God's gift

Angels

All right, so I had you wait long enough. You'll get the next part as soon as it is reviwed. I hope you enjoy.

She was sitting upon Marie's bench, dejected. Neither the oak door, nor the familiar setting of church had managed to lift her spirits.

Strangely, the soothing voices were gone.

Frances shifted, shuddering in the coolness of the church. The sun shone outside, the temperature had risen to reach a level that rivaled with summer. But here, inside, everything felt so cold. Perhaps because of the weight she had lost. Frances had walked for miles, days, hours in search of solace. It didn't increase her appetite – she wasn't eating much, expect for sugar. It didn't help her sleep – her dreams plagued her. He was there, everywhere. His gentle presence, his faint smell, his beautiful smile. The sharp canines that only appeared when his lips quirked fully.

Days had refused to blurr together, every single fucking moment dragging on for eternity. Time had not been kind; her feelings didn't abate. Everything she did, every single though revolved around him. So desperately in love. So much that she'd rather see him happy than with her. And so, honouring his request, she came to say goodbye once more. To seal the deal, as they said. Perhaps, then, she would be able to go into mourning properly. Her heart, already, felt so empty that she doubted it still beat.

A shadow passed in front of the altar. Frances's head snapped aside to spot him. What she saw felt like a stab in her already scorched heart. For the man, clad in full frock, that was lighting the candles was a stout, dark haired man she had never seen before. No Father Tristan.

He was gone... And despite the sadness, Frances had not been prepared for his absence. Not just yet. For as long as this moment still existed in her heart, the 1st of June, her mind had refused to accept the obvious. But now... She realized how broken she was without him. Her soul howled in pain, her spirit pleading the almighty for another hour, another minute, another second of his bright presence. Shrinking upon the bench, Frances' eyes welled with tears. She couldn't live without him ! She promised to whomever was watching over there that she would repress those silly romantic notions if she could only get him back as a friend. Just a friend. An acquaintance.

Was anyone listening to her pleas ?

Someone sat by her side, but she was too far gone in her grief to notice it. Then, a warm hand engulfed hers, familiar. Her skin started singing, blood rushing to her heart as a gentle kiss was bestowed upon the naked skin of her palm. Frances' breath itched, and she turned, stunned, to the man that sat beside her.

Tristan was there, his strong presence mesmerizing, soothing her. There was no collar upon his neck, no frock, only a set of slacks and a long sleeve shirt of white. An angel, by her side. His other hand covered the first one, and he gave her a sad smile. Yet, his eyes were dancing with repressed feelings.

— "I broke my vow. I am no longer a priest"

His words, quietly murmured, horrified her as much as it enchanted her. Had God heard her pleas, giving them a chance at happiness ?

— "Tristan...", she whispered.

— "You are my Isolde, Frances. I just couldn't go on without you"

Joy and fear hit her, mingling like a tornado. The walls that had kept her functioning melted then; the emotion welled up, overflowing without a warning, and all the past hurts, the misery of this month burst forth. Frances hid her face in her hands and started sobbing earnestly. By her side, Tristan only dragged her to his side, his anchoring presence keeping her sane as she wept. His arm snaked around her shoulders, pulling her against his sturdy frame as he waited for the grief to evacuate. His own tears were shed before Marie, the blessed soul that had witnessed their coming together. Before God, in his former church where another officiated in his stead now.

It was a heartbreaking goodbye to this place, this house where so much of his heart had been poured. To Frances, and to his parishioners. This time, he was the one who had taken time to weight his decision, and say goodbye. Three days, to roam the empty corridors of the church, to set things right before he was kicked out unceremoniously. Three full days where his mind had jumped from pillar to post, rushing into the many things that would be needed in his new life, revisiting past events that had led him here. The past fifteen years of his life. But he didn't loose sight of his goal.

His superior had been disappointed. Angry even. But Tristan had held fast, and given the man's disturbing words, understood that he had never loved, truly, any other than God to tell such inanities. His arm around her, the woman that held his heart, felt so natural. And even if his teachings screamed at him to flee human contact – it would take a while, for him, to overcome the reflex to shy away from touch - Tristan couldn't help but relish in the sense of rightfulness.

As Frances' cried her heart out against him, he felt proud to be her rock. Entitled to protect her, to care for her. To love her. It was the most beautiful feeling in the world, just as powerful as his love for God. Eventually, her sobs quieted, and she straightened on the bench.

— "Where do you go from here, Tristan?"

You. Not we. A gentle smile lifted the corner of her lips; trust her to think of him in the first place.

— "I have no idea. For fifteen years I was a priest, or an apprentice. I will figure it out."

Her eyes watched him, awe and fear mingled, and he could read them as easily as he read a book in latin. She was amazed by his courage, at his resilience.

— "Will you not resent me?", she asked meekly.

A disturbing question that made a lot of sense. Not that he could change his mind anyway; the church wouldn't take him back if he wanted to. Yet, he had to tell her how he viewed things.

— "No. If my hearts steers clear of this path, who am I to question God's judgment? I have given it a lot of thought. Maybe my destiny it to love differently. And you are my own little angel."

Astonished, Tristan realized it was as close to a blaspheme as he would ever get. But he didn't resent her from opening his heart and mind. So, taking in her awed features, he tugged on her hand. Frances stood, her eyes roaming over Marie's statue, at first, then the church itself. Lingering on the altar when they had both sung, watching the corridors where he used to appear, eyeing the chair, up there, where he had climbed on easter mass. Saying goodbye just as well.

They walked, together, to the exit. Slow steps, a hand on the oak door, then in full sunlight. The heat engulfed them at they stood, both stunned, before the church. Frances' fingers tightened around his as she whispered:

— "I will never be able to thank you enough. It is a great sacrifice"

Tristan pulled at her hand, getting her to face him so that he could gaze into her eyes. She seemed... totally stunned still. Unsurprising because so was he. He was glad that she understood the heavy price of his decision, but couldn't let her wallow in guilt or gratefulness forever. The risk would be to unbalance their relationship and sent it toppling over.

— "No. It will be difficult, but no sacrifice Frances. I have come to see that my path now rested with yours. It is God's will just as much as it was before. I will continue to work for him, albeit in a different way."

Her eyes widened slightly as she watched him, digging deep, searching to understand what he was trying to convey. Then, at last, her features unlocked and she smiled gently, her free hand lifting to his cheekbone.

— "I understand what you mean. But I am grateful all the same for the opportunity to have you in my life."

Blood rushed to his cheek; as much from the heartfelt compliment than from the contact of her soft hand upon his face. And when she closed the distance, his breath itched. Frances stood on her toes, her eyes firmly planted into his until they closed altogether. Her lips bestowed a gentle, feather like kiss, her breath mingling with his in a blessed moment. Her arms snaked around his middle, then, and she lay her head upon his chest with a loaded sigh. As if the whole word that rested upon her shoulders could now hold on its own, leaving her behind. Free.

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