A/N: Thank you to all those reading, in particular the two who reviewed the last chapter Panda256 and Mikiss. Hope you enjoy it.
Also, I'm not particularly religious or anything, nor am I anti-religion, empty buildings in general are just really good places to let loose, and I figure with all those different relatives with who knows how many different views, Ezra is bound to have a few issues with religion.
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Ezra walked slowly into the run down church, not at all sure why he was here. He seemed to be running at least half on auto-pilot and it wasn't until after he'd parked that he'd fully realized where he was. Josiah had gotten them all to volunteer here last Christmas and Ezra had found to his surprise that he enjoyed it. That had been nearly a year ago now, the first time he'd stepped foot in a Catholic church since Christmas that dreadful year he lived with Aunt Bernice when he was nine. Mr. Sanchez had talked him into coming back with him twice since. It was empty, which he supposed made sense in the middle of the day on a Friday, any activity would be going on in the building that housed the office and the large cafeteria that functioned half as a soup kitchen and half as a safe place for the kids in the neighborhood in between school and their parents getting home from work, away from the pressures of the gangs and worse. Here, in the old chapel, there was no one.
He supposed that was maybe what he'd wanted. Ezra walked up the aisle, hoping the place was as deserted as it seemed, and sat down in the middle of the rows, staring up at the carving of Jesus. His mind flickered briefly to a discussion Nathan and Josiah had had about how the depiction was all wrong, Jesus would have looked more Middle Eastern or African, dark skinned like the Hebrew people of the time. The modern depiction of Jesus was based off the lover of the artist hired by the church. Ezra smirked as he wondered whether that meant the man had seen God in their lovemaking. Buck regularly claimed that his conquests could do just that, so perhaps.
"Ah don't know why Ah thought coming here would help." His words seemed to reverberate back to him through the empty church. "Ah suppose Ah wanted answers, but the truth is Ah don't really know what questions to ask. Not sure Ah'd like the answers Ah'd get anyway." Ezra just sat there for a few long minutes, growing more and more uncomfortable in the silence, and then suddenly, the idea of him, Ezra P. Standish, who, after that brief stint when he was twelve and Uncle Ephai (his mother wasn't the only one in his family with a penchant for obscure biblical names) had "taught" him how to be a "faith healer", avoided churches like the plague, coming here to find comfort, coming here at all, struck him as hilarious and he started chuckling, then laughing, laughing so hard he was holding his stomach, and there were tears streaming down his face, and he wasn't sure anymore if he was laughing or crying or doing both at the same time, but it didn't matter, it felt good. How long had it been since he'd let himself do this? Years? Had he ever just let himself go like this? He laughed and cried until his cheeks were sore and his gut ached, his eyes puffy and the corners of them red-raw from tears. Ezra supposed he'd needed that.
Still. That was more than a little embarrassing. At least, if a breakdown of that magnitude had been inevitable, Ezra supposed he had found a secluded place to have it in. He pulled a handkerchief out of his inside suit pocket, and quickly mopped his face of any evidence. Ezra wasn't sure if it was the church, or the solitude, or what, but he had found some measure of peace here, and for that he was grateful. He planned to get up, planned to head out, but he just couldn't seem to find the energy, and next thing he knew he was talking again. It wasn't that he really thought anyone was listening, Ezra wasn't entirely sure he believed in any sort of higher power at all, but something about the silent, cavernous room just asked for the silence to be filled.
"Ah thought Ah'd found mah place. Thought Ah'd found mah people." He bowed his head slightly, the emotions he was so sure he'd expunged creeping back in faster than he liked. "A family. Mah family. Six brothers." Anger coursed through him, the feeling of betrayal slicing all the way through the fog of disbelief for the first time, fist lashing out into the solid oak pew in front of him, and suddenly he was talking to the God he wasn't sure he believed in, angry and demanding, and wanting to know why, "Ah thought ah was finally done moving on. Thought the prayers Ah used to pray befah Ah was old enough to know better, to know that even if there was a God he didn't bother with the likes of me, had been answered. Ah know Ah'm a sinner, Mothah had me running cons before Ah could tie mah shoes, but Ah thought there was mercy for the repentant. That's what Josiah says anyway, and he is meant to be the expert. Thought the fact that Ah've spent mah entire adult life doing the exact opposite of what Ah was taught might eventually count for something. Ah don't even cheat at cards anymore, not that Ah ever needed too." Ezra smirked, no humor in it, "Perhaps this is a sign Ah shouldn't bothah."
"Ah don't know if Ah have it in me anymore to start ovah somewhere new." He laughed then, "Lord, Mothah would be ashamed if she heard that. Probably threaten to disown me again. Mah childhood was nothing but starting ovah new, the most important thing she taught me, how to start ovah and come out on top every time."
Be on top. Win at all costs, unless it's to you. Always have a plan. Everyone has an angle.
Lessons drilled into his head every day of his childhood spent with her.
Her number one, of course, had always been 'appearances are everything'.
The worst part was she was right. She had always been right.
Why had he come here of all places? This was Mr. Sanchez's place, not his. Perhaps, some last pathetic attempt to feel close to the man. Ezra's place was nightclubs and underground gambling halls, smoke-filled bars with washed up singers crooning away in the corners, back alley dice games one night and high stakes poker the next. Not here. He heaved himself to his feet and headed to the little stand where the votive candles were kept, going to pull his wallet from his back pocket, holding back a pained noise when his hand protested. He moved it into the light where he could see it and grimaced. Ezra had forgotten he'd done that. At least one knuckle was broken, the whole thing red and starting to mottle with bruises and Mr. Jackson would not be-
Ezra cut off his thought almost violently, using his other hand to grab his wallet. Opening it, he pulled out a bill and shoved it into the collection box at the front, then regarded the candles a bit warily. He knew he was supposed to choose one, place it and light it, but wasn't there kneeling involved? Ezra didn't even know if a non-Catholic was supposed to light a candle. He remembered he'd had to stay seated for communion when his aunt and cousins had gone up for it.
Well, the church could just have a donation then. Giving his typical two finger salute to the front of the room in general Ezra turned and strode back down the aisle. It was past time to find that bar.