Author's Note: Hello all and welcome to "Cross". Wow, are we up to part twenty-three already? My goodness, I can hardly believe it. And here I thought this story was only going to consist of a few drabbles, haha.

Before we start, I would like to take this opportunity to thank all my lovely readers and reviewers, saichick, Mss Heart of Swords01, FireChildSlytherin5, Lonely Bleeding Liar, Lystan, Genius-626, Jag and Pangolin Dreams. Also, I would like to thank all the readers who have added this story to their favorites/author alerts list. I do hope you enjoy this installment!

Disclaimer: I claim no ownership of Priest.

Part 23 Sin of Omission

It was a long time before Priest saw Rebecca again. As the weeks turned into months, he found it easier and easier to tell himself that he had fallen into a strange sort of dream, that his sin was only illusion and that the path before him remained straight and narrow. It did not help, of course, that he was beginning to believe his own convenient lie. Throughout his life, Priest had never been comfortable with falsehoods, although now he was soothed by deception. It frightened him, occasionally, when he realized how quickly his conscience could be compromised. He was able to forget Rebecca most of the time. But he doubted that she, on the other hand, would ever be able to forget him.

After his private audience with the Monsignors, Priest was relieved to discover that the world around him remained very much the same. Although the clergy seemed intent on keeping him close to Cathedral City, he was often sent out into the field on solo missions, scouting the vast Wastelands and reporting new hive activity. The work was almost bureaucratic, not entirely that of a soldier, but Priest took comfort in his solitude. For some reason, he thought that he wouldn't be able to face Rowan and the others just then. He had taken care to bury his guilt deep within him, but he was convinced that reflections of it must glimmer on the surface, disrupting his impassivity in small, unnoticed ways.

Rowan was a particular threat to him. She was an intensely sharp-eyed girl and she knew his soul well. If anyone would ever find out his secret-Rebecca's secret-it would be her. In a way, Priest feared that he could keep nothing from the young woman. She would see him and she would sense it and she would condemn him, harshly. There was something unforgiving about that girl, something that struck him as dangerous.

And it would be terrible, he decided, to live in the shadow of Rowan's disappointment, to have her faith in him shattered, which he did in fact cherish. Priest much preferred his loneliness to exposure. He was selfish and he wanted to be safe. He was ashamed and he wanted, so desperately, to be alone.

Like her. Like Rebecca. From what he had gleaned, she too was living the life of a cloistered ascetic. The Monsignors had sequestered her in one of the smaller monasteries in Cathedral City, away from prying eyes and suspicious minds. For a while, Priest had tried to keep track of the months, tried count the days that would led up to the birth of his child, but his attention and interest soon faded. He did not think of the child. And he did not think of Rebecca again, until she quite casually crossed his path one day. It was the last time, the very last time, Priest ever saw her alive.

He had been passing through a dilapidated section of the Order's monastery, a place that he used to take solace in, but now found unfriendly. The bells from the chapel were announcing vespers and the air of the city, tormented by the roars of ash-spewing smokestacks and the glowering homilies that played out on the electronic signs, was unusually quiet. Priest himself did not trust the silence. He walked up the corridor with something of fear in his tread. There were eyes in the walls, he felt, watching him, pronouncing judgment on his soul which would never be clean again. He thought of the old days when he was still a novice. He thought of the time Rebecca had cornered him outside the women's dormitories and tried to kiss him. She had looked beautiful that night, he recalled, not so much the warrior as the woman. It was all those years ago that he had decided to give into temptation one day, not some tempestuous night in Augustine. It was then, yes then, that his first sin was born.

Original sin, he thought, hating his blasphemous humor. Priest came to the corner of the hall, one hand gliding along the smooth metal walls. The night was bare and cold. And he was alone-

"Priest!" She was very much like a phantom, coming to him out of the shadows.

It took him a minute to recognize her amidst the unsavory gloom. Rebecca had changed, of course. She was heavily pregnant now, her face much rounder, her sharp cheeks filled out. But her skin had lost its color, the dark of the city draining away the warmth that the desert sun had given her. Her hair was unbound, long enough to trail over her breasts and belly. She kept one hand atop her abdomen and she swayed a little when she walked.

Graceless, Priest told himself. He tried to remember how Shannon had looked when she carried Lucy. Different. She had seemed different to him. And happy. Full of their life and the life growing within her.

But apart from her plumpness, Rebecca appeared wasted. Vampiric. The comparison was inevitable. Priest tried to drive the idea from his mind, but it persisted. He thought of all the Familiars he had encountered, their bodies half-drained in their living death. She looked like them now.

There was a door held open behind her and Rebecca stepped away from it, letting it click closed. She moved into the middle of the corridor and stood toe-to-toe with him. It took all of Priest's strength and determination not to pull away from her. It took absolutely everything he had to stand still.

Rebecca tilted her head to look up at him. Her lips wobbled, but her jaw was set. "Hello," she said.

"Hello," Priest managed.

"I did not think you would still be in the city," she said.

"I am, for the most part," he paused, then asked, "How…how far along are you?"

Her mouth folded in a frown. "Eight."

"Another month left?"

"Maybe. If the baby does not come early. I've been sick…often. It wouldn't surprise me."

"Oh." He was unable to hold her gaze long, had to look at his feet. The walls were close around him, tight and narrow like the passages of a hive. He experienced a surge of claustrophobia, but only because she was standing near. What if someone happened to see them? Would this impromptu meeting be enough to build suspicion against him? Would anyone ever realize that she was carrying his child, that he had done this to her?

He wore his guilt like a cloak and it covered him, put a seal over his mouth so that it was difficult to breathe. Priest was aware of her eyes on him. He thought he should say something, even if it was only good-bye. She deserved that, didn't she? She deserved more than he could ever give her.

Rebecca tried to catch his gaze again, but he wouldn't let her. Her mouth twisted and she pressed her lips together. "They are going to kill me, you know," she told him.

For a moment, his heart smacked against his ribcage. Priest shifted his feet and glanced at her quickly. She was serious. Dead serious.

"The law forbids any harm to come to the child," he said, his reply automatic, rattled off without feeling.

Rebecca's eyes were glassy. Fathomless. She had the look of the condemned about her. She had accepted something that he could not see. She had embraced a fate that was still unknown to him.

"The child, yes," she said, "but not me."

Her certainty unnerved him. Priest wanted to take her by the arms and shake her. The chapel bells had stopped ringing, the echo of their song dying with one final, triumphant swell.

"Do not be ridiculous," he said. "I spoke for you myself. The Monsignors will be lenient. They need you, after all. If you submit, if you give up the child and appear repentant, then I know you will be forgiven."

She was incredulous. Rebecca placed her other hand over her abdomen, a figure of obstinacy. She seemed to want to show him just how round her stomach was, what a burden every moment was for her. The air between them was cold enough to fog their breath. "You are very naïve," she said. "Have you learned nothing from me?"

"Sacrifice," Priest muttered. His paranoia was making him cruel and he hated the way he was treating her. Shannon would have expected better from him and he had always thought more of himself.

Rebecca nodded, a glimmer of her old strength returning, that hard, sharpened edge that made her so wondrously fierce. "Good," she said. "You understand then. I will not be forgiven. This is a sacrifice too, Priest. The Church has decided that they can do without me, even though it may hinder their war. I am going to die…as soon as the child is born. They are going to kill me."

He shook his head, rejecting her reasoning as best he could. Down the hall, one of the electric bulbs fizzled and burned out. The air smelled singed. Noxious. "I promise you-" he began.

"They've kept me locked in a cell for four months," Rebecca interrupted. "There is none of God's mercy in this."

"But don't you see," he begged, "it's all for your own safety, your own well being…and the child's. They are trying to protect you. They want to restore you to what you were. Before…before all this. It will be over soon and then you will realize. You will-"

"If you truly wanted to protect me, you'd take me away from this place. Now."

For a moment he was lost. Speechless. The frank sincerity in her eyes, along with the small hint of fear, was enough to undo him. Was Rebecca actually frightened? Priest didn't think he could live with that. Her quiet terror was too real to him, made all the more awful by her courage, which still sought to quell her errant pangs of weakness.

She didn't want to ask this of him, he realized. He was her last resort. A wild chance at salvation. She thought that her life was forfeit and she was asking him to save her. But what could he do?

In an instant, Priest ran through his options, each one more implausible than the last. Where would they go if he took her away? He imagined taking her home to Shannon and Owen, her stomach swelled with his child, trying to explain, trying to lie, again. And Rebecca would be found, of course, even if she went out into the Wastelands. A desperate flight would do her no good, only make her look more guilty. And him. They would see and know his guilt too. Was she not better off here? Could she not come to understand, in time, that she would be safe?

Perhaps she doubted herself. Perhaps she doubted the Church. Priest didn't know which was worse, but he remained steadfast.

It would be horrible, denying her again. He did not know if his perception of her fragility was a delusion or not, but it still bothered him. Priest didn't think he could live with her hatred. He did not want to disappoint her. He did not want to stand in the shadows while she endured the hurt that should have been shared between them.

Priest raised his hand, intending to touch her, but his strength failed him. Instead, he let the eager coldness sweep through his heart and he tried to forget the few sweet things he had said to her once, when she reminded of Shannon.

Not now, though. Rebecca could never be Shannon now.

"There is nothing I can do for you," he said. "I know you must hate me and I accept your scorn. I embrace it. But please, please believe me when I say that you are safe here. If I thought otherwise, I would take you away without hesitation. You know that. You know that I have only acted for your benefit, and for…for," and here he paused, dropped his voice as low as he could, "for the child, as well."

Rebecca met his sympathetic gaze with fire. She almost looked as she had so many years ago, when Priest had first been brought before her as a novice and she was wild and cruel and unrepentant. And it was still true of her, he realized. Rebecca knew what she was. She had never been lost. She had never doubted. But what was her reward for such constancy now? A child that she could not keep. A lover who did not believe her.

Priest wished that he could look beyond himself and only at her, but blindness still closed his eyes. He could not see her and he could not possibly see what was going to happen.

Rebecca did, though.

"You are a fool," she said. "And someday, when you realize it, the pain will be unimaginable." But there was no harshness in her voice when she spoke. Her tone had lost its usual condemnation and instead, resonated with aching sadness.

She pities me more than she does herself, Priest thought. That bothered him a little. Crawled under his skin and made his heart beat faster.

"You have nothing to be afraid of," he insisted.

Rebecca's face darkened, but then inexplicably, it became bright, a ready smile shaping her pale lips.

"The baby's moving," she said breathlessly. "Here. Feel."

Her grip on his hand was strong and she placed his palm directly on the round curve of her belly. Priest flinched, remembering all the times he had done the same thing with Shannon when she had been carrying Lucy. This was wrong, he knew. Unnecessary. He couldn't feel the life inside her and experience the yearning for his child that would forever be denied.

Priest pulled away. He wrenched his hand from hers with more force than he had intended and took a staggering step back.

And for the first time, Rebecca looked truly hurt, more so than she ever had when he first took her or when he had abandoned her to the mercy of the Monsignors.

"I'm sorry," he said, but the apology was dead. No balm to soothe a weeping soul.

Rebecca sighed and folded her hands over her stomach. "There's only one more thing that I want from you," she said, "Perhaps I have no right to ask this, but I am selfish. Please don't blame me for my selfishness."

"I never would."

She looked up at him, the hard lines of her face softened, her scars fading in the shadows. She was gone then, even though he didn't know it. She had already been taken away.

"Will you love the child and me?" she asked.

And Priest knew that there was only one answer he could give. "I can't," he replied.

It ended then. They were finished.

Rebecca turned back towards the door of her cell. The bells were sounding in the chapel belfry again, low and mournful. A final, pitiful wail. Rebecca paused on the threshold, one arm stretched around her stomach, supporting the child within that he knew she loved, despite the unfortunate sorrow the baby had brought her.

Her eyes were empty when she looked back at him. Her face placid. She did not seem afraid, anymore. And she did not seem sad.

"Good-bye, Priest," Rebecca said. She left him alone in that corridor.

He never saw her again.

Two weeks later, Priest was called to another private audience with the Monsignors. He arrived at Orelas's study noticeably breathless, a sheen of ugly sweat making his palms slick and slippery. The room itself held none of the practiced solemnity he had learned to equate with the ruling clergy. Orelas stood by one of the high, stained glass windows, consulting with Chamberlain in a languid, drawling tone. Both men wore half-smiles. Orelas had his arms folded across his middle. Chamberlain flicked his hands in a subdued gesture. They laughed and the sound was steely, rolling around Priest's chest like a jagged stone.

He stood just inside the doors of the study and kept one hand clenched over the knob. A sickness settled in his stomach. It lingered and grew. He wondered how Rebecca felt now, her face pale, the luster in her eyes lost. Was it his fault that she was suffering so?

Priest's fingers trembled over the knob. I should tell them, he thought. Even if it won't help her. I should just tell them now. Now.

"Priest." Orelas acknowledged him with a mild nod. Raising his hand, he beckoned him closer with all the guile of a patient predator.

Priest strode into the room and stopped a few feet in front of Orelas's hulking desk. His confidence was an affront and he hated himself for it.

Chamberlain offered him a glance that was distanced, an appraising sort of stare that made Priest second guess his own steadfast opinion of the man. There was surprising resilience in the way the old man held himself. He looked unnaturally resolute. Earnest.

Priest focused his own gaze on the smooth surface of the desk. The polished wood reflected the colored glow of the stained-glass windows, leaving small blotches of shining red and blue and yellow on the mahogany. Priest despised the gaudiness. His brows bunched together, a frown digging into his lips.

"Monsignors," he said, giving them all of his coldness.

Orelas sniffed once. "A bit of bad news for you, I'm afraid," he said, his tone so obnoxiously casual. "Your old mentor, Priestess, died last night."

His vision swam. Dots of black. A quick glimpse of her face. Good-bye, Priest. That was the very last thing she had said to him. Because she knew…had tried to warn him. He had looked the other way. Ignored it all…

A sin of omission.

"Her pregnancy was troublesome," Orelas explained. He slapped his hand down on the back of his chair, his palm making a rude sound against the wood. "She was sickly, we've been told. Went into labor early. The child was delivered, but they could not stop the bleeding. There's nothing more to be said. Nothing to be done. I am sorry for your loss. I know you were apprenticed to her, for a time."

Priest remained silent. Fight back the tears. Fight them.

"The rest of your comrades need not be informed of the unseemly details," Orelas said. He turned his head to the side and a patch of red from the window stained his chin. "We will devise something suitable to tell them, and you will take over command of the Order. Everything will be settled accordingly, don't you see?"

Priest's lips moved. He searched for a single word, a noise. He had to give them something. Anything. "Yes," he said at length.

A minute or two passed. He was aware of their eyes, their judgment, their condemnation. And what they had done to her, Rebecca. What they had dared to do…

Bile rose in his throat. He hadn't listened to her.

"The child?" he asked numbly, knowing that his curiosity was too direct, a hint of smoke where there was surely fire.

Chamberlain feigned concern. "A suitable home will be found," he said, echoing Priest's own words. It was akin to mockery and Priest felt the sting of it.

Vaguely, he wondered if Rebecca had given him a son or a daughter.

You will never know.

Orelas shifted behind his desk and Priest thought he saw a glimpse of triumph in the old man's soul-sick eyes.

"Do you understand, Father?" the Monsignor asked him.

All the blood rushed into Priest's head. How had it happened? Had it been quick and painless? Had she suffered? Did Rebecca fight them before they killed her? Or had she submitted? Somehow, he thought it would be worse if she fought them.

"Yes, Monsignor," he said.

Orelas dismissed him with a nod.

As Priest moved back towards the door, he was aware of Chamberlain shadowing his steps. The man fell into stride next to him and when they reached the door, he stepped in front of Priest, all deception and delusion gone from his gaze, his eyes sharpened by sincere disappointment and perhaps, just perhaps, a trace of reproach.

"Her penance is over," Chamberlain whispered. He pulled the heavy door open. "But yours, I'm afraid, is just beginning."

Author's Note: This will be the last Priest POV chapter, along with Rebecca's final appearance. However, the exact nature of her death will be revealed in chapter twenty-six. I won't leave anyone in the dark, I promise. ;)

Thanks for stopping by and taking the time to read! If you have a free moment, please leave me a review. I cherish any and all feedback.

The next installment is currently in the works and should be posted in roughly ten days. Until then, take care and be well!