This Is His Home And I’m Just A Vacation.

This is his home and I’m just a vacation.

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this line broke me-

(my sis is literally singing 'hold back the river' as if it isnt completely out of my control already)

Fault Lines pt. 2

Fault Lines pt 1 here

In which Remus and Sirius are divorced and doing their best while also raising Harry.

(about 3k)

--

July 1987

Remus stayed behind to help clean up after the birthday party, their newly seven-year-old slowly losing steam minute by minute and heading for a sugar crash, judging by the quieting sounds from the sitting room.

“You were better with the mess this year…” Remus commented absently, putting paper plates into a large trash bag as Sirius stored the leftovers, magic moving around him to wipe off the counters.

“I’ve been…working on it.” Sirius replied, smiling a little over his shoulder, “But, in all fairness, seven-year-olds are better at mess control than six-year-olds…and this year the theme wasn’t Sandcastles.” Remus couldn’t help but smile back, thinking about Harry’s birthday last year. The first birthday after separating where they both tried to compensate and acquiesced to every ask their six-year-old had, including turning the backyard of Number 12 into a makeshift beach. Remus had stayed to help clean last year as well, watching as Sirius cleaned the floor free of sandy shoe prints three separate times. He also watched the whole party as Sirius made a mental list of the sticky doorknobs, spills in the kitchen, his smile never faltering and his voice never changing. As if nothing was bothering him in the slightest. Sirius always knew how to put on a good show, even when their relationship was pulling apart at the seams, and Remus’ would have to fight down tears in public spaces. Sirius could hold it together. Sirius could smile and say thank you, expert at lying between his teeth.

Part of Remus always circled back to wondering if that’s what started the rip in the first place. But the other part knew that there was no longer time for pointing fingers and it just was now.

“Still going to wash the floors tomorrow?”

“Shite, I'm washing them tonight after Harry goes to bed."

Remus laughed softly, the last of the used paper cups going into the trash bag as well. Sirius let out a contented sigh, eyes scanning the kitchen with a look that clearly said this will have to do, before extending a piece of cake in Remus’s direction.

“I already had some,” Remus told him, shaking his head.

“The tiniest slice. Even though I told you there was plenty. You deserve a proper one.” Remus accepted the slice, still unsure of when he should excuse himself to leave, thinking there should really be a book on this sort of thing. He noticed Sirius had his own piece in his hand as he jumped to sit on top of the counter, finally relaxing for the first time all day. Sirius was always the last to eat. Sirius always made sure everyone else got some before he did and on party days, focused more on Harry having a good time than remembering to eat himself. “Cheers, Moony."

“Cheers.”

Filling the gaps hadn’t gotten easier. Neither had dropping Harry off after the weekend, or leaving Number 12 on the rare occasions he had stayed for dinner, though he had found the courage to stay a few times now. It seemed unfair that Remus had to choose between loving his apartment and the way it felt to not be tiptoeing around arguments and his family. Though, if you asked Sirius, and Remus had, he felt it was unfair Remus got to be the one who left. Sirius felt it unfair he had to be the one who sat with the memories because his house was the one Harry felt comfortable in. Another show. Make sure someone else is comfortable before addressing what you need.

Remus sometimes wondered if his own selfishness was what caused Sirius to start pulling at the existing rip in the first place.

Did I push you away?

Did you ever love me or did you just want to make me happy?

Usually, Sirius was the one who took the step to make the palatable silence between them feel less awkward; less jarring. Remus noticed that in addition to not minding mess nearly as much, Sirius had also stopped doing that. Sirius had stopped doing a lot of things for Remus when he realized he didn't have to anymore.

Some days Remus missed it. He had admittedly grown accustomed to a life with someone who catered to him. Not just financially. But Remus missed coming home from work to dishes that were already done, waking up to a kid who was already dressed for the day, to favorite desserts and thoughtful notes left on bathroom mirrors. He missed having someone who always corrected baristas when they got his order wrong. Remus had drunk a lot of incorrect coffee since being separated.

Did I ever say thank you? How many times did I roll my eyes instead?

“It’s…the sun is going down.” Remus tried, around a mouthful of chocolate cake, wincing as he heard the sentence leave his mouth.

“It happens every day,” Sirius replied, raising an eyebrow in amusement, “You know…we used to be good at talking to one another. We used to be friends.”

“Yeah, how’d we do that?”

“I…think we would just…think things and then say them out loud.”

“Okay.”

“So...how are you?”

“You know…still pretty lousy most days actually, but today was good.” Remus finished, already bracing himself for Sirius to return with an answer that would add insult to injury. Already bracing for I’m just fine; I’m enjoying being single again; We get on swimmingly without you.

“Me too.”

--

June 1988

“I don’t understand why you’re still insisting you play by their stupid rules, Remus! He’s your kid just as much as he is mine. I know it, you know it, they’re just--”

“Because I can’t afford to break the rules, Sirius! How is that going to look?”

“If you do I’ll just--”

“And I don’t need you to fight my battles for me. This isn’t something your piles of money and last name can just--”

“It is actually. You’re so fucking stubborn…”

“And you’re not?”

“Just…” Sirius made a small noise of frustration in the back of his throat as he continued packing a trunk for Harry for the month. Their kid was spending the afternoon with Andromeda, giving the two of them time to work out any particulars and argue without the fear of their almost eight-year-old overhearing. Aside from losing his best friend in the divorce and the hangovers he endured coping with the fall-out when Harry was with Remus for the weekend, trying not to argue in front of Harry had been the hardest part. Sirius was always so proud at Hogwarts and the years following that he and Remus rarely argued. They rarely fought.

Love is the easiest thing in the world. He had said. And maybe somewhere Sirius still believed that because he didn’t love Remus any less now that he had an apartment across town and a whole life that Sirius didn’t get a play-by-play of. Love could be easy. Relationships weren’t though, and it was more common now that they would meet up while Harry was at school to calmly argue at coffee shops. Public places to settle disagreements, where they both had to keep their heads, never wanting to cause a scene, and not wanting to move backward. Because the first months had been full of name-calling and shouting matches that left both of the high and dry and bleeding out. Remus waved the white flag first.

“It’s been over two years at this point. You have a job and a flat and a car that I’m sure you drive very cautiously in. You've taken him to Healer check-ups, you've been on time to meetings... Just let me appeal--”

“It is not your job to intervene, Sirius.”

“Like hell it’s not!”

“Why are you arguing with me about this? All it means is you get Harry less.”

“I know.”

“You lose.”

“Has it occurred to you that I don’t want to win? I don’t want to win this one because that means Harry loses. He’s the one caught in the middle of this,” Sirius told him, hastily throwing socks into the trunk, not bothering to count how many there were or if they were matched properly, “And he’s the one who is missing out on spending time with you because the adults just couldn’t keep their shit together. That’s bullocks.”

Remus smiled softly, “You’re not folding his pants? This is a very messy trunk.”

“Shut up.”

“Sirius, come on, don't--”

“No, I mean it, shut up for one second,” Sirius said taking a breath as he closed the dresser drawer, flicking his wrist so the pants and socks would organize themselves in the trunk. Even though he knew it would be ruined the second Harry unpacked at Remus’s and that when Harry came back at the end of the month, it would be haphazardly thrown in. This was the second summer they had done this. This was the second summer Sirius would spend all of June alone in his big empty house, crossing off days on the calendar until his kid came back and the walls of Number 12 could be filled with laughter instead of ghosts. They had both agreed to this arrangement, but that didn’t stop the frown appearing on Remus’ face when he dropped Harry off the last day of June a year ago. It didn’t stop Sirius from looking out the window of Grimmauld Place a half-hour later to see Remus still parked there, tears running down his face.

I’m sorry, I don’t mean to make this about me. It’s just…hard. This is his home and I’m just a vacation.

But Remus didn’t hear the times Harry started calling for him and then had to stop himself mid-sentence. And Remus wasn’t around the first week of July where Harry couldn’t stop talking about the park near Remus’s flat and the time they had ice cream for dinner. Remus wasn’t there for all the bedtimes Sirius tried to read the book Harry had been reading with Remus only to be told you’re doing it wrong and it’s okay, I’ll just wait. Sirius didn’t want either of them to be a vacation destination--he wanted Harry to have roots in two places.

Point A.

Point B.

So no matter what happened, Harry would always have two clear places to go.

“This isn’t about money,” Sirius started, once the blood in his brain had settled and he could think straight, “Maybe at first it was…and I think if you take a second think about it, you’ll admit that you weren’t ready to have a five-year-old staying with you for an extended period of time when you first moved either…”

Remus chewed his lower lip for a moment, “No, you’re right. I wasn’t.”

“But it’s not anymore. It’s not about…I’m not just throwing money at you, Remus.”

“The galleons in Harry’s trunk say differently.”

“It’s pocket money!”

“He’s eight, how big do you think his pockets are?” Remus asked but there was no heat to his question. It was the same tone and same expression that Remus used to wear when Sirius would go overboard with baby clothes or toys.

“So I’m…indulgent. Okay? I admit that. But maybe you can admit you’re being stubborn about this? Harry deserves more than every other weekend with you. And to be honest, you know I can’t read and his books are getting more and more words in them.”

“You can read…” Remus smiled a little and sighed, “What is admitting it going to do? We signed a contract.”

“Contracts can be amended.”

“To what?”

“What do you want?” Sirius asked, though he already knew what the answer would be. All the time. So he’s mine. Usually with ex-boyfriends, you could go the rest of your life and never hear their name again. It was much harder to move on when the ex was your husband and his name came out of your child's mouth every other breath. “I mean, obviously we can’t…the all together under one roof thing isn’t going to work. So, what do you want to do? Just tell me and I’ll be down at the ministry and I won’t leave until--”

“I don’t know how many times I need to tell you that I don’t need you to fight for me anymore.” Remus told him, eyebrows knitting together, “That’s not your job anymore.”

“It’s always my job.”

“No. You aren’t just going to sweep in and handle this for me but--”

“For fucks sake, Re--”

“Let me finish, would you?” and Sirius crossed his arms, the trunk long forgotten as he stared at his ex-husband expectantly, “You don’t get to handle this. Because it is not a you situation. It’s a we situation. So we can go handle it together.”

We.

Maybe there was a different version of us to be found.

“I can work with that.” Remus rolled his eyes at the response as Sirius walked to Harry’s closet, going through t-shirts, trying to remember which ones were his favorite to wear at the moment. Blue.

“Hot head…”

“Stubborn arse.”

--

December 1989

“I don’t think there are enough presents here,” Remus mused looking around at the towering boxes of gifts on the floor. It was after midnight, and as usual most of the gift wrapping was left until the last minute, Remus sitting in the parlor of Number 12 with Sirius a bottle of firewhiskey between them. It would’ve taken less time had they both not wanted to have at least two very stiff drinks following Christmas Eve dinner at the Weasleys before starting wrapping. The first hour after Harry went to bed was spent recounting the evening, a back-and-forth occurring between the two of them that had been pushed aside years ago. Like a double-trapeze artist act at the circus that had retired and came back around for a farewell tour, Remus still remembered how to counter quick remarks from Sirius. And for the first time in such a long, long, time, had been thankful to have Sirius next to him at the Weasley’s dinner table while he bit his tongue and they shared looks that no one else understood.

Dusting off the cobwebs of a foreign language both of them had forgotten to practice. Tongues were clumsy around the words, pronunciation a bit off, but a conversation could be had nonetheless.

“Kid is spoiled.” Sirius returned, “James and Lily would hate this. Christmas is about love, not about presents, Sirius," he finished in an impression of James that Remus hadn't heard in quite some time.

“He was such a bloody tosser sometimes,” Remus smiled around the rim of his glass, “Tell us all it’s not about presents and it’s about a feeling but you know he’d be the first one writing us about what he got from his parents.”

Sirius laughed, “Like it was a contest too. We get it, Prongs, you had a good childhood. No need to rub it in our faces. I remember one year, I think I had gotten a set of dress socks from my parents…this whole new, expensive wardrobe, and a magical planner to help me organize my classes. James writes me with Pads, I got a new broom and my Mum made my favorite cookies! Honestly, more--”

“Jealous of the cookies, right? Mrs. Potter’s were the best.”

“They were…”

“You make them pretty well too,” Remus told him, taking a sip of his drink. The fireplace crackled quietly, warmth enveloping the both of them. “You think they’d be upset?”

“About what?”

“Us?”

“I…can’t think about that.” Sirius told him, “I do sometimes and it gets way too dark up there," he said tapping the side of his skull with a tattooed finger, "and…it’s better I don’t. I think…they’d just want Harry to be happy and taken care of…and if we’re happy too, even better. But not required."

"Like a side effect?"

"Yeah, something like that."

Remus looked up from the amber liquid in his glass to meet Sirius’ eyes from across the room. The same dark curls, as thick as it was at seventeen. The same lopsided smile that Remus fell hook, line, and sinker for. Except now he was 29 and Remus wasn’t falling, wasn’t hurting, wasn’t anything but glad to be able to sit in a room with his best friend without wanting to claw his eyes out or play the blame game.

“You…you know…what I realized?” Remus asked, Sirius’ eyes meeting his own.

“Hm?”

The ache is gone.

“I don’t think we’ve been in a room this long together in…years. And…the funny thing is, I’m still looking forward to being here tomorrow. I don’t even want to pretend I’m going to the lav when I’m actually smoking out the window.”

“I knew you were doing that…”

“You never said anything.”

“Yeah, because that’d be very hypocritical of me when I say I need to go to check the wards when I’m actually smoking.” Remus laughed, Sirius’ smile catching the firelight as he spoke again, “It was rough waters there for a little bit, Moons…but, I think we did alright.”

“Yeah.”

“Except, you know…James and Lils would really hate that we’re still smoking.”