Title: Sometimes
Pairing: Sirius/Remus
Rating: PG
Summary: Sometimes Remus remembers - and sometimes he cannot.
Dedication: trinityc, as a fulfilment of her request for a S/R on her Xmas wishlist.

Sometimes, when he closes his eyes, he thinks he can almost see them - Sirius and James and Lily - the way they used to be: Sirius' lopsided you-know-you-love me grin (it used to make his heart jump, made his breath hitch), James' eternally messy hair (defying anyone's attempts to tame it), and Lily (sweet Lily, the love of James' life) and her motherly fussing, standing in the corner watching over them with a smile.

Sometimes, he can almost smell Lily's home baked cookies ("they're better when they're cooked without magic"), James' cologne and Sirius' nothing, his everything - Sirius - that scent which was so distinctly him.

He can almost hear Sirius' boyish laughter (made him blush, made him laugh, made him happy), James' careful scheming, Lily's soft singing, rocking a tiny baby Harry in her arms (born to be a mother, that girl, had voice of an angel).

He can almost remember Sirius' touch before Azkaban hardened him (soft, caring, curious) and even that precious year afterwards (fierce then, and claiming and desperate). He can remember touching Sirius (there for a gasp, lightly there for a moan), the smooth skin of his youth, the scarred, rough skin of that man he became.

Sometimes, he can almost taste his youth. Everything was different then - more sweet somehow, more new; Sirius used to taste of brilliance and lights and hope - Sirius tasted of the future. Then things changed - more bitter, stronger; Sirius tasted like shadows - hinting at a memory, crusted with ashes, laced with fear and loneliness and suspicion. Sirius, after Azkaban, tasted of the past.

Sometimes, when he closes his eyes, he cannot remember anything.

But when he opens them, he cannot see.

So, most of the time he keeps them closed, feeling around in the darkness of his mind, digging for his memories. He has to remember - if only once in a while - because, if he doesn't, who will? He's the only one left - the only one keeping them all alive.

He's the last one standing.

With only memories to lean on for support.

Sometimes, when he cannot remember, he opens his eyes - and all he finds is loneliness.

Sometimes, when his eyes are open, he cannot remember how to hope.