Too Tired To Think

Too Tired To Think

"Are you all right?" Sirius leaned against the edge of the bathroom door, thumbs hooked into the baggy waistband of his jeans, and watched as Remus straightened up from the sink, groping for a towel. Remus didn't reply but patted the cold water from his face and then turned and threw the wadded up towel at Sirius head. He ducked.

"You're not all right are you?"

He had arrived at Remus' door a month previously, an exhausted, sodden, half-starved canine leaving huge muddy paw prints all over Remus' spotless quarry-tiled floor.

"Padfoot!" Remus had gasped when he opened the back door in answer to Sirius' demanding bark and had dropped to his knees right there on the path and flung his arms around the dripping dog, ruining a perfectly good shirt in the process. Then he had led him into the kitchen, locked and bolted the back door, closed the kitchen curtains and turned to see Sirius straightening up in his human form. Neither of them had said a word, but smiled and Sirius had peeled off his wet clothes and hung them to dry over the range while Remus made tea and fetched a robe to cover his old friend's wasted body. Only when they were seated at the ramshackle kitchen table had words become necessary, a concise exchange of information about the situation and those people for whom they both cared. The more important things were not spoken but expressed in the meeting of eyes and the companionable silences.

Remus looked in the mirror and raised a hand to knuckle the tears from his eyes.

"I'm sorry," Sirius muttered then straightened up and repeated the words with a conviction that almost succeeded in masking his distress.

"I am sorry! ...OK?"

Remus still didn't reply but the tension in his shoulders indicated that he had both heard and understood.

The paw prints were dry by the following morning and Sirius had made their breakfast while Remus mopped them away and then tried to charm and finally scrub the mud stains from his shirt, even though they both knew that the effort was futile. They had quickly established a routine - Sirius was and always had been the better and more adventurous cook, though his appetite was now pitifully small, while Remus cleared away the sometimes quite startling mess he made and they had both silently acknowledged that that was the way it had always been. Sirius' invention and curiosity may have produced results but it was Remus who had to deal with the aftermath.

Sirius moved a little to try to catch his eye in the mirror but his friend's head was lowered and all he could see was a shaggy sweep of white-streaked brown hair and the tip of a nose, upon which another teardrop was slowly gathering.

The days passed quietly. No owls arrived, it was as though the outside world no longer existed. They did the small tasks necessary for their comfort, read, played chess and talked idly of the past, though never of the future. And, little by little, both found that their spirits began to rise. Even the nights, with their dreams of pain and blood or of confinement and despair, were made more bearable by the knowledge that when they awoke in the morning there would be someone, anyone, waiting who would be glad to see them. The renewal of their friendship was like spring after a deep cold winter.

He rasped his thumb through the stubble along his jaw line, bit his nail, hesitated, and then stepped forward.

"Moony?" he said.

Then, one bright morning, Remus did not have tea with his breakfast but drew a cup of bitter potion from a demi-john in the pantry and drank it down with a grimace. He took a cup a day for the rest of the week and on the seventh night watched while Sirius bolted the doors, locking them both inside. It was a beautiful evening, the sky a limpid, duck-egg blue as the afterglow of sunset died in the west. On other such evenings, they had walked high on the fells above Remus little house, Sirius lagging behind panting as a man or running ahead as a dog and virtuously ignoring the silly sheep who scattered at his approach. But tonight from the small window of the locked kitchen, Remus was looking to the east, awaiting the rising of the moon whose soft beams would rape the humanity from him.

"Oh, Padfoot, I'm so glad you're here," he murmured as he watched the horizon bloom with light, feeling the slight but comforting weight of Sirius' hand on his shoulder with gratitude, and when the moon rose high enough to light the kitchen floor it shone on a wolf and a dog, curled together on the hearth rug, twitching and whining in their dreams of the chase.

The hands he laid on Remus shoulders were gentle. "Moony? Speak to me. I should never have - I just didn't think. You know that I would never mean to hurt you. I just panicked and - I'm really, really sorry."

A wolf and a dog had slept the night away but, when the sun rose, two men awoke, heavy-eyed with the pain and witnessing the pain of transformation, shivering on the hard floor, chilled to the bone except where body touched body and one, so lonely for so long, turned his head unthinking to brush the other's cheek with his lips. Then his eyes opened wide, appalled at what he had done and fearing rejection, but the other smiled sleepily and returned the kiss lip to lip, murmuring "Idiot" as he did so.

The sincerity in his voice was palpable and Remus turned into his arms and stood close, resting his forehead against Sirius cheek.

"When did you realise you were - you know?" Remus had asked quietly that afternoon.

"I'm not," Sirius replied without indignation. "I like girls - well, women I should say." He paused, then continued as though saying something he thought might be unwelcome but that nevertheless had to be said. "I hope one day to find someone - I mean - you know, the cottage in the country, children at my knee - the whole Weasley bit." He blushed and looked down at Remus.

"When did you discover you were?"

"I'm not either," Remus was looking puzzled. "I like women. I like the way they move and the way they smell and - all the rest. As you said, the whole Weasley bit." He sighed wistfully and moved his head into a slightly more comfortable position on Sirius' shoulder and felt his friend's arm tighten around him in response.

"Then... how the hell did this happen?" Sirius had asked, his chest beginning to shake with silent laughter.

"I can only suppose," Remus had said thoughtfully, also beginning to chuckle, "that much as we like women.." he paused and then grinned as his friend joined him in finishing the sentence, "..we just like each other even more."

Remus swallowed, coughed and whispered, hoarsely, "You're a bloody idiot."

"I know," Sirius tilted his head and peered down, combing Remus hair back out of his eyes with his fingers. "Me and my big mouth, eh?"

The transition from best friends to lovers was not without its problems, and caused a shift in all their dealings with each other. Although Sirius was the bigger man, Remus was by far the stronger and while Sirius' personality was naturally more dominant he deferred to Remus much as one wolf trespassing on the territory of another lowers its eyes before the alpha male. Remus, aware of this, exploited it, forcing Sirius to eat, sleep and exercise when his friend would have merely sat and brooded, making the excuse that there were lots of jobs too big for one man alone that could be handily tackled by two. Sirius did his best to follow where Remus led but his once fine physique was ruined by years of poor rations and confinement. After a morning of emptying, cleaning and reorganising the shed followed by an afternoon of double-digging the area of the vegetable patch that Remus had earmarked for winter root crops, Sirius was so tired he could barely taste the food he had forced himself to cook but was determined not to display any weakness to Remus who was in high spirits.

"I think I'll have an early night," he had said to Remus, who was curled up in a chair with a book.

"Excellent idea," Remus murmured, raising his eyebrows. "I've nearly finished this chapter. Don't start without me," he warned with a grin.

"No fear of that," Sirius had replied, retreating to the bathroom. He kept his eyes open, barely, until he reached the bedroom then he had collapsed on the bed, aching in every joint and too tired to think.

"I honestly believe," Sirius said soberly, "that if there is a way to foul something up I'll find it. But, Moony, I mean well. You know that. Are you - feeling any better?"

"Mm, yes, a bit," Remus coughed again, straightened up and met Sirius eyes and Sirius wilted with relief to see that, although somewhat reddened, Remus eyes were alight with exasperated affection.

All he desired was sleep, deep sleep and lots of it, plus the assurance that he would never have to see another garden spade, but there was Remus calling something cheerily through the open bathroom door. His friend would be joining him soon and Sirius had seen that look in his eye before. He stifled a yawn and his heart sank. An early night meant only one thing as far as Remus was concerned and normally Sirius would have been waiting impatiently while Remus methodically went through his night-time routine of banking the fire, locking the doors and putting the owl out, but tonight.... a strange panicky feeling struck him. Things that would normally have been happening were most emphatically not! What on earth could he do? He suddenly recalled a time with Louisa, she of the sweet face and soft hands, lost and gone these many years, - remembered, wistfully, her smiling at his dog-tired excuses and hugging him and saying "Sleep, my darling, you can make it up to me another night." But would Remus be so understanding when his lover of less than a week turned him away? Would he be hurt? Or would he despise Sirius for his weakness? No, to reject Remus was unthinkable and the spirit that had kept him sane through almost thirteen years of torture made him sit up and try to smile a welcome.

Remus put his hands on Sirius' shoulders and pushed him back a pace and looked up at him severely.

"You've done some daft things in your time but this takes the biscuit," he said. "I don't suppose you'd care to explain?"

The spirit was willing but the flesh was so weak. Luckily Remus hadn't noticed his incapability - yet. Sirius cast his eyes around the room desperately hoping for some distraction, a fire in the kitchen or a meteorite strike would do. Then he spotted Remus' wand on the bedside table and suddenly remembered a spell he had learned in happier, more irresponsible days. It was a long shot but it might just work.

Pleading a headache he coaxed Remus to get up to turn off the light and seized the wand. It was a second's work to place the charm and when Remus returned to his arms he felt it beginning to work with relief. The real pity was that ten minutes later he had forgotten all about his tiredness and his own physical responses kicked in, augmenting the charm to an extent that shocked and horrified him almost as much as poor Remus.

"I thought so," Remus said, shaking his head slowly, "you should know that there's a time and a place for everything and while that particular engorgement charm was an absolute hoot twenty years ago when we used it in Potions on Professor Collin's caterpillars, it's not quite so funny today and in my bedroom. What ever made you think of doing that?"

Sirius met his eyes with difficulty.

"I was so tired," he said, apologetically, "but I really didn't want to disappoint you and then I remembered those bloody caterpillars and..." he made a gesture that quite eloquently expressed the effect of a very small caterpillar suddenly becoming impressively larger.

"I see - I think," Remus scowled. "Why the caterpillars, for pity's sake?"

"Because they ended up about the right size and I - well I didn't think that I could - you know," Sirius was aware that he was babbling in a very undignified fashion, but then there was nothing dignified about what he had done to Remus, "and I messed up the allowance for scale and then I started to enjoy myself and - oh god, Remus, I might have killed you!"

Remus stared at him with mingled affection, pity and respect.

"Do you really think I'm so easily disappointed?" He drew him into a hug and whispered, fiercely, "It's all right to say 'no', you know. Just having you here is a joy! That," he pointed towards the bedroom, "is an astonishing bonus but there'll be nights when I don't want to and, believe me, I'll say no and mean it! And I'll throw you across the room again if necessary. Did you land softly by the way? I was too preoccupied with my own problems to notice."

"Oh, Moony," Sirius voice broke huskily. Being thrown across the room was much easier to bear than forgiveness. " I never meant to hurt you. When I think what could have happened ..."

"Oh, pull yourself together, Padfoot," Remus grinned and punched him lightly on the shoulder. "My god, if you can achieve that much with a simple 'tumefacio' charm and a borrowed wand, what will you be able to do when you're properly kitted out? You're a dangerous man, Sirius Black!"

"I know, I'm bad. Do you think your eyes are ever going to stop watering?"

"You are and I hope so, one day, though I can't see myself riding my broomstick for a week or two."

They looked at each other, Sirius biting his lip then - he couldn't help it - he sniggered.

"The look on your face," he said.