Inches and Falling

Author's Notes: Written for the 2008 rs_small_gifts holiday fest for kittehkat, who asked for a story inspired by The Format's music. (I chose the songs "Inches and Falling" and "Dog Problems") Many thanks to reddwarfer for the beta. Title (and a paraphrased line in the fic) from The Format.

Inches and Falling

"Moony," Sirius whispered, kissing his throat as he thrust deep inside him, long, slow strokes that left him aching.

"Please, oh god, please," Remus murmured, head thrown back, his legs locked tight around Sirius' hips, squeezing, trying to pull him closer, harder, and he bucked up against him, the fairy lights on the tree twinkling, sparks of light glinting off tinsel and reflecting sparkles of light on Sirius' pale skin.

Sirius was beautiful like this, his dark hair swooping over his forehead, tickling Remus' chin. He looked up, and his eyes caught the light from the tree, silver rimming deep black, and Remus' breath caught in his throat.

"Moony," Sirius whispered again, his breath speeding up as he thrust faster, harder, and Remus reached up his hand, fingers tracing down Sirius' cheek, damp with the sweat of their exertions.

"Harder," he said, belying the tender gesture. "Fuck me, oh, god, fuck me," he said, watching Sirius' face as he complied. He could feel his orgasm building deep, and he bucked against him, his hand now gripping Sirius' shoulder, fingers digging into flesh.

Almost there, almost...

"--Oi, Moony, you there?"

Remus jumped up from his chair, knocking it backwards to the floor. Sirius...

"You okay? Moony? Padfoot? Open the door!"

Ah. "Just a minute, Wormtail," he called, righted the chair, and shuffled over to unlock the door. "Sorry," he said, as Peter stepped into the old cottage. "I forgot that I locked the door."

"Even out here in the middle of nowhere, you can't be too careful these days," Peter said, frowning. "Everything okay? I heard a crash."

Remus blushed as the last vestiges of his daydream left him. "Er, that was me. Tripped and knocked over a chair."

Peter nodded and rubbed his arms, which were crossed over his chest. "I forgot it would be so bloody cold up here. It is still August, isn't it?"

Remus shrugged and ushered him into the small kitchen. It was the warmest room in the cottage, but that wasn't saying much. "Tea?" he asked.

"Thanks," Peter said, sitting down at the table. "Sorry I'm late. I lost track of the time. Where's Padfoot?"

Remus busied himself with the kettle, pocketing his wand and pouring water into the two mugs. "I only have teabags here, sorry. And no milk."

"I don't mind," Peter said with a brief wave of his hand. "I guess he's late, too, huh?"

"Hmmm?" he said absently, setting a mug in front of Peter and taking the chair across from him.

Peter stared at him for a moment before lifting his mug and blowing before taking a sip. "Right. When's the last time you saw him then?"

Remus' hand shook slightly as he raised his own mug to his lips. He set the mug back down and stared down at his hands.

"Bollocks," Peter said and sighed. "What happened?" he asked softly.

Remus shrugged. "Don't know. Ever since James..." He rubbed his knuckle over his eye and sighed. "He's just not been himself for a good while now."

"I saw them last weekend. Lily said he hasn't been round in a while either, and James had a bit of a strop on, you know how he is, and being cooped up like that, well," Peter said, and shrugged. "You should stop in. Lily was asking after you, and I know James wants to see you. Asked me if I'd pick up some Boomslang skin for him, so you know he's getting desperate."

Remus quirked his lips. "Wants to see me, or wants to yank out some of my hair?"

"Both," Peter said, grinning. His smile faded. "He wouldn't, you know. Wouldn't leave them."

"I know," Remus said softly. And it was true. No matter how stir crazy James was feeling, he wouldn't ever leave them alone. They'd had to move three times in the past year alone, and he remembered the first time, just after last Christmas, when James hadn't been home and Lily had been on her own with Harry, not yet six months old. He never wanted to see that look on James' face ever again.

"Well, it's not just you," Peter said. "Like I said, Sirius hasn't come round over there either, and I think James is well upset over it. You don't think..." he said, scratching his chin. "No, forget I said anything."

Remus toyed with the label on his teabag. "What is it?"

"Nothing. It's daft." Peter looked at his watch. "It's just, well, nearly five years now, yeah? And he's never missed a moon yet, even in summer when you were at your parents' place over summer holidays and Christmas. It's not like him, is all."

Remus nodded slowly, his thumb ticking at the edge paper tab.

"Did you row?"

Remus shook his head. "Not really."

"Moony."

Remus looked up and Peter pointed to Remus' old school trunk in the corner. He sighed. "It's better this way. I can stay here," he gestured weakly. "Bit dumpy and the pipes leak, but it's not too terrible. It's got a roof at any rate."

"Does he know?"

"No. It's...better this way."

"Better for whom?"

Remus bit his lip and folded the paper tab, unfolded it, folded it in quarters, and didn't look up.

"Yeah, all right. I...Look, I didn't want to say anything, but I saw him a couple nights ago. I was in Diagon picking up some things for my mum -- she won't go anymore, not with everything the way it is -- and I saw him. Turned down into Knockturn Alley and went into that nasty hag pub -- you know the one. Remember we snuck in there that time, summer before fourth year 'cause James wanted to...?"

He trailed off, and Remus glanced up. Peter blushed and looked away. "Yeah, anyway. I thought maybe he was on Order business or something. I followed him, easy enough, right? And...and you don't want to hear this right now anyway, so I'll just drink my tea," he said and picked up his mug.

"You shouldn't stay," Remus said. "Not that I don't want your company, but without Prongs and...and Padfoot," he added, sighing.

"Pretty fair useless I am," Peter agreed. "I don't think you'd eat me, but probably best not to test that theory. Want me to come round in the morning then? What time is moonset?"

Remus shook his head. "No, it's fine. It's a short one tonight, and moonset is near on four a.m. anyway. It's too much trouble for you, probably splinch if you try to Apparate half asleep."

"Moony--"

"No, really Peter, it's fine." He pointed to the kitchen dresser. "I've healing potions and I'm just going to sleep right after anyway."

Peter looked at the boarded up window in askance. "Are you really going to live here?"

"Yes. For now. It won't be so bad, and you three and my mum are the only ones who know it's even here. Gran left it to my dad when she passed, and my mum won't come here. She lives with her sister now in Cornwall. I can fix it up a bit, and there's already a bed. Anyway, it's getting late. You should go. Give my love to Lily and James when you see them. I'll try to stop over, but, well, I'll try."

Peter didn't look as though he believed him, but he had the grace not to say anything more on the subject. "Owl me," he said.

Remus smiled, but he was sure it looked more like a grimace. "I will. Don't worry about me."

Peter shook his head and stood, picked up his mug and brought it to the sink. "You have any food?"

Remus nodded. "I'll be fine. Really. Thanks for coming," he said, and walked him to the door.

Peter clapped him on the shoulder. "Take care. I'll come by next week if I can."

Remus closed the door behind him and locked it. He sighed and shuffled slowly back to the kitchen, sat back down and absently stirred his lukewarm tea. On impulse, he reached behind him to the battered sideboard and added a healthy splash of whisky. It was cheap Muggle stuff -- he couldn't afford Ogden's Old -- but it did the trick anyway and certainly burned less going down. He checked the time yet again; not that he needed to. He could feel it in his blood, in his bones. Soon. He sighed and drained his cup, leaned back in his chair and closed his eyes.

He had hoped despite all odds that Sirius would come. He'd never missed a moon, not once since they first became Animagi in fifth year. Even when Sirius had Whooping Cough, he'd snuck out of the hospital wing and James had had to silence him because he couldn't stop whooping.

He smiled at the memory and opened his eyes. The reality of the present came rushing back, and he grunted, picked up the bottle and took a swig, foregoing the tea. It had been an awful year, and it was only getting worse. Christmas had been the last real happy time they'd had. Sirius had grown more and more reckless as the year wore on, his usual reaction when things went wrong, masking his despondency with anger to the point where Remus didn't know how to comfort him anymore.

Even the sex had become angry, no release, no relief; rather it was an intimacy of shared fears and emptiness instead of solace and affection. Sirius had been gone more often than not, and when he came back to the flat two nights ago, after a nearly three week absence, Remus had heard him prowling about. He'd come into the bedroom, and Remus had waited for him to climb into bed.

Instead, he'd quickly rummaged through the wardrobe in the dark, and then slept on the sofa, and had been gone by the time Remus awoke in the morning.

He'd sat for hours on the sofa in his pyjamas, bare feet pulling the chill from the floorboards, with his head in his hands, his tea cold and forgotten on the table. Unable to bear it any longer, he'd simply returned to the bedroom and packed his meagre belongings. It was better this way, he'd told himself as he carefully placed each item in his trunk, ignoring the shards of ice stabbing at his heart.

The hair on the back of his neck prickled, and he sighed. He took one last drink from the bottle before putting it back on the sideboard, and began stripping off his clothes.

~*~

He awoke to a chill darkness, his body stiff and aching and battered, and it took him a moment to remember where he was. He cracked open one eye, searching out the warm furry body that was always at his side on these post-moon mornings, but saw only shadows in the pre-dawn gloom. He was naked and alone on the worn and dusty floorboards.

He closed his eye and swallowed, and even that small movement hurt. His skin felt raw, the sting of a thousand needles as the post-transformation numbness faded into a sea of pain. He could feel a number of gaping wounds, bites and deep scratches, burning on his arms and thighs. He should move, he knew, but that would take far too much effort, more than he was capable of at the moment, and it was much better to lie here with his eyes closed and remember a time when the pain would be assuaged by a deep, soft voice in his ear, and a sweet, gentle touch on his lips...

When he next stirred into consciousness, the shadows had lessened, and sunlight bled through the cracks in the boards over the windows. This time he was better prepared for the silent emptiness that filled the small cottage, but it still hurt, even more than his bruised and broken body. He moved slowly, wincing as he bent his arm, stiff from where he had lain on it. He looked worse than he felt, which wasn't really saying much, but after fifteen years, he was stalwart as always as he dragged himself into a sitting position, resigned as ever to his fate.

That he had been granted a brief reprieve for a few short years was a small comfort, but he'd always known it would come to this.

It took a while, but he finally dragged himself to his feet, and staggered over to the missing bricks above the mantle where he'd left his wand. He unlocked the door to the kitchen, and did what he always did: he made tea.

While it was steeping, he opened the flask Poppy had sent him. She sent it every month, even after he'd told her it wasn't necessary, and this morning, thinking of her simple kindness made his eyes burn. He blinked, took a deep breath, and downed the foul-tasting potion. He opened the jar of healing salve and dabbed its contents on the wounds he could reach, and then put on the dressing gown he'd left out, wincing as the threadbare flannel touched his raw skin.

As he sipped his tea, he was distracted by a loud hooting sound. He walked slowly to the front door, unlocked it, and found two irritated owls on the rail outside.

"Right," he said, reaching into his pocket. "Sorry about that. I forgot." The large barn owl didn't look appeased as he held out the pouch on his leg for the coins, and flew off the moment Remus paid him. "Nasty little blighter," he muttered and turned to the other owl, this one familiar to him.

"Hullo, Elvendork," he said, his voice scratchy as he untied the letter from his leg. Lily had been adamant about not allowing James to name their son, so he'd had to settle for naming the owl instead. Lucky for Harry, that.

"I'm sorry I haven't any treats for you, but there are plenty of nice fat field mice you can gorge on to your heart's content," he said, gesturing to the tall grass waving gently in the nearby field. "Probably much tastier than stale biscuits."

Elvendork hooted, gently nipped him on the finger, and flew off to hunt.

Dear Moony (and Padfoot as you're either reading this to him or annoying him as usual by reading over his shoulder, though you've had your own letter yesterday so don't be a git, and hello to Wormy if he's still there):

I would have written sooner, but I was saving up for a nice long missive for you to read while you recover, not that we've had much in the way of news lately as we're rather sequestered here. James has been going a bit spare (more than a bit) and bids me to tell you (and he's making me quote him verbatim):

"Get your good-for-nothing, poncy arses over here and visit me, or so help me I will hex your bollocks off!"

But what he really means is that he realises that Order business is important, and that you'll come by as soon as you can safely manage. Honestly, I'll never know how you put up with him all these years. I'd hex his unmentionables off, but that would condemn poor Harry to a life as an only child.

He does feel horrible that he's been unable to be with you these past few months, and we both worry for you and hope you're well. He doesn't sleep well full moon nights, if he sleeps at all, and I know that his heart is with you, even if his body is not, and we both miss you very much.

Thank you so much for Harry's birthday presents! James has been reading the book to him every night -- he particularly loves performing all of the sound effects, to Harry's delight and my chagrin -- and while he hasn't built anything significant with the blocks yet, he does seem to enjoy throwing them at his father. I've enclosed a picture, and James' expression when the block strikes him in the forehead is particularly endearing. As you know, Padfoot bought him a broom, which Harry loves to distraction. I sent Padfoot a picture of him zooming around the living room, so make sure he shows it to you. James is convinced he'll be a world class Quidditch player and bring the Cup back to England. I think we should wait until he at least turns two before deciding his future career for him.

We had a quiet birthday tea...

Remus finished the letter, and glanced briefly at the photograph, a hint of a smile on his lips as he watched Harry hurl a bright blue wooden block at James. A Chaser in the making already. He sighed and put his head in his hands, feeling even more alone than he had before.

It was a lovely letter, full of Lily's good humour despite the heavy circumstances that kept them all apart in these dark times, and it made him ache with a longing for what was, and what would never be again.

He opened his trunk and put the picture and letter in the small box with his other pictures and letters. All of his memories of love and laughter fit into this small bit of worn cardboard, less than a foot square. He closed the lid and sat back down at the table, ignoring the Prophet as he stirred his lukewarm tea.

He'd do his part for the Order, though he felt more and more useless as the deaths and disappearances mounted. He'd barely spared a glance at the front page of the Prophet as he'd walked back from the door, merely scanning the page for names he recognized, heart in his throat, and the small exhalation of relief at their absence for one more day, though Marlene's death only weeks earlier still loomed large for him, and the image of the Dark Mark glittering green and sinister over her house haunted his dreams, and would for a long time to come.

That night had been the last night they'd slept together, and the sex had been angry and rough, and over far too quickly. No embrace afterward, merely a hastily muttered cleaning charm, and a grunt as Sirius had rolled over onto his side, facing away from him.

All that remained was a small box full of memories with little to show.

Even together they'd been alone, islands in a storm-tossed sea of death and despair. It was better this way, he told himself yet again as he absently stirred his cold tea. Perhaps one day, he might actually believe it.

~end~

End Note: Lily's letter was, of course, purposely similar to the one she wrote to Padfoot in Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows, and I did take a few liberties playing with and paraphrasing some of the text of it from the book.