Based upon episode 3- Nor'easter of AHS Asylum. Sister Jude drinks the communion wine after a bad memory rears its head, but Monsignor Timothy is on hand to offer some support.
This is my first published fanfic, and first AHS one ever, so I hope I did it justice because I'm totally in love with the show- particularly all the Jessica Lange elements. I'm hoping to add to this chapter but only if I have feedback if it's any good. Enjoy! (Rated M for later chapters.)
She, like everyone else she had ever come across, had had her fair share of demons. Weak moments in her life that had forced her to unravel, forced her to discover her Achilles' Heel. Unfortunately for Sister Jude, her weak spots were not only known about by everyone around her, but they had driven her to such guilt, she had ran from them, left all traces of the life she had built for herself and became a nun in the hope of finding peace. She had always felt God somewhere in the background of her busy, distracted mind, but other than the odd, selfish, whimsical desire, had never asked anything from Him. As a nun, she looked towards God for guidance and strength, and praised His love and patience when she managed to avoid those temptations and resist the urge to lose herself in a stiff drink. Similarly, she inwardly blamed God for His lack of interest in her, when the sting of cognac diving down her throat and coating the seriousness of her thoughts, was all that could fix the messes she had in front of her, or more troubling still, the messes that plagued her complex mind.
While running an insane asylum might not have been how she dreamed her life would turn out, she was deeply grateful for the second chance God had offered her, in His house and under His care. But seeing God in every brick that made up the very building she resided in, day after day, year after year, did nothing but make her wary of herself. There was nowhere she could go where she could be her true, honest self and not be judged for her weaknesses and desires to sin. No matter how many years she confined herself to her tasks and responsibilities at Briarcliff, she would never forget the deep satisfaction of the sweet burn of alcohol, or the mess it had lead her to.
She glanced down to the desk where she spent her days, the usual paraphernalia piled next to the statue of Christ that resided on the corner. She absent-mindedly flicked her eyes to meet His and felt something warm momentarily ran through her soul. She then continued her glance to the rest of the desk, but stopped in her tracks. She managed to catch her breath as she felt the hairs on the back of her neck stand, as though a ghost had walked right through to her now cooling soul, and reached deep to capture a memory from her past, to make it a thing of the present. She slowly reached a slightly worn, shaking hand to a pair of small, cracked glasses, and groaned in horror into the room at the invisible monster that had left them there. She blinked at the tears that formed, subconsciously, and bubbled from her eyes. She blinked harder, testing her reality, but the glasses remained a solid form in her hand. She brought a hand to her head, as she swallowed, pushing back the next wave of tears. Flashbacks of music and perfume invaded her senses. Cigarettes and bourbon laced her tongue and her heart jumped, the same way it had done almost a decade before, at the crash of car bonnet against bones; the crash of Judy's happiness against the guilt that would be clung to her for the rest of her days. She reached her hand back out to the desk, and placed the tiny glasses lightly on the table, exactly where she had found them. Controlling the heavy breathing that made her habit dance against her moving chest, she slid her fingers across the desk to the communion wine that sat, tempting her. With soft actions, like those of a mother's delicate stroke against the cheek of her new-born, Jude caressed the bottle knowing the power and bliss it held inside. She closed her eyes to avoid the judging glares of God, and sighed at her own weaknesses as she wiped her tears, brought the bottle to her coral lips and drank.
The storm outside brewed viciously, circling the isolated asylum. As promised, Frank had gathered the patients who waited, confused, in the common room for Sister Jude's introduction to her distraction from the war outside. But with each lightning bolt, crash of thunder and whirl of wind that battered the old building and sent eerie whispers though its windows, the patients locked inside began to get restless and afraid. Frank stood strongly at the door making sure no one left, but that didn't stop them from hiding under tables or standing on top of chairs, preaching about the coming apocalypse. The Monsignor entered the common room to witness the chaos. "What is happening in here?" he asked Frank, horrified at the energy that pulsed through the patients' veins.
"Sister Jude had me gather them to watch an informative picture about Christ. She thought, you know, it would be a good distraction, given the storm, but she hasn't shown yet." The Monsignor sighed at the room and glanced over to the patients, one of whom, was beginning to throw himself against a wall with every earth-shattering clap of thunder.
"Frank, play the picture, and for goodness sake, stop Peter from climbing the walls. Try and get them in their seats. I shall go look for Sister Jude." Frank nodded in recognition and went about attempting to shout over the noise of the screaming patients, as Timothy quietly exited the room and headed towards Jude's office.
As he reached the office door, he could see only a faint candle light illuminating the room, as it flickered monster-like abstract shadows through the glass panel in the door. He could hear a faint humming, a beautiful, delicate tune, but as he slowly opened the door to the office, he realised the room was empty. He followed the sweet sound to the door leading to Jude's bedroom. He knocked almost silently against the slightly ajar door, and the humming ceased immediately. There was a moment of silence and then a strong, but quiet voice muttered, "Come in."
As Monsignor Howard opened the door the sweet smell of wine filled his nostrils, and his eyes found the empty bottle resting next to the bed. Jude sat perched on the edge, tucking her hair under her wimple, to no avail. Blonde waves washed down either side of her slightly glowing face. "Sister…" Timothy started, as he met Jude's eyes and saw her relax immediately at his presence.
"Monsignor," she smirked. "What an honour to have you in my bedroom." She rested on her palms and leant back slightly, crossing her legs.
"Well, Sister," the Monsignor stuttered. "The patients were in the common room, causing a disturbance due to the storm. Frank mentioned something about a picture?" He waited for a response from the Sister, but she just glanced, absent-mindedly at the room around her, and at the flickers of candlelight that emanated around the Monsignor's head, from the next room. She looked at the man standing there; his shapely form disguised under God's uniform, his chestnut eyes hidden behind thick lenses. "I instructed Frank to play the picture without your say so. I hope I didn't intrude on your process, Sister," he continued. Jude rolled her eyes and sighed into the darkness of the room. "Sister," the Monsignor furthered, stepping closer to Jude. "Forgive my brashness, but it appears that you have been toying with your addictions again." Jude looked up at the man before her, appearing nervous and bashful at the potential wrath she could throw at him with her poisonous tongue. "Or rather, they have been toying with you," he finished. The Sister laughed and pulled off the wimple that barely covered he hair. "Jude, please."
"It's only hair, Timothy," she said, smiling and shaking her head, her loose waves perching on her shoulders.
"Still, it unnerves me to see you so." Sister Jude looked at the floor, no longer enlightened with the rare smile that kissed her lips, but burdened once more with the deep shame and embarrassment that came with the Monsignor's unintentionally cruel words. How she had longed for this man to bring her some relief to the sinful thoughts she had about him. In her dreams he had come to her, begging for her thighs around his bare waist, and the taste of her tongue against his. She scoffed at herself for thinking such incredulous thoughts, and then replaced her eyes on his, clearing the slate of her mind.
"What else unnerves you, Timothy?" A light smile remerged on her face, as she lightly tapped the bed next to her, indicating him to sit. The Monsignor shuffled his feet before awkwardly perching alongside Jude, clasping his hands in front of him. Jude watched his every movement, catching what she could through his shadows and outlines, illuminated only by the distant moon, that glowed faintly though the window. Jude pulled slightly at the habit that wrapped around her ankles, freeing her bare skin to the air. Timothy glanced down and caught glimpse of the milky skin, glowing against the backdrop of her habit.
"Jude, I'll have you know, this is very irregular occurrence for me. In fact I think this is the first time I have ever sat on a nun's bed." He laughed, quietly and awkwardly and Jude smiled at him, innocently. However, what she held inside herself when she looked at him was far from innocent, and she knew it. The fine lines around his eyes when he smiled at her, ignited the fear that she would always be this way; married to God forever, and forever in His possession- lonely and untouched. Those fine lines indicated years of emptiness, years of being unloved, years of lying in bed alone at night. Jude feared she would begin to look at all men the same way; vessels of missed opportunities and wasted time. Hourglasses that marked the decades of absent lovers and perhaps even a wasted life altogether.
In her drunken haze, she reminisced inwardly of the happiest times in her life- times when she was free from the thumb of alcohol and was young enough to be admired as beautiful, but old enough to demand respect. Of course, even then, she struggled to remember if she was truly happy, or if she was caught up in the warm haze of Martinis and lipstick and large calloused hands that wrapped tightly around her waist, and lips that emitted heated kisses and nibbled on earlobes. She recalled slipping out into the darkness at all hours, wearing nothing more than what the nuns at Briarcliff would regard as a negligee and a string of pearls. Of course, it had been many years since the last time, but it still played like a constant reminder in Jude's head of the woman she used to be. She was thankful that the Lord had saved her from a life behind bars for the crimes she committed, but ached for one more night with her legs around a man, leaving her mouth like an animal left its scent, over his chest and groin. Each night, in prayer, she would talk to God about the sins that had diseased her mind during the day, and she found therapy in His stillness.
And while she blushed at talking about fantasies starring orderlies she didn't even regard as attractive, she felt that God forgave her when divulging her thoughts to Him, rather than acting on them. She wondered if sin was thinking sinful thoughts, if she never admitted to herself that she'd had them. There were some thoughts too sinful and private to share with the great Lord, Himself. Ones like what she was imagining now, as she gazed at the Monsignor, emitting a light aroma of the dark red wine that had recently laced her tongue with a sweet tang.
"I would offer you a drink, Monsignor," Jude smiled. "But we're all out." The Monsignor rubbed his head, concerned.
"Jude, I fear you're letting your demons get a hold of you again," he said suddenly, turning and taking her slightly shaking hands into his warm, surprisingly smooth ones. Sister Jude looked up at the Father, an expression of quiet happiness spread across her face. For the first time in a while, she could see the depths of the Monsignor's affections for her. Even if never in a romantic way, she always melted a little whenever Timothy revealed how he cared for his Sister of the Church. However, she brushed off his concern, taking her hand and tapping it lightly against his.
"Now, Timothy, don't start with your lectures. Not when there are so, so many other things to talk about."
"Jude, we can't just forget about our weaknesses when we feel we aren't strong enough to handle the guilt, and expect praise when we manage to overcome them. God is always watching, Sister. He knows everything you're doing to yourself and everything you're going through. He is there to help you through it."
"God has no idea what I'm doing to myself, or what I'm feeling, Father. And if He did, He would allow me some pain relief every once in a while, believe me," Jude scoffed, and pulled her hands away from the Monsignor's. He narrowed his eyes, seeing Sister Jude so troubled unnerved him. He knew little of her history, other than her battle with alcohol, but never questioned Jude about her past, as she was in a different time and place in her life now. He had wondered over the years, if Sister Jude's iron fist and cold shoulder had always been the way she treated the world and others around her, and every now and again, he would spy something in her that told him it wasn't so. He wondered how deeply Jude had been cut to regress and return to alcohol and question her faith in the darkest of torment she often found herself in.
"What happened for you to question the Lord, Sister? I know you have a history, somewhere, Jude. Everyone has their reasons for seeking the Church and Christ, I know I do. And I know you do too. What was Judy Martin like? I've often wondered." Jude scoffed again and the Monsignor's pitiful attempts to understand her complex and sinful life. She sighed, inwardly, wishing she had another bottle of wine at hand.
"You wouldn't like her," she whispered, her head lolling slightly. "She was a sinner, an ungodly woman. Impulsive, selfish."
"I find that hard to believe," Timothy interrupted. "You're a good person, Jude." Once again, Jude shrugged off the Monsignor's compliments. "Tell me about who you were before Briarcliff, Sister." Jude fidgeted uncomfortably at the edge of the bed.
"Surely you have better things to do with your time than listen to an old nun talk about her heyday?" Jude joked, but really she was rather touched by the Monsignor's sudden interest in her past. Over the decade that she had befriended and worked alongside Monsignor Howard, they had formed a relationship in their own right, without having to know the secrets that lay in each of their dark histories. But something must be changing, Jude mused, hoping that this soft spot she had found in him, in the middle of a dark, thunderous evening, inebriated and alone, in her bedroom at Briarcliff Manor, was the start of something much more than friendship.