Fic: "ceaselessly into the past"
Title: ceaselessly into the past
Author: lah
Rating: g, I think?
Pairing: Sirius/James implied, Remus/Sirius vaguely hinted
Summary: Remus comes to West Egg. (Great Gatsby AU)
Disclaimer: Not at all mine. JKR, Scholastic, Fitzgerald's estate, etc.
Remus' dreams are slitted in green, his toes filtering through blades of grass.
He wakes on the floor of his bungalow, staring at the wall where his bed will go. All his things are in transit, rumbling their way through the dark fields of the republic.
Green light slices through the gap in his curtains. The light at the docks. A bit of moon sneaks in as well, and he feels it at the back of his throat.
He can't hear the sea, but he's sure it hasn't moved in the night. The air smells like rotting things.
--
The train cuts through the desert at the city's edge, and not even the sway of the cars, the exhaled breaths of commuters, the long lines of white-shirted elbows pressing out the windows, will move the mountains of ash.
Remus folds his Journal into segments and reads from the long lines of positive numbers. His job means very little, but it means numbers, and one train to catch in the morning, and one at night.
He tries to meet the gaze of Dr. T.J. Eckleburg's eyes, but they do not focus, one pointed down, and one spun out at the horizon.
--
James is Remus' second cousin, in that faint kinship of weak blood and sweet tea. They sit together on the porch at sunset, watching boats cross the apple-yellow water.
Lily is in the house, on the phone. She kissed Remus when he came in the house. Her dress floated up like a buoy, keeping her afloat.
"How is Harry?" I can't see my house, Remus thinks. It's hidden by the flashy one next door -- a factual imitation of some Hotel de Ville in Normandy.
"Small," James says.
Lily's laugh, echoing from inside, sounds like coins clinking against one another.
--
Remus picks his way down the driveway, avoiding the silver bodies of automobiles, parked carelessly as if dropped by a child.
The party's sounds filter in.
This fella’s a regular Belasco…
I like large parties. They’re so intimate. At small parties there isn’t any privacy.
Girls press themselves to men, heads dipped on curving necks. Remus watches, sees a famous tennis player he once might have loved.
In the center stands a man with a smile. They discuss France, girls, hydroplanes. Tomorrow at nine, they'll go out to the Sound.
"I haven't met the host," Remus admits.
"That's me. Sirius."
--
Remus makes a list.
He's killed a man.
He's in with the mob. Liquor-runners.
He takes phone calls from Chicago, Los Angeles, Philadelphia.
His family disowned him - European royalty.
German spy.
Wilhelm's cousin.
Third Division, Seventh Infantry.
Oxford.
Pink suit.
War medal, Montenegro.
They drive into the city on a sticky day, and eat with a rat-faced man whose right hand has too many rings. Pettigrew.
Remus watches Sirius' eyes as he talks on the ride back. Sometimes, he watches his hands. Something does not fit; something jams like ash in the engine.
James.
--
Remus invites them over, and watches the clock. Sirius has his man cut the grass, and clean the front room of Remus' pathetic house.
The cascading rain feels like a shiver of resistance.
Remus watches the space between them. He watches Sirius' hands, James's eyes.
(They were young, and all the pointed angles and aches that came with that. Remus listened to a whispered version, and even he could anticipate the end. The war, and everything else. Marriage.)
The sun breaks, and they walk to Sirius' monstrous house. Remus watches their tramping feet, the light reflected off Sirius' silk shirt.
--
Long Island sits and stews, stretched out against the sea like a beached whale.
"It's so hot," Lily says. Hot, and everything's confused. A white dress again, fabric flat against her reclining form.
Remus meets Sirius' eyes, but he looks away.
"Let's go to town," James says. "Take my coupe."
The ash wasteland bakes and shimmers, sprawling like a shared hell. Lily holds tight to the dashboard as they weave after Sirius and James.
A silver curve of the moon hovers in the western sky.
Everything melts in the heat, Remus thinks as they arrive at the hotel.
--
A car crash is like nothing else. One part surprise, random fate. One part physics, laws of force and collision. And in the middle, the screech of tires, the short, fatal stop.
--
Remus and Sirius pay their farewell to summer at the edge of the pool. Leaves curl against the surface of the water. The gardener will drain it tomorrow. Pipes clog.
"I've never used that pool," Sirius admits. "Shame, old sport."
"They’re a rotten crowd," Remus says. "You’re worth the whole damn bunch put together."
Sirius' smile echoes.
--
Everything ends with Remus, but even now, standing on the curve of beach, he's not sure where it began. Everyone came from somewhere else, after all. Remus, the Potters, Sirius.
He thinks of the first arrivals, closes his eyes and inhales. Under his feet, he feels the old island, shifting and disappearing even as he tries to recreate it in his mind. He thinks of the wonder of the fresh, green breast of the new world, the green light echoed in Sirius' eyes.
Eyes open, he remembers his birthday. A boat pushes against the current, crossing along the line of the horizon.
-
Author: lah
Rating: g, I think?
Pairing: Sirius/James implied, Remus/Sirius vaguely hinted
Summary: Remus comes to West Egg. (Great Gatsby AU)
Disclaimer: Not at all mine. JKR, Scholastic, Fitzgerald's estate, etc.
Remus' dreams are slitted in green, his toes filtering through blades of grass.
He wakes on the floor of his bungalow, staring at the wall where his bed will go. All his things are in transit, rumbling their way through the dark fields of the republic.
Green light slices through the gap in his curtains. The light at the docks. A bit of moon sneaks in as well, and he feels it at the back of his throat.
He can't hear the sea, but he's sure it hasn't moved in the night. The air smells like rotting things.
--
The train cuts through the desert at the city's edge, and not even the sway of the cars, the exhaled breaths of commuters, the long lines of white-shirted elbows pressing out the windows, will move the mountains of ash.
Remus folds his Journal into segments and reads from the long lines of positive numbers. His job means very little, but it means numbers, and one train to catch in the morning, and one at night.
He tries to meet the gaze of Dr. T.J. Eckleburg's eyes, but they do not focus, one pointed down, and one spun out at the horizon.
--
James is Remus' second cousin, in that faint kinship of weak blood and sweet tea. They sit together on the porch at sunset, watching boats cross the apple-yellow water.
Lily is in the house, on the phone. She kissed Remus when he came in the house. Her dress floated up like a buoy, keeping her afloat.
"How is Harry?" I can't see my house, Remus thinks. It's hidden by the flashy one next door -- a factual imitation of some Hotel de Ville in Normandy.
"Small," James says.
Lily's laugh, echoing from inside, sounds like coins clinking against one another.
--
Remus picks his way down the driveway, avoiding the silver bodies of automobiles, parked carelessly as if dropped by a child.
The party's sounds filter in.
This fella’s a regular Belasco…
I like large parties. They’re so intimate. At small parties there isn’t any privacy.
Girls press themselves to men, heads dipped on curving necks. Remus watches, sees a famous tennis player he once might have loved.
In the center stands a man with a smile. They discuss France, girls, hydroplanes. Tomorrow at nine, they'll go out to the Sound.
"I haven't met the host," Remus admits.
"That's me. Sirius."
--
Remus makes a list.
He's killed a man.
He's in with the mob. Liquor-runners.
He takes phone calls from Chicago, Los Angeles, Philadelphia.
His family disowned him - European royalty.
German spy.
Wilhelm's cousin.
Third Division, Seventh Infantry.
Oxford.
Pink suit.
War medal, Montenegro.
They drive into the city on a sticky day, and eat with a rat-faced man whose right hand has too many rings. Pettigrew.
Remus watches Sirius' eyes as he talks on the ride back. Sometimes, he watches his hands. Something does not fit; something jams like ash in the engine.
James.
--
Remus invites them over, and watches the clock. Sirius has his man cut the grass, and clean the front room of Remus' pathetic house.
The cascading rain feels like a shiver of resistance.
Remus watches the space between them. He watches Sirius' hands, James's eyes.
(They were young, and all the pointed angles and aches that came with that. Remus listened to a whispered version, and even he could anticipate the end. The war, and everything else. Marriage.)
The sun breaks, and they walk to Sirius' monstrous house. Remus watches their tramping feet, the light reflected off Sirius' silk shirt.
--
Long Island sits and stews, stretched out against the sea like a beached whale.
"It's so hot," Lily says. Hot, and everything's confused. A white dress again, fabric flat against her reclining form.
Remus meets Sirius' eyes, but he looks away.
"Let's go to town," James says. "Take my coupe."
The ash wasteland bakes and shimmers, sprawling like a shared hell. Lily holds tight to the dashboard as they weave after Sirius and James.
A silver curve of the moon hovers in the western sky.
Everything melts in the heat, Remus thinks as they arrive at the hotel.
--
A car crash is like nothing else. One part surprise, random fate. One part physics, laws of force and collision. And in the middle, the screech of tires, the short, fatal stop.
--
Remus and Sirius pay their farewell to summer at the edge of the pool. Leaves curl against the surface of the water. The gardener will drain it tomorrow. Pipes clog.
"I've never used that pool," Sirius admits. "Shame, old sport."
"They’re a rotten crowd," Remus says. "You’re worth the whole damn bunch put together."
Sirius' smile echoes.
--
Everything ends with Remus, but even now, standing on the curve of beach, he's not sure where it began. Everyone came from somewhere else, after all. Remus, the Potters, Sirius.
He thinks of the first arrivals, closes his eyes and inhales. Under his feet, he feels the old island, shifting and disappearing even as he tries to recreate it in his mind. He thinks of the wonder of the fresh, green breast of the new world, the green light echoed in Sirius' eyes.
Eyes open, he remembers his birthday. A boat pushes against the current, crossing along the line of the horizon.
-