Submission

bySoledad

A "Pathways in the Dark" story

Part 20 of "The Toreador Chronicles". Follows "Triangle".

For disclaimer and background information see the Introduction.

Rating: 14, just to be on the safe side.

Author's notes: As we know, Alain has already told Michael about the concept of the One Vessel. Understandably enough, however, Michael has forgotten about it. He had more than enough weird concepts to get used to at that time.

Father Philip is a canon character from "Poltergeist: The Legacy". In the "Pathways" universe, he returned to the States and took over the parish church where Angel looked for an exorcist in Season 1. His friendship with Angel and Angel visiting the church has been established in my earlier stories.

Sister Maura is the unnamed old nun who was capable of recognizing Angel as a vampire.

Summary: Brian proposes, offering the most any Kindred could ever offer. Now it's up to Michael to make the right choice. Meanwhile, Alain goes through his spiritual phase.

"You came to do what?" Michael was sure he'd been hallucinating just a moment earlier.

"I came to propose," Brian repeated, and even he had to admit that it sounded… somewhat unconvincing, coming from his mouth.

"I thought you didn't believe in gay marriage," Michael said sarcastically.

"I don't believe in marriage, period," Brian corrected, "regardless if it's between breeders or queers. I don't believe in promises one can't keep."

"Why are you here, then?" Michael asked logically. The whole thing just didn't make any sense for him.

"I offer no promises," Brian said. "I'd like to offer something that would be only between you and me. Something that can't be dissolved just because one of us gets bored with it. Something only death can end… I mean the Final Death kind of death, of course, as technically I'm already dead."

He was uncharacteristically solemn, and that made Michael nervous, because he had the feeling that Brian was about to make the hardest decision of his life. Or unlife. Whatever. Something that was – at least for him – harder even than accepting the Embrace from Alain had been.

For some people, even death was easier than commitment. Although what kind of commitment Brian was speaking about, Michael had no clue.

"You're losing me, Bri," he admitted. "What the fuck are you talking about?"

"There's one way for a vampire to be exclusive with his chosen one," Brian began to explain, "but once it's done, there'll be no way to back off. Not for the vampire involved, in any case. The… partner can still change his mind."

"Bri," Michael interrupted," you're talking in circles again and not making any sense. Start again, and this time from the beginning."

"Sorry," Brian grinned ruefully. "This isn't exactly easy for me, you know."

"Oh, I know it," Michael replied with an indulgent smile. "After all, we're talking about something Brian Kinney doesn't do as a rule. It's all right, Bri, take your time. I'll shut up and listen. I promise."

"Thanks," Brian raked his fingers through his already tousled hair. "All right, from the beginning. Since you've been socializing with the undead a great deal lately, let me ask you something: has Alain – or anyone else – ever told you about the One Vessel and his possible importance in a Kindred's life?"

Michael, who didn't remember much of his cryptic talk with Alain in A Taste of LA, shook his head. "Nah. Not that I could remember anyway. Is that some ceremonial dish? The Holy Grail of the undead?"

Brian laughed, and it was a lovely sound, one that Michael had missed for too long. "Well, in a manner, perhaps… but no," he replied. "The One Vessel is a person chosen as a particular vampire's exclusive food source."

"You mean a personal slurpee?" Michael asked with a frown.

"More than just that," Brian answered. "I'm fairly new to this myself; it's been only days that Phillipe explained the ramifications to me. Apparently, if one of us keeps feeding on a single person exclusively, we'll become dependant on that specific food source."

"Which means?" Michael pressed; sometimes Brian's circular thinking could be truly frustrating.

"It means that – given enough time – we won't be able to feed from any other source," Brian explained. "That's why this person called the One Vessel… or One Blood. I hope I got the terminology right; this isn't something that would be widely discussed, even among Kindred."

"And you want me to be this person for you?" Michael finally began to see where things were heading.

Brian nodded. "Yes. Being who – and what – I am, this is the only thing I can offer that would be exclusively yours… that would be exclusively ours. Phillipe says it will lead to a bond even deeper and stronger than between Sire and Childe. I… I'd like to give you that, Mikey."

Michael hmmmed thoughtfully. "And I'll be able to read your thoughts through the bond?" he asked. "Like I was able to read Alain's when he gave me a taste of his blood?"

A pang of jealousy shot through Brian hearing that; he wasn't even sure of whom he was actually jealous: of Alain for sharing with Michael something he hadn't shared with Brian while Brian had still been Warm, or of Michael for becoming so… spiritually intimate with his Sire. It was a new and uncomfortable feeling for him, much more so than the simple jealousy he had felt for David or Ben or Michael's more fleeting affairs. He didn't like it; it made him wonder whether he'd waited for too long to make his offer.

"If you also taste my blood from time to time, yes, you will," he finally replied. "You think you could do that?"

Michael shrugged. "I've tasted Alain's; it was fairly disgusting, and it hurt like hell afterwards, but reading him was amazing. I'm willing to do it for you, if that's what it takes."

"It is – or so I'm told," Brian said.

"Okay," Michael nodded. "So where's the catch?"

Brian raised a superior eyebrow. "Who says there is a catch?"

"There's always a catch," Michael replied, "especially if something sounds too good to be true. This is definitely one of those cases, so spill. I want to know the unpleasant part, too."

"Well, there's the bloodsucking involved," Brian tried to evade, but Michael gave him a scolding look.

"Bri. The truth, please. I won't accept anything less, and you know that," he warned.

"Yeah, well, as I said, if you accept, after a couple of years I won't be able to feed from anyone else," Brian admitted. "I don't know about bottled stuff, but since this is a spiritual bond, I don't think it would sustain be, either. You must understand: this is a very rare thing among Kindred, so there are details nobody is really sure about."

"Wait," Michael interrupted. "What if something happens to me? What if I die?"

"Then I'll die, too," Brian admitted. Michael shook his head angrily.

"That's completely unacceptable, Bri. I won't endanger you that way."

"You still don't understand, do you?" Brian asked gently. "Mikey, I wouldn't be able to live if something happened to you. Even while I was till a mortal, I wouldn't have survived the loss of you. I always depended on you, since we were both fourteen. Committing to you in the Kindred way would only make official what has always been there."

"I see," Michael said slowly.

It didn't surprise him, not really. He'd always known it, somewhere deep within, always avoiding to name it. What did surprise him was the fact that – after all those years – Brian was willing to bring it out into the open.

"So, back on your thirtieth birthday," he began hesitantly, "it wasn't really about getting order or suddenly discovering your kinky side, was it?"

"No," Brian replied simply. "It was all about losing you."

"You very nearly killed yourself, you idiot!" Michael exclaimed. "All you'd have to do was to say a fucking word, and I'd never have gone to fucking Portland with David!"

"I wanted you to go," Brian thought about that, then he shook his head. "Nah, I didn't. Not really. But I wanted you to be happy, and Debbie was so sure that you'd be happy with David, if only I wouldn't stand in your way."

"Since when do you listen to Ma?" Michael asked with a snort.

"She's your fucking mother," Brian reminded him, "and at least back then, she was genuinely worried about your happiness, Mikey."

"You mean genuinely worried about me standing it the way of her precious Sunshine," Michael snorted again. "She sure as hell did her best to hammer that fact into my head that you lived Justin… and would never love me."

"Yeah, she did the same with me," Brian admitted. "There were moments when I almost believed myself. She's a fore of nature, your mother."

"And a destructive one at that," Michael agreed bitterly. "She and the lezzies, they've almost managed to drive us apart."

"Well, don't let them win now, then," Brian said.

Michael shook his head. "It's not that simple, Bri. If I accept your offer, that means I'll also have to accept becoming a ghoul, too, and I'm still not entirely comfortable with that idea."

"You don't have to accept anything you're not ready for," Brian said.

"Oh, yes, I do," Michael retorted. "I can't do it knowing that if I die you'll starve yourself to… to Final Death, as you guys call it. You're a vampire now… a Kindred," he corrected himself hurriedly. "You've got the chance to stay around for hundreds of years to come. I won't take that from you."

"Mikey, I don't want to stay around for hundreds of years when you're not with me to share all that," Brian said patiently. "I only accepted the Embrace because it gave me the chance to make up for all those years I've wasted out of fear and sheer stupidity."

Michael's eyes grew wide and suspiciously shiny. "You really want to do this?" he asked in wonder. "To be with me as you wouldn't be able to be with anyone else? Despite the risk it means for you?"

"There's a certain risk involved for you as well," Brian admitted. "Should word come out that you're my One Vessel, it would make you a convenient target for my enemies."

"Have you made so many already?" Michael joked.

"Nah," Brian replied seriously, "and the only one I had among my own kind has been destroyed. But I will make enemies, Mikey; and it would make it easier for them to go after you than to fight me."

"In that case becoming a ghoul would be even more useful," Michael said. "It would make me stronger, faster, more resilient, wouldn't it?"

"That seems to be the consensus about it, yeah," Brian answered. "I haven't met many of them, but they appear to be well able to take care of themselves."

"And you're really sure you want to make this?" Michael pressed. "To bound yourself to me, with no way out of it?"

Brian nodded. "'Til Death do us part… well, Final Death, in any case," he said, only half-joking.

Michael didn't laugh. For quite a while, he just sat there, thinking. The ramifications, if he accepted, would be severe – for both of them. On the other hand, Brian was offering him the very thing he'd always wanted: to have something with Brian nobody else could have. And it would last for a very long time… as long as they lasted. Could he afford not to accept?

The answer to that was really an easy one.

He swallowed, gathering all his courage – of which, despite common opinion, he actually had a great deal – and looked up into Brian's anxious face. "All right," he said. "Since I also want to spend all those upcoming years with you… let's go to Alain and allow him to turn me into a ghoul. I only hope it won't be too unpleasant. You know I'm not much into pain."

"Have you thought about it carefully, Mikey?" Brian asked, despite the inner urge to drag his friend into Alain's den, now. "There won't be any way back, once you've done that step. You won't be able to become fully human again, no matter what. Are you absolutely sure you want to share all those centuries with me?"

Michael gave him an inscrutable look. "Well, we'll see who's gonna share what with whom," he said. "Don't expect me to be sexually monogamous, since you aren't going to be, either… or to stay away from your Sire, after we've done the deed. I happen to enjoy his company."

"So I've been told," Brian said dryly.

Michael frowned. "You have? Whoever would bother to tell you?"

Brian shrugged. "It was Justin, apparently. Stalking the two of you for days, sending me anonymous e-mails with pictures about you and Alain kissing and groping in front of his personal haven… besides, I could smell you on him, you know. We undead guys have enhanced senses."

Michael suddenly broke into a wide grin. "So, that was what made you finally stake your claim," he laughed. "I'll have to thank Justin fort hat little backfired action of his."

"I'd avoid him if I were you," Brian said. "He was stupid enough to get involved with the Sabbat and nearly got himself killed. The Prince ordered his mind to be wiped from all memories regarding Kindred – according to Phillipe, that is, and he's always well informed."

"I know," Michael said. "That's lawyers for you. I wasn't really surprised when he told me that this Sunshine character really was Justin."

Brian nodded. "Me neither. What other guy in his right mind would use that silly nickname beyond twenty? Not even a nellie bottom like Emmett would do that."

"Leave Emmett alone," Michael said sternly. "He's a good friend. I owe him a great deal for keeping me sane in these days."

"Which alone is a sure sign of the upcoming apocalypse," Brian commented; then he pulled Michael to him for a deep tongued kiss. "Are you really sure, Mikey? Really, really sure?"

Michael nodded. His face was flushed and his breathing laboured; unlike his undead best friend, he still needed to breathe – a fact that Brian seemed to have temporarily forgotten.

"Yeah," he said. "I've been toying with the idea for a while, to tell the truth. It's just… I just waited to see what might become the two of us. I never wanted to be just another notch on your bedpost, you know. I knew I'd never have you for me alone, but I wanted to be at least something… well, something special."

"You are," Brian answered him. "You've always been. Even a stupid little twat like Justin realized that. The only one who never had a clue were you," he kissed Michael again. "Now, what do you think about a little private celebration before we tell Alain the good news?"

Michael's eyes melted like chocolate on a hot oven. "Oh, yes," he said with deep satisfaction, "that would be a proper thing to do."

Alain DeLaigle rarely felt the urge to go to church – not for any other reason than to play the organ, that is, and that not only because the Damned usually had a hard time to endure the sight of a cross or the scent of incense. It was a personal thing. Sure, he'd been raised as a Catholic in his mortal youth – most French people had, unless they belonged to the various heretic movements – but that had been more tradition than true faith. It had been expected from him to go to church, but he'd had no real wish to do so.

Strangely enough, it was after his Embrace – many, many years afterwards – that he'd begun a tentative approach towards personal faith. The brutality of the Clan wars during the Anarch revolt, the destruction of all his Childer by the Inquisition or by the Sabbat shook him badly and made him reconsider his choices.

He couldn't undo the choice of becoming a vampire, of course, but the typical arrogance of the undead, the mistaken belief that they've cheated death for good, was broken for him. Yitzhak's betrayal and the unjust accusation of being a Sabbat monster himself had been the last straw for him; the fact that he'd had to flee from the Enforcers to the other side of the ocean, that none of his own kind had been willing to believe him – at least not until he met Victor Girard – had led him to question his true identity.

Finding back to faith had not been an easy process, either. Despite the announcements of her ultimate founder that there would be greater joy in heaven over one repentant sinner than over ninety-nine righteous men who had no need for forgiveness, the Church had not been eager to accept one of the Damned with open arms. He'd had to struggle along the thorny path without help, without guidance for decades, as there was little chance that any of his own kind would understand why he wanted to struggle back to faith in the first place.

Sometimes he almost – almost – understood the Sabbat who'd built up their own hierarchy in a twisted mockery of a religious organization that summarily declared them all damned. There had to be some sick satisfaction in calling their most vicious monsters bishops and archbishops, as if showing the Church the cold shoulder, showing that they didn't need her, that they didn't want her, that they replaced her with something that matched their nature and allowed them to be the true power.

But Alain had never been, could never be a Sabbat monster, and so he'd struggled along as well as he could, until, finally, he met Father Callaghan a few years ago, during a visit in San Francisco on Victor's behalf.

Back then, the young Irish priest had still been a member of the local Legacy House – a troubled and tortured soul like Alain himself. They'd met by accident, and despite all expectations, they became fast friends. They'd sat together in half-empty little bars, talking about the strange twists of their lives, about God in whose love and forgiveness Philip Callaghan still doggedly believed, and after a very long time, even in Kindred terms, Alain had begun to hope again.

It had been a pleasant surprise for him to be reunited with Father Callaghan in LA, to find him to be the newly assigned parish priest of the church named after "The Nine Choirs of the Saint Angels" was said to be the oldest in Los Angeles. Rumours also said, the simple, elegant Gothic building was broken down and transported stone by stone from Ireland to L.A. by an eccentric millionaire who didn't live to see "his" church being rebuilt in the whole. Alain didn't know whether those rumours were true or not; neither was he particularly interested in finding out. The fact was, however, that she stood in a dangerous neighbourhood, infested with Anarch gangs and Sabbat packs, not to mention with malevolent, man-eating demons. Her previous priest, an old exorcist named Father Frederick, hare been killed by a demon. But neither Father Callaghan, nor the small convent of Coptic nuns who served in the church were willing to abandon the parish and the endangered people living there. For that, Alain couldn't help but admire them.

Alain got out of his car, his eyes tearing up immediately in the unpleasantly strong sunlight, and he hurried into the dark, cool protection of the small, ethereal building with the slender tower. He didn't come to practice on the organ today; he just needed a quiet hour to order his thoughts and re-establish the inner balance of his soul. He hadn't been here often since Brian had entered his unlife, and the feeling that he was in some sort of fugue had grown steadily for months. He needed to come to a stop, to rearrange his priorities, to gain some perspective again.

The church seemed much bigger from the inside, with a vast, sweeping ceiling high above and ancient, pale tapestries hanging on the walls. Row upon row of pews filled most of the interior, a large altar dominating the end of the church opposite to where Alain now stood and looked up to the wonderfully-carved, huge cross hinging from the apse' ceiling. He'd come to endure the sight of the cross during the recent years, knowing that all this fear from the sign of human salvation was largely a cultural condition among Kindred and that in itself the cross couldn't harm him.

He walked slowly to the front pews and kneeled down, closing his eyes. By all rights, he shouldn't have been here. He was a monster who killed people to turn them into monsters like himself, and he led a life (or unlife, in his case) that regularly violated just about every rule the Church had laid down for her followers. And yet he couldn't resist the pull. From time to time, he simply needed to come here, to allow his weary soul to come to its peace on sacred ground, where the Creator to whom he'd found his way back, despite all hope, had taken up residence. Omnipresent God might be, the divine presence was still more palpable in a place devoted entirely to worship.

Dans nos obscurités, allume le feu qui ne s'étent jamais, the vampire prayed in his native French, trying to find the balance between his dark existence and the Light towards which all creatures of this Earth were heading on the end of their lives' path; his path was just longer than that of the mortals, much longer. La ténebre n'est point ténebre devant toi; la nuit comme le jour est lumiere.

Indeed, finding his way back to his particular version of faith had added a very different quality to his existence in the darkness. Father Callaghan seemed so certain that not even Kindred should be considered damned by default – after all, he liked to argue, God had not destroyed Caine after murdering his brother, merely marked him. And the Kindred, Caine's Childer, even though they were still wearing the Mark – the bloodlust within, which they called the Beast – should be treated the same way.

Alain had not doubt that Father Callaghan would be excommunicated, should he voice his opinion within the earshot of his bishop. Still, for him as a Kindred, the attitude of the priest was a never-expected source of hope.

A mortal probably wouldn't have heard the quiet rushing of clothes when old Sister Maura came forth to change the burned-down candles, but Alain's keen senses alerted him as soon as she entered the nave. With her wise, ancient eyes and the habit of the eldest religious order of the world – her convent, or what was left of it after a vicious demon attack, had converted to the Coptic order only a couple of years earlier – she seemed older than Earth itself. She had served in this very church for decades, had witnessed the horrible murder of the previous priest by a demon, only to return to her convent and find all but one of her sisters massacred – Sister Maura had seen a lot and was not easily frightened.

She gave Alain a pointed look to signal him that while she was tolerating him for Father Callaghan's sake, she was still not willing to trust him and probably never would. This time, however, she made no comment. She had an uncanny ability to recognize vampires, demons and any other creature in human disguise, which was probably the reason why she was still alive, but she had grudgingly accepted that for some reason, Father Callaghan would allow a few selected individuals to enter his church, and that she didn't have the authority to prohibit him doing so.

She gave Alain another warning look and returned to the sacristy. Alain suppressed a grin, knowing that she would alert Father Callaghan at once, on the principle that if the priest was letting monsters into the church, it should be his responsibility to keep an eye on them. And indeed, a few moments later the door of the sacristy opened again, and the young priest came in, smiling. As always, he wore black jeans, and a black, dog-collared shirt. He had a pleasant, open face, and longish hair, just long enough to reach his collar.

"So, here you are again," he said with that soft, lilting Irish accent of his and sat down next to Alain. "I haven't seen you for months. The convention has missed your organ playing. It's beautiful, you know."

"I was busy," Alain replied. "We had a brutal fight with the Sabbat; and then some family additions."

"I know about the fight," the priest said, long familiar with Kindred euphemisms. "You forget that I have the privilege to listen to the confession of your Prince on a semi-regular basis," he gave Alain a shrewd look. "You should give it a try, too. Might prove helpful."

Alain shook his head, laughing. Angelus' custom to go to church had at first shocked the entire Kindred population in LA, but again, Angelus had been a vicious Sabbat monster once and had a great deal to atone for. Being a reformed monster was a strange thing indeed, whether seen from a human or a Kindred point of view.

"I still can't see how it might work," Alain admitted. "I mean, our very existence violates every possible rule your Church considers sacred. We kill people to procreate, we're violent, promiscuous hedonists and sometimes do horrible things to each other… how can you forget that?"

"Those rules have been made for humans," the priest pointed out. "You aren't human anymore, my friend; haven't been for a very long time. Applying human rules to your existence would be a mistake."

"So what should I possibly confess them, if everything you consider a sin is part of my very nature?" Alain asked.

The priest shrugged. "How am I supposed to know? But we all have our regrets. Or do you want to tell me that you've never done anything that you're ashamed of in hindsight? That you wouldn't want to make up for? That's hard to believe."

"I haven't said that," Alain replied. "But I don't think that a few prayers would make up for my past mistakes."

"Of course not," the priest agreed, "or we wouldn't need divine grace to transcend our sins."

"You say that so easily," Alain said. "But in five hundred years, you're the first priest I've met who didn't look at me as if I were some kind of hellspawn… which, I guess, I am."

"No," the priest said very seriously, "you're not. Sure, as a human being, a Catholic and a priest, I can't give my blessing to the kind of life you lead… or, to be more accurate, I Couldn't if you were still human. But you aren't, and that's the key factor. You belong to a species older than mankind, and your kind has the right to continue, too – as long as you don't leave dead bodies in your wake like those Sabbat types do," he took a look at Alain's face, sighed and shook his head. "We've been there and discussed that already, Alain. Many times, in fact. What has brought it up again?"

"I'm about to add someone to my family again," the vampire replied. "And I'm not sure it's the right thing to do; even though the alternatives don't look promising for the person in question."

"I might understand it better if you told me everything from the beginning," Father Callaghan said mildly. "Why don't we go out into the church garden – it's nice'n shadowy right now – grab a beer or two and talk about it?"

Alain gave the priest a long-suffering look. "We've known each other for years. When did you see me drink beer? Ever?"

Father Callaghan shrugged. "That's the only thing I can offer. We don't keep your… favourite vintage here. It would be a little awkward."

"You do have a hang to understatements, don't you?" Alain grinned, imagining the priest to take out a bag of 0-negative from the fridge for him. "But I'm fine for the moment, thanks. I don't need anything… save a sympathetic ear."

"I can certainly offer that," the priest agreed and led him out into the church garden that was indeed sufficiently shadowed, even for a vampire's comfort. They sat down in a private corner; Father Callaghan fetched himself a beer, and then looked at Alain expectantly. "Well, what are you waiting for? Tell me what's going on."

And in the next two hours Alain told him the most important facts, starting with Brian's arrival in LA. While he spoke, he could feel things rearrange themselves in his mind – talking to Father Callaghan always had this effect on him. The priest listened to him, half-fascinated, half-disgusted by certain aspect of undead lifestyle, trying very hard not to judge the same way he'd have judged humans in a similar case.

Vampires were not humans, though – that was the key to even the most basic understanding, but that didn't mean, in Philip Callaghan's personal opinion, that salvation would be generally denied them. They had their own set of rules and would be judged according to those. At least that was the belief of Sister Grace (or Mother Verena, as she had been called since the conversion of her entire convent), the superior of the Coptic nuns, who also happened to be the lead demonologist of the Legacy, and Father Callaghan tended to agree. Sure, in the eyes of mortal men Alain DeLaigle was a monster… but an ethical one, as he stated of himself, and Philip Callaghan found that to be true.

"Well, I can't pretend to really understand what motivates your kind," he said when Alain had finished. "But as far as I can see, your choice would be the lesser evil for this Michael character. I can't encourage you to turn someone into one of your kind, of course. But if he wants this, and if it will protect him from a far worse fate, well…" he shrugged. "I can't apply the rules of the Church to someone who isn't even nominally Catholic, but personally, I can't believe that an act motivated by faithful love should be condemned."

"One day, your superiors will find out about your heretic ideas," Alain warned him. "And then you can be grateful if they only excommunicate you, instead of burning you on the stake."

The priest laughed. "I could barely prevent the former once already. As for the latter – I think we're safely beyond that phase."

"Don't be so sure," Alain muttered. "I've seen the Inquisition… and what happened to the Kathar heresy. The methods might have changed. The human nature hasn't."

Father Callaghan shook his head in amusement. He knew, in theory, that Alain was five hundred years old – that was what made their conversation so interesting for him. But that mere knowledge still hadn't prepared him for casual remarks like that.

Before he could say anything, though, Alain's cell phone rang. The vampire answered it, staring at the text message on the tiny screen with an inscrutable expression.

"Well, that settles it," he finally said. "Michael has made his decision – I couldn't go back on my offer anymore, even if I wanted to."

"But you don't really want to anyway, do you?" the priest asked.

"No," Alain said, shaking his head. "No, I want to do this; I have for quite some time. I just wasn't sure that it was the right thing to do. But that's not my decision to make, not any longer. Wish us luck, Father, even if you can't condone our choices."

"Your choices are your own," the priest replied simply, "and I don't intend either to condone or to condemn them. I do wish you the best… all of you."

Te End – for now

TBC in "Entering the Darkness"