Chapter 12

(Misha)

Misha awoke to the acrid smell of her own vomit mixed with the odor of what her clouded mind could only discern as one of her dad's old trainers stuffed with rotting veal and thoroughly hosed down with rancid goat urine. Dear Merlin, it was awful. And, yet, above the haze of stench floated the face of the man she feared she was not only falling in love with, but had recently upchucked all over. "Oh, shit… sorry," she murmured before gagging again.

Sirius just smiled and hugged her tightly, a gesture Misha found both comforting and slightly gross. "It's our fault, really – reeking potion and all – but it worked and that's what matters!" He gave Misha a little squeeze. "And the stench was worth it because, thank gods, you're alive," said Sirius, pulling back slightly to stroke her hair.

"As opposed to what?" asked Misha, genuinely perplexed. Her experience with potions suggested that the strong smell was some sort of re-awakening agent, but why in bloody hell had she needed re-awakening?

And then it all came crashing back to her. She'd been cold, very cold – and Lily had been there. Or maybe she'd been with Lily. All she could recall was that they'd been sitting in some strange, freezing lounge discussing Sirius and Harry and then suddenly she could remember nothing at all. How the hell did that happen? How much time had passed? And why did Sirius seem so unbothered by the stench? Well, she reasoned, perhaps Azkaban and a steady died of rats may have made him immune.

"As opposed to being out cold with your mind trapped in another dimension," Sirius answered, the urgency in his voice bringing Misha back to reality. "We were worried there for a good bit. You wouldn't wake-up, you were barely breathing, and you were pale as all hell… So I transformed into Padfoot and ran to get Dumbledore and Harry and they got Remus and then Snivellus had to come and…"

"Severus was HERE?" squeaked Misha. "Did make more snarky comments about that huge pile of boots in the hallway? Every time he came to visit Mum, he'd make this big deal about how 'bloody slovenly' we all were and how careless with our shoes and…"

"Snivellus only came to help make you the The Draught of Living Energy, and if he even noticed your indiscriminately placed footwear at all, he said not a word about it," Sirius replied. "He was worried. We all were."

A raspy laugh rumbled from the rear of the room. "Never heard you defending Snape before, Padfoot. That must be a first. Or perhaps it's a sign of the Apocalypse."

Remus. What the hell was he doing here? Misha wondered, hopefully not aloud.

"Glad you're back, love," smiled Remus, waving his wand with a wordless Vanishing Spell and Disappearing the puddled sick. He stepped up beside Sirius and threw an arm casually around his shoulder. "This one was beside himself, you know." He looked over at his friend and once-lover and grinned – and to Misha's dismay, Sirius grinned back.

Misha said nothing. True, she was thrilled at the loss of the sticky mess, but, other than that, she'd no idea what to make of the situation. Dimly she remembered that Lily had told her that Remus was Sirius' first and truest love – or something like that. He'd been head over heels devoted to him, but Remus had broken his heart. So what in the world was going on now?

An eternity of silence ticked by as all three so-called adults shuffled nervously about their internal thoughts. Remus dropped his hand from Sirius' shoulder, but the gesture brought Misha little relief. Jealousy wasn't a new emotion for her. She'd struggled with it in the past and, much like her weight, it was often a losing battle. For his part Sirius just patted her hand consolingly as if utterly at a loss as to what to say or do.

"Well, the least you could do is thank him, you ungrateful brat!" chided the chimey voice of the long-forgotten mantle clock. "He did help save your life, you know. Questionable slug-slicing skills aside, he meant well."

"Shut it, you," snapped Sirius, but Misha was already on her way to apologizing to Remus.

"Sorry, Remus," she began. "And thank you. Thanks to all of you, really. I… I… I don't quite know what happened."

"You nearly sacrificed yourself to let me talk to James one last time, is what happened," broke in Sirius, before launching into a much abbreviated version of the events leading up to the passing-out incident.

As he listened to his best friend's story Remus nodded sagely, a small twitch of a smile playing upon his chapped lips. "Well, I think you've met your match, Padfoot," he said with a chuckle. "I never thought it would happen, but you did. You finally met someone who is as stupidly reckless, big-hearted, and obstinately loyal as you. " He leaned down and gave Misha a gentle kiss on the nose. "You two deserve each other! Merlin help both of you!" He gave Misha and Sirius a small wave as he negotiated the myriad piles of dirty laundry on his way out of the room.

And then it hit her, the rest of what Lily had said that night. He really loves you, you know. I've never seen him with a woman before but it seems… right… somehow with you. Sweet Circe's tits! Even Remus could see it. Sirius DID actually love her! Hell, he'd probably risked his own freedom to go and fetch help for her, and all she could do is lay about feeling all angry and jealous. Maybe the clock was right! Maybe she was an ungrateful little brat! Throwing the covers back she swung her legs over the side of the bed and attempted to go after Remus.

"Erm, Misha, don't forget you're still starkers," warned Sirius stifling a laugh. "Not that I mind," he added.

And Misha looked down to see it was true. No wonder she was still so bloody cold.

"For Merlin's sake, child, he's long gone, but at least put on your dressing if you're going to go tearing around the house like a banshee! You always did like to run about naked!" Misha looked over to see Winter's faux-disapproving smile as she held out the hideous red, woolen dressing gown some estranged aunt had once sent her for Christmas.

"Personally, I think you should just stay in bed," huffed the clock. "And I should like to remind the elf that banshees do not precisely tear about, but rather swish and float, much like the… "

"It was a simile," snarled the house elf. "And idiomatic as well."

"Not an idiom with which I'm familiar," the mantle-clock countered.

Winter snatched the hapless timepiece off the mantle and shook it violently. "Watch it, you," she hissed. "I can leave you unwound!"

"You wouldn't dare!"

"The hell I wouldn't! Insulting my Mistress that way! Miss Misha's been ill, for Merlin's sake! She's needing love and warm soup not swotty advice from a ratty old piece of tin and marble like you!'

The clock let out a shrieking series of chimes, and Winter raised her hand as if to throw it against the wall.

"FOR FUCK'S SAKE STOP!" yelled Sirius and the whole room fell silent.

Misha's breath hitched. Winter froze, mouth agape, and dropped the clock to the floor. The clock chimed mournfully, muffled be the heap of crumpled parchment in which it had landed.

"You," he said to Winter, "why don't you go make Misha some chicken soup and take that bloody clock with you? It's been an unbelievably long day and Misha needs her rest!"

Winter regarded Sirius for a moment and then began to laugh uproariously. "Winter is not fooled, you know," she wheezed between spurts of glee. "She knows you two just wants to be alone." She turned and stalked out of the room shaking her head. "Chicken soup indeed!" she muttered under her breath.

"Oh, and take that bloody clock with you," called Sirius, but it was too late. Winter was long gone, grumbling steadily about killing roosters as she kicked her way through the detritus of Misha's bedroom. Sirius just sighed and tossed the neglected, red dressing gown over the spot where the clock lay. "At that will muffle the son of a bitch," he proclaimed.

Misha laughed and snuggled closer to Sirius. "Thank you," she whispered, pulling him down for a kiss.

"For smothering your dressing gown?" asked Sirius, between fierce kisses.

Misha smiled. "For saving me. For loving me. And for letting me love you back."

Sirius hugged her tightly. "You said," he said, voice breaking slightly. "Finally."

"Yes," said Misha, "but I've always felt it."

She pulled back the covers, allowing Sirius to crawl in next to her. He nuzzled into her neck and let forth a little Padfoot-like whine before curling his arms around her and holding her close. "Your hair still smells a little of the Draught of Living Energy," he murmured.

"Fine," she laughed back. "Then leave."

"That's the last thing I want to do," said Sirius, and, in a sudden rush of awareness, Misha knew he meant it. Sirius didn' t want to leave. He was still on the run, but would never run from her. It wasn't perfect – and it was certainly not the romance she would have imagined for herself – but then, again, she'd never sought perfection. Sirius was wise and witty, compassionate, loyal, and loving. Oh, yeah, and devastatingly handsome as well. Sure, he was a convicted criminal, but they could work around that, right?

Misha giggled and placed a gentle kiss on the hollow of Sirius' throat. "Now then," she said, "if the smell bothers you so much, we'll just have to get rid of it, I suppose."

"Well, it has been several days since we put that bathtub of yours to any good use," answered Sirius.

He was always full of bright ideas.

(Sirius)

Later that night, as he lay curled around his new lover, Sirius could not help but smile. Misha snored contentedly next to him, but the noise hardly bothered him at all. Remus had snored, too - snored like a hippogriff, in fact - but he'd never held him like this, never cuddled him like this and, truthfully, never loved him like this. No, thought Sirius, this was different. New. Safe. Warm. Home.

If he were honest with himself, Sirius would have to admit that he'd never truly had home. He'd grown up at Number Twelve Grimmauld Place, but, even as a child, he'd never felt at ease there. He'd always known he was different, always longed for more. Griffindor Tower had been a kind of home, but school – no matter how brilliant – was always tainted with a hint of the temporary and the ghosts of emotions from the students who'd been there before. No, he'd loved Hogwarts, but it had never been his.

And the Potters? Well, James's parents had always loved him, outwardly professing him to be one of their own. But Sirius knew different. Deep down, even there, in the company of the one human being who would eventually be loyal enough to watch over him from the grave, he was still an outsider. He was loved adequately, but James was loved perfectly. He was their son, after all.

But here in Misha's arms Sirius was happy to love and to be loved, to coddle and to be coddled, and most of all to be himself. Misha understood him, loved him, and that was all that mattered. She'd promised that one day he would be exonerated, and that she would dedicate herself to his freedom. Sure he wanted that – more than anything, in fact – but tonight he was content just to be.

THE END