In the absence of Lily

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

'''''''''''''''''''''''''''

Chapter 4: Unintentional Envy

'''''''''''''''''''''''''''

The Fat Lady was nowhere to be found.

Sirius stood outside the Gryffindor portrait hole, tapping his foot impatiently. What right did the paintings have to go traipsing around the castle? He had important things that needed to be done. He was a man on a mission.

From his inspired departure from the library to his agonizing wait for the guardian of Gryffindor Tower, he had wracked his brain trying to think of what to say to James. He knew they needed to talk, but he couldn't seem to find the right words. How would one go about explaining to his part-time boyfriend that he was jealous of his full-time girlfriend?

The answer eluded Sirius. That elusiveness had charged into his state of self-righteous indignation like a stallion gone mad, trampling the vestiges of his confidence beneath its cloven hooves.

The last thing he wanted was to hurt James, that much was certain, but he didn't want to feel as though he was walking on eggshells either. He needed to find a compromise. However, succeeding in the arena of compromise without falling into the well of sacrifice seemed to be more improbable than escaping the situation with his emotional stability intact.

The Fat Lady sauntered back into her portrait, as always, stretching the seams of her abhorrent frilly gown.

"Password?" She squawked.

"Fluxweed," Sirius responded.

The portrait swung open, revealing a hole in the wall illuminated by firelight. Sirius had a curious feeling inside his stomach, as though he'd just swallowed a Filibuster Firework.

When he stepped inside, he was greeted by an almost empty common room. There was a solitary person seated in one of the overstuffed scarlet couches. Said person's back was to Sirius, but he could identify that unruly mop of hair from a mile away. James was oblivious to the intruder. He sat, unmoving, gazing into the softly blazing flame in the fireplace.

Not knowing where to start, Sirius opted for the simple approach.

"Hey," he said.

James started, whatever reverie in which he had been lost, interrupted. His knee banged into the cherry wood coffee table, sending two glass candle holders noisily clattering to the floor. Both boys winced. They waited in silence, eyes on the entrance from the dormitory bed rooms to see if the clatter had roused any of their housemates. Silence. A mutual sigh of relief from two mouths.

James, recovering from the mild shock, shot Sirius a look. "How long have you been standing there?"

"Fifteen seconds tops, I swear," Sirius responded. He didn't think starting this conversation with James already irritated with him was the way to go. Call it a gut instinct.

A second silence followed, as uncomfortable as the first, but for a vastly different reason.

"Well?"

"What? Oh." Sirius had hardly noticed he had been staring at James for precious, drawn out seconds. Five, ten, twenty, he didn't know.

Sirius swallowed, trying to ease the lump in his throat. This had been badly orchestrated. He had marched out the library, full of purpose, expecting to throw the options down in front of James and demand an immediate decision. Now, being silently interrogated by James' questioning eyes, he was beginning to discover that the execution of his plan would be far more complicated.

Sirius walked to the couch, positioning himself so that he was standing in front of James, the coffee table between them. He looked down at his feet unsure of what to say. The swirly wood patterns on the floor had suddenly become insanely interesting. He vaguely wandered why he'd never noticed that before.

"Sirius," James said, "something's bothering you. What is it?"

'No,' Sirius thought. He wasn't going to let James fall into the role of loving boyfriend. It was too easy to succumb to him that way. He took a few tentative steps toward the plush sofa. Unsure of what else he should do, he sat next to James, their knees touching lightly.

James leaned into him, wrapping his arm around Sirius' waist. His hand gently squeezed the area beneath his ribs. He interpreted the lack of movement from the other boy as a clearance, a quiet admission to proceed. James placed a tentative kiss on the side of Sirius' neck, lingering above the butterfly pulse in his neck, waiting for the other boy to do something, anything, but what that was Sirius could not decipher.

Sirius turned his head to James to tell him to stop. That same moment, James lifted his face to Sirius. Their noses collided with the slightest hint of pain. Two boys retreated naught but an inch, smiling shyly, both suddenly nervous, equally perplexed, neither understanding why.

"Was Lily just here?" Sirius asked, voice trembling an octave higher than it should have been. His eyes looked everywhere but into those of the other boy. His left eyebrow, the hairs dusting his forehead, his ears, the faint freckles decorating the bridge of his nose, the slight pout of his bottom lip . . . no. He was entering territory he dared not venture. The aesthetic appeal of James Potter would not sink its hooks, however unwittingly, into Sirius Black.

A puzzled look flitted across James' face. "Why?"

"Oh. No reason in particular. I think -- you know -- we should have a policy."

"A policy?"

"Yeah . . . you know. A policy. Like a time limit between Lily time and Sirius time. Break up the intervals, you know? Give you time to get your bearings."

James blinked in response. "What?"

Sirius forced the toad that had somehow lodged itself in his throat down with one strong swallow.

"Well, you see . . . I was in the library and -- I was thinking about Lily and -- maybe we should -- maybe YOU should -- for the best -- this isn't a good idea."

James pulled back from him, snaking his arm away from Sirius. The spot where it had been was suddenly cold, despite the warmth emanating from the fire.

"As a matter of fact, Lily was just here," James said, his voice carefully calculated, much like that of an asylum nurse, "but why would that -- I don't understand what -- why would you say that?"

Sirius shrugged. He knew he was being futile and childish. He liked being futile and childish. He did not want to stop being futile and childish. His thoughts were playing a tug of war, raging an internal battle, throwing little emotional grenades at each other, vying to see who would win control of the citadel otherwise known as Sirius' heart. The reasonable side torpedoed the enemy, beating it into submission and hoisted its victory flag.

"I just -- I want -- the thing is -- you see, it's like -- I have no clue." So much for that idea.

"Sirius . . . listen," James said, "if there's something wrong, you can tell me, okay?" James lightly touched Sirius' chin, turning the other boy's face to his. "Okay?"

James had opened the door, given him an opportunity to voice what had been going on inside his head. Now was not the time to hesitate.

"Alright. I've been thinking . . ." Sirius took a deep breath, "for a little while now, I've been feeling a little . . . taken for granted." James opened his mouth to protest. Sirius silenced him with a look. "Let me finish."

James obeyed his request, but an aura of rebellion oozed from his pores.

"Not only have I been feeling like you take me for granted . . . I've been feeling a little jealous." Again, James tried to speak. Sirius charged on, dauntless, take no prisoners. Yeah. Right.

"Please, James. Listen. I know when we started this whole thing, I told you I was cool with you staying with Lily. I never asked you to break up with her or anything because I knew it would have been violating some sort of unspoken agreement we made that day. You would be with Lily, but I would take care of you in ways she couldn't or wouldn't or whatever. And I was okay with that. I was willing to overlook the fact that I wasn't the only person you were kissing . . ."

Sirius trailed off, leaving the rest of the thought to die, unspoken. He'd opened the flood gates of his heart, allowing his thus far silent suffering to pour out, drowning the nervousness and fear of confrontation. He didn't want to say something he would later regret, but he didn't want to hold back either. He'd been staring at the mud-caked laces of his boots while his mouth had run away with him. It was hard for him to turn his head, to raise his eyes to meet those of the boy sitting next to him. He felt like he was weighted down. James stared back at him, the corners of his mouth turned down in a confused frown. His brow was furrowed, causing little wrinkles to appear on his forehead. Sirius brutally beat down the urge to reach out his hand and smooth the skin of James' face.

"What are you trying to say, Sirius?"

The lump in his throat was back with a vengeance. He vaguely wondered what physical phenomenon allowed that to happen.

"What I'm trying to say is --" Sirius stopped. Once he said exactly what he was trying to say, there was no turning back, no erasing the words. They would hang in the air between them, suspended by forces over which he had no control. He gave James a steady look, taking in the rumpled hair, the crystalline blue eyes, the pale skin, the set of his lips, the way his glasses had a tendency to slip down the bridge of his nose, the lithe frame built from years of Quidditch training, and the hands that somehow retained their elegance despite the callouses decorating the flesh. The little voice in the back of his head whispered quite loudly for something incongruously called "the little voice." It whispered to him, 'Would you risk all that?' Sirius grudgingly forced himself to answer the damnable little voice, 'Yes.'

"Things change, James, people change. What I'm trying to say is -- you can't expect something to stay the same forever. I've changed my mind about you and Lily. I don't like it. Well, I mean, I never liked it, but now I really don't like it."

James, whose body had been lightly touching Sirius', scooted away from him, moving his body on the other side of the sofa. The look he gave Sirius was one of confusion and hurt, but worst of all: betrayal.

"What are you saying, Sirius? Get to the point." James' voice was like tempered steel.

"The point is . . . I'm sick of it," Sirius said, his voice increasing in force. He seized whatever confidence he could, wrapping it around him like a shroud, wondering if it would be thick enough to shield him from the invisible arrows of James' hurt. He was taken aback by the display of victimized emotions. Sirius was not betraying James. He would never betray him. He had promised him that much. He continued, "I'm sick of being the fallback guy. I don't want it to be like that, James --"

"Then what do you want it to be like? Do you want me to make a choice between you and Lily? Is that what you want?"

The situation had quickly and efficiently escalated into the precise collision of emotions Sirius had desperately wanted to avoid.

"James, no, just listen --"

"You promised. You promised me you wouldn't get jealous." Tears had begun to leave wet trails down James' cheeks. The sight was enough to send the carefully constructed wall of resolve Sirius had surrounded himself with to the ground. He slid closer to James, reaching out his hand to the other boy's face. Sirius touched the tear stained face, but James brushed his hand away. For a brief moment, both boys looked at each other. The simplest action harbored the most monumental effect. Never before had James scorned comfort from Sirius.

The self-righteous indignation that had been so apparent in James' expression vanished, leaving a countenance of pain and something else, something Sirius would not have suspected. Fear. Sirius had not bothered taking into account what he would be saying to James other than 'make a decision.' He had unknowingly and regrettably frightened him. Within the context of his words, there existed a veiled threat. He had proposed an ultimatum. If James decided to let go of Sirius, he would also be letting go of not only a part-time boyfriend, but a best friend, a confidant, a shoulder to cry on. Where does a flower turn to when the sun has taken its leave?

"No, James, no. That's not what I meant," Sirius said, stumbling over his own words. He did not know how to comfort James. A thousand emotions wrestled within him. Disgust, Sorrow. Despair. Helplessness. He had single-handedly dismantled the cocoon of safety, love, and comfort he had spun around himself and James. The fragility of their relationship had escaped him. He had smashed it into diminutive pieces of shattered glass.

"James, listen to me," Sirius said as he tried to take James' hand in his. There was no longer any space available for James to scuttle further away on the couch. He stood, leaving Sirius alone on the sofa.

"Just -- don't touch me. Not right now. I just -- I don't understand. Why . . .?" James looked down at Sirius, who was still sitting. Blue eyes stared into brown ones, both knowing the answer, neither wanting to say it.

"I can't do this anymore, James. I want to be there for you, but it's too hard --"

"Don't give me that. You knew exactly what you were getting into when we started this. You knew I didn't want to dump Lily for you, you knew that I needed you. Don't act like this is all coming as a complete surprise to you. It's not." The words should have sounded angry, but James just sounded resigned. Sirius saw that he was uncomfortable, that he would rather be anywhere else but there. The sentiment was mutual.

"James --"

"Sirius --"

Sirius sighed and that one breath carried out of his body his resolve, his steadfast desire to settle the matter. He was tired, but it was a fatigue that extended beyond the limitations of bone and muscle. His heart, his mind, these otherwise intangible entities shivered in exhaustion.

"I don't want to do this."

The phrase was spoken by two mouths, two sets of lips moving to form the words. The sentence echoed in the almost empty room, reverberating off the walls. Mirrors of each other in appearance, but different -- so very, undeniably different -- in meaning that neither boy knew what to say to fill the chasm that they had inadvertently, but at the same time, all too knowingly, dug between them. The blindfolds they had tied around their eyes, their minds, their hearts, to shield themselves from the stark nature of the truth, of reality, had begun to peel away and the process was irreversible.

Sirius, unsure of what to do with himself, picked at a snag on the well worn sofa cushion. Standing, bringing himself level with James, seemed to aggressive. Fleeing to the safe, comfortable confines of his four poster in the dormitory was, without a doubt, too cowardly. He slid, slowly, along the couch, inviting James, without words, to sit back down.

A pause. Sirius willed himself not to flinch under the steady gaze of two blue eyes, searching without a destination, questioning knowing no answer was readily available. The eyes moved away, diverting their attention to the empty place on the sofa. Sirius felt as though a cord that had been pulled too taught between the two had been severed. He did not know if it was wiser to feel relieved or frightened. He opted for neutrality.

James sat down.

Neither boy spoke, nor did they look at each other. Two pairs of eyes stared into the dying fire, watching distractedly as the embers faded, too long had they gone unkindled.

"Sirius."

The boy in question wrenched his eyes away from the fireplace, turning his head to view James in profile. He had given up on words, surrendered to the uncertainty that had been threatening to engulf him the moment he had stepped through the portrait hole. He had drowned. He had lost.

"Let's not do this. Not tonight. Not now. Please."

As James spoke, his eyes never strayed from the diminishing fire, but his hand inched its way across the sofa cushion, over Sirius' lap, and wrapped itself around the other boy's limp fingers. Sirius neither responded in kind, nor removed his hand from James' gentle grasp. He knew he had sorely underestimated James' powers of persuasion, even if the other boy was painfully unaware of his own strength.

James finally turned to him, his eyes still engaged in that senseless search for truth, for freedom, for answers that Sirius did not possess, but wished to God he did. He had given in, buckled under the pressure, the unrelenting weight of James' need, his best friend's curious love. The battle had been lost, but the victory march would never pass, the trumpets would never sound. James' victory was a sullen one, a victory without trinkets or baubles to dazzle his opponent. It was bleak and cold, but at the same time, welcoming. Familiar. The fires that had been lit within Sirius while he had been calculating his seemingly careful plan in the library had nearly been extinguished. He stamped away at the vestiges of flame, knowing full well that he would not be able to squelch them, but nonetheless, trying.

"If that's what you want, James . . . I can do it."

James smiled, and it was like water to a man dying of thirst.

"Thanks," was all he said. James gave Sirius' hand one gentle squeeze before he rose from his seat. Sirius watched his retreating figure as he headed towards to his bedroom, their bedroom.

Sirius ran a hand through his hair and reclined on the sofa. The cushions were so soft, so welcoming. He soon found himself drifting away on the gentle sea of sleep, held afloat only by the single nagging thought of exactly what it was James expected him to do.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

A/N - It's been quite a while, hasn't it? Once again, you can thank A.L. Caraway, author of "I Never Promised You a Rose Garden" and other bits of insanity, for the continuation of this story. Her nagging convinced me that my habit of leaving things undone did nothing for my complexion.

I also realize that in OotP, J.K. Rowling shared with us the true color of James' eyes (brown or hazel, I don't remember) and whatever they are, they're not blue. I began this story way before the book was released and it's too late to rectify that little detail.

Feedback is always appreciated. Buckets of gratitude for all those who have reviewed this story.