who seemed to live out of a suitcase. A woman? Tucked away in some depressingly cosy beach house. Sirius scowled and then looked back at the small photograph in his hands. He clutched it as if fearing it would be taken from him. For a long while he simply stared at it, silent, even in his mind. He must have fallen asleep, however briefly, for a moment later he was awoken by a muffled thump and a curse from the hall. No doubt a lost guest stumbling drunkenly in search of his own bed. Sirius wrenched himself from the cushions of his armchair and went to redirect the wandering soul. He swung open the door to find his librarian righting an overturned stand with one hand, clutching his side with the other and breathing quite raggedly.

"You said three days."

The man spun around, startled, "I, uh…" he glanced down the hall to his left, where the sound of people laughing and enjoying good music and better liquor floated up the stairs before collecting himself. His brilliant eyes flashed back to Sirius, "It is not yet midnight."

Sirius looked him over. His cheeks were a little more hollow than usual, though a couple days' growth of stubble did its best to hide that. Violent, purple shadows clouded under his eyes which were bloodshot themselves. And he was still clutching at his side. On the whole he looked as if he had been thrown off the edge of the cliffs and then climbed back up to have another go.

"Come." Sirius pushed the door open wider. "You look like Hell."

"I-I have been ill," he answered lamely, following Sirius over to the hearth.

"I can see that."

The man stumbled as he rounded the table again and Sirius reached out automatically to steady him, "Here." He lowered the ragged librarian into his armchair. For a moment he thought he would protest but Sirius' hands lingered over him in the shocked pause, causing a flush of red to rise in his cheeks instead.

"Ah, and now you will not look at me." Before the superbly flustered man could reply Sirius had sat down across from him on the wingback and poured out a measure of brandy. He pushed it towards the librarian's trembling hands. "As you can see I have been hiding from the splendour all day. I had expected I would at least have some company during my chosen exile, but I was not so fortunate. So tell me, librarian, what is in France?" And now he was babbling.

"Remus."

Somehow those two syllables made Sirius warm, "Remus, then."

"My mother," he began, "she lives in Calais and I have not seen her in a little over a year. I thought I would take the opportunity while I was relatively close and pay her a visit." He looked away as he said this, he was not telling him all. "So there was no further compelling reason to your sudden departure? Merely a whim?"

"I, er. Yes."

At this point, Sirius was not sure what was more appealing, the sudden mystery surrounding Remus, or the way he became so easily flustered.

Remus had been so exhausted that morning, he had allowed himself to sleep much later than he should have. Even so, arriving at the Black house at nearly eleven, he was quite ready to drop back into bed. Any bed. It had been a difficult transformation. The entire night, the wolf had been restless, not just to see the moon in the sky and run beneath it, listening to his paws padding over the earth, but restless as if it longed for something. Remus had a bad feeling he knew what that something was. Taking a quick drink of the brandy he had been offered, he glanced sideways at Black. He stared at Remus, much like the first night. His expression was still agonized, but in a different way.

Remus ran a hand through his hair and closed his eyes in exasperation. All he wanted was to go to bed. He was not capable of being around his man right now. This man who silently observed him as if there was no possible thing he couldn't read in Remus' eyes. He did his best not to make eye contact and to keep his jacket wrapped tightly around himself. No doubt he had opened up the gash on his side when he practically fell over the stand in the hall, and he did not want to explain where it had come from if Black should notice it.

"You should eat something. You don't look as if you've touched anything but water since you left." With that, Black rose from his seat and vanished. Either Remus was very out of it or Black was very fast, for it was only a moment before he reappeared, a nondescript house elf in his wake, bearing a tray that, happily, held only a simple bowl of broth. He did not think he could have handled anything as rich as what might have been brought up from the party downstairs.

Really, it was a mark of just how exhausted he was that Remus had eaten two mouthfuls before he dropped the spoon, suddenly feeling quite nauseated and realising why. Of course, the silverware. Taking a few deep breaths, Remus managed to mostly quell the urge to be sick, then panic filled him as he realised what he had done and he felt ill again for an entirely different reason. Remus lifted his eyes to see Black staring back at him just as hard.

"I almost stopped you," he whispered, "at the last second. But I needed to be sure."

Remus was at a loss for words. He was also rather shocked at himself, allowing something as small as a silver inlaid spoon to reveal his condition like that. He would never find another job. As the excruciating silent moments drew longer and Black wasn't threatening him and telling him to leave immediately, the overwhelming sense of panic receded ever so slightly.

"How did you know?" he asked finally. What had he done to give himself away?

"I didn't, not really. I knew a boy once who… Well, you start to notice the small signs."

When it became evident that Remus would not be losing his job, they slowly settled into a sort of companionable silence with the odd comment here or there. Remus found he was not quite so tired and certainly wasn't that interested in the idea of broth anymore.

"That first night, at dinner… If you were not able to so ingeniously distract me, would you have used the silverware?"

"Probably. It would have been quite difficult to eat onion soup with my hands."

Black smiled wryly, "What about the silver allergy? I was given to believe it was quite severe."

"Well, I still would have used the silverware, but I would have spent the rest of the night very close to a bin."

The clock on the mantle chimed loudly, causing Black's head to turn suddenly. Remus glanced at the time as well, nearly one in the morning.

Remus made to rise, saying he should really get some sleep, but the movement sent a burning down his side again. Very quickly, Black was pushing him back into the chair, as Remus was bent over gasping at the pain. He had forgotten all about it.

"And what have you done to yourself?" He asked Remus. He would have laughed at the scolding tone in Black's voice if he were not a little preoccupied with stopping the fresh blood flow.

Black pushed aside his coat and unbuttoned his red-stained shirt. Apparently the layers of gauze Remus had used were soaked through from his stumble over the table outside. He shook his head at the hasty job he had done. "Stay here; I'll fetch something to clean this up."

"No. Don't. See, it's already stopped," Remus grasped his shoulder before he could rise and vanish again. "I'm fine, I just forgot."

Black gave a short laugh, "You forgot." Then he looked Remus in the eyes. From where he kneeled before him, the two were at eye level and almost uncomfortably close. Nervously, Remus cleared his throat and licked his lips, but forgot what he was going to say, immediately distracted by Black's hands still on his stomach. He watched as one of those hands rose slowly to hover over his shoulder and then his face, dancing with indecision. He looked back at Black's face and was caught in the dark shale grey of his eyes. Perhaps the expression in his own eyes matched his, for a moment later his hand slid behind Remus' neck and blunt lips pressed fiercely at his own.

Breathing heavily, Black pulled away only far enough to press his forehead to Remus' and for a minute the only sound was that of their ragged breaths and the blood driving through their ears. Then he pulled away and was gone from the library before Remus could restart his thoughts.

He dropped back in the armchair and heard a faint crackle as he did so. His mind, needing anything else to focus on, managed to hear it. Remus pulled a small photograph out from behind him. From it a young girl with raven hair and green eyes smiled back at him, laughing silently.