Rating- PG-13: For thematic material. Nothing worse than the book.
A/N-- This story popped into my head because I was practicing for my kung fu test, which involved me hitting myself repeatedly on the back with my sword on accident, and then the next day I actually hit myself with the blade and now I have this humongous black/purple/green/yellow welt on my leg.
So anyway, I absolutely adore Silas, and I hope my first foray into DVC fanfiction is pleasing to you all.
I had to take some liberty with Silas and Aringarosa's history. The book never states how long they've known each other or what really happened to Silas between Aringarosa finding him and his joining of Opus Dei, or when exactly they started dealing with the Teacher.
For those who don't know, sublimation is a chemical process in which a solid turns to a vapor, bypassing the liquid stage all together.
Sublimation- Part One
The first time Victor saw Silas, his first instinct was to say that Bishop Aringarosa had brought a ghost to Opus Dei. Instead he painted on a smile and tried not to let his eyes linger too long on the white shadow in front of him.
"It's good to have you back from Spain, Father. And what's your name?"
The man was startled by this acknowledgement of his presence. Maybe he was a ghost after all. He looked to Aringarosa in puppyish worry.
"His name is Silas." Aringarosa said. "I'm going to show him to a room, and then I want you to meet me in my office."
All the while as Aringarosa spoke, Silas remained frozen at his side. Victor didn't even think he blinked. His eyes were neither focused or unfocused; they were the glassy eyes of the dead bodies on TV. Victor caught himself too late staring. Silas dropped his dead eyes to the floor in shame.
"Where did you find him?" Was the first thing he said when he entered Aringarosa's office.
"He was left beaten and starved on my doorstep when I was a missionary in Oviedo. He saved my life from robbers and I have taken care of him ever since. He didn't even have a name before I found him." This last statement was said with quiet pain. "I have wanted to bring him here before, but he was reluctant. You can imagine what he's been through."
"Certainly." Without thinking, they both glanced to the wooden crucifix on the wall. "What are your... intentions for him?"
Aringarosa waited to answer this. I just want my son to be happy, was what he wanted to say, but that wouldn't satisfy Victor's question.
"I want him to find what I've found here in Opus Dei," He said at last. "I won't always be with him. I can't always be with him, especially now that I've become a Bishop. I need someone to be his guide."
"Me." It was trapped between a question and a statement. Aringarosa frowned, catching the undertow of dread.
"He is a son of God the same as you, Victor. Don't judge him."
"I don't mean to, Father. And I won't."
"Good. That is all I needed to talk about. I don't mean to be rude, but I need privacy now." He sighed and pressed one hand to his forehead.
"Has something happened, Father?"
"Nothing," Manuel Aringarosa smiled a thin smile, his eyes filled with a tiredness stronger than jetlag. "I just received a very interesting phone call while I was in Spain."
So Victor was dubbed Silas's keeper, and soon discovered that this meant that he was one of the only people in the entire Opus Dei who knew of his existence. When he told his colleagues about the white shadow living in their dormitories, many asked to meet him. Victor could never convince him to come.
"Aren't you hungry? Don't you want to go for a walk, or to the church to pray with me?" He'd ask in near desperation.
Silas would just glance at him, and say in his gravelly voice, "I will be fine alone." Then he would look out his window once more. Victor had the feeling that Silas would never tire of seeing the sky.
Gradually Victor's friends began to tease him. Are you seeing things? They asked. A ghost, perhaps? He just shrugged helplessly in response. If he hadn't seen Bishop Aringarosa bring Silas to Opus Dei and commend him to his care, he wouldn't believe the man was real either. For months he lived there, and Victor never saw him venture from his room.
How could he guide a man who seemed incapable of taking a single step outside his own room?
He stopped trying to go up to his room and talk with him. He couldn't even lead the horse to water; if he wanted to die of dehydration, it was his choice. Time wore on and he even ceased to think about Silas, until one day in December when a storm fit for a second ark crashed down on New York. Then he caught himself staring out of a window and wondering if Silas still found this wrathful sky entrancing, or if the banshee wind had torn him away at last and left no trace of his existence but a haunting memory of downcast eyes and white skin.
"God seems distressed, Brother Victor."
Victor's heart stopped at the sound of Aringarosa's voice. He turned and gave the Bishop a shaky smile.
"I wonder what could've caused it."
The Bishop smiled in return, and it was the fraternal twin of the smile he'd worn in his office on the day he asked Victor to care for Silas. True to his word, Aringarosa hadn't been about much since.
"Tell me, Victor... how is my Silas?"
Thunder resounded outside, filling the void left when Victor's heart stopped beating.
"Father, I have tried... but he won't... he doesn't..."
The storm raged on outside. Aringarosa raised a hand and silenced Victor's stutters.
"I didn't expect you to work miracles, Victor. He will come in God's own time. Just help him when he's ready."
Despite this, Victor felt guilty when he walked away. He'd given up on Silas. Whatever the Bishop had said, that meant that Victor failed him. He resolved then to go and find Silas begin God's work again.
Ironically, it was Michael who found him first. He was one of Victor's closest friends within Opus Dei, so he was naturally the one who teased him the most about the supposed albino he was to take under his wing.
"I can't talk right now, Michael. There's something I've gotta take care of."
"Really? What?"
"I have to go and find Silas. I just talked to Bishop Aringarosa."
Michael laughed.
"You haven't talked about him in a long time. I thought for sure you'd stopped seeing things."
"Knock it off, Michael. He's real."
"I just can't believe that the only people who see him are you and the Bishop. How could the rest of us have missed him all this time?"
"He's shy. I think he stays in his room a lot."
"A lot or all the time? No one could stay in their room for this long."
"He was in prison for years, the Bishop told me. Maybe it's a... habit."
Victor hadn't looked where they were walking, and he was startled to realize they were in one of the smaller chapels in the building. What was even more stunning was that it wasn't empty. Rain lashed the windows and feeble light illuminated a white head that seemed to float in black clothes, praying in French.
"He's here." Victor said in a choked whisper, feeling a shiver without knowing why.
Michael did a double-take, then laughed before he could stop himself. "Why, look! It's the Holy Ghost!"
Silas came to his feet with surprising grace and turned to face them. When his eyes fell on them Michael sucked in his breath.
Victor could've struck his friend when he watched Silas's face change and fall. He seemed to turn a whiter shade of pale in the light of the storm, or perhaps it was out of shame. He bowed his head and fled the chapel. Without a word of parting to his friend, Victor followed him back to his room.
"Why have you followed me?" He asked in his strange accent when they got there, his broad shoulders tight with fear of another insult.
"I want to apologize for Michael. What he said was stupid and insensitive. I wanted you to meet some of the other members when you arrived, and when I kept telling them about you but you never showed..."
"I became a joke. A blasphemous joke." Just hearing the words left a bitter taste in Victor's mouth.
"I never laughed."
"I wouldn't be surprised if you had. Yo soy una fantasma." He said with an apologetic shrug. He sat on his bed and resumed staring at the window. Victor considered his words carefully before he continued.
"Silas, you've been here for months now. Have you considered becoming a numerary?"
The drawn blonde eyebrows signaled confusion.
"All you'd have to do is give your material possessions to Opus Dei and take a vow of chastity. Its basically a modern term for a monk, and it's the next highest level of membership. I'm sure the Bishop would like it if you did."
"Father Manuel hasn't come to see me in a very long time." Silas remarked, casting down his eyes. "I will think about this." Please leave me was the unspoken command at the end.
So Victor did leave, and pray he was pointing Silas down the right path. After all, Bishop Aringarosa had never said which road was the one he should take. He meant to bring it up with him as soon as he returned from his trip, which was a week away.
Silas got to him first.
"I want to become a... numerary." He took extra care on every syllable. Asking for something for himself was a foreign language. He stood in the doorway of Victor's room, his large frame blocking out every ray of afternoon sunshine.
"Alright," Victor buckled. "Just come with me."
In reality nothing changed much. Silas had already been living in the Opus Dei building in the same place as the other numeraries, only now they took away his bed and gave him a straw mat and pillow. The next day, Victor came up to his room after the morning mass.
"Why weren't you at mass?"
"I prayed here." Silas said.
"You should come down there. That's where everyone else is."
"No one would want me. It would be... awkward." He finished after casting for the right word.
"If you can't respect yourself, Silas, no one can respect you."
The white shadow had nothing to say to this.
"Now come on," Victor sighed, thinking he recognized why Aringarosa was always so tired. "You've missed breakfast. Let's go to the kitchens and get some food for you. Whenhave you been eating all this time?"
"I go down while everyone else is at mass and take some food from the kitchens for my dinner."
"And otherwise?"
Another eloquent silence.
"That's it. You and I are taking a walk. You've been in here too long and you need to eat."
Silas froze and stared at Victor. The other numerary could see the desire to rebel in his eyes- who am I to go out there and be in everyone's way? -and the fear of doing so- who am I to say no?
"Please come with me?" Victor asked.
Silas went to the foot of his bed and retrieved his shoes, and followed Victor out of the building like a man being led to the gallows. When they were outside in the screaming freight train of motion and sound that was New York on a Monday morning, Victor could swear he saw him get paler still.
"I know a great restaurant just a block away. I haven't been there in a while, but they should still serve the best pancakes in New York."
"Pancakes?"
Victor froze.
"You don't know whatpancakes are?"
A short, silent shake of the head.
"Where were you born?"
"France."
"Well, I guess they're a bit like crepes. Only... thicker." He foundered at that point, waving his hand. "You'll like them." I hope.
As they walked the crowd forced the two numeraries to walk close together. Silas was slightly behind Victor, giving him the impression that he'd melt into the smaller man if he could. True, there were a few stares, but the larger part of New York ignored them. Victor could still sense Silas's relief once they were inside and sitting at a back corner booth.
Victor ordered for them, and then waited in strained silence for the food to come. He watched with bated breath as Silas cut a small piece of his pancake and ate it, keeping his head down the whole time. He chewed for a bit, then swallowed. There was a pause, and then he cut another piece. Victor could've let out a sigh of relief. He began cutting up his own pancakes and then reached for the syrup, feeling guilty at the indulgence but unable to resist.
I'll say a few Hail Mary's later.
"Do you want some?" He asked when he was done, offering the syrup to Silas. He swallowed what he was eating and then eyed the bottle with thinly veiled suspicion.
"What is it?"
"I guess it would make sense that you've never had syrup, considering you'd never had a pancake before. Why don't you try some of mine? I've got a pool going." He pushed his plate closer to Silas so he could dip one of his own pieces in.
Silas stared at the plate, then quietly said, "I'll put some on my own."
Victor gave him the bottle and then found himself reflecting on how strange this breakfast was as he watched Silas fiddle with the top. It was the most human thing he'd ever seen him do, and he couldn't help but stare. Whatever this man did, Victor stared. Maybe he wasn't a ghost, but a miracle. And now Silas stared back, and stared at the objects of Victor's world like they were wonders too. Maybe the miracles weren't in a blind man seeing or a dead man breathing, but in the tiniest things around them.
Silas cursed when his hand slipped and he poured more syrup than he intended, sullying the edge of one pancake. He cut off another piece and dipped just the corner in. It was the tiniest piece and only a drop of syrup, but he seemed to savor this one more than the rest.
"It's sweet." He murmured, half to himself.
"Yea," Victor replied. "Good, isn't it? We don't get it much back at Opus Dei."
"I shouldn't eat it." Silas said, recalling the plain food he ate once a day.
"It's up to you." Victor shrugged.
But he saw it. When Silas thought he wasn't looking, he dipped another piece, a large piece, in all the way to his clear maple pool. By the time Victor asked for their check, Silas's plate was wiped clean.
Days of those small miracles passed. Once a week Victor took Silas to the small restaurant that was only a block away in space but seemed eons away in time, a world apart with separate rules where they weren't men of God but simply something that amounted to friends. Silas always put the syrup on his plate with a flash of undisguised guilt, but he relished every bite of the small sin.
Exactly a month after they first went to the restaurant, Victor took Silas out with him again. He had just convinced him to come to the communal mass in the largest church of the building, but they skipped out on breakfast.
"Let's just stay in the chapel after and say a few more prayers to excuse ourselves for the syrup." He whispered to Silas when they passed on their way inside. He stood so near to the other numerary that he could feel the warmth radiating off of him, and he could swear he saw the pale lips quirk up in a smile.
The streets were unusually crowded as they made their pilgrimage. Several times they were forced apart, but Silas was never really that far behind. Victor once asked him if he ever went out without him, and the negative reply had worried him. What if one day he, like Aringarosa, couldn't be there with Silas? Would he slip away once more? He was conscious as he hadn't been before of the burden of his ward.
The crowds finally cleared enough for Victor and Silas to walk side by side. Victor was walking closest to the buildings, shielded by Silas from the wind blowing towards them. It was the sudden cold that first made him notice the other numerary was gone.
Victor glanced in his direction and noticed that a woman had run into Silas carelessly. She wore a miniskirt and three inch heels, and her top left most of her back bare. He didn't feel disgust so much as hopelessness; what was the world coming to?
"Hurry up, Silas." He called. When he walked a few more steps and Silas was still not beside him, he turned back. All he could see was the other man's retreating back, clenched with fury as it had been the day Michael found him in the chapel.
"Silas!" He called, walking back. "Silas!" A crowd swallowed him like Jonah's whale, leaving Victor to chase Silas all the way back to Opus Dei.
"What's wrong?" He asked once they were in the privacy of Silas's room. Silas stood facing the window, saying nothing. "Hey. Talk to me. What happened? Did she say something to you?"
"No." He made a strangled sound of rage and punched the wall. Dust fluttered out of the new dent and Victor's heart galloped in his chest.
"Silas?"
"I saw her and I thought..." He made the sound again. Victor started forward but his hands remained loose at his side. "I thought of what it would be like to have her beneath me. In my mind I didn't even bother with the clothes. I just took her."
Victor didn't blush at the frank admission. He reached out without thinking and put his hand on Silas's shoulder. They both flinched at the sudden contact, locking eyes.
"It's okay. You're a guy, and the clothes she's wearing were designed to make guys think things like that."
"I am a man of God." Silas muttered.
"Yes, but that doesn'tmake you God. You're not above temptation. That's what makes your struggle more meaningful. There wouldn't even be a struggle otherwise."
Silas shook his head.
"This isn't the first time I've thought about that. I've thought it even when I am alone here. I need a way to stop this, to prove my commitment to God."
"Then pray toHim the next time you think it."
"That's not enough." He reached up and ran his right hand across his face. Victor watched as he did so, seeing the dusting of blood across it.
"Do you mean you want physical control?" He asked quietly. Silas nodded, the way he always did, a silent movement that hung in the air like an echo. "Then I think I have a way."
TBC...
A/N-- This was meant to be a one-shot, but it looks like it's turning into a two part deal. It was just longer than I thought. I'll have the next part up sometime next week!
In the meantime, let me know what you thought of that and wish me luck on my test this Saturday. My face might come out of there looking like Silas's back...