Chapter Text
At eleven years old, James boarded the train that intended to take him to Hogwarts; a school meant for exceptional, affluent young pupils. At the time, James hardly understood what affluent meant, but that didn’t bother him much, because it sounded like a good thing when the adults around him said it. All that mattered was making his parents proud - though James rarely had to work at that - and making friends. James was very concerned about making friends.
This was a short-lived fear, however, because his first (and very best) friend came approximately five seconds after James found his seat. Sirius Black introduced himself with a limp handshake and a sigh of relief at finally getting out of his family’s house. Unlike James, Sirius didn’t seem at all plussed with his parents opinion, a feat that thoroughly impressed an impressionable young James.
James learned all kinds of things about Sirius throughout that day-long train ride. He learned Sirius loves dogs, kind of likes cats, and hates moths. He learned Sirius taught himself how to do all kinds of fanciful braids: fishrows and knot braids and waterfalls, though he hasn’t the faintest idea of how to teach them to someone else. He learned Sirius is riotously funny, and he can take a joke just as easily as he can dish it so long as it’s not too disparaging of his looks. He learned that Sirius is very rarely afraid, even though his parents are very strict and seemed to have sheltered him.
This is because of another thing James learned about Sirius: he had a little brother once, but he doesn’t anymore.
At first, it sounded as though the brother, too, had been shipped off to some faraway school. Half the time when he came up - and he did come up a lot - Sirius spoke of him as though he intended to write to his brother the moment they got their room assignments.
This, however, was not the case. In their first of many detentions together, Sirius told James that his little brother left home just a year before, and nobody’s quite sure when he’ll come back. It seemed strange to James that a nine-year-old boy would run away from home, especially because Sirius didn’t offer any good reason for such a drastic choice. From how Sirius described them, his parents seemed mostly normal; their odd manners and overbearing preferences only came about because of his brother’s loss.
Still, James had no reason to doubt Sirius: he would know his brother’s story better than anyone, after all. James accepted this tale with the ease of a boy that hadn’t yet learned to ask further questions, and they moved on from the topic without pause.
It felt fortunate that he and Sirius managed to befriend Remus and Peter by the time Christmas came around, especially because both boys proved to be much more sensible and curious than James ever managed. At least, that was how James felt until Regulus inevitably came up.
When Sirius finally got around to mentioning this notorious missing brother to their roommates, Remus and Peter exchanged a glance that could only be described as pitying. It made James upset, because he didn’t think Sirius - or his brother, for that matter - deserved any pity. When they explained their theories, however, in one of the few moments they had without Sirius at James’s side, James’s upset turned to anger.
James had spent the better part of six months listening to all of Sirius’s stories about his little brother. In that time, James had grown the deepest, most pure sense of love a person could ever hold for another.
Within a week of knowing one another, James learned that Sirius was his soulmate, his best friend, his better half, his person. After a month, James learned he was born to meet Sirius. After three months, he realized the air he breathes, and the blood that flows in his veins, and every thought in his mind, and all the movements of his body are decided and directed and made with the sole purpose of making Sirius happy. James and Sirius belong together, belong to one another, in a way no two people have before; James knows this for certain. For that reason, there was nothing - is nothing - James wouldn’t do for Sirius.
It’s also from this great, epic love for Sirius that James loves his little brother, too. It never made him jealous that Sirius has already felt all the things James is learning to feel for Sirius. It never made James upset that he wasn’t the only person Sirius would live and die for. It actually made James rather happy to know there was another person James could love this much, somewhere out in the universe, just waiting to come home. When he did come home, James knew he’d love Sirius’s little brother just as much as he loves Sirius; just as much as Sirius has always loved Regulus.
So, when Remus and Peter explained that Regulus was dead, James got angry. It didn’t make sense to him. If Regulus was dead, Sirius would have told him, wouldn’t he? He wouldn’t have kept something so heartbreaking, something so devastating, from someone who loved Regulus with his entire being.
James managed to calm himself down before bringing it to Sirius, but only just. He waited until they were both relaxed and happy, hoping for the best and preparing for the worst.
They sat beside the lake, just the two of them, soaking up the sun and watching the older students stress about their final exams. It was a touch too warm out, and Sirius had loosened his tie in a way that looked effortlessly cool, and his hair was pulled into two french braids on either side of his head. James had never loved anyone the way he loved Sirius, so it made him nervous to bring up something that might cause Sirius pain.
He did ask, though, because James has always prided himself on his bravery. James asked if Regulus was dead, and his voice shook, and his hands were sweating more than they’d already been, and his heart was galloping in his chest. He asked, and when Sirius laughed, James felt a relief unlike anything he’d ever known.
“Reggie’s not dead, James.” Sirius had said. He looked beautiful, with his cheeks cherry pink and his eyes alight with wonder. “He’s on the moon.”
James was a clever boy. He was bright enough to get accepted into Hogwarts, afterall. James was good at school, and he got good marks without having to put in much effort, and he could answer any question his teachers threw at him when they thought he wasn't paying attention.
Unfortunately, in a moment that mattered more than anything ever had before, James proved he’d failed to learn anything, because he failed to ask any follow-up questions.
This didn’t seem to be a problem - accepting Sirius’s word as law - until he mentioned it to Remus and Peter. They shared that look again, and James’s anger flared anew, and he asked Sirius, right then and there, to finally tell him the truth.
“He’s on the moon, James, I swear it.” Sirius had vowed, up and down and left and right and eight ways to Tuesday.
James, having learned he hated the feeling of Remus and Peter’s pity, especially with how much he loved them otherwise, didn’t protest when the pair asked all kinds of questions. How does Sirius know Regulus is there? How did Regulus get to the moon? Is he ever coming back?
The story was rather simple: when Regulus turned eight, he got very, very sick.
Sirius had to stop his story almost immediately, because after hearing this, James made Remus and Peter sit on opposite sides of the room so they couldn’t conduct their silent, pitying communication stint again. James wanted this story more than he wanted air in his lungs, and he refused to allow their side-eyed glances to ruin the experience.
When Regulus was eight, he got very, very sick. It was the kind of sick where he stopped going to school, and his classmates sent him big baskets full of cards and chocolates, and his parent’s eyes were constantly filled with tears. Sirius did all his best to stay positive, even as Regulus got thinner, and sicker, and more scared himself.
Sirius spent a lot of time in hospital after that, oftentimes taking half-days at school because he could hardly pay attention, anyway. He brought Regulus little things from home, and he forced Regulus to work on maths with him, and he learned to sleep in just about any position on nearly every surface. All the while, he kept his spirits up, because not everyone that came into Regulus’s hospital room seemed able to manage it.
After several long, torturous months, Regulus’s doctors came back with a diagnosis. Something latin-sounding and multi-syllabled, and Sirius tried really hard to remember it, but he never got it right so he gave up trying all together. Knowing the name wasn’t important to him, anyway; not when it meant the doctors could finally figure out a cure.
The cure, unfortunately, turned out to be near-impossible because it hadn’t yet been discovered. Sirius remembers his parents telling him about it. He told them how, for the first time since Regulus went to hospital, Sirius’s heart felt a bit sore. They knew, even then, that Regulus wouldn’t be able to come back home.
Sirius stopped going to school entirely. He knew Regulus would be leaving soon, and he hoped to spend every waking - and sleeping - moment right by his brother’s side.
Now, most of the stories that fell in that three-week span are stories James has heard over and over. To this day, Sirius speaks of them like a skipping record: his tone picks up on the same words, and he moves his hands in all the same ways, and without fail, each story starts with, “Stop me if you’ve heard this one.”
James never does stop him, though. These stories, these precious breadcrumbs, are the only tokens he has to prove his love for Regulus. Hazy half-memories that only belong to him in Sirius’s voice; memories James holds with a vice-like grip, all because he knows they were meant for him before either boy ever got the chance to realize it. James doesn’t stop Sirius from repeating these stories, because each time he hears them, his love for Regulus grows.
A few weeks after the diagnosis, though, Sirius’s parents told him Regulus’s cure could only be found on the moon. He’d be sent off the very next day, and no, Sirius wouldn’t get the chance to say goodbye, and no, it’s too late to write him a letter, because Regulus had to spend a lot of time preparing in the few short hours he had left on earth.
Sirius cried all night, and he curled into his mum’s side, and his dad stayed beside him in bed even when he finally managed to catch a few fitful hours of sleep. The next morning, they convened around the breakfast table, and they shared soft, tearful prayers that Regulus’s journey to the moon would be smooth, and that he’d land safely, and that he’d find his cure soon.
When Sirius finished his story, James had no follow-up questions. It was all very sound, very reasonable, very reliable. Sirius didn’t cry about it; he smiled a few times, actually. He seemed very confident that Regulus would be home soon, always soon, safe and cured and a bit uncomfortable with gravity.
Remus and Peter, however, had a million and four questions to ask. Sirius answered each comprehensively as though giving a book report for McGonagall: clever and knowledgeable; a bit smug, even. They asked question after question until Sirius finally said he was tired. When they woke up the next day, Remus and Peter asked even more questions.
When they finally exhausted themselves, James could tell their opinions hadn’t changed. Regulus was still dead in their minds, and Sirius was chasing a fantasy. For his part, James was plenty comfortable chasing fantasies, too. If Sirius believed it, James had no reason not to.
Regulus continued to come up with regularity, and while James always smiled with fondness, or laughed something deep and joyful, or felt a justifiable bitterness over a petty theft or little white lie a young Regulus had told Sirius, Remus and Peter never did. They laughed when appropriate, sure, and they smiled when Sirius’s eyes glazed over as he traversed his memory, but they never understood it the way James did.
Even now, they don’t understand Sirius the way James does. It’s not their fault, James knows: Sirius and James are connected in a way no two people ever have been before. It’s not their fault they can’t seem to crawl in Sirius’s mind and experience those memories alongside him. It’s not their fault they can’t tap into Sirius’s emotions as though they have a direct link to his brain, feeling each note of nostalgia and loss and joy the second Sirius does. It’s not their fault, though James appreciates that they’re at least trying.
It’s been years now since James first learned Regulus moved to the moon. His faith in Sirius’s faith has never wavered, not even for a second.
Sometimes, though, as the years have passed, and as James has grown a little older and wiser, he finds his mind wandering. It always passes in a blink; one look at Sirius, and James knows he’s being silly. Regulus lives on the moon. He’s sick, but he’s safe, and he’s looking for a cure. He’ll come home, right back to Sirius and James’s waiting arms, the moment he’s healed.
Sometimes Sirius talks about how odd everything will seem to Regulus, once he finally gets back. It’s been over a decade at this point, and the world has changed at breakneck speed. Every so often, Sirius worries that it’ll be too much for Regulus, especially in the start. More often than not, however, he’s excited to get to be the person to introduce Regulus to all the new, exciting, wonderful things he gets to learn about.
Netflix is the first thing Sirius wants to show Regulus. He thinks it would be a nice way to dip Regulus’s toe into the water of new tech, and it would give Regulus plenty of time to readjust to Earth’s gravity. At least a week of lazing around the house is the perfect way to reintroduce a respectable eating and sleeping schedule, too.
Sirius has also decided that Regulus can live with him until they’re both old and grey and decaying. Regulus has spent so long working on finding a cure, Sirius thinks that he shouldn’t ever have to work another day in his life. Sirius believes Regulus will enjoy idle time after so long away, and he’s got all these fantastical ideas about hobbies Regulus might enjoy: art and painting and sculpting; video games and making playlists; stargazing and reading and using ridiculous devices to make tea and coffee, and Sirius will be there the entire time, and he’ll feel proud any time Regulus smiles.
It’s scary sometimes, James knows, to have to wait around for something Sirius is so deeply excited for. It’s scary to wonder when the next part of his life will begin - or perhaps, more accurately, when his life will finally resume.
James knows that Regulus took a bit of Sirius with him when he left. It’s sad, but it’s also lovely; it’s proof that Regulus was loved, and that he was someone worthy of missing, and it’ll make his eventual return that much sweeter. Still, it’s sad in the in between, and there’s little any of them can do about it.
When they graduated from Hogwarts, James and Sirius moved in together. Everyone expected it, though the pair received several confused reactions when they explained they were looking for three-bedroom flats. Sirius rarely felt the need to explain that he wanted a room ready for Regulus, because Regulus could always move back in with their folks, but Sirius would rather have him just one room over. James also rarely felt the need to point out that their third bedroom would likely remain empty, anyway: surely, once Regulus got back, Sirius wouldn’t want him to sleep anywhere but right by his side.
Sometimes, something wonderful will happen, and Sirius will throw his head back and ask the sky, “Did you see that?” To anyone but their little quartet, it might look like he’s daring God to try and steal his joy. It might appear that Sirius’s exuberance is too great for their little world to fully encapsulate, and he needs to release some of it out into the universe.
They know, though, that he’s calling out to Regulus. It doesn’t matter that Regulus can’t hear it, not from three hundred and eighty thousand kilometers away. It doesn’t matter that Sriius hasn’t had a real conversation with his brother in well over a decade, and he’s likely unsure of what Regulus would find humorous or sweet or sad anymore. It doesn’t matter, because Sirius knows he’s up there, and it brings such simple pleasure to tip his head back and throw his love as high as he can manage.
There are times Sirius feels a great sense of resentment towards his little brother. More often than not, it’s misdirected, because Sirius’s real gripe comes with the fact that he’s up there at all. Who in their right mind would send a child to the moon to look for their own cure? Who thought he was old enough to survive on his own, without his family? Without his big brother? Who thought this was fair to any of them?
Sometimes, though, Sirius does feel a bit of resentment towards Regulus. It’s taken him so long; surely it’s been long enough. Surely he’s found something by now, and he should have sent a message to whomever launched him skywards that he’s ready to return home. Surely he’s done his job, and it’s high time for him to land in Cape Canaveral or Saxaford or Wenchang or the middle of the Atlantic. Surely Regulus wants to come home.
Life resumes, though, and without Regulus. Sirius moved in with Remus - not two doors down from James’s flat - and Remus didn’t comment on the second bedroom, but he did shoot Peter a look when he thought nobody was around. James stayed in their old flat, and he left Regulus’s room exactly how Sirius made it up, just in case he ever needed time or space or a change of scenery. Just so Sirius knows that James still believes him.
And James knows Sirius loves Remus with his whole heart. They love one another, and they choose to continue loving one another. Like James, Remus wakes up every day, and he continues to love Sirius, and in return, Sirius continues to love Remus. Still, there’s that thing between them. Remus believes Sirius believes it, and they’ve both convinced themselves it’s enough.
They don’t talk about it with James, but he sees it all the same. He sees it when Remus bites his lip at any mention of Regulus. He sees it in the way Sirius doesn’t look at Remus when he shares his ideas of the future he and Regulus will share. He sees it when Remus hesitates as he passes the second door in the hall, just the slightest twitch, as though he’s decided against saying something he’s been holding onto since they were twelve.
It doesn’t diminish the trust they hold for one another. Remus doesn't think Sirius is any less intelligent, any less sane, any more naive. Sirius doesn’t think Remus is hateful or cynical or inattentive. Sirius still brings up Regulus when Remus is around, and Remus hums, or laughs, or smiles, and no love is lost.
James has always been different, though,
It’s just that, every day, James wakes up, and he remembers how much he loves Sirius. Every day, James gets out of bed, and he falls in love with Sirius all over again. Every day, James goes about his life, and he carries his love for Sirius like a collar around his neck; a chain around his wrist; a bit of his soul removed and replaced with a bit of Sirius’s. Every day, James loves Sirius with everything he has and everything he is, and in return, Sirius loves him all the same.
That’s why it was easy to agree to Sirius’s plan.
It started small, as these things tend to do before they grow gnarled and viable. Sirius threw out the occasional comments, just like always, though slowly increasing in frequency: I wish Reggie could see this; Regulus would have hated this album; Reg would have loved that movie; I hope he comes home soon.
James didn’t think anything of it. Sirius’s comments about his little brother ebb and flow, increasing around major holidays or Regulus’s birthday or the anniversary of his departure. It’s a natural rhythm, one James had unintentionally absorbed by the time he was fourteen.
This was different, though. James didn’t realize how different it truly was until he and Sirius traipsed down towards the park to observe a meteor shower. Stretched out across long blankets, their eyes dancing across the night sky, wishing and hoping and dreaming about a future where their meager two could become a bountiful three. Naturally, Regulus came up, as he always does when celestial events transpire.
The conversation started out simple: I miss him; I hope he’s well; I hope to see him soon. James agreed and offered his own sentiments, just like normal.
And then Sirius said, “I wish I could go up there and get him.”
And James didn’t hesitate to ask, “Why don’t you?”
From there, everything happened in a rush of giggles and texts acting as notes passed under a teacher’s nose. They spent far too much money on supplies: great sheets of metal, and heavy-duty nuts and bolts, and boxes of astronaut food they felt might get boring after a few days, but should be sufficient enough for nutrition.
Sirius had majored in music theory, which didn’t do much by the way of aeronautics and physics, but did provide for a very comprehensive moon-themed playlist. It was one of the first real things either of them had for their trip: a burnt CD labeled in Sirius’s familiar chicken-scratch.
When they started work on their craft, they realized a bit of a problem: they had no place with enough space to build it. It had to be big enough for the both of them, plus their supplies, and room for the fuel, and space for seats big enough for them to sleep in, and so many other things they continually discovered with each passing day. In the end, the only place they could think of was James’s parents backyard, which felt simultaneously familiar and juvenile.
Still, James asked, and his parents were more than happy to welcome them both inside their home several times a week for the foreseeable future. Sirius, who has always felt as though James’s home was his own, was more than happy to enjoy Effie’s refreshing lemonade and Monty’s thoughtful recommendations for their rocket. If either of them thought their plan ridiculous, they never so much as hinted at it. For this, James was impossibly grateful.
They spent days and weeks and months researching how to cope without gravity, which forced them both to start working out harder than they’d ever done before. James, being used to workout routines and strenuous exercises, didn’t find this part of their preparation nearly as tedious as Sirius, who tends to hate anything remotely resembling a regiment. For his brother, though, Sirius threw himself fully into the endeavor.
Both their arms benefitted as a result, which was, ultimately, what tipped Remus off to their antics. Neither James nor Sirius could have predicted this to be Remus’s tipping point. If they had, they might not have tried it at all.
Remus had never yelled at them the way he did the night Sirius finally told him, shy and sheepish, and preemptively apologetic. This didn’t help any, as a decade’s worth of doubt and anger and heartache poured from Remus’s frustrated mouth. James and Sirius sat, side-by-side, and accepted it - at least, at first.
Sirius’s breaking point came when Remus, weary and spent, muttered, “It hurts you, Sirius, to live in this fantasy.”
Not thirty seconds before, James had deluded himself into thinking the argument would remain one-sided. Throughout the hours-long ranting, the tears, the pleading, Sirius remained mostly quiet, safe for a few soft words of affirmation, a few apologetic laments.
But like a phoenix rising from the ashes, Sirius drew himself to his full height and spit all the gas Remus had just thrown upon them right back into his face. It would have been beautiful, James thinks, to have observed it as anything other than reality.
Silently, James watches his two best friends battle: the contours of their muscles resembled those of ballerinas as they lunged, and threw their arms over their heads, and moved about the living room in a practiced ease. The lines in Remus’s forehead grew more pronounced, gentle swirls of oils and lines of charcoal adding to the shadows under his eyes and between his brows. They talked over one another, discordant notes creating uncomfortable melodies, all before splitting into their own arias the other could hardly hear over their own grief.
James saw the ultimatum long before either of them did, but his shock felt just as visceral as theirs. It was Sirius’s shock, that zap that smacked into his sternum, stealing all the breath from James’s lungs. It was Sirius’s grief that flooded his veins, ice-cold and permanent. It was Sirius’s anger that flared in his stomach, blending in an uncomfortable concoction of love and memories and yearning, and there were too many people forcing these emotions to the forefront of his - their - mind, and James didn’t know which Sirius would choose.
It became quickly apparent that Sirius didn’t know what to choose, either.
For as long as James had known Sirius, he knew about Sirius’s little brother. One day, when he was eight, Regulus got very, very sick, though that’s the least extraordinary thing about him.
For one thing, Regulus lives on the moon, and no other person can ever say that about themselves. For another, he’s Sirius’s little brother, which automatically makes him one of the most lovable people to have ever existed. Regulus loved to read, and he liked coloring, and he giggled behind his hands when Sirius made rude jokes. He loved falling asleep to the sound of his mother’s soft singing, and he loved when his father made parfaits on Saturday mornings.
Regulus loved cats, kind of liked dogs, and never had the time to form opinions on moths. He only ever got frustrated when trying to braid Sirius’s hair, both because his green fingers weren’t quite nimble enough, and because Sirius was a horrid teacher. He loved to laugh at anything and everything, because Regulus loved being alive, even when he was dying. He was only ever afraid in the end, when all hope seemed lost. James hopes he isn’t afraid now.
Sirius has been missing Regulus longer than he’d ever had him. James knew how that felt, having only ever loved Regulus’s memory. It only makes sense that Sirius would have to learn how that feels, too: there’s never been anything James has felt Sirius didn’t inevitably understand. He only wished he could have warned him, all those years ago, how loving Regulus could hurt so deeply.
Forcing Sirius to pick between Remus, the man he’s grown to love in ways he’d never loved anyone before, and Regulus, the brother Sirius had loved all his life, even before he knew how painful love could feel, was nothing short of cruel. That was the first time James ever saw that horrifying, damning flicker of emotion cross Sirius’s eyes: doubt.
It was the doubt that brought James’s resolve to life. James knew what he had to do then, and in the silence of his best friend’s home, James stood and announced he’d go at it alone.
Remus tried to argue against this decision, too, citing all the dangers and the particulars: the fact that some of science’s greatest minds still fail at something so difficult; the fact that James has absolutely no idea what he’s doing. He doesn’t bring up his thoughts about Regulus’s being alive again, aware that another word about it might push Sirius a bit too far for them to ever come back together.
James wouldn’t hear a word of it, especially after he saw the awe and adoration in Sirius’s eyes. Their hearts broke in tandem, and they slowly began to repair themselves as James’s decision continued to solidify.
Now, James is further from Sirius than he’s ever been - over three hundred thousand kilometers away, actually. His spaceship isn’t fancy, built of haggard-looking metals and a profound quantity of duct tape, but that much was to be expected. It’s got two levels: one for the storage and one for all the controls. There’s an empty seat at his side, the one that was meant for Sirius. The one James knows will be meant for Regulus, once he finally finds him.
Nearly three days ago, he and Sirius hugged in the Potter’s back yard, though neither of them cried. There was too much excitement, too much relief, too much anticipation for any tears to slip past their lashes.
“Come home soon, James.” Sirius whispered, begged, pleaded, against James’s shoulder.
“I will.” James muttered, promised, vowed, just before pressing a kiss to Sirius’s forehead.
Remus and Peter stood beside them, offering their own strong hugs and words of encouragement. James didn’t find pity in their eyes, and for this, he was grateful. He looked over their lovely faces for far too long a moment before finally pulling the hatch shut behind him. His nerves slowly settled in as he climbed up the craft towards his seat.
When his tin can finally broke through the soundbarrier, James thought, for the first time, that he really hadn’t expected to make it out at all. When the zero-gravity sensation began to tickle at his feet, he laughed and looked to his left, having forgotten Sirius wasn’t right beside him. When he got tired, he curled up tight and tried not to miss home too much. When he inevitably got bored, he pulled out Sirius’s CD and smiled, and he hoped Sirius felt his joy, even from so far away.
The Earth looks impossible from out here, simultaneously small and grand, and James is awed each time he turns his head to admire the view. For a little while, he could see all the lights that lit up in the atmosphere. London was immediately apparent, covered in a yellowish glow that looked far prettier from way out here.
Transversely, the moon’s size seems to grow with each passing second. When James inevitably turns his attention forward once more, it’s to discover the moon’s diameter has grown several inches. It makes something like nerves expand in his stomach, though each time the feeling grows, it’s quickly replaced with excitement.
James is close, now; close enough to be able to make out individual craters and rocks and formations. His ship started orbiting the moon a few hours before, and he turned off all the thrusters and blasters and other -ers to help save fuel for their return trip. His eyes scan the surface, looking for anything that might suggest life exists.
James has never doubted Sirius. After all these years, he’s never felt a reason to. Sirius says Regulus lives on the moon, and James knows in his heart that’s the truth. James would have felt it, if Regulus had died, even before he’d met either of them. He would have known like he knew the answers to McGonagall’s questions, or like he knew he was smart and affluent, or like he knew he and Sirius were meant to be best friends until the day their bones were reabsorbed by the earth. James knows Regulus is alive, out here on the moon, and he knows he’ll find him.
Still, it’s taking literally forever. It took James three days just to get to the moon’s orbit. He’s been circling it for hours now, and he’s yet to find anything that even hints at Regulus’s location.
James knows the moon isn’t small, per se, but he certainly thought it’d be small enough to discover where he’s meant to land by now. He expected something - not necessarily a flag or a sign - but some signal meant to point him towards Regulus’s lodgings. Something to indicate where food is meant to be dropped off, at least; where the rescue team will eventually have to land.
Well, the rescue team is here, and James is no closer to Regulus than he’d been three days ago, and the songs Sirius burned into the CD are getting too repetitive for James to find any joy at all. He’s irate, is what he is, though it’s the first time he thinks he’s glad Sirius stayed behind. As annoyed as James is now, Sirius would have been positively fuming, and they’d have both riled one another up so much they might have just turned around entirely.
James isn’t turning around, though. He’s come over three hundred thousand kilometers for the man he loves; he’s not giving up because of some minor inconveniences.
He’s desperately tired, though, and he’s getting a bit peckish. He can’t sleep for fear of missing something and extending his orbit time, though. He can’t get up from his seat and float around towards the second level for the same reasons. None of that is helping his mood, but James determinedly presses on. He can sleep once he finds Regulus.
But his watch continues to tick onwards, and James’s anger ebbs as the ten-hour mark comes and passes. It reignites at twelve, then fizzles out entirely by fourteen. Right around sixteen is when he decides he’ll need to sleep, at least a nap, just so his eyes stop going out of focus without his permission.
He straps himself into his chair and curls his knees to his chest, turning to the side so he might better wedge himself between the arms. It’s uncomfortable, and James has made the joke to himself several times over about all he’d do differently next time. Despite his aching back and the persistent crick in his neck, James' eyes flutter shut almost immediately.
A hazy outline of something tall and circular meets the inside of his eyelids. Something not rock-like, but protruding from the ground all the same.
His eyes fly back open, heavy lids screaming in protest. He doesn't care - can’t care - because that’s a house. It’s odd-looking, sure, but there’s no doubt in his mind that’s what it is. It’s not made of the same greyish rock as the rest of the moon’s surface, but something shiny and reflective, held together by bolts the size of James’s head.
He reaches, fervently, for the controls and nearly tears the ship in two as he forces it to turn on a dime. The joints squeal in protest, and James has half a mind to force himself to adopt a more reasonable pace, but he can’t get his heart to slow any, so he thinks the ship will handle the break-neck shift just fine.
It’s only when James begins to think about his landing that he realizes, in all the time he’d spent preparing for this journey, he hadn’t seen anything about an actual touch-down. Most rockets that return to earth get water-landings. James knows, rationally, there’s no water around, but he looks anyway, hoping against all odds he’ll find at least a patch of dirt that might be softer than the rest.
He’s already started the descent, though, and no such patch catches his attention. He decides it’s fine, because it has to be fine. The moon’s gravity isn’t as strong as Earth’s, right, so the landing will be softer, anyway. It’ll be softer, James repeats to himself as the moon’s surface reaches for him, faster and faster each second.
It’s a minute before his rocket hits that James scrambles to pull on his space suit, thinking he should have paid a bit more attention in his physics course. It’s thirty seconds before he lands that he thinks it’s a bit too fast. It’s ten before he realizes he’s going to crash.
It’s five seconds before the crash that James thinks it might hurt.