Author's Note: Hello and welcome to part twenty-one of "Cross". As usual, I would like to take a moment to thank all my awesome readers and reviewers, saichick, 1993, FireChildSlytherin5, Mss Heart Of Swords01, Lonely Bleeding Liar and Lystan. Also, I want to thank everyone who has added this fic to their favorites/author alerts lists. You guys are the best! I do hope you enjoy this chapter.

Disclaimer: I claim no ownership of Priest.

Part 21 Blame

The hollow sound of quickened breathing filled the circular chamber. Priest stayed as close to the doors as he could, savoring each cool breeze that slipped between the cracks, relieving the room of its overbearing heat. He was sweating, the stale scent of his body odor clinging to his black coat and tunic. The backs of his hands burned and he almost wished that he could press them against the walls, soak up some of the crypt-like coolness of the marble. But he couldn't move. He couldn't breathe and he couldn't blink. This was, he knew, in that most horrible, wretched way of knowing, the worst moment of his life.

Even his farewell to Shannon and baby Lucy so many years ago seemed dull when compared to this, the agony forgotten. This torment was new and foreign. Dark and threatening. And his life, he felt, was hanging in the balance, dangling from the end of a frayed string that might very well snap at any moment.

His life. Her life. The child's life…

God, what had he done?

Rebecca was standing in the middle of the chamber, her stately figure dwarfed by the Monsignors, who sat high and untouched on their towering benches. They watched her, those old crows, their papery lips pinched in judgment, their cloudy eyes veiled with doubt, with utter and complete disdain.

And Rebecca was defenseless before them. Outnumbered. Surrounded. Her power and strength had been reduced to only a shadow and that shadow itself was pale. Her face was puffy, a few tears shining in the corners of her eyes. She stood exposed, her black tunic not enough to hide the subtle roundness of her abdomen.

Priest's heart broke when he saw her trying to pull the edges of her coat over her swollen breasts. Her movements were quick. Her hands fluttered, her fingers jerked and she was not still. No, never still. She was like a phantom on the wind, pulled this way and that, teased with the promise of Heaven, but trapped here on the wicked earth.

Droplets of sweat pooled around the base of Priest's neck. His skin itched.

How much longer? he asked himself, the question blooming inside him, bringing with it the threat of unbridled terror. How much longer will she be made to suffer?

Monsignor Orelas, the most senior member of the clergy, finally seemed to shake off his calculated apathy. He stirred, dropping one lazy hand over the lip of the ledge before him. His high, maroon collar and hooded vestments lent him an air that was both brooding and malicious. And yet, there was some muted amusement in the old man's eyes. He was enjoying this.

"Priestess," Orelas said, his voice a resonant tenor, "do you think that God has abandoned you?"

It was a treacherous question, an accusation disguised as philosophy. Priest saw Rebecca shift. She tugged at her coat. She shuffled her feet. She brushed her sweat-soaked hair away from her temples. But when she spoke, her tone was confident. "God would never abandon me, Monsignor," she said.

The clergymen sat still on their benches. Like vultures.

"Indeed," Orelas replied. "Then you must tell me, why have you abandoned Him?"

Rebecca flinched and Priest stiffened along with her. Although he was not at the center of their merciless attention, he still felt judged. His own conscience would allow him no freedom. The fault was his too and yet she alone would be blamed…

Why was he allowing her to the take the blame?

Rebecca's head dropped a fraction. "I have not-"

Orelas easily overrode her, "You took a vow of celibacy and now you are brought before us with a child growing in your womb. It is God you have offended. God you have slighted. God you have abandoned. Do you dare give any excuse?"

Priest's mouth was perilously dry. He pushed his lips together, felt the chapped skin, remembered what it was like to kiss Rebecca. Over and over and over again. If he was asked and not her, he knew he wouldn't be able to give the Monsignors a worthy excuse. There was none, and within him existed only a seething wave of shame. He was guilty. She was guilty. Again and again and over again.

He might have been able to account for his actions if he had only committed the one sin that night in Augustine, but he was weaker than he had ever imagined. After that first encounter, Priest had been unable assuage his longing, the base desire that made him sweat and pant like a wild, lustful youth.

There were many other times after Augustine. Some of the couplings were quick, harried affairs. Catching her unawares, up against a wall, his blood pounding in his ears, her hands, nails in his neck, pulling at her hair until it was free and loose. Those moments were easy to forget, easy to lock away apart from his memory in the barren realm of his wasted soul. And yet, there were those other times, those long, languid nights, with her, with him, sleeping together in the same bed, his face nestled in her hair, against her skin, which was surprisingly soft.

Rebecca proved herself to be more than a capable lover and she was surprisingly eager to learn from him. Priest had taught her what he knew, although his own experience was limited and together, their repressed yearning had grown into something that had captivated them both.

But the maddening blur of their trespasses could only come to an end. Strangely enough, it was Priest who had been the first to notice, not Rebecca. He had been the first to see and to know, her breasts swelling, her stomach no longer smooth, but rounded. She was nearly three months along when he finally realized what was happening. And God, he had been the one to tell her, because her naivety, intermingled with denial, had somehow kept her from understanding.

Pregnant. Rebecca was pregnant.

And the child, of course, was his.

Orelas leaned forward in his chair, although his expression was commanding, not expectant. "An excuse, Priestess?" he asked.

For a moment, Rebecca stopped her incessant movements. Her limbs were still and she stood at the center of so many hungry eyes. "I have none," she answered.

Orelas touched his fingertips to his chin. He did not look satisfied. "She is unrepentant," he said, addressing Monsignor Chamberlain next to him. "It is as I feared."

"That is not true!" Rebecca lurched forward, one hand outstretched, her coat falling open, revealing the pronounced curve of her stomach. "I do repent. I ask…I beg for forgiveness. I have sinned, but I am contrite. I beg it of God and of the Church. Please. Please." She spoke the last word shrilly, her voice tending towards a frayed scream.

Priest almost looked away. He thought that Rebecca was going to prostrate herself, fall down upon her knees and plead. He didn't think he could bear to see that.

His lips were dry, cracked. A bead of sweat lingered in the little well of flesh beneath his nose.

He wondered if they could see his guilt too, or perhaps they only cared about hers.

Orelas brought his other hand up, tenting his fingers under his chin. Priest thought the look was contrived, disdain masquerading as thoughtfulness. "I do not believe that you are repentant," he told Rebecca, "although I am certain you wish you were. It is hard for me to accept your zealous expressions of regret, Priestess, for I would think, if you were truly penitent, you would have reported your unfortunate condition to us yourself and not forced faithful Priest to do it for you."

And in that instant, all eyes were fixed on him. Priest stood in the shadow of the chamber doors, but he wished for more darkness, he prayed for an eternal night, for black oblivion to descend and shield him not only from them, but from his own guilt.

He tried to match Orelas's gaze, but his mouth quivered dangerously. Instead, he focused on Rebecca's back, the hood of her coat swinging low, her lean hips somewhat rounder now in pregnancy. Her body was already preparing itself, whether she liked it or not. Mother, her flesh said. Bearer of the fruit.

And he had been the one to plant the seed within her. But no one knew. He had promised himself and he had promised her that no one would ever know.

It was better this way, he felt. Safer. Let her take the blame. Let her beg for mercy where mercy would surely be given. Initially, it was Rebecca who had asked for his silence. She was certain, she said, that the Monsignors would extend to her some leniency, as her value to the Church must indeed count for something. She was their most prized warrior, a twenty-year veteran who knew what the war was and knew how to fight it. She was able to take the wide-eyed, gangly-limbed novices that the Church brought in from the Wastelands and transform them into the most pitiless warriors. She was the leader of the Priests, respected, revered and she had given her life, her soul to a struggle that had no beginning and no end.

And that must count for something. Priest was certain, even as he stood by the chamber doors, away from Rebecca, away from his unborn child, that they would be safe. It was the Church's duty to protect the faithful and no one was more devout than Rebecca. Her sin was a stain, yes, but the good in her, all that was decent and loyal and brave, should outweigh a single indiscretion. He was convinced that it would. That alone made his silence tolerable. Rebecca wanted to take the blame. She wanted to be his savior and spare him.

Stay quiet, Priest. He remembered her gentle admonitions. Stay quiet and I'll protect you. I've always wanted to protect you.

Priest had listened to her. He turned her into the Monsignors himself to avoid suspicion and now stood apart from her, where he belonged. Silent. Safe.

The sweat on his brow was dry and the empty breezes blowing through the cracks in the door were just enough to chill him. And suddenly, the cold was everywhere. In him. In the iron faces of the Monsignors, the leering old men who looked at Rebecca as though she were nothing.

Falling, Priest thought, his panic rising within him like a second heartbeat. I cannot stop her from falling…

"This is a disappointment," Orelas said. His fingertips played along the throat of his high collar. The skin around his cheekbones sagged with a frown. "Why did you try to hide your sin from us, Priestess?" he asked. "Was your guilt so shameful?"

His questions were hideous. Tricks of the tongue. Orelas was toying with Rebecca, the cat enjoying his kill before his meal. Priest was sickened. Was his respect so superficial? Did the Monsignors not realize, did they not know what great debt they owed to Rebecca?

God, what if they didn't?

Rebecca's defiance was spent, her obedience a heavy weight, dragging her down. Her arms hung by her sides and she was a pale figure, the husk of a human being that had been devoured and already cast away. "I was frightened," she explained, "for my child."

"You must know that Church law forbids any harm to come to the child," Orelas said.

By his side, Chamberlain nodded. "We can protect the child," he said, his voice bordering on paternal. "And we can protect you, Priestess. But there are things…there are certain matters we must settle first. If you are honest, which I know you always have been, you have very little to fear."

But she was afraid, Priest felt. And she should have been. There was an unspoken threat in this room, a serpent that coiled around her, and to a lesser extent, him. It was the worst kind of entrapment, this suffocation, and there was absolutely no escape.

Rebecca pulled at her coat again. "I think I know what you are going to ask of me," she said.

"You will tell us," Orelas said, his steely tone pricking a hole in the false comfort Chamberlain had tried to establish, "how this came to be. Were you forced?"

Priest saw Rebecca's head twitch, the tail of her braid swishing along her lower back. "Forced?" she questioned.

He imagined her face, the confusion, the same look she wore when he had first taken her, when he had hurt her.

But he hadn't forced her. He had never, ever forced her.

"Were you violated?" Orelas prompted without pity. "Were you raped?"

Her shock was evident. She took a quick step back. "No!"

"Of course not," Orelas hummed to himself. "I never imagined she could be…unless she was willing…wanton."

Chamberlain cleared his throat, shifting on his bench, the regal folds of his robes settling around his shoulders.

Orelas tilted his head to the side in acknowledgement. He had, perhaps, gone too far, although there would be no reprimand for him.

They're above the law, Priest thought. But shouldn't Rebecca be above the law too? After all she's done for them…

He had always felt, in that misguided, childish manner, that Rebecca herself was the law. She had presented herself to him and the other novices as the enforcer, the guardian of God's commandments. But what happened when the protector herself fell afoul of what she had sought to keep? Was she damned or was she saved?

With each passing minute, Priest felt that her chances of redemption were fading. And she had been deprived of the very blessings she had bestowed, striped of the assurances she had once freely given.

It was not fair. It was not just. It was…it was a sin.

His eyes burned, water beading on his lashes. He raised his arm and pretended to wipe the sweat from his forehead, concealing his tears.

Orelas sat forward in his high-backed chair, his arms extended over the ledge as though he meant to confide in Rebecca. But she stayed where she stood, in the middle of the room, away from him and them and all their sickness.

"Who is the father?" he asked. "Who did you allow to sin with you?"

Priest's knees weakened and his shoulder blades touched the door behind him. The hinges creaked, the whine of metal echoing throughout the chamber. This was the moment. Salvation or damnation. Her love versus his betrayal. He could say it now, if he really wanted to. He could make a martyr of himself.

But what will happen to Lucy and Shannon? a small voice asked him. They will hear of this and they will know. You can only choose. Who would you rather spare? Them…or her.

His mouth opened. His lips parted. He tried to think of the words, but he did not dare say them. Silence. Silence was his and it was blessed. Rebecca had sworn to protect him. She wanted to. He was not in the wrong, was he? He was-

Damned. He would be damned for this.

Priest looked at his hands, folded them into fists, saw the scars on his knuckles, the light freckles. In the end, he said nothing. He did not speak for her.

But Rebecca spoke for him. "I do not know the father," she said.

Orelas was incensed, but he bore his fury well, with cool dignity. "How can that be?" he asked. "What is his name?"

Rebecca's head jerked up. Her defiance was lukewarm, but it was there again, a tiny flickering flame. "I do not know his name," she replied. "He never told me."

That disturbed Priest the most, because it was indeed the truth. Why had he never told her? Was it because he had never wanted to hear it on her lips the way it used to be on Shannon's when they came together?

Ivan, he thought, wishing she could somehow hear him. My name is Ivan, Rebecca.

"Where can he be found?" Chamberlain asked.

But Orelas, as usual, was much more direct. Much more dangerous. "Is he a member of your order?" he questioned. "Is he a Priest?"

Rebecca let her hands fall over her round abdomen. She touched the place where her child grew. "He comes from Augustine," she said, "but I know nothing else."

"A godless heathen," Chamberlain commented. Murmurs of assent from the rest of the Monsignors followed.

Priest himself was bewildered. Somehow, Rebecca had managed not to lie. She had fulfilled her vow. She had protected him.

How long, he wondered, would it be until she realized that he had failed her?

Orelas rose, abruptly, flicking his wrists in order to keep his voluminous sleeves from covering his thin hands. "We will adjourn for now and discuss our course of action in private," he said, offering Rebecca what might have been a look of pity. "If you still have faith, Priestess, I would use this time to pray."

The Monsignors summoned him for an audience. A private meeting. Surprisingly, Priest was not as terrified as he thought he would be and he was blessed with an immeasurable sense of calm as he walked down the corridor to Orelas's study. Perhaps it was his denial that allowed him to think so clearly. Or perhaps it was his arrogance, his entrenched belief that he might just be able to get away with this crime.

A small, wretched part of him had become accustomed to the idea of throwing Rebecca to the wolves. And yet, his virtue, his moral compass, was not destroyed. His wickedness, which was inherent in him only because it was inherent in all beings, did not thrive, but rather continued to shrink. With each passing step, Priest abandoned the delusions he had carried. Something must be done. A confession was warranted. Her good name should be resurrected and he should try to protect her. And it was impossible to deny what she meant to him. Rebecca was not Shannon, but she was the mother of his child. There could be a way out of this, he reasoned. Maybe God would have mercy and save them both.

Maybe.

Priest paused outside the study doors and his knock was unusually timid, his knuckles just brushing the polished steel inlaid with the circular cross. He was disappointed when they admitted him at once, into their private brotherhood which seemed so full of scorn and disregard.

Priest entered the study, felt their eyes focus on him. All the tiny details of the moment broke apart. A carpet beneath his feet. The desk was wooden. Some books on the walls, not many. Stained glass windows that opened onto ashen darkness. The Monsignors sitting in chairs, their hoods down, the gathering informal.

It was hard for him to be frightened when he saw that they were all old men. Just old, tired men.

"Priest." Orelas was sitting behind his desk and he welcomed him with a small, subdued wave of his hand. The others nodded.

"It is a honor," Priest replied, although the words were like thorns on his tongue.

A smile cracked Orelas's frigid expression, the ice splintering around his lips. "I think you know why we have asked to meet with you. First, I must personally offer my thanks for informing us of Priestess's unfortunate state. If you had not told us, I do not believe she would have confessed it until it was too late. She is desperate, you know."

Priest said nothing. He knew that Rebecca had wished him to turn her into the clergy to avoid suspicion, but it was still wrong. An even greater sin, perhaps, than the one that had brought them there.

"You did her a great service," Chamberlain commented. He was seated in a low-backed chair, his regal appearance diminished in the tarnished grey light coming in through the stained glass windows.

Again, Priest said nothing. He had done little for Rebecca, only harmed her. Only caused her great pain.

And what pain was there yet to come?

"There is another matter, I'm afraid, that we must attend to," Orelas continued. His tone was almost cavalier, off-hand and he seemed rather bored with the whole thing.

Priest's gut clenched, the acid curdling in his stomach. He fingered his rosary and felt the cold beads slide against his palm. What if he told them now? What if he told them the truth?

"Apart from Priestess, you are the most senior member of the Order," Orelas said, his jowls quivering a little as his chin moved. "We wish to consult with you, as we were accustomed to consult with her, on this rather unseemly situation. Punishment has yet to be decided, but we could benefit from your opinion. Tell me, Priest, what would you have us do with her? What do you think would be…appropriate?"

Priest stood motionless for a moment, his limbs uncomfortably rigid. Could this possibly be happening? Had chance and circumstance granted him the opportunity to save Rebecca? He blinked, the world spinning and sliding wildly before his eyes. He could feel his heartbeat rising, responding to the faint promise of hope, of salvation. God was merciful. He had been blessed with this offering.

Thank you, Priest thought, the words spiraling inside his skull, ringing like cathedral bells, loud and clamorous and deafening. For an instant, unfettered joy conquered him. There was a light in the valley, dispelling the shadows. There was a way out.

Quickly, Priest gathered himself. He presented a picture of indifference to Orelas and the rest of the Monsignors, his expression tempered by shrewdness.

"This is difficult," he said, reluctance in his tone, making him seem humble.

Orelas nodded. It was strange how understanding the old man could be. Occasionally. Not always. But occasionally. "Priestess was your mentor," he said. "I know you still must bear some shred of respect for her, but you must look beyond that now. She has sinned. She has broken her sacred vow. We must all consider this."

Priest dropped his chin, looking at Orelas out of the corner of his eye. I must not seem eager, he warned himself. Be patient. Play their game.

"She is very valuable," he said. "To the Church. To the Order. The other Priests, myself…we rely on her. To many, she is the beginning and end of things."

Orelas's narrow nostrils flared. A spark glinted behind his eyes and for a second, Priest was afraid.

"Only God is the beginning and end of things," the Monsignor said.

"Yes," Priest replied quickly. He needed to be on his toes. "But I wasn't speaking in terms of doctrine. I was speaking as a soldier. Priestess still has the loyalty of those in the Order, those who do not yet know of her sin. And if she were to be revealed as fallen, morale might never recover. Our latest campaign, as I'm sure you know, has been slow. Difficult. We have lost several and we have gained almost no ground against the hives. Priestess, however, has offered us something of determination. Not only is she a veteran, the most practiced in this type of warfare, she is our leader. We can rally around her. We can look to her and pass on our worries, because she has always delivered some kind of victory. I think, Monsignors, that you will find she is needed, even now, in her reduced state. It would be bad policy…very bad tactics, to have her defrocked."

Priest paused, accepting the silence that fell around him. In the quiet, he fancied he could almost hear the soft sound of the ashes hitting the stained glass windows. He thought of wings and of birds.

Orelas seemed to sink into the moody stillness. He sat back into his chair, arms extended before him. He drummed his fingers once on the lip of the desk, but said nothing more.

Monsignor Chamberlain, who tended to defer to whomever had spoken last, raised himself out of his own chair and crossed the room. His steps were small, nervous, as if he were ashamed for drawing attention to himself. The great hood of his robe rested on his shoulders and his head looked small, sitting atop a neck that was decidedly scrawny.

When Chamberlain stopped next to him, Priest found that he was never so aware of his own power, of his muscled arms and rough hands and the deadly dagger tucked into his belt. And yet he was still discounted, still made to bow and scrape to those who were weak and blind and could not protect the cities with their prestige alone. He was sickened by the notion and his guilt ceded, only to be replaced by anger.

Didn't they see, he wondered, that Rebecca was their better?

Or perhaps they did…and therein laid the danger.

Chamberlain's face was sympathetic, as if he understood all these things and was rightfully embarrassed of himself. He glanced once at Priest and then back at Orelas.

"He is right," the Monsignor said. "Priestess is our most valuable asset. She has rendered a great service to the Church, not just now, but for nearly twenty years. She is the last left of the original Priests. And she alone knows the training protocol. We need her."

Priest did not know whether he should be relieved or not by Chamberlain's conclusion. It stank of belittlement and other, more vile things.

Orelas dropped his hands onto his lap. "Then what would Priest have us do?" he asked, his patience clearly worn thin. "Would he have us confess to all the world that our most devout and respected warrior is about to birth a bastard child? Is that what you wish, Priest? Are you asking that Priestess be freely allowed to thwart the Church's will?"

"No." Priest looked Orelas straight in the eye when he responded, gave the old man a taste of his fire, which was usually reserved for the battlefield alone. "What I am asking for is common sense. Nothing more. If I were to choose Priestess's punishment, I would not have her defrocked. Since the law forbids harm to the child, she will have to be sequestered until she can deliver. After the birth, she may return to active duty. I know that she will submit to the rule of the Church without question. She will repay your compassion with twice the loyalty she showed in the past, with twenty more years of grateful and willing service."

"And what of the child?" Orelas asked. "Is the child to be tolerated also?"

Priest shivered, chilled to the bone by the Monsignor's thoughtless words. He realized, in some deep, dark pit in the back of his heart, that the man was talking about his child, a life that he had helped to create. Up until that moment, he had avoided thinking about the baby. Lucy was his child. Lucy was his daughter. But what about the life inside Rebecca? That new, innocent soul. That small part of him.

Lucy's sibling, Priest thought, the very notion coursing through his body like an electric shock. This child will be Lucy's sibling.

He knew then that he was being asked to answer for the fate of his child and it was a horrible question, a horrible choice. What would he want to happen? What fairy-tale would have to be wrought in order to assure his child's safety and happiness? In that same secret pit in his heart, in that aching hole, Priest tucked aside his love for this child, which would never be fulfilled. He gave away a part of himself, as he had given Lucy to Owen and accepted the pain as a punishment for his sin.

And Rebecca, she would be punished also.

Priest knew what he had to say, but the words were dry and sharp, stuck in the back of his mouth so that when he breathed, he felt the dust of them pour down into his throat. But this wasn't about him. This wasn't even about Rebecca. It was about the child, their child and what they, as parents, could possibly do for such a precious life.

"It stands to reason," he told Orelas, "that the child will have to be sent away. Priestess cannot be its mother. A suitable home may be found without too much trouble. And you must realize, Monsignor, that being deprived of her child will be enough punishment for Priestess. You know that I was married before I was found by the clergy. You know I used to have a family…a daughter. I can speak from the knowledge of my own sacrifice, which has made me more dedicated to our cause. Priestess will be devout as well. She always has been. Give this option. Help her. Hate the sin, but love the sinner. She is worthy of forgiveness. She deserves redemption."

Again silence, but this time, a question lurked beneath the stillness. Although Priest stood motionless, he felt as though he had stepped across a boundary, leapt over a line that lay invisible at his feet, but was there nonetheless.

The Monsignors looked at him through their eyes of cold glass. Orelas sat back in his chair, his smile indulgent, but touched with a hint of the dangerous.

"Thank you, Priest," he said, his tone removed, distant. "I think we have all that we need."

Author's Note: For the record, I don't think Orelas, Chamberlain and the other Monsignors see past Priest's little lie for one second. They may be fanatics, but they certainly aren't stupid. ;)

Thanks so very much for reading! If you have some free time, please leave me a review. I will have a very happy Thanksgiving if you do. The next chapter is in the works and will be posted as soon as possible. To all my American readers, I hope you and your families have a great holiday. And to my non-American readers, I do hope you have a great week. ^_^ Take care and be well!