asoncalledgabriel | Tidings of Comfort and Joy [Dec 24]

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Tidings of Comfort and Joy [Dec 24]

Gabriel is still surprised that Anthony is coming. He'd felt like an idiot for asking him, but he also has his reasons: he knows Anthony is drawn to the aesthetic of the Church, even if he's rejected it in its entirely. And the music was good last year, and he has no reason to imagine that it won't be this year.

The service is the closest thing to a Catholic midnight mass that he's found, and the year before it was surprisingly faithful to traditions that Gabriel is familiar with.

He stands outside the church, hands tucked into the pockets of his black pea coat. It's the nicer of the two winter coats he owns. He's cleaned up for this particular mass: a button down, a tie, his nicest sweater. He'd thought, briefly, of a suit, but it didn't feel right when he'd been getting ready.

He ignores the little flutter he feels at the thought of going into the church. His relationship with his religion remains complicated, but he is finding some relief in exploring the way others have approached spirituality.

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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.

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Tidings of Comfort and Joy [Dec 24]

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