A/N: Hello...Um...If you haven't already done so, please read the update that I put in my Author profile. ::groans:: It'll explain why this chapter is so...long overdue. I'm sorry for the wait. Really. I am. Most of Lydia's experiences are based off of my own. ::blinks:: Please save your pity. ::laughs hysterically:: Enjoy.

Disclaimer: I do not own St. Mary's Church...I don't own the Bible...I don't own Jesus...Nor do I own The Princess Bride. I really wish I did own it, since it's one of my favorite movies, but, alas, perhaps for Christmas I will...Oh, right, and I don't own any music that is mentioned. As for the religious aspects of this chapter, please don't take offense.

Tony eyes Lydia suspiciously. "Scared?" he asks. "Why would Buck be scared?"

She shrugs and brings up another picture, this time of the Andrews family. "There's always been something really odd about the entire family. Buck and I went to the College together, down the street, and he asked me out the third week of classes."

"So he went to school?" I murmur. Lydia lets out a peal of laughter. "Why is that funny?" I, too, chuckle and inch a bit closer to Tony, who runs his hand along my palm. A shiver goes up my spine, but I cover it by bracing my other hand against the plastic shelving behind me.

"It's funny because I know you assumed that farmers don't go to school," she explains once she has controlled herself. "I did, too, until I saw about seven cowboys walking through the halls within an hour." Letting out a large sigh, Lydia smiles. "Anyway, yeah, he went to school. He wanted to be an engineer."

"An engineer…" Tony eyes her. "What kind of engineer? Farm-related, maybe?" He is obviously joking, but not flirting, when he normally would be. I smile to myself, savoring the feeling of knowing he only has eyes for me. "Anyway, what kind of degree did he want?"

Lydia thinks for a moment and then shakes her head. "He never really told me that part. I know he was into chemistry and really liked math, but I didn't talk to him after he asked me out."

I let out a chuckle. "You turned him down, then?" Lydia nods. "May I ask why?"

"He was just a creep." She winces. "Well, okay, let me explain…"

My partner laughs, before Nancy jumps in with, "Yeah, Lydia, I think that would be a good idea." Though her mom has a silly grin on her face, the girl sends a small glare in Nancy's direction—as many daughters do at some point or another.

Lydia sucks in a breath and then lets it out slowly. "He and I were in the same Theatre class. I sat between him and one of my best friends, Ben. Somehow, Buck got my cell number and texted me and asked me out. I told him I was in the library and he was all, 'Oh, okay, that's cool,' and we met there," she tells us, her eyes flashing. "And then, of course, he comes and sits with me, and a few of my friends, and proceeds to act like a freak and not talk."

Tony nudges my side and murmurs, "Probably what Adam was like in college."

"Anyway," Lydia continues, "Arnie texted me later and apologized, and then the weirdo asked me on another date. I said no."

I look at her, and see her blushing. "May I ask why, Lydia?"

She presses her lips together and blinks several times. "He said he'd like to try going on another 'date,' even though the library is far from what I would consider a date to begin with. I said it depended on my course load. He said he'd like to take me into the woods so we could 'talk.'"

My 'husband' chokes on his coffee and I take his hand in mine. "Are you okay, David?"

"I'm fine, Ana," he gags, before stating to Lydia, "I don't think much 'talking' would be going on, anyway."

She nods. "Yep, I know. That's what my best friend, Noelle, said. That he would probably try to rape me." Lydia shudders and takes out her phone once more. "If you want, you can have his cell phone number. I haven't talked to him in months, so it might be outdated, but it's the last one I was given."

After we have written down the number and Lydia has disappeared out front, we head to the cash register to pay for our breakfasts. Nancy, however, stops us, insisting that our breakfasts were 'on the house.' Not that I exactly know why our breakfasts are on a roof, or on a house … Why would someone put food on a house anyway? It must be an idiom that I have yet to learn. I seem to remember hearing it somewhere but, since I cannot remember where, I push my curiosity to the back of my mind and focus on the problem at hand, vowing to ask Tony about it later.

As we leave, after copious amounts of 'Thank Yous', Tony and I exchange careful glances. "Have we checked the woods, yet?" he mutters, opening the passenger side door for me. He doesn't need me to answer him before stating, "I'm gonna need backup. I'm calling Dad." Swinging down into his seat of the Mustang, he groans.

"What's wrong?" I ask, instinctively placing a hand on his forearm.

"Nothin'. Gibbs isn't going to be happy about this, though." My partner starts the car and pulls out of the parking lot.

Halfway home, he takes my hand in his. I turn my head to look at him and see him staring out the windshield with glossy eyes. It is one of those beautiful, silent moments. One of the moments one dreams of having, with the man or woman they love. Where no words need be spoken, where nothing matters, except for the silence. He and I rarely have those moments. I cherish every one of them.

Because you never know when it could be your last silence.

As far as I am concerned, going out to dinner can wait until we return to Virginia, but I know as well as anyone that when Tony is determined to do something, there is no talking him out of it.

Therefore, I slip a purple maternity dress over my head and poke my arms through its sleeves, praying I look halfway decent. The weight on my bladder and hips—as well as the weight pulling against my back and shoulders—is growing uncomfortable enough that I cannot wear high heels anymore. Sighing, I scan the closet and slip on a pair of gold flats, clip a gold Star of David around my neck, and hook ovals of the same color through my earlobes.

Tony walks out from the bathroom toward the bureau, and then turns around, doing a double take. I raise my eyebrows as if to ask, 'What are you looking at?' He only grins and approaches me.

"You confuse me," I mutter, shaking my head. Staring into the mirror, I slip a bobby pin between my lips and hold it there, clipping back my bangs. Before I slide the metal in place, I see Tony make a face of displeasure, and I let my bangs fall back across my forehead. "Why do you look at me like that?"

"Because, you look hot," he states bluntly. "You're gonna make a sexy wife someday. Hey, can we name the baby 'Stacey'?" I crinkle my nose in confusion. "What, you haven't heard the song Stacey's Mom?" When I shake my head, he starts in with, "Stacey's mom has got it goin' on…"

"Oh, the degrading one that talks about tigers," I say, bringing all of my hair over one shoulder.

Tony laughs. "Ana, you mean 'cougars,' and yeah, it's that one." A beat. "Anyway, you look fantastic." He wraps his arms around my waist and pulls me closer to him. "Not just fantastic. Beautiful. Amazing. Gorgeous. Phenomenal. Breathtaking. Incredible. Stunning. Magnifi—"

I press a finger to his lips and softly tell him, "I get it, David." Drawing my finger away, I replace it with my lips, gently letting him know that he is understood. "Anyway, sir, where are we going?"

"No, no," he argues, "I made reservations. Unfortunately for you, you won't know the name of the restaurant until we get there."

Pouting, I ask, "Then how will I know what to order?"

"It's a good restaurant, Ana. Trust me. I did more at Wegman's a few weeks ago than just shop." Tony gently sways me. Whether he realizes he is doing it is a different story altogether. "Besides, where's the adventure in your life?"

I smirk. "Being pregnant. Marrying you. Moving here."

He makes a face at me teasingly. "Other than that, my love." Placing a kiss on the end of my nose, he continues to button his shirt and then pulls on a pair of dark jeans.

I am struck with a thought. "David?"

"Mmph?" he mumbles around the tie he is holding in his mouth.

"What time are the reservations for?" He looks down at his watch.

"Fevven-firty."

"Would you … I know you are not religious, but would you mind if we went to Church? The nearest Synagogue is in Rochester—I checked online—but I was hoping…perhaps…we could just go sit in on a Mass?" I clasp my hands together and look at his reflection in the mirror, watching him as he considers my proposal.

After he fixes his tie and is ready he nods and takes my hand. "I haven't been to Church in years. Dad always made me go when I was younger, and then when I graduated from High School and moved to Ohio, I guess I lost touch." After a brief pause, he stares down into my eyes and murmurs, "It'd be nice to get back to that again, I suppose."

"Well, we were married in a Church."

"But we never took up the practice."

"Does that matter?" I gaze up at him, both in concern and contentment.

"Nope," Tony says curtly. I feel my expression turn slightly devious, and hope he can translate my softly narrowed eyes and smirk correctly. Drawing closer, I see him angle himself slightly to make room for my protruding stomach.

"Since the invention of the kiss," I whisper, just barely keeping myself from grinning, "there have been five kisses that were rated the most passionate, the most pure..." The Princess Bride. It remains one of my favorites. I like the idea of forbidden love, if I have not made that clear already…

"Is that a movie reference, Mrs. Stadelvard?" Tony asks proudly. I nod and he adds, "I knew I married the right woman." His lips are on mine in a matter of seconds, gently but accurately transmitting passion into each massaging stroke. He finally shaved, so as I raise my hand to his jaw, I smile to myself at how smooth his skin is.

Tony wraps a gentle arm around my waist, curving it above my pack and splaying his fingers across the side of my ribcage. While he is tender, there is no question about his feelings.

When we break apart, although it is obvious neither of us want to, both Tony and I are breathless. "Do we really need to go to dinner?" I ask, grimacing at how whiney it sounds.

"If we leave now, we have time for Mass, Ana," Tony moans, tracing my cheekbone with his thumb. "I thought you wanted to go?"

I sigh and tell him, "I do, David. I do."

-break-

The back of the church is empty. St. Mary's is a stunning Roman Catholic Church in Canandaigua, its beauty lying not only in the unquestionable fact that it is God's house, but also the stained glass windows, marble pillars, cherry-wood pews, soaring Sistine-esque ceiling, wine-colored carpeted aisle, and the altar itself. Risen above the rest of the building—out of respect for Christ and God—there are gilded crosses and accents, a beautiful pulpit, and tabernacle.

I can tell that Tony is wondering why I wish to go to Mass when I am clearly Jewish. However, the Torah and the first five books of the Old Testament are the same stories. Genesis, Exodus, Leviticus, Numbers and Deuteronomy. They teach of the same creation, the same struggles, the same journeys. The same God.

And if I cannot get to a Synagogue, I had might as well sit in a Church.

Tony and I remain seated as the others begin to file toward the Priest and Eucharistic Ministers to receive Communion, but I soon feel the urge to at least get a blessing. Any pregnant woman would. Anything to protect our baby. Anything to start a fragile life off right.

I take Tony gently by the hand and lead him to the end of the pew. He stays close behind as we wait in the receiving line, and follows my lead as I cross my arms over my chest and bow my head, asking the priest for a blessing. We return to our pew and I kneel, and he does too, watching my every move.

As I quickly say a Hebrew prayer under my breath, I keep my eyes closed. Ahmen. I glance over at Tony and watch as he kneels there, looking rather lost.

"Do you know the Our Father? Or the Hail Mary?" I whisper. He nods and closes his eyes, folding his hands and starting his prayers.

Yahweh…lead him to you, I pray. Not to Judaism, necessarily, but to your loving Grace in general…

The priest returns to the altar, cleans the Chalice and Paten, and replaces them both to their shelf behind the altar. When he sits down, we scoot up onto the seat of the pews and waits for his blessing for us to leave.

On the way out, he pulls us aside and smiles.

"Hi, I'm Father McGregor," he introduces himself, taking my hand. "Are you new to the area?"

His kind smile makes a perfect first impression for me, and I can tell I am not the only one who has been influenced. Tony shakes Father McGregor's hand and says, "David Stadelvard, and this is my wife, Ana. We moved here about four months ago."

The priest nods and says, "Ah. Well, welcome to our parish." His eyes flick to my Star of David and he looks at me with a small smile playing on his face.

"I did not take Communion, Father," I reassure, "I only received a blessing. I know it is unconventional for a Jewish woman to come to Mass."

"Ana, the only thing we disagree upon is the coming of the Messiah. I believe He came two thousand years ago. You believe He is still coming." Father McGregor stares into my eyes with reverence and understanding, mixed with compassion. "Either way, we believe in Him, and in God, and that's all that matters." Looking between us, he murmurs, "You are both welcome here anytime. I'm so happy you came."

We say our goodbyes and head to the car, where Tony unlocks it and gets in without saying a word.

Before we go into the restaurant, his deep voice cuts through the silence. "Thank you."

"For what?" I ask, turning to him.

"For showing me what I've been missing out on."

A/N: Well, there's Chapter 22. Three more chapters, I'm thinking. I hope you enjoyed it. Thank you. Love, Kat

PS: Dinner was delicious, by the way. -T
PSS: Mmm. They have yummy tea. ::grins:: -Z
PSSS: Dinner was more delicious because you went with me and held my hand... -T
PSSSS: Shhhhhhhh! -Z
PSSSSS: Oh, stop, it's just like Paris. Stop ying about it all. -T
PSSSSSS: STOP! -K