Disclaimer: Don't own them, they own me.
A/N: Ha! We managed an almost Christmas special. :D This chapter is dedicated to all of you, lovely readers! Hope you all had a wonderful holiday!
THOSE WITHOUT SIN
Chapter 7: Theft
"I came as soon as I could." Reeve says, rubbing his palms together. It's obvious his body is still fighting the climate change, and the jet lag did little to alleviate the problem.
"Here." Angeal places the cup of tea in front of Reeve. "The rolls should be done soon." He smiles at the smell of cinnamon in the air. The man looks positively exhausted with dark green circles under his eyes; skin taking an unhealthy pale glow, even under the tan. He'd been overworked and then, instead of resting for a few days, decided to pack his things and visit Angeal for a week. Like Angeal needs babysitting.
He seats himself opposite of Reeve, one thigh pressed to the radiator; the winter is taking its toll on Angeal's old bones, he thinks and suppresses a snort. "How did the vaccine mission go?" he asks, hoping Reeve would mistake his cynicism for this instead.
"Quite all right," Reeve says, entwines his fingers under the cup and keeps it near his face, as though his very life force is leaking out to the cold and he needs to fight hard to keep it. "Poor children, they need every last penny we can save."
Angeal laughs and Reeve looks at him with confusion in his eyes. "So when exactly did you find out that Durex started making cheap generic drugs?" Reeve chokes on his tea and spends a few seconds fighting for air and Angeal wants to help him all right, but he's too distracted with his own laughter.
"I missed this a lot," Reeve eventually says, big grin on his face as he resumes drinking his tea. "You always had a way with words." Angeal produces the faintest of smiles. "So, what's the plan?"
Angeal blinks. "Plan?" Reeve rolls his eyes.
"The plan to get Sephiroth out of that mad house, what do you think?"
"Why do you think I'd want that?" Angeal asks and Reeve looks at him as though he's mad. Maybe he's right, in the mad department at least. Still, he goes on. "He went there willingly, it's not my..."
Reeve rolls his eyes once more, and there seems to be a spark in there that makes him look all the more alive. "So he went back to the man who had practically marked him from the beginning, brainwashing him into believing he's some sort of a super human agent that God Himself placed upon this earth to be adored by us mere mortals? You know what he was like first time he came here, how could you let him?"
"I didn't 'let him' do anything. He's a grown up man, and there's nothing I can do about it."
"Ah, yes, let's give him only one way out and ourselves the illusion like he had a choice." Reeve places the cup onto the small kitchen table with a bit too much force and a few drops of the dark liquid spill to the cracked wooden surface. "So, he slept with another man. Big deal, at least he's legal."
"That's low."
"Oh?" Reeve seems to have entered one of his elements. This time, he's argumentative and furious. "I can count, on the fingers of one hand, the priests whom I know for sure have been moved around the country after people started becoming suspicious, so don't tell me..."
"I kissed him," Angeal whispers, and suddenly Reeve freezes, then a small smile appears on those lips, as though it didn't matter. As though he is glad. Suddenly, Angeal feels confused, at a loss.
"Well," Reeve tries, clears his throat. "You're adults, I suppose."
"And that's it?" Angeal gasps. Reeve forces a warm smile.
"Sanctity of confession only bans me from repeating, not from remembering things people say. Angeal," Reeve pauses, leans closer over the table. "I've known you having these feelings way before you've admitted them to yourself. Sephiroth was a tougher nut to crack, true," he chuckles, "but one would really have to be a fool not to see the exchange between the two of you. Sure, you might have convinced yourself for years there's nothing to it, but you seem to forget I'm not as dumb as you two wanted to be."
Angeal pauses, shocked. "Well, this is..."
Reeve laughs. "Redundant and amusing surely, but what now?"
"I... I'm not sure I'm of any use to the Church anymore," Angeal continues in a low voice, the accidental knife marks on the wood far more interesting than Reeve's warm eyes. "I'm not sure I want to be, I..."
"Angeal," Reeve tries, keeps his voice warm, so warm, and he slides his palm across to cup Angeal's. The touch is warm, so soothing. "Maybe you shouldn't fight it anymore. Maybe..."
"It's all I ever wanted to be, all my life, all I ever..." Angeal tries, eyes now locked with Reeve's, and it hurts.
Reeve smiles once more, the right corner of his lips twitching in a playful way. "I always told you, from my perspective, there's just so much love in me, I could either be a priest or a swinger." And they both laugh, Angeal feeling all the more better as he squeezes his fingers around Reeve's. "This is my nature and I've accepted it. You, on the other hand, seem to be at constant struggle with your choice. You're looking at it backwards. It seems that you want to be a priest because there's nothing else for you out there. If this is your last choice, then maybe you should ask yourself whether this was a choice to begin with."
"So, how does one choose?" Angeal asks and Reeve purses his lips.
"Why do I have a feeling we're not talking about the call anymore?" he asks and Angeal doesn't answer. "Go to him. Please."
His body aches so much, and he knows he shouldn't be abusing his soul's temple, but he can't stop blaming the flesh for the corruption of his mind, so he finds excuses for it. He prays, the rosary in his hands all days long, but the words sound hollow every time he repeats them, while the images seem more real to boot. He fasts until he's incapable of focusing, because that way he's not laden with guilt over the pain he'd caused to everyone; to the Cardinal, to Angeal. To Genesis. To himself.
Jesus, have mercy on us. Forgive us our sins.
The Cardinal comes to see him almost every day, and they spend their evening supper in silence, slowly sipping soup from the old plates yellowed over the years. Sometimes, Sephiroth tries to talk, but the disdain in Hojo's eyes and the mention of the disappointment he feels every minute of his old life ensures Sephiroth wouldn't even try.
He reads the Bible, screams at the cross, then whispers and begs for forgiveness, but it just refuses to come. He doesn't know whether he's angry at himself for doing it or at the Church for forbidding it.
Save us from the fires of hell.
There's no phone in the house, of course, and only fields surround it. He always disliked the Nibelheim mansion. Bleak, overwhelming with its strict rules and suffocating in its devoted majesty. It fits the landscape, nothing to see but the sun, icy cold as it is, and frozen dirt. His room is not well heated, but that's just part of the punishment, that's simply so he could remember who governs whom. His body shall obey the mind.
Take all souls into heaven, especially those most in need of Thy mercy.
At nights, he still dreams of Genesis. And Angeal. And somehow, even the freezing cold of the winter seems all that much warmer. In the morning, he hates himself all over again.
The house has a large library in the basement; books written either by the Cardinal, or one of his peers, the matters on theology, the Scripture and the Lord. Sometimes, when he's bored, he goes through the vast volumes, some of them decades old, some of them barely a few years. Hojo encourages him, even suggests some of the newer books that he knows Sephiroth hadn't gotten his hands onto.
Among the bookshelves, he finds comfort no matter how temporary. It's easy to thread the familiar ground, read the words he'd memorized all those ages ago, having no one to conflict him. Still, he's in doubt, but so were many of the saints, so was the Lord a few times.
He thinks, in one moment of self proclaimed insanity, how this isn't much different than the forty days in the desert. In a way it's making him feel better, knowing the burning would eventually end, and he would walk out of the fire as though reborn, shedding the sins of the past. Only a few more days.
Only a few more days.
Amen.
One of the shelves is locked, an old dark cherry cabinet with a golden key lock. Sephiroth knows he shouldn't be prying, because it's probably personal, but he makes a mental note to ask the Cardinal during his next visit about this. He's just bored, and idle hands are the tools of the Devil.
Angeal knocks twice, then waits a few seconds before he hears the key being turned in the lock. Genesis opens the door and turns back, seats himself to one of the two chairs in the kitchen and takes hold of his tea. Angeal notices there's another cup opposite him, and the other chair waiting.
It's freezing. Genesis is wearing thick clothing and a jacket on top. Angeal just rubs his palms together and decides against unbuttoning his coat.
"Water pressure's down again," Genesis whispers with a dry smile over the rim of the cup as Angeal looks around the room. "Please, sit." He points to the other free chair, but Angeal doesn't obey.
"You know why I'm here," Angeal decides to stick to the point, because he'd called (he'll never come uninvited to Genesis' place again, ever) and Genesis didn't want to deal with this over the phone. "I'll go see him tomorrow." The corner of Genesis' lip twitches and he tries to hide it with his cup.
"From day one, I blamed you," Genesis starts, decides to ignore Angeal's eyes. "When you left, when you came back, when we..."
"Gen, please..." Angeal tries but Genesis just shakes his head, eyes glassy but no more than that.
"You returned to the comfort of your seminary life and left me deal with the fallout. What was I, fifteen? Sixteen?" His voice cracks, but he just sips more tea, as though to soothe it.
"Genesis, I'm sorry!" Angeal says a bit too loudly, and he reminds himself the walls are thin, helped by the sound of children feet stomping above them.
"And then I find you, still in your comfortable little church, living your comfortable little life, and you have no fucking idea what I've been through." The little feet stop and Genesis returns to his tea. His palms are shaking, but that's about it. The jacket is thick, and hiding the rest well. "I suggest you go back to your life and let me deal with the fallout on my own terms," he snaps.
"Why can't you listen to me?" Angeal whispers.
"Because I've had enough." Genesis' voice is nothing but a dry whisper.
Angeal approaches the free chair and sits down slowly, soundlessly. "I'm not your enemy. Why can't you just accept that?" He's searching for Genesis' eyes, but no response comes in that respect.
"A sin forgiven is a sin not worth remembering," he replies quietly, but with so much edge, challenge.
"I never stopped loving you." His throat never felt drier, even swallowing hurts.
It's perhaps the first time since Angeal walked in that Genesis looks fragile instead of demonic. But it's just a flash that disappears the next second. "You just started loving another," he snaps once more. "And shifting your priorities." Genesis knows his words are sharper than a scalpel, and it's obvious he revels in that fact. His last line of defense. "Your 'love' is what got me here, in case you have forgotten."
"I just came here to see you," Angeal whispers, voice as warm as he can keep it within these cold walls. This is why I always came here, he thinks but he doesn't say it. "I know my childhood friend is somewhere in there," he tries, but stops before his voice would crack.
Genesis laughs dryly. "Maybe he died. Maybe he froze to death the first winter after he got kicked out of his home."
"He never called it his home," Angeal whispers with a smile.
Once again, Genesis' lips tremble, but it's not fear or sadness; a ghost of a smile wants to crack to the surface but he contains it. "Life happened, Angeal. You can't expect me to go back." And suddenly, the room is much warmer, as though they don't even need heating anymore.
"I expect you to go forward," Angeal says, slides his palm across, entwines his fingers with Genesis', the fabric of his fingerless gloves warm from the cup, so comforting under the touch. "Please, come and see him. With me." Instantly, Genesis shakes his head, and he looks like a broken doll.
"What is it to me?" he lifts his chin haughtily, but his beautiful blue eyes are quivering.
"Don't." A calm answer, as simple as that. So gentle.
"I can't. You know I can't. I'm sorry, Angeal, I'm afraid I'll..." There's so much in that voice, more than enough to make Angeal smile and keep holding those hands.
"Now I know he's not dead yet," he whispers and sits straight, as though someone lifted a huge burden off his shoulders.
The bell rings twice, three times, impatiently, and Sephiroth hurries down the vast staircase that leads to the upper bedrooms (his is the smallest, of course; his own choosing and Hojo's blessing). He has no idea who it might be, and generally if it's one of the kids from the village nearby, they give up after a minute or two. Not this time.
He turns the key in the age old door and almost falls down upon seeing the familiar face.
"Please, don't close the door," Angeal says with a face set into a pout, eyes pleading. "I came all the way here..." He pauses and digs through the paper bag in one of his hands, pulls out a familiar looking bottle out with a grin. "Cassis de Dijon," he says, almost too smugly, and the corners of Sephiroth's lips quirk.
"Tempter," he whispers, tries to keep his lips from spreading into a smile, but he's definitely losing the fight.
"That I am," Angeal answers with too much pride that the whole scene looks comical. "May I come in? It's freezing outside."
"Not much warmer inside," Sephiroth says, but moves to the side and lets Angeal pass by him.
He spends a mere second or two looking around, then he snorts. "Good to know the donations are spent well."
"Jest doesn't suit you," Sephiroth says and Angeal turns around to face him.
"Neither is solitude good for you, so it seems," Angeal answers and discards the bottle to the nearby table, the large thing in the middle of the lobby, if an enormous space enclosed by humongous, priceless colourful windows in front of an even grander double staircase could even be called that. "This house is creepy."
"It's just old," Sephiroth says and smiles politely. "Give it a chance, it grows on you eventually."
"I'm not sure I want it to. Can we go somewhere less... Hojo-like?" Angeal tries with a chuckle and Sephiroth shrugs.
"The only thing I can think of is outside, and—" he doesn't even get to finish the sentence as Angeal grabs him by the hand and pulls to the front door. Sephiroth notes the bottle is back in Angeal's other hand.
It's a beautiful day. The sky is more misty than clear, with mountain tops hidden above the layer of clouds. Snow is everywhere, painfully white and glimmering under the low, sharp sunlight. Suddenly, Sephiroth is thankful that Angeal let him grab his jacket, because the cold is prickly to the skin, and he rubs his palms together to keep his fingers somewhat warm.
"Now this," Angeal cuts the deafening silence as he turns around to face Sephiroth, arms spread and the still unopened bottle in one of them. "This I could get used to."
"Don't be a fool, Angeal..."
"Oh, come on," Angeal interrupts and speeds his pace down the small slope that leads away from the mansion and towards the village. The houses are hidden in the foggy distance, their roofs covered with a white layer of snow, though Sephiroth thinks he can hear children's laughter here and there, when the air current turns to their side. It's surprisingly calm today, considering what the katabatic winds sometimes do to this area, even though it's so far away from the coastline. First time he came, he was certain he had been left to freeze in the deepest pits of hell, but like this...
Angeal fights to open the bottle and he manages after a few tries, then shakes his hand to relieve the pain. Nonetheless, he offers the bottle to Sephiroth first.
... and maybe it's the company.
Sephiroth takes it and pulls a good mouthful before he could regret it. The liquor tastes bitter and sharp, like all alcohol does to him, but the berries are thick and sweet, almost syrupy as they stick to his throat. After the first, uncomfortable shock, all Sephiroth feels is the warm, lulling sweetness of berries. It doesn't take longer than a minute or two, and his cheeks already burn red and Angeal grins and decides to serve himself as well.
Sephiroth refuses to think about the price, about what might have been done with that money and how much it must have pained Angeal to waste it on this. In a way, he appreciates the gesture. No one but Angeal would have done something like this for Sephiroth. No one.
The bottle is around half empty by the time the sun starts to set behind the dim peaks, and the shadow covers them within minutes, bringing the sudden promise of cold. The two of them decide to stop their mindless wondering and start walking back to the manor, but at one point Sephiroth spots a bench still covered in snow and, as though he's reading Sephiroth's mind, Angeal starts swiping the snow off the wooden boards with his still gloved hands.
The two of them sit then, barely touching the edge of the bench to keep as much of their skin from exchanging the heat with the other surfaces.
"You should come back," Angeal bursts, and it's obvious it's a sentence he's been fighting with for the past hour at least. As though without thinking, he squeezes his gloved hand around Sephiroth's bare ones, freezing cold. Sephiroth feels Angeal shaking.
"I wish it were that easy," Sephiroth says and he feels the cold under his hips, sucking the heat away from his body, but he just can't move. Maybe it's the liquor, but maybe it's not. He missed this, talking with Angeal about things that matter, but not really. Angeal always had an insight to things, a fresh point of view. "I can't leave Mother Church, it would be..."
Angeal snorts, which in a way is untypical of him, but also not that much. He's drunker than Sephiroth, that much is certain, but that's just because Sephiroth does own self control. Unlike some, he likes to think with a small chiding smile. "Why can't you just use your brain, Seph?" Angeal asks.
Sephiroth feels his cheeks warm up again, but he just shrugs. "Because that's not the point," he offers, staring somewhere into the distance, where the endless line separates the white snow from the grayish, foggy sky.
"Oh, get off your high tower," Angeal says and Sephiroth winces, but tries to hide it, because he knows Angeal isn't here to hurt him. All the pain comes directly from within, from his sin. "So, on your day of judgement, you're telling me that you'll actually stand before Him, before your maker, and when He asks you what you did with the greatest gift He gave to men," he knocks over Sephiroth's head to prove his point, "you're telling me you'll simply answer 'nothing'? How do you think that will make Him feel?"
"That is not true," Sephiroth defends, feels his hackles rise. "That is not..."
"That's exactly what you're doing!" Angeal yells and his voice reverberates through the faraway mountain peaks. "At one side you have humans, so tiny in this universe, so dependent of this little green ball of dirt, and on the other a small billionth part of humanity which is a small billionth part of the entire creation who just happened to be so almighty that He Himself chose to bathe them in His eternal glory! If only pride were a sin, Seph, if only it were a sin..."
"What you're saying is blasphemy!" Sephiroth counteracts and Angeal rolls his eyes once more.
"He is no less of a God just because we need him instead of being chosen by Him. Have some humility, Seph, I know you're better than a bunch of centuries old dogmas that mustn't be questioned." Angeal sighs. "Do you really despise your brain as much as... they." He points randomly somewhere behind them and, Sephiroth knows exactly whom he refers to.
"Maybe I should quit," Sephiroth whispers, suddenly the tips of his boots far more interesting than his friend. "Maybe..."
"Maybe you should," Angeal offers and Sephiroth glances at him, completely confused. "If that's what you want to. Is it?"
"I don't know, I..." He wants to cry, but he tells himself his nose is runny because of the cold. They've been out here, abusing their bodies with alcohol and snow for far too long. "I think so." It's barely a whisper, and he knows his eyes glow with tears as he looks at Angeal, who quickly offers a strong, comforting embrace. And Sephiroth knows he should break away.
"Would you do it for yourself, or...?" Angeal asks and Sephiroth shrugs before actually thinking about it.
Something shifts in Sephiroth, and the flush in his cheeks isn't tipsiness anymore. He hides his face in his palms, sighing so he could muffle a sob. "If only he didn't tempt me! If only..." He doesn't continue because Angeal laughs loudly, then he starts screaming into the dusking sky. The moment of shame passes and Sephiroth just turns to staring at his friend as though he's lost his mind. Which he did.
"Is that what this is all about?" Angeal says far too loudly, still laughing with disbelief, arms spread and palms looking into the sky. "Is that what you really think? That God put him, God put Genesis into this earth for no other reason but to tempt you?" The words start sinking slowly and Sephiroth slides his eyes to the dirty snow on the ground, ashamed. He's thankful for the lack of strength in Angeal's next words. "My friend, we are all but ants upon this earth, tiny and fragile and oh so very alone." Sephiroth bites the inside of his cheek as he feels the touch of cold, oh so very old and worn out leather under his chin. He looks up then, into a pair of softest eyes he's ever seen, and Angeal is smiling at him. "The only thing you can blame Genesis for is threading his own path when it crossed yours."
Sephiroth chuckles dryly. "I never took you for a poet."
Angeal grins. "Must be in the scenery." He slides back to the cold bench next to Sephiroth, not pulling away, but not forcing contact either. Though, Sephiroth falls into an embrace willingly, just to preserve body heat. Nothing more. Angeal sighs so very dreamily against him. "I talked to him."
Sephiroth tenses at the mere four words, wanting to pull away, but is somewhat glad Angeal is firmly against it.
"He may have acted out of spite, but his heart is in the right place, I assure you of that."
Once again, Sephiroth hides his sob with a sigh. "If it's an abomination, why is love involved?" he asks and feels Angeal tense as well. So, he hasn't expected that one, Sephiroth thinks bitterly, and now he's enraged, his heart breaking because Angeal's opinion of him is obviously so low. He wouldn't have touched Genesis, not unless... An abomination. "I need to leave the Church. I need to, because of him, I have to—"
"Then maybe you shouldn't," Angeal quickly interrupts.
Sephiroth laughs dryly, but it ends up muffled in Angeal's jacket. "Aren't you supposed to help me?" he asks as he pulls away, realizing with sheer terror that he's not supposed to be reaching temptations once more.
It just makes Angeal laugh, openly, loudly, sincerely, something Sephiroth missed so much. The sound is nothing but comforting, and even Sephiroth's lips quirk a bit.
"I was with Genesis just yesterday," Angeal says, breaks the silence the two of them ended up in, lulled comfortably even despite the cold. Sephiroth winces. "He's sorry, I know he's..."
"He wanted to hurt you, the way he thinks you hurt him," Sephiroth says matter-of-factly, thinking maybe if he looked at the entire situation from a distant point, it would all make sense. And pain less. The sweet syrupy taste refuses to leave his mouth. "And I never found out what really happened, Angeal, I think I have the right..."
"God only knows, we were sixteen and at that age people do stupid things," Angeal sighs.
"Age has little to do with it," Sephiroth adds, the small blush pinking his cheeks, but he tells himself it's just the alcohol.
Angeal chuckles, pats Sephiroth's back. "Does it really hurt that much? Do you regret it?"
Sephiroth sighs. "Do you?" he asks and is surprised to see Angeal simply shake his head.
"I kept on telling myself that I did. Over and over again. I can't believe it took me a decade to come to terms with the truth."
"Which is?" Sephiroth urges, then grabs the bottle once more and takes a good sip out of it.
"I don't regret a single thing I did. Not with him, not with..." Still, Sephiroth thinks, he's incapable of saying it. So much for not having any regrets.
"I do," Sephiroth says, forces it to be casual. "That's why I think I should leave."
Angeal practically chokes on his drink, coughs a few times then stares. "Are you mad?" he yells and, Sephiroth thinks, the people in the village could have heard that. "Why?"
It takes him a few seconds, but Sephiroth wins the battle over that eye roll. And yet, it is he who feels so... inadequate, stupid. "I slept with a man," he says in a lowered voice. It's interesting, in a way, how embarrassed he is with it all, still. "I..."
"Kissed another man," Angeal adds with a blush of his own, and those lips quirk just a bit. Then the eyes... Sephiroth refuses to think about the eyes.
"I'm a disgrace." Sephiroth thinks it should have been much harder to confess. But it's not.
"Why?" Angeal defends. "Because you're human?"
"I'm a priest."
"No, Seph, you're a saint!"
"And is it not exactly what we all strive to be?" Sephiroth asks, keeps his voice lower for both of them.
"Inhuman?" Angeal asks with enough shock. "Unlike His image?"
"So, you don't regret it?" Sephiroth changes the subject in the least smooth manner.
Angeal laughs. "Regret?" he asks, voice still elevated. "Hell, no!"
Deciding to ignore the blasphemy, Sephiroth just sighs. "But he seduced you."
"Seduced me?" Angeal asks in disbelief. "Are you mad?" Sephiroth simply blinks, not quite sure what to say. "He was this sweet little thing, my soulmate, and I was your typical sex deprived seminary boy who came home for the summer. It was I who seduced him, poor little soul," he pauses, staring somewhere in the distance just before he empties his the bottle and throws it into the thick deep snow before them, expression grim. "But you see," he quickly looks at Sephiroth, totally defeated, "by the time I found out what happened, it was already too late. No trace of him left, because my parents just couldn't fathom their little angel to be guilty of such a... a perversity, and his..." He shrugs, looking all the way like a man who lost the ability to find another escape from his problems in life. "I fucked up his life."
"Angeal..." Sephiroth whispers and extends his hand to cup those cheeks, now red but cold. Oh so very cold. Angeal forces another smile.
"And now you know the truth," Angeal snaps with a bitter voice and Sephiroth wants to scream and fight him, because it's not fair. Genesis is the evil one, he has to be the evil one, the tempter, the whore, the lying... not...
"Angeal..."
"Are you proud now?"