Rating: PG-13
Word Count: 2554
Characters: Remus Lupin, Nymphadora Tonks, Sirius Black, Muggle Sailor (OC), Buckbeak, Banji Mashaka (OC)

Cat Island was less than fifty miles from end to end. Remus had an overwhelming impression of green and a lot of sandy coastline and very little else. As the ship drew closer, the harbour came into view, and it was only a moment or two later that Remus was able to make out the fuzzy black dot waiting at the edge of it.

In that moment, the excitement and anticipation which had held him in their grip for nearly three weeks turned to fear. Doubts assailed him.

What if it's too soon? What if I can't be what he needs? What if we've just changed too much?

He tried to shake off these treacherous thoughts and feel nothing but the joy of knowing that, within an hour, he and Sirius would be together again, but he could not dispel the blanket of worry which they had laid over his mind. Drawing a deep breath, he forced down the rising panic.

We'll take it slow. After all, we have plenty of time. It will be all right.

He devoutly hoped that it would be.

As the ship pulled in to the dock, he checked his luggage one last time, and hugged Tonks goodbye, wishing her a good summer wherever she ended up spending it. She had listened with a sympathetic ear to his "doubts" about Sirius's guilt, and he thought he might have made some headway in making her believe at least that something had been odd about the circumstances of Sirius's "crimes". She kissed him on the cheek as he disembarked, pestering him to write her if he ever needed someone to talk to.

His feet had barely touched the sun-warmed boards of the dock, when he was bowled over backward and enveloped in a storm of black fur and dog breath. A sailor called out and came running to his aid, attempting to extricate Remus from the bear-like dog's exuberant welcome.

"I'm so sorry, Sir. He's been sitting here all morning, and hasn't bothered anyone at all until now. I don't understand --"

"It's all right," gasped Remus, slightly winded, burying his hands in the thick, warm fur and firmly holding the dog off himself. "He -- er -- belongs to a friend. I'll just take him along with me, shall I?"

With a last quizzical glance at man and dog, the sailor shrugged and went about his business. Remus gave the dog an arch look.

"You might try acting a bit more dog-like on an island entirely populated by Muggles, you know."

The black dog whined, and then broke out in a doggy grin. Remus sighed.

"I can pick up my bags later. Why don't you show me this place Dumbledore mentioned?"

The dog turned and trotted away, Remus following behind. The harbour town was small, and soon they were walking along a sandy path between palm trees, silent but for birdsong and the distant crash of waves. The tropical sun beat down, and Remus was glad for the shade of his straw hat.

After about fifteen minutes, the dog stopped in front of a thick grove of trees and turned to wag his plumed tail.

"Here?" Remus asked skeptically, peering into the shadows.

It was more of a hut than a cottage, and looked as though no one had lived in it for some time. A faded "to let" sign was pinned to the door, which, when Remus gave it an experimental push, creaked open to reveal a dim and dingy sitting room with two darkened doorways leading to kitchen and bedroom.

"Very homey," he quipped.

"I knew you'd like it," said a rough voice behind him. "You know, you look ridiculous in that hat."

Turning, Remus had one brief glimpse of Sirius -- thin, grubby, wild-haired, beautiful -- before finding himself suddenly enveloped in a second enthusiastic greeting, this one involving much less fur, but more hands and lips.

For a moment, he allowed Sirius to kiss him, savouring the urgent mouth on his own, despite the fact that Sirius had clearly not had an opportunity to bathe properly or clean his teeth in some time. Then his earlier panic overwhelmed him, and he found that he could not breathe. He broke away, taking a step back and looking around as though keenly interested in the house.

"So -- er -- Dumbledore recommended this place, did he?" he asked awkwardly.

"Yeah," Sirius replied, and when Remus looked up to meet his eyes, he read disappointment in them, and looked away guiltily.

"It's not very much like the cozy holiday cottage I imagined. Did Dumbledore mention why he was recommending it?"

"He did." Something like smugness was back in Sirius's voice, much to Remus's relief. "Close your eyes, and I'll show you."

Obligingly, Remus closed his eyes and held out a hand, which Sirius caressed briefly before grasping it and tugging him through the house. A door opened, and Remus felt a change in the air that meant they were back outside.

"Open your eyes!"

Remus blinked. "It's an outhouse," he said, puzzled.

Buckbeak the Hippogriff, crouching behind the ramshackle structure, made a low, cawing noise, and Remus took a step backward. Buckbeak did not seem overly keen on the scent of werewolves.

"It does look like that, doesn't it?" agreed Sirius, reaching absently to scratch the Hippogriff's feathery head. "But watch this."

The door, once opened, proved to be a thick slab of iron, with only a thin covering of weathered wood on the outside. Inside, rather than a small, enclosed space with seating for one, there was a stone stairway that led down into darkness. Remus stared.

"For full moons!" Sirius declared triumphantly. "Some members of the Order hid out here once, Dumbledore said. It's called a 'bum shelter'."

"Bomb shelter," Remus corrected automatically. "Remember, I told you about bombs? Big Muggle weapons that blow things up?"

"Oh, right." Sirius peered down into the darkness. "Well, that makes more sense. Want to go down and have a look?"

"Er -- perhaps not just now."

Sirius shut the door and turned toward him. Remus could see the questioning look in his eyes -- knew that if he just stood here and did not move or say anything, in a moment Sirius would be kissing him again. The half of him that was not consumed with self-doubt wanted it to happen. Sirius took a breath and leaned forward. Remus looked away.

"Not -- not yet," he heard himself say hoarsely. "It's too soon. I -- want it to be right."

"Oh," said Sirius flatly. "Okay."

They stood awkwardly for a moment, not looking at one another.

"We -- we should go back into town," Remus said at length. "I need to get my bags, and I can phone about this place."

"All right," Sirius said, but he did not sound as if he thought it was all right at all.

It was difficult, at first. It was not in Remus's nature to keep himself from Sirius, but they soon managed to settle into a routine, finding things to do and talk about to cover the awkward silences.

For one thing, there was the cottage to be seen to. It would take a lot of work to make it habitable, but the price was right, and the bomb shelter in the back was an undeniable asset. Sirius, who had never been very fond of cleaning, took great delight in being allowed to perform magic after such a long time, and did not mind so much being asked to whisk sand, dead leaves, and dodgy-looking insects from the corners of the rooms. He even surprised Remus by modifying a tooth-whitening charm to brighten up the dingy whitewash.

Sirius himself wanted tidying up as well. Remus conjured him a washtub filled with steaming water, and ordered him into it, trying very hard not to watch the pale, thin frame lowering itself into the water.

"Scrub my back for me, Moony?"

Remus hesitated, but Sirius's voice was free of suggestive tones, and he relented. If he took a bit longer about soaping the planes of Sirius's shoulders than wisdom dictated, while Sirius, eyes closed, looked blissful, well, there was no harm in that. He barely resisted the urge to plant a kiss on the back of Sirius's neck when he finished.

Afterward, Sirius's loins now safely wrapped in a brightly-coloured beach towel, Remus felt able to look upon him somewhat more objectively.

"You want a haircut, Mr Black."

He himself had opted to allow his hair to grow, and neglected to shave. Since one side effect of Lycanthropy was more rapid than normal hair growth, he was already looking quite scruffy.

Sirius reached up to run a hand through the matted tangles, and winced. "I do, at that!" he declared. Haunting gray eyes looking into Remus's. "Cut it for me, Moony?"

What is this? Seduction by maternal instinct? Remus thought wryly, but he consented.

"Besides," he reasoned, conjuring sharp scissors, "I don't know how widely your picture was circulated on the Muggle news. Could be there's people here who know to look out for a walking corpse with a head like a Thestral nest."

Sirius chuckled. "So it's a makeover, then, is it? Short hair, Muggle clothes, plenty of sun -- and I've been thinking about getting fat. I think it would be a good look for me." He patted his sunken belly.

Laughing, Remus replied, "We'll see about feeding you up later. Haircut now, though. Sit." He pointed to a chair he had brought in from the kitchen.

Sirius scrambled to obey, nearly losing his towel in the process. It was only quick reflexes which preserved his modesty. He held his breath, eyes closed, as Remus cut away great clumps of long, matted hair, then gently combed out the cropped snarls, before carefully trimming the uneven locks. When he felt Remus running his fingers through the end result, he tilted his head back to rest on the other man's hands and opened his eyes.

"How do I look?" he asked.

"Like a much tidier corpse," replied Remus, but his voice was soft and rough.

"Remus?" he asked just as softly, holding the liquid brown eyes with his own. "Are you at all glad to be here?"

The corner of Remus's mouth trembled slightly. "Of course I am, Padfoot."

They also had Harry to talk about. Two days after Remus arrived, he helped Sirius draft a letter to his godson, wishing with all his heart that he, too, could send his greetings to the boy, and remind him that Sirius -- and presumably Ron and Hermione -- were not the only ones thinking of him. But no one could know that he was with Sirius, or even that he might know where Sirius was, or they would both be in danger. Instead, he summoned an enormous tropical post bird, and watched as Sirius tied the letter to its leg and sent it on its way.

Between job-hunting excursions, Remus and Sirius shared Harry stories. Sirius spoke of his fond memories of Harry as an infant, and his pride at Harry's daring rescue of himself and Buckbeak, and Remus told tales of the boy's accomplishments in the classroom, and his determination to face and fight the very thing he feared.

"Good thing, too," commented Sirius. "Or I might not be here now."

Remus gave Sirius's hand a brief squeeze. "Remind me to thank him, next time we see him."

Sirius laid his other hand over Remus's, and leaned toward him, eyes intent. But before Remus could pull away, Sirius let go, shaking his head and getting up from the sofa that was Remus's bed.

"I'm going to go check on Beaky," he said, turning away, but Remus heard the catch in his voice.

He wanted to go after Sirius, but what comfort could he offer? He was not ready, damn it! The great tide of feeling inside him constantly tossed him this way and that, but he could not give in to it until he was sure that doing so would not harm Sirius or break his own heart, so newly whole. But starting at the beginning again was impossible after everything they had shared, especially when his dreams were filled with Sirius's scent, and the feel of Sirius's skin under his hands.

He thought things might be easier once they found jobs, but that turned out to be harder than he had expected. Not for himself -- despite his lamentable inability with potions, he managed to procure a part-time job as a bartender at a local tourist spot with relative ease -- but Sirius, having few skills which might serve him in the Muggle world, and minimal experience interacting with Muggles at all, found job hunting both awkward and frustrating, which did nothing to improve his mood.

Remus embraced his new job. He liked standing behind the bar, hearing people's stories and handing them colourful drinks -- people who neither knew nor cared that he was a werewolf, a wizard, a homosexual. Banji, the bar's owner, was a friendly man with curly hair and a complexion like coffee and fresh cream. He called Remus "Johnny" -- his Mugglish middle name -- and Remus could guess from the way Banji smiled at him sometimes why he had hired him so eagerly.

Remus usually got home very late, ate whatever he could put together quickly in their meagre kitchen, and fell onto the sofa with a quick "good night" to Sirius.

But he could not sleep. He would lie awake for hours -- sometimes until pink light began to filter through the palm trees beyond the open window -- and fight with himself, knowing that Sirius's tossing and turning in the next room meant he slept badly, too, and wanting nothing more than to walk through that door, pull back the blanket and lay himself down beside the man he loved.

Sirius had stopped pressing for Remus's affections after a few days. He did not ask for anything, but the occasional longing looks Remus caught tore at his insides and weakened his resolve. But he was still so fearful.

If we move too quickly, we might break what we have. And what do we have, really? he thought bitterly. Maybe we're just two horny thirty-somethings who haven't had a shag in years, and want to relive the good old days.

He needed to be sure of Sirius before he could give himself over unreservedly. He needed to hear Sirius say he still loved him. Remus knew from the looks and touches that Sirius still wanted him -- maybe even needed him -- but that was not the same thing. Could a man still truly love after twelve years in Azkaban? Or had his heart been turned to a hollow shell, filled with memories and dust?

I can't ask him, though, he resolved, burying his face in his pillow. If he knows I'm waiting for him to say "I love you", he'll say it without a second thought. I don't want that.

But Sirius had never been one to throw around those words lightly. Remus thought he could probably recall every single time Sirius had said them, and he treasured those moments more than gold or air or life itself. He needed to hear those words again, spoken from the heart, before he could be sure. Until then, he would wait.

The Tropical Adventures of Moony and Padfoot © 2007 Skjaere