Title: Wisdom of the Drunk
Author: Kait
Rating: PG
Pairing: Remus/Sirius, Mark/Roger
Summary: Challenge number 105: Remus and Sirius meet a slashy couple from another fandom.
Notes: Written for the SPRL Fuh-Q-Fest.


Wisdom of the Drunk

The last thing that you need is more alcohol in you system, but you're drinking anyway and in a muggle bar, of all places.

You were at the Leaky Cauldron, but once the fight started you knew you couldn't stay there. You aren't quite drunk enough to go home yet, however so... here you are.

It's Sirius' fault, really. Or, rather, it's Reginald Lambert's fault, if you want to get right down to it. If Reginald Lambert hadn't attacked Romulus and yourself when you were four years old, then none of this would be happening. You wouldn't be a werewolf, for one, and you and Sirius would not be having this conversation moon after moon. But, if you attribute the werewolf attack that killed your brother and infected your blood as an act of fate, then really, it's Sirius' fault.

You plod through that explanation in your mind. 'Oh yes, you're getting quite drunk, Lupin...'

It just doesn't make any logical sense! Of course, Sirius rarely makes any sort of logical sense, and you suppose you should just chalk this up to another one of his peculiarities. Honestly, should it really seem strange that a man who knowingly associated with a werewolf would want to stay around him - as a human, mind you - on the nights of the full moon? No, not strange. Not random. But stupid nonetheless.

Sirius was just too reckless with his life these days. He survived Azkaban. He survived two wars against Voldemort. He survived running with a werewolf as a dog for many, many years. But he would never survive staying with a werewolf as a human. Regardless of the fact that the odds are on his side - you scowl as he thinks this, the idea of a tame werewolf still paining you - one mistake, one miscalculation could be fatal. Or permanent. You saw such a mistake the night you discovered Sirius' innocence. You never want to see it again.

You don't realize you're laughing until the man next to you turns and gives you a slightly amused look. You stop and size up the other man. Bleached blonde hair. Worn plaid pants. He looks like he stepped out of the punk movement. And rather out of place in the bar you're in. Of course, you look rather out of place yourself, but that doesn't seem to bother you tonight.

He's watching you watch him, his amusement melting into wariness. A look you recognize after giving it to far too many men and women in your life.

"Oh," you say, the alcohol destroying your usual inhibitions about talking to strangers, making you quite bold and cheeky all of a sudden. "Don't worry. I already have an incredibly reckless and self-sacrificing lover who's going to bloody well get himself killed thanks to me." He blinks and you just grin at him blearily. After a moment, he grins back.

"Yeah, I have one of those too." He's American. His accent is strong. "In fact, he's the reason I'm in this country, in this bar, getting completely trashed. On beer that would be expensive and imported if I was home in New York." You nod. You notice the pronoun just as he obviously noticed the one that you used.

"To reckless, idiotic men." You raise your glass. He raises his. You drink in silence for a long time.

"I just wish he would realize that I'm trying not to hurt him," he whispers, clutching the glass close to him for a moment. His eyes are far away and the whisper hits a little too close to home as you realize that you're in quite the same situation with Sirius.

"I know," you murmur in reply, laying a hand on his arm. He looks at you again, and you notice his eyes are quite striking. And sad. Too sad and too old for a man of his age. He can't be more than twenty-five.

"What do you know about it?" It's a little harsh and you're reminded of Sirius, his temper and his refusal to believe that anyone could ever understand what he's feeling. You push the thought away with a small, irritated huff. The man looks offended.

"I'm..." You stop yourself. How can you put this without saying what you are? "Well, to start with, I'm Remus Lupin. And I have a sort of... well, it's a rather rare disease. It's rather hard to catch as long as you avoid one major risk factor, which is being by the afflicted when they get.... ah... symptoms. It only happens about once a month. But my idiotic lover feels that I need to be comforted during that time. He doesn't seem to realize that comforting me one time could be the end of it for him." You scowl, your mind wandering back to the earlier argument. 'Snape assured me--' 'Now is the time you choose to agree with Severus Snape on something?!' 'Remus, I just want to--' 'You just don't understand!'

Time for more liquor, you decide quickly, catching the barkeep's attention and ordering another drink. Your companion is staring down into his, biting his lip.

"That's... a lot... fuck, that's basically exactly my problem." He looks up at you now, the sharp tone completely dissipated. You offer him a smile. "I'm Roger. Roger Davis. And I... well, I mean, it's not a secret. I'm... sort of... well, okay, there's no sort of... but... aw, fuckit, I'm HIV positive. And... I mean... Mark just... he doesn't get it, sometimes. That I could... I could infect him." Silence, as you stare at the man - Roger - again. Exactly alike. What are the odds? You smile ruefully and pat him on the shoulder.

"And let me guess? He wants to ignore the problems because he'd rather be sick with you than watch you suffer alone?" Roger nods and you sigh heavily, frustrated with Mark after that description alone. "Sirius is exactly the same way. He's just..." He gestured vaguely. "He loves me. So much that I get... frightened sometimes. I mean... we've been together since we were seventeen years old. We're thirty-nine now. There was a long period of time when we were separated and I thought that he... did something completely despicable. But I loved him anyway. And that's just... truly frightening." Your eyes are closed and you're letting your mind wander to those painful twelve years when Roger touches your hand.

"It could be worse," he says with a bitter grin. "I've left Mark... six or seven times. A few before we were together, but the majority of them afterwards. I've never... cheated. But I would just leave New York for... Santa Fe, San Francisco... fuck, anywhere that he wasn't. I would be so fucking angry with myself for leaving him... so scared to leave him on his own... but I would do it anyway. I just didn't... I don't..." He takes a long drink. "I couldn't live with myself if he were to get sick. If I made him that way."

"The thing that rules your life, destroys it, affecting the person you love the most."

"And leaving him with the pain and the suffering and the fucking complete hopelessness. Not to mention the treatments which hurt like a bitch."

"And the symptoms which drive you almost literally out of your mind."

"And losing control of your life."

"Giving it over to something that just wants to crush the life out of you."

The silence is overpowering. There's a stirring deep in you chest, an urge to hold Sirius tightly and never let him go ever again. You wish you could be holding him right now, telling him this, trying to make him understand. From the look on Roger's face, it seems as if he's feeling the same way.

"I want my life back," he murmurs.

"I do too."

"And it's not like being...loving Mark isn't hard enough. He's such a fucking idiot sometimes and he's not... he's so fucked up. And I wouldn't change him... except maybe to make him happier... but still, now I have this to deal with. You would think that someone who's been misunderstood his entire life would make an effort to understand other people." Roger drains his glass and slams it into the bar. You can't tell if he's angry or close to tears. Maybe both. You know that you are. You wish there was something you can do, another way for you to reach out to him. You know about AIDS and you know that it's eventually fatal. A part of you is ashamed for sitting here with this man and comparing your condition to that, a mere inconvenience in the scheme of things.

Even drunk your ears pick up the footsteps before the newcomer makes himself present. The result of too many long, cautious watches in too many wars.

"Roger..."

And just like that you know it's Mark. You know it. You don't know anything about who Roger's traveling with, who's at the bar with him... but you can tell it's Mark. He's using the same tone of voice that Sirius does when he's angry with himself, begging for forgiveness. You turn to see a slightly shorter, slightly sweeter man. Not another grungy rocker like you were expecting, but a pair of reserved, calm blue eyes behind thick glasses. You almost want to laugh, but your mind wanders back to the sight of fearless, cunning, seventeen year old Sirius Black and his quiet Prefect lover and you suddenly feel more like throwing up.

Roger looks wary. He hasn't turned yet, and for a moment you think you might be witness to a row much like the one you had a bit earlier. Roger is better than you are at controlling his temper than you were eariler, however, and turns stiffly. Mark cringes. You remain completely silent, praying that you could fade into the background.

"Mark. I thought you went to bed."

"I... I mean... well... I couldn't sleep... well, without... uh..." Stuttering. You used to stutter like that whenever Sirius got too randy during lessons. "I'm sorry. And I'm pretty fucking stupid."

"You're a fucking asshole."

"I am. But I love you. And I... maybe we should... talk a little." Before Roger can reply, hands are on your shoulders, heavy and warm. Possessive. You don't need to look up. You know if you do, you might say something you regret. 'I just want to be with you! Always! I love you!' 'Then respect my wishes! This is dangerous, Sirius! Dangerous! You could die, Sirius! Or, gods, get bitten! I don't want you to have to go through this!' 'Well then at least you wouldn't have to go through it alone!'

"Sirius," Roger says, breaking the spell. You nod, picturing the cautious, confused look on your lover's face. "I've heard a lot about you. You're a fucking asshole too, you know that? You and Mark should start a club for reckless dickheads."

"Sirius, no," you say without looking up. His grip on your shoulders tightens.

"Remus--"

"No. This is Roger Davis and Mark. And I tend to agree with Roger's assertion. I told you not to follow me until you returned to reality."

"Was that what you said? It was hard to make it out over the ringing of my ears. You throw a bloody strong punch, Moony." And now you have to look because you just need to see that grin. That stupid, reckless, shitfaced grin that he pulls off so well. His cheek is swollen and his hair in a disarray. He obviously left before he had time to do a simple healing charm on his face. You get the impression that he's been apparating to and from every bar in London. You almost wish he had gotten splinched.

Sirius touches your cheek tenderly and you can't help but lean into it.

"We need to have a discussion, Padfoot. I'll use small words and charts and diagrams to make you understand, if I have to, but... this needs to be addressed. Because you need to be reminded, I think, of some of the things that made you attempt the animagus--" You catch yourself just in time "--uh... gift... in fifth year." A sidelong glance at Roger and Mark. They're not even paying attention anymore, preferring to stare at each other. You can't help but smile.

You stand and Sirius immediately engulfs you in his arms. You let him hold you for a moment before pulling away. You tap Roger on his shoulder, breaking the spell.

"It's been a pleasure, Roger," you say. He smiles at you. "Best of luck to you both." You turn to Mark. "Listen to him. This is a terrible position to be put in and you don't understand how devastating it is to have to cope with being able to hand your lover a death sentence, albeit accidentally." You give Sirius a pointed, sidelong look. He has the decency to look shamed.

"Good luck," Roger murmurs, nodding to you and Sirius. You smile, feeling defeated and hopeful at the same time, and take Sirius' hand firmly. Leaving the bartender a hefty tip, you pull Sirius out into the street.

"What was that all about?" he asks as you march towards a back alley to apparate back to the flat.

"The wisdom of the drunk," you reply, pulling out your wand. "Now I believe you have a lecture to attend in our living room. Please don't be late."

You apparate before he can respond.

.end.