asoncalledgabriel | Tidings of Comfort and Joy [Dec 24]

If anyone asks, Anthony is a staunch atheist with a litany of reasons to dislike religion in general, and its many Christian variations in particular. But there isn’t much venom in his dislike. Despite his upbringing, his atheism isn’t the result of some falling out with God, but a naming of what he never felt during a childhood memorizing psalms and watching his father preach. And Gabriel is right: he likes the aesthetics of religion—the art, music, and ritual—too much to do anything so satisfying as reject it outright.

There is something familiar, too, about going to mass on Christmas, Catholic or otherwise. Even if he hasn’t done it in years, the first half of his life saw him in a pew on Christmas eve, and certain childhood sentiments stick with a person, even a person as unsentimental as Anthony Blunt. He agrees to join Gabriel because, bafflingly, it means a lot to the young man, and because he is curious what it will be like.

Anthony smiles a little when he spots Gabriel already standing outside the church. He absently glances at his watch. “I hope I haven’t kept you waiting long?"

"No, I just have a habit of arriving unreasonably early to any mass," he admits. "On Sundays or saint's days it lets me sit alone for a while."

Gabriel finds himself resisting the urge to reach for Anthony's hand when he's close enough. He likes to think he might be brave enough to walk into a church holding a man's hand, but he isn't entirely sure Anthony would see it as anything but silly. So instead he gives him a smile.

"I hope I'm not breaking a terribly long resistance streak," he says as he heads down the little sidewalk toward the open door. The church itself, though on the outside rather nondescript, has a lovely, warm interior. For midnight mass, all the interior lights have been turned off and candles light the narthex and nave.

As people gather and find seats, a cello and a piano near the front of the nave play O Come, O Come Emmanuel. The entire setting sends a little shiver down Gabriel's back as he slides out of his coat.

Edited 2018-12-22 23:53 (UTC)

Even Anthony isn’t bold enough to walk into a church holding a man’s hand. Public displays aren’t his style, but even if they were, this would never be the place he would choose to push boundaries.

The church is elegant inside, pretty in the candlelight, but not extravagant. In an attempt to please all comers, there is a very Anglican moderation to everything, in fact, which amuses Anthony. He smiles wryly as he pauses at the end of the pew to remove his coat.

“Not a very long one,” he quips. “I wasn’t struck down in the doorway, so hopefully that means there aren’t any hard feelings on either side.”

"Surely if I've survived this long, you're alright," he says with a wry smile. "Though I think I've spent my life far more repentant than you ever have."

He's teasing, but he also thinks it's true. He admires Anthony's utter lack of shame, though in its place is practiced discretion. Gabriel envies how at ease he seems sometimes, but he hopes that he's getting there.

The gathering is sizable but not so much that they are crushed in with other people - there's a comfortable amount of space between the two of them and the next person down the pew.

"I like it here," he murmurs to Anthony in practiced church voice. "I swear the acoustics are perfect right in this spot."

Anthony offers Gabriel a smirk as he sits down next to him. He’s inclined to agree with Gabriel’s assessment, and he suspects that according to most people who gather in church (and God, if He exists), it is that very lack of repentance that is his greatest sin. Anthony has never quite seen the purpose of repentance—one’s behavior matters far more than asking for forgiveness from God or man.

But they aren’t here tonight to talk about repentance or forgiveness. He tips his head closer to Gabriel to better hear him and smiles. From where they sit, the cellist does sound particularly nice. “Is this where you usually come?” he asks.

"Yes, I like the priest," he admits. The man seems kind, and his sermons are good. More than anything, Gabriel feels comfortable in his presence.

"And the music," he confesses. He knows there will be a choir tonight, and along with the cello and piano, there is an organ behind the alter, on the back wall of the building.

A faint, almost coy smile appears.

"I've just realized that you're the second Protestant that's come to a mass with me." Maybe Anthony is more atheist than not, but he was still raised an Anglican.

“Sounds promising.” He doubts that he will have much to say, one way or the other, about the priest, but the promise of good music appeals to him.

Anthony watches the people filtering in with a curious eye. He doesn’t recognize them, on the whole, and that makes him wonder how many of them are native to Darrow, and how many come from elsewhere. As far as he knows, there is no accounting of how many Darrow residents belong in each camp, but he has to assume that most of the people around him have always lived here. It makes him wonder, what in God’s name (pun unintended) so seemingly untethered to place or history get out of a religion birthed two thousands years ago in the Middle East? Like so many things about Darrow, the church itself does not quite make sense.

He smiles wryly. “Who was the other?"

"Neil Perry," he says with a little smile. "He was so worried about genuflecting at the wrong time or not knowing any of the proper hand motions."

He'd thought it sort of sweet at the time; he'd never met an Anglican that cared about what might happen in a Catholic service. He'd heard their rituals made fun of often enough, though.

"I'm not sure Fiona would have ever. She'd think it silly, maybe, or say there was no point in it."

Anthony suppresses a chuckle. He has only spoken to Neil once or twice, but from what he has seen (and what Guy has said), Gabriel’s description sounds about like he would expect. Neil Perry can be awfully skittish. Naturally, Anthony doesn’t have the same concern; for one thing, this isn’t his first Catholic mass. “Well, I promise to remain a sober observer,” he says wryly.

At the comment about Gabriel’s erstwhile Protestant girlfriend, he snorts quietly. Yes, Catholicism may be guilty of putting style over substance, put at least it led to art. Meanwhile, Protestants were too busy wringing hidden meanings out of the very space between words in the each Biblical chapter and verse.

"I used to feel such certainty sitting here. Then such angst," he muses quietly. "It followed me right to Darrow, so I suppose it would have followed me to London, too."

He feels more relaxed now, compared to his first year here, and all the years before it.

“And now?” Anthony asks. But there is no time for Gabriel to answer. Moments later, the musicians fall silent, and then the organ begins to play; then, everyone rises from their seats as the priest proceeds up the nave. Anthony follows along, clasping his hands in front of him as he stands.

The mass follows a fairly standard format, embellished for Christmas. Gabriel genuflects and gestures without any of it seeming perfunctory or passive - it isn't. And every hymn, every Christmas song, he sings: a clear, smooth tenor.

Toward the end of mass, at the midnight hour, light flickers to life along the walls of the church and the choir stands in the aisle to perform the Hallelujah Chorus, accompanied by the organ. Gabriel gets goosebumps from the sensation of being surrounded by the music.

The mass that follows is even more familiar than Anthony had expected; it seems that in the intervening decades, the gulf between Catholicism and high church Anglicanism has shrunk even further, at least in aesthetics. And he can appreciate those aesthetics, both for their familiarity and their power. It isn’t a King’s College chapel service, but it is lovely in its own small way.

And Gabriel—he glows. Surely it isn’t sentimentality that attracts him to the young man’s brightness. His singing voice is light and pure, and at various points his expression lapses into one of lovely solemnity. The God that Anthony doesn’t believe in would surely judge Anthony for the impure thoughts that cross his mind over the course of the evening.

Gabriel catches the look Anthony's giving him by the end of mass, and he can't help the faint warmth in his cheeks. They're surrounded by a press of people and he dares, just for a moment, to let his fingers brush Anthony's.

Christ, but he wants to kiss him. And he can't, no matter how alright it is in Darrow, bring himself to do it in the church.

He stays close as other people filter out.

"Thank you for coming," he says at last, giving Anthony a little smile. "It-- thank you."

Edited 2018-12-29 18:46 (UTC)

Anthony rolls his eyes when Gabriel offers his tentative thanks. He smiles and looks away. “It was an educational experience.” When he looks back at Gabriel, his smile is a little self-deprecating. He knows he is purposefully offering the intellectual answer; the truth is that he is glad to be here because Gabriel wants him to be, even if he won’t put it that way.

“No need to thank me."

"I'm doing it all the same," he insists with a little smile. Gabriel picks up his coat and carefully slides it back on. At least he's getting better at reading through Anthony's intellectualizing.

"Do you need to hurry back tonight?"

It's late, he knows that, but any excuse to stay in Anthony's company is a good one.

“Not at all,” says Anthony. The piano he bought for Guy will be arriving sometime tomorrow morning, but that isn’t a reason to hurry home yet, and everything is already ready (more than ready, when it comes to the decorations) for tomorrow’s party.

“Do you think anywhere is open?” he wonders in a by-the-by sort of way. In London there would always be someplace to get a drink, even in the very earliest hours of Christmas day, but Darrow is hardly London.

"There have to be bars open." Not everyone celebrates Christmas even - or perhaps especially - in Darrow. Beyond that, he can imagine that good business might be had by staying open for those attempting to escape family or other social obligations.

"We could walk for a bit, see what we find."

Anthony tilts his head up to the sky for a moment; the air is chilly and clear, and though streetlights add an unnatural sheen of light, the stars remain bright. Even Anthony, as unromantic as he is, can admit that there is something quite picturesque about the night.

“Let’s see what we can find,” he agrees.

God, but Anthony's beautiful. Gabriel bites his lip, taking a moment to just look at him while Anthony looks toward the sky. He's grateful for the dark because he might be blushing - it's hard to tell in the chill.

After that, he stays close to Anthony as they walk, passing a place here or there that's open. Tintern Abbey is, and as they reach the Tudor-looking front he steers them toward the door. He's pleased to see the fire is lit, making the warm interior feel particularly cozy.

Edited 2019-01-05 02:30 (UTC)

Anthony stays close to Gabriel as they walk, their fingers brushing from time to time. Up ahead, the glow of Tintern is warm and inviting, and inside the bar is quiet, but not entirely empty. Clearly, they are not the only ones who saw some soft charm in exploring the city in the very early hours of Christmas morning.

“I will get us the drinks."

"I'll get us a booth," he says, letting his hand brush over Anthony's back as he passes behind him. Gabriel slides out of his coat and manages to find a place near enough to the fire place for some cheery warmth but that will lend them a bit of privacy.

He hangs his coat on a little hook outside the booth and slides into it with a soft sigh. He resists the urge to loosen his tie.

Anthony goes to the bar and orders them both gin and tonics—though he had not intended to convert Gabriel to his own drink of choice, they had fallen into the habit. While the bartender makes it he turns around, his gaze searching the room. When he finds Gabriel, he smiles a little.

“Merry Christmas,” the bartender says as he leaves the drinks.

“Merry Christmas,” Anthony returns, and then he takes them to the table where Gabriel is waiting.

Gabriel smiles when Anthony appears with what appears to be gin and tonics in hand. He liked them before, but they've become a habit since he's started drinking with Anthony.

He doesn't mind at all.

As Anthony settles in, Gabriel finally gives in and loosens his tie a bit, but doesn't bother to take it off.

"Cheers," he says as he lifts his glass. "To... a religious experience?" He can't even say it with a straight face.

Anthony hides a smile. “Let’s not get ahead of ourselves,” he says wryly, but he lightly clinks his glass against Gabriel’s.

He takes a sip of his drink. “I still don’t entirely understand how a place without history has Catholicism at all.” Such a thing doesn’t matter, not in the least, but Anthony finds Darrow’s many contradictions utterly annoying.

Edited 2019-01-06 04:31 (UTC)

"I've no idea, but they've also a Jewish temple and I'm fairly sure I saw a mosque, among other things. And I know the church does Protestant services."

Never mind the giant paganesque Yule Goat still standing in the city center. Gabriel's actually impressed that no one has lit it on fire yet. It never seems to last as long as the city intends, through one mishap or another, or arson.

"I can't say I'm disappointed, though. It's a comfort in its familiarity."

“I don’t object, exactly,” muses Anthony. “but it’s a vexing puzzle.” Anthony doesn’t like things that don’t make sense. He appreciates order, logic. Darrow’s lack of either will make him mad one of these days.

“But I am glad you appreciate it,” he says with a smile.

"It's something familiar in a desperately unfamiliar place. I probably would've kept going to church if I could find one in London."

It's not the first time he's thought of it, what his life might be like at a university in London. He wonders if he could find a church, or a Catholic community, or if he would have left it all behind like his uncle tried to.

"Or maybe I would've just... left it, like Brendan did."

“Plenty of Catholic churches in London.” Anthony wonders if Gabriel doesn't know if he would be able to find a church, or if he doesn't know if he would want to find one. Gabriel’s relationship with the Church is obviously complicated. Anthony knows some of the reasons, but he suspects that there are other reasons that the boy hasn’t revealed.

Gabriel's next comment confirms his suspicion. "Do you think you might have?"

"I don't know," he confesses. "I told you I thought I'd be a priest, once. Follow in Brendan's footsteps and go off to Rome, find God's love the way I thought I felt it once. But... he left the Church. He had a nervous break down and he left the priesthood."

He looks at his glass, turning it around. Then he huffs a laugh.

"And then he went to America."

And he left me, again, he doesn't say.

"After that, I didn't know what to think anymore. Only that I found comfort in it still. Not the Church, not the institution of it, but-- I felt like I had nothing else."

Gabriel’s story has always come in bits and pieces, characters introduced without preamble, incidents shared out of order. But the emotion is always there in his simple tellings, deep, and uncertain, and weary.

“Brendan is your uncle, is that right?" is all Anthony asks.

He's not really told anyone in Darrow. He's avoided it, ashamed or afraid, or maybe just not sure what to do with the story himself. He'd only known for a short while before he arrived in Darrow.

"Yeah," he says quietly, still looking at his drink. What will Anthony think, if he knows? None of it is Gabriel's fault, but maybe it says something about who he is or where he comes from.

"He's-- my father, actually. That's the fight my mother and I had before I showed up here. She said I should be grateful she took me in, in the heat of the moment, and I demanded to know what she meant by that. Brendan's my father, and Harry's my uncle."

Anthony had only meant to clarify what Gabriel had already told him in order to fit the pieces of the boy’s life together—he had neither expected nor meant to ask for a confession.

He remembers something Gabriel once said to him when he was being particularly taciturn about something or other: home was full of secrets. Most of them were mine.

Startled by the revelation, as well as the fact that Gabriel has chosen to share it, Anthony knits his brows together. “I see.” After a beat he adds wryly, half-quoting Tolstoy, “It's true--unhappy families are all unhappy in their own way."

"Suppose I was braced for something worse than that," he says with a faint, almost sad smile. "Sorry. I think that's been waiting nearly two years to be said."

And part of him regrets saying anything at all, still worries about some sort of judgment. Anthony hadn't asked him for family secrets, but there it is. Gabriel realizes he has a terrible history of just saying things that he can't take back. But being in church made him think of all of it all over again, brought it closer to the surface.

“Don’t apologize,” Anthony says with a wave of his hand. His voice is calm, almost gentle, but there is a certain sort of command in it. Gabriel needn’t apologize for his family, or for speaking about them. “Families are…complicated."

Anthony casts no judgements upon his companion, though he remains baffled that Gabriel is still hold so fast to religion, after everything.

"No one ever talked about why it is he went to seminary in Rome and then chose a mission as far from Ireland as he could get. Nor did anyone ever say why he and my grandfather were so angry at each other. But it was me."

Gabriel shrugs and finally takes a drink from his glass, lingering over it for a moment. He feels like laughing, but he also thinks he'd sound hysterical so he tries to rein in that particular urge.

"Christ," he says with a faint smile. "Sorry, I-- had no intention of getting particularly confessional. I haven't had nearly enough to drink."

“I just told you not to apologize,” Anthony chides. Unexpected though it may be, he does not fault Gabriel for his confession—neither its suddenness nor its content are things he should be sorry over.

He takes a sip of his drink, thoughtfully silent for a moment. “After all that, I am surprised that you hung on to the church at all.” It is one of those things Anthony still can’t understand about Gabriel. How did he still see something in God and the rest after all that?

Gabriel resists the urge to stick out his tongue or something when Anthony chides him for apologizing. As it is, he takes another drink.

"I still find something beautiful and hopeful in it. And if I can bring myself to believe that God loves me and made no mistake in me, then at least I have that, even if I've no one else."

Maybe it sounds dramatic now, but there had been a time when Gabriel felt so desperately alone in his secrets and in his perceived sins, even in Darrow. Thinking that he might have God's love when he has no one else's is a comfort.

Edited 2019-01-10 19:28 (UTC)

Anthony smiles a little and tips his head. There is something terribly sad in Gabriel’s statement, but he can understand it. Anthony is inclined not to rely on people—so he tells himself—and in a slightly different world, he might have decided to rely on God, instead of scholarship, to keep him company.

“Well,” he says quietly, “thank you for bringing me along.” He knows it took a certain kind of courage for Gabriel to ask Anthony into this part of his life. Even if it doesn’t mean the same thing to him, he is honored, in his own very quiet way, that Gabriel has invited him in.

A small smile ticks the corner of his mouth. "I-- You've become... rather important to me," he says, glancing up from his drink. "And despite it all, even if I never feel like I could agree with the Church again, there's something in religion that's still important to me."

Gabriel looks down again, but his smile lingers, at least. "I know all the harm it can do. I've read history, and I've seen zealots. My own mother, sometimes. But-- Blake saw beauty in it, somewhere. And I don't want to let go of that. So... thank you for not thinking it some silly exercise."

And even if Anthony did, he certainly hadn't said anything.

Looking away for a moment, Anthony huffs a small laugh. You’ve become rather important to me—the words ricochet about in Anthony’s head. There is a sweet intimacy to them that he can’t deny, and he isn’t quite sure what to do about that.

For now he leaves it be.

He gives a shrug and waves his hand. “I would be a poor art historian if I dismissed religion entirely. Make of that what you will.” He offers a wry smile, knowing that there is a contradiction between his beliefs and his passions. How can an atheist remain so attached to art of a decidedly religious bent? Even Anthony doesn’t have an entirely satisfying answer for himself.

"I suppose I'm grateful you can see any value in it at all," he admits with a dry little smile. "Even if it's not philosophically and only aesthetically."

It's something, anyway. He's heard enough people - Protestants in particular - mock and dismiss the pageantry of the Catholic church and it's saints and martyrs, as if they had no saints of their own.

He does wonder if Anthony looks for something in art that he feels he's lost in his own life. Gabriel can't quite bring himself to ask it out loud, not in a bar anyway. Maybe when he's mastered some French, he'll try.

"Besides, I have to imagine Saint Sebastian would make any queer look twice."

Christ, he remembers having unholy thoughts after studying saints in art.

“Aesthetically and socio-culturally,” Anthony says, sounding a little prim on purpose. Like a good Communist, Anthony believes that mankind will eventually find religion unnecessary and will discard it. In the meantime, though, no one with any interest in understanding the world can ignore it.

But this isn’t the time to intellectualize the significance of Christianity on the world, not directly after Christmas midnight mass. Anthony is self-aware enough to stop himself before he does it aloud.

He actually laughs. “I suppose that’s the real reason I spent so much time in the Louvre as a boy.” He smirks, looking conspiratorial.

Gabriel can't help but crack a smile. "Christ, I never thought I'd find myself having impure thoughts about a martyred saint, but there I was, staring hopelessly at image after image of Sebastian, dangling from the damn tree and-- pierced through."

He laughs and shakes his head at the memory. It wasn't fair that a dying saint should look so-- that way. He sits up a bit more, feeling better, and nearly finishes his drink.

"And I did promise you, once upon a time, that you might get to hear me sing someday. Hopefully this is a much better impression than seeing me drunk in a bar would've been."

“Oh, they make them look like that on purpose,” Anthony says matter-of-factly, though a smirk tugs at his lips. “Saint Sebastian especially.”

He downs the last of his drink. “You did promise that. Quite respectable of you, Gabriel Harkin."

He laughs, and he actually blushes. At least Tintern is dimly it.

"Respectable, is it? I don't think I've been respectable in months," he quips, looking terribly amused. "I'll have to find some shred of it before classes start, I suppose."

“Is that a veiled attempt to blame me for the loss of your respectability?” Anthony teases, lifting a brow. Gabriel’s reference to the upcoming term makes him smirk. He is quite looking forward to having Gabriel in his class. “Only as much of it as you require to learn French."

"Only for the loss of it in private spaces." Gabriel can't quite smother his smile, so he stops trying. "Christ, I'll have to muster the dignity of a saint for that."

There is part of him that worries about his ability to concentrate with Anthony at the front of a classroom, but he thinks he can manage. He is, at least, genuinely interested in trying another language. That he is learning it from Anthony might just guarantee that he doesn't fall asleep or day dream.

Tidings of Comfort and Joy [Dec 24]

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