Word count: 3,186

Written for: Fanfiction Tournament Competition

C = Countdown AU

Time to Spare

Remus splashes water on his face, trying to wash away the dark circles under his eyes. Every night is a late one these days, even when he stays in, and it's definitely having an effect on him. But the water is useless, so he dries himself with a washcloth and ruffles a hand through his lopsided hair. It'll have to do.

Before leaving the bathroom, he glances at the clock in the corner—mostly out of habit, because he knows it will never slow, never reverse course in its greedy pursuit of 0:00—and sees the glowing numbers in the corner of his eye.

. . . . .

48:00

. . . . .

The watch is the only hand-me-down that Sirius has ever owned. A gift from his father when he was fifteen years old, it has stood up well to the test of time, showing only a few little cracks in the glass front to his twenty-six year old eyes. Unfortunately (or perhaps fortunately?) the numbers continue to count down, marking out the day that he'd calculated all those years ago.

"Why does it count for me?" he'd asked, fingering the watch chain and looking up at Orion Black.

"I don't need it anymore," was the reply. His father spoke gruffly, avoiding Sirius's gaze, so he continued to examine the prize he'd been given, marveling at its precise clockwork ticking.

"Why? Is it because of Mother?"

His father didn't answer. But as Sirius polished the glass face that night, blocking out the sound of his parents screaming their lungs out, he knew that it was the opposite. His father hadn't found his true Soulmate in time, so the watch had reset itself to the next oldest man of the house—him. The numbers he saw were about his life, his Soulmate.

"Don't tell your mother," Orion had said to him, and he had been silent with surprise, frozen with apprehension, and the slightest bit pleased. Now, it seemed like a burden. The numbers counted down to a day a whole decade away, practically a lifetime. Would he really have to wait that long for love? Would it be worth it?

He's managed to survive eleven years of not knowing. Now, there are only two days more. Well, just under two days.

. . . . .

47:00

. . . . .

"You've just got to get out there," Tonks tells him, dismissively waving a hand at him. "I get it, your biological clock is ticking—God I love saying that to a man—but you're never going to find The One if you sit alone in your apartment!"

"Thanks," he said, cutting her off. "I appreciate that."

"Oh, come on, Remus! We all have to come out of our shells at some point."

He raises his eyebrows. "I can't imagine you ever having a shell."

"Yeah, maybe not me." Tonks pauses. "But definitely other people. Like you!"

He forces his face into a smile, which seems to be convincing enough for his friend, who turns away again to look for the waiter. So far, he's been coerced into making three dating site profiles, buying one gym membership, and planning an evening of pub-crawling. But none of that will actually help him find his Soulmate, and he can't bear to tell Tonks, who looks so pleased at the thought of finding him a proper date.

"Hey, thanks for all this, but I've got to go," he says, standing up from the table.

"Are you leaving already?" Tonks is bewildered. "We haven't even discussed your type."

"My type?"

"You know, your type. It's so I can look around for you, scout out potential mates." She grins at that.

Remus hesitates. Tonks will make some huge fuss if he tells her the truth, some shriek or yell or laugh that makes the entire room turn to stare at him. But he knows that the fuss will be even worse if he refuses to tell, and she works it out... so there's only one option.

"I don't really have a type." She nods, but he knows she wants more. "Er- it's not going to be girls that you want to scout out for me," if you get my drift."

His face flushes.

Tonks's expression is completely blank, but it slowly resolves into a mildly confused one. "Um... duh?"

. . . . .

44:00

. . . . .

Sirius storms out of the building, one hand curled into a fist, and the other contemplating a rude hand gesture. He'd do it, too, if there wasn't the immediate prospect of him needing his job back in three days. Then, he could call the office, tell them it was a mental health issue—he's fine now, thanks but no thanks, and please can he have his job back?

Ugh. Even the thought of it makes him furious. Beg for his job back to Dolores Umbridge? He'd rather die alone.

Oh, wait, that's an actual possibility, now, isn't it, he thinks darkly, kicking a pebble on the sidewalk.

Everyone around him is happy, partnered, and yet they feel the need to shove it in his face through their little bouts of small talk. 'Hey, did you see my engagement party photos?' 'Come on a double date with us!' It's horrible to listen to, like a chorus of rejection.

It's not that he is unpursued, it's that nobody he spends a night with seems to click. They move on, one by one, and he feels nothing, treating them like intermediaries in a pairing that's broken before it's even begun.

Sirius walks aimlessly, passing a dry cleaner and a bank, until the sun begins to go down, and he knows it's time to head home. Defeated, he sticks his hands in his pockets as he boards the Underground. His own countdown isn't shown at the station, but he knows without looking that the watch on his wrist will read

. . . . .

38:00

. . . . .

"I still don't understand how you knew," Remus repeats, following Tonks outside her flat and waiting as she locks the door behind them. "I never mentioned it, never hinted..."

"Anyone could tell. My mother could tell."

"She's never met me!" he protests.

"That's not the point. You're gay, Remus, and that's totally great. Lighten up."

He frowns. "Besides, doesn't this make it all harder? Don't you want to end this whole charade before you go through with it and realizes it's hopeless?"

Tonks spins around, making him stop short. She sticks a finger at his chest and looks him in the eye, speaking slowly so that every word has emphasis placed on it. "You - are - not - hopeless. You just need some coaching!"

"Coaching from you?" He searches for a jab that would annoy her enough to make her leave him alone. "Aren't you single?"

Tonks stares at him. "Do you have a problem with that?"

"No?"

"Good," she replies in an oddly soft voice, looking down. There is a pause, then she claps her hands. "Hey! If I get a boyfriend, that means I won't be able to come on your dates and harass yours!"

"...You were going to come on my dates?"

Tonks puts on an innocent face and raises her pitch. "No?"

"No!" he exclaims, nudging her shoulder.

She sighs, and they keep walking. Remus can almost see the pub sign in the distance, telling him that they are less than a block away.

That's when she whispers, "well, maybe" under her breath.

"Tonks!"

There's thirty-six hours exactly to go, and oh God, they're heading inside and she's chatting up every man in the room.

. . . . .

36:00

. . . . .

Sirius leaves the pub just as a couple walk out together, laughing and joking behind him until they walk the opposite direction down the street.

He'd meant to go home, but this place had been on his way from the Tube stop, and he couldn't resist the lights and sounds coming from inside. Somehow, that had translated into a few hours spent staring into space, and too many drinks to count put on his tab.

Offering the drinks himself hadn't been the best idea, but he couldn't think of any other way to search for his Soulmate. One drink and they were all willing to tell him their time, whether past, present, or future. Yet despite all these people, all these stories, there had been no one whose clock matched his own.

All he wants is the man that will complete him—the man he's meant to be with, the one who's out there waiting for him, and watching his own clock run down with impatience. Sirius still doesn't know what happens to the Soulmateless ones, not really. He has watched his father live a life of anger, pain, and loneliness (and he doesn't wish the man any better), but surely that must be a special case? How can it be that the ones left alone are punished so harshly?

What if his Soulmate lives across the earth, in a country he will never visit? The system seems flawed, unfairly so.

He's reached his building now, and makes his way inside despite the way his body weighs him down. The second-to-last day has been a waste. What if the next one slips away just as quickly?

In dreams of his mystery man, his Soulmate, his life partner, Sirius falls asleep.

. . . . .

33:00

. . . . .

One day to go is the first thought to enter Remus's head as he wakes up.

But he can't let it compel him to do anything too crazy—or, rather, anything that Tonks would advise. He has decided to live a normal life during his last day, knowing in his heart that he won't find his Soulmate through contrived scenarios. Either it will happen, or it won't.

The night before with Tonks was fun, but it isn't something he wants to repeat. It isn't his style to search for dates with strangers, have drinks with strangers, chat for hours with complete strangers. And, surprisingly, Tonks seems to have finally understood that after the night they spent out, especially since she hasn't made any new plans for the coming night. Maybe this time, she'll let him go his own way.

Remus gets dressed, not bothering to put on anything more dressy than jeans, a cardigan over a t-shirt, and a woolen beanie. Five minutes later, he's made his way to the nearby coffee shop, where he orders an espresso and settles into a cozy booth by himself.

His drink is gone in no time, and he heads to the bashroom to wash up before moving on. It's been a nice morning so far. Quiet.

. . . . .

24:00

. . . . .

A spontaneous stop at the neighborhood coffee shop ends well for Sirius. He's picked up a black coffee, taking advantage of the nonexistent line—a miracle at this popular place. The goal of this trip was to flirt with a cute barista, but as there are only a few women on staff at the moment, his food and drink have become the starring attraction. Just as Sirius bites into a chocolate chip muffin, his phone buzzes from inside his jeans pocket.

"What is it, James?" he answers wearily. "You're interrupting my breakfast."

"Mate, it's almost noon. You mean lunch?"

Sirius, checking his watch, clears his throat. "Yeah, I meant breakfast. Late night for me. Why are you calling?"

James hesitates, and his voice is overly kind-sounding when it does arrive. He's almost definitely being put up to this. "Just saying hi. Anyway, I just remembered, how's the search going? Found any... fine-looking blokes?"

Sirius laughs, a quick ha! that is hardly amused, if at all. "Fine-looking blokes? James, I know it's the wrong gender, but how did you get a catch like Lily? Really?"

James grunts at him over the phone. "Soulmates, remember?"

Sirius sighs. "Yeah."

"Look, I know you must be getting worried, but don't worry, okay? You'll find someone. It might not be today; it might not be tomorrow—well, I suppose it really should be today or tomorrow, but you get the idea—"

Sirius cuts him off, rolling his eyes. "Yeah, I get it."

. . . . .

21:00

. . . . .

The day passes by so quickly. He keeps telling himself that this way is better, that what should happen will, and that everything will turn out the way it's meant to be. But Remus finds himself staring out the window every so often, unable to remember what he was working on before.

Somewhere out there, his Soulmate is waiting for him.

If only he knew where.

Remus now turns to the clock that he brought to work today. Nobody has mentioned its presence on his desk, but he imagines everyone gossiping about it in the break room. It's all he can think about.

The seconds tick away with reckless abandon. The numbers read

. . . . .

18:00

. . . . .

Sirius gets more calls that day: one from James's parents, who he assumes now pity him more than ever before, one from Peter, who he hasn't spoken to in years, and one from Marlene McKinnon. That one is a surprise, because they used to date, and she swore she would never speak to him again after they broke up. It seems that things have changed. Marlene confesses rather quickly that James told her about him, and oh she had no idea, and she would love to take him out for a drink tonight—is he free?

Sirius takes special pleasure in telling her that he's 100% gay nowadays, thank you very much.

But it doesn't take away from the utter despair he's feeling, knowing that the odds are very, very low that he will find his Soulmate today. Near-impossible.

. . . . .

15:00

. . . . .

Remus calls all his old friends, all his aunts and uncles, and tells them thank you.

They've been there for him since he was young, and he appreciates it; it has made him the man he is today. Yes, he's going through something difficult, right now, but they are to avoid mentioning it or talking about it behind his back. There's just no point, and after all, he's perfectly fine.

He's perfectly all right.

But he should probably get to bed.

. . . . .

12:00

. . . . .

Sirius can't sleep.

He lies awake, staring at the watch that he has worn continually for longer than he can remember. Somehow, it hasn't broken, hasn't been zapped by rain or age.

But it's seen him through eleven years of pain, and it's had the nerve to survive untouched while he crumples up into nothing. How is that fair?

That somber thought puts him right out, even though he desperately wants to smash the timepiece into a thousand pieces.

It lied to him.

But he can't destroy the only bit of hope he's got left, so its perfect glass face still says

. . . . .

8:00

. . . . .

He's awake.

Remus is awake, and he slowly readies himself for the day, knowing that every step he takes could be one closer to or farther away from his destiny. Every decision could be The Decision, the one that decides his foreseeable future. It's ridiculously overwhelming.

There is a flash in his mind, and suddenly he doubts the accuracy of these devices, wonders whether they are even real, or just some evil creation of a lovesick, heartbroken soul who wanted others to feel his pain. It's plausible. The pain of losing what was promised to you by birth but never found is unimaginable, and so powerful in a simply theoretical capacity that he can't comprehend how it will feel when it truly arrives.

He stands outside his building, looking out at the streets of London. The people all around him must have gone through similar ordeals—that woman walking alone looks terribly sad, and those teenagers by the corner look bitter and almost afraid.

But perhaps he is imagining this, perhaps it is all projected on them by his already grieving mind.

Remus is fixed on this day, unmoving, when he sees a man across the road calmly walk towards him.

There's nowhere to walk.

The man is walking into traffic—the cars are coming—and the clock sitting unwatched in Remus's flat is blinking its numbers, showing a time in minutes instead of seconds.

. . . . .

0:05

. . . . .

Time slows down for Sirius. His feet touch the pavement ever so gently as he walks forward, and he's aware of everything around him. The buildings stretching into the sky. The lights and the sounds of morning traffic. The people, with all their different faces...

A face stands out in the crowd. A voice calls out, and then the people begin to scream from all around.

There's something big coming from his right side. A bus, maybe. It doesn't matter now.

There isn't time to turn, or do anything really, only time to see the face that called out, the face that is moving towards him, darting into the road like he just did, and the face that has pushed him to the ground, shoving him backwards into a mass of limbs.

He's falling.

. . . . .

0:01

. . . . .

Something hurts. It hurts terribly, and Remus can't tell what it is, but it looks like it used to be a perfect, healthy leg. Now it's marred by a massive bruise that aches so badly he can't even stand. But it doesn't matter, because there's a man lying below him who's gasping for breath and blinking away tears.

"Why did you do that?" he croaks, rolling onto his side. In the background, sirens are already blaring, and people have huddled around them, afraid to come closer. Blinking hard, Remus sees what has kept them away. Arcs of red light have surrounded the pair of them on the ground, and he can feel the light's energy from inches away.

"I didn't want to live any more," the man responds, breathing heavily. He's wearing a leather jacket, the side of which has been completely torn away, but the stranger wearing it appears to be unhurt, just shaken. "I'm Sirius Black. Today was the day that—"

A loud beeping noise breaks out inside their little enclosure. Someone from the crowd yells in alarm, but the voice dies down once they realize it is coming from a watch on Sirius's wrist.

Remus sucks in a breath. "The day your Soulmate is lost."

Sirius stares at him. "How did you know?"

Remus can't believe he's happy in this terrible a situation, but a smile breaks onto his face. "Because it's mine too."

Sirius's hand is shaking as he stops the beeping, eyes fixed on the little watch and the numbers shown on its face—except there are no numbers. Not anymore, Remus realizes. His clock will have stopped too.

"Well," Sirius says, voice unsteady. He tries to stand up, but stops, realizing that Remus cannot move. "Well, I think-"

"I'm Remus Lupin," he blurts out. "And I think you're my Soulmate, Sirius."

Sirius just gives him a grin, a grin that Remus thinks he will see many, many more times in the years to come. "Well, I'm sorry about the whole walking into traffic thing, but my timing was excellent."

"Yeah?"

"I definitely cut it close, but we met with time to spare."

Hearing this ridiculous spin, Remus can't do anything but kiss him on the lips, right in front of everyone.

. . . . .

Soulmate Found

. . . . .