Hey Koba, so nice to hear from you. Yes, it is a shitty year and the pandemia has made things a little crazy.

I hope you won't be disappointed about this next chapter because I'm actually not finished with this. I understand your reluctance, though, because I had the same one about putting Tristan in a cloth.

I love your image, it will definitely stick heheh. The knife stuck on the priest' collar :D Thanks for putting a smile on my face.

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 announce 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, replaying over and over again the gentle smile she so adored. He was there, everywhere. His soothing presence, his faint smell, his sparkling eyes. The sharp canines that only appeared when his amusement showed fully.

Days had refused to blurr together, every single f…#%! moment dragging on for eternity. Time had not been kind; her feelings didn't abate. Everything she did, every single though revolved around Tristan. So desperately in love. So much that she'd rather see him happy than with her; just like the tenth doctor Who. And so, honouring his request, she came to say goodbye one last time. 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 stout and dark haired; a priest 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 had tried, but it just didn't work. 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. The sun that shone brightly upon her thoughts.

Was anyone listening to her pleas ?

Perhaps, yes.

Someone sat by her side, but she was too far gone in her grief to notice. 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. 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.

— "I can't ask you to…"

— "You didn't.", he cut in without an ounce of hesitation. "This is my choice"

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. 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; blessed be her insightfulness. 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 is 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 at 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… her lips bestowed a gentle, feather like kiss, her breath mingling with his in a blessed moment. Then her arms snaked around his middle 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.

They stayed a long time intertwined on the forecourt, Tristan's arms circling her little frame with strength and purpose, hearts beating against each other. Such a beautiful moment to release the pressure and realise that they were both alive and well. Together. Frances eventually pushed away shily, taking in, for the first time, the thin white shirt he was wearing. Without the frock, it left him much more exposed than she had ever seen him. Her hand landed upon the soft fabric, tentative, brushing slightly against his collarbone before retreating.

— "Do you still have you room?", she asked.

Tristan winced slightly, remembering how he'd been unceremoniously kicked out of his lodgings as soon as his decision was announced. Replaced in less time that it took to blink, without even the time for another mass.

— "No. I had to vacate it. I'm in a youth hostel at the moment."

He didn't have to say more, for Frances frowned on his behalf, reading his distress easily.

— "This is harsh"

Tristan's tongue poked against his teeth, wondering how much he should say about it. A part of him would always be loyal to the church, and he didn't want to increase Frances' contempt with a system that needed changes. But the way they treated him still hurt.

Seeing his flustered state, the young woman bit her cheek and turned him around to walk away. Frances looped her arm around his shyly, her slender fingers bracing against his biceps in an attempt to keep contact. It was pretty symbolic, to leave his beloved church behind, mingling in the crowd of people enjoying this day's sunshine. So they took little, slow steps.

— "Tell me if any contact makes you uncomfortable", she said.

Tristan didn't pause in his steps, for it grounded him into reality. Her touch, although light, felt strangely soothing.

— "No", he eventually said. "I am glad you are here with me. It … helps"

And despite the dull ache in his chest, Tristan was indeed glad for her presence by his side. For he was now walking the world as a man without a purpose, no collar upon his shirt, no job to perform, no one to help and preach to. Entirely free. A terrifying experience. And he didn't question Frances about where she led him. One step at a time, he was quite ready to follow her anywhere as long as she remained by his side. He quite dreaded the moment he would have to return to the youth's hotel and settle, alone, between sheets that were not his own.

Frances remained silent for a while, enjoying the sun shining upon her skin, basking in the warm presence of the man beside her. Their status wasn't all cleared either, but the former priest had too much on his plate to even consider formalizing anything between them. This situation was so overwhelming; would she understand how he felt if he talked ? Eventually, Tristan decided to try.

— "It was… rather brutal, for an institution that I respected. I thought I would have time to preach next Sunday, if only to inform people that I am leaving"

The young woman mulled over something for a moment until she turned her vibrant gaze to him. From up close, he towered over her easily but she didn't seem to mind, craning her elegant neck to meet his eyes.

— "Well… what prevents you from coming next Sunday, and say goodbye ? As a friend."

Tristan's eyebrows shot upon his forehead. Wasn't this against the church itself ? His superior would certainly not be pleased.

— "The new appointed priest might not enjoy it."

She shrugged, the movement reverberating up his arm.

— "Who cares ? The people who kicked you out for loving another ? You are not tainted, Tristan. You have taken care of those people and befriended them. They will miss you, and be happy to know you are still alive and well, just steering on another path. They don't need to know the particulars if you don't want to share it"

Anger underlined her words, but she kept it on a tight leash and he was grateful for it. He was in no state to revisit the disappointment of his last dealings with the church. Still… her idea held some appeal and caused the burden to lighten a little. Yes, perhaps he could do that. The corner of his lips twisted slightly, and Tristan realized that Frances would be a great help for thinking outside his usual box.

— "Maybe I could, yes. Your support means a lot, thank you."

Frances grabbed his hand and kissed his knuckles gently. The gesture felt oddly comforting, as if she poured all her love in this tiny contact.

— "Anytime. I owe you a thousand years of support, honestly."

Tristan shook his head.

— "You don't owe me anything."

His words caused Frances to stop and face him, grabbing both of his hands in hers. Her serious gaze held his, the gold in her eyes accentuated by the direct light flooding the street.

— "No, you're right. Because your help was free given. But you deserve the world, and I'm going to get out of my way to offer it to you."

She was so serious, so earnest that it took his breath away. No one had ever regarded him like he was a walking miracle, and to see how strongly she felt for him, how high her regard humbled him entirely. Did he deserve the world ? He doubted it, much, but he knew that if he could deserve her, then he would be a happy man.

— "Having you is more than I had ever hoped for."

Her smile would have blinded him had he not been so dazed in the first place.

— "Good. I'm in the world, after all. Let's go and get your things, Tristan. My place is not big, but I doubt you have much. We can fit."

The words left his mouth in a rush, his heart racing.

— "Oh I couldn't possibly intrude"

— "I've got a bed in the living room as well. Space in the bookcase. You are very welcome home, Tristan."

Home. His mind blanked. True, he wasn't rich; the church wasn't too generous when it came to wages. And even if he wasn't a dispendious man, his economies amounted to next to nothing. Lodging would become a problem before he even found a job, and he loathed the idea to get back to his father. Yet… moving in with her, just like this ? Before any kind of agreement, of engagement ? It was wrong on so many levels. His hesitation probably permeated through his expression because she squeezed his hand.

— "I will ask nothing of you, Tristan. I know where you come from, and won't push. You set the pace."

— "Are you sure ?", his wavering voice questioned.

She nodded easily without a trace of doubt.

— "I am. And I don't think it would be good for you to be alone right now."

Tristan didn't say a thing, neither confirming nor denying the truth of her analysis. Frances didn't push, leaving his hands to give him some space. Despite the heat, he felt keenly the loss of contact as she went on.

— "I am a cuddler, know that any physical affection will be welcome, but not needed. My heart is open for you, so are my arms. But I don't want to make you uncomfortable. I won't push you"

— "You certainly have more experience that I do", he said, his voice strangely composed when he felt nothing but.

Frances cocked her head aside, assessing what to answer to appease his fears. Somehow, she seemed as tentative as he was in this whole mess.

— "A little, but not so much. It is always new, you know, because everyone is different. I am nervous too, afraid to disappoint on so many levels."

Tristan nodded, uneasy. A sly smirk lifted the corner of Frances' rosy lips as she quipped.

— "So you have never kissed a woman?"

He didn't take offense of her tentative to brighten the mood, choosing, instead, to be entirely truthful.

— "I have, a long time ago. Probably not the right girl, or I might have chosen another path"

Her eyes alighted with curiosity; there would be a conversation about it, for sure. But for now, she only grabbed his arm once more and they resumed walking. Now, he realized that she had been bringing him home all along. Her head gently rested upon his shoulder for a moment, the weight settling in his bones as if she belonged here.

— "I am glad you chose this path, it led you to me"

The weight of this statement only reinforced the sense of rightfulness in his chest, light flooding his veins with its warmth.

— "Yes. This is why I think God smiles upon me today. I have not failed him, for he led me to this exact moment with a smile on his face."

Frances lifted her chin to catch his eyes, her features radiating happiness and he couldn't help but smile back.

— "Ditto!"

So... I read a lot about French priest who actually left church to get married, and found that they remained faithful just as well, and adjusted it differently in their lives. So, erh, not impossible. They also deplored being kicked out without notice once their choice was done, but still fought to be part of the church in a different way. Only priest can't get married, but there are many little hands in the organization that have a family and faith.

I'm not done exploring Tristan's mind; I found it rather intriguing, honestly. There are a few chapters that follow this.