Archive of Our Own

James was sitting at his desk, working through a backlog of paperwork, when his mobile rang. At the other end of the room, Lewis looked up from his own share of reports, almost hopefully, probably longing for a break from being tied to the office for days. James sympathised. He fished the phone out of his pocket and glanced at the display, but he didn't recognise the caller ID.

"Hathaway, Oxfordshire police," he greeted.

"Good morning, Sergeant Hathaway," a voice answered, much too calm and friendly for heralding a murder or similar disaster. "This is Brother Michael from St Gerard's. I don't know whether you remember me?"

"Oh, yes, how could I forget," James said. There had been a series of murders a few month back connected to St Gerard's and the Capuchin friars living there; it had taken up quite some time to finish up that paperwork. James remembered speaking to Brother Michael, about the case mainly and organisational issues associated with it, but they'd easily settled into more pleasant topics when the situation had allowed for it.

"I hope you're not going to report another murder," James added and had to suppress a grin when Lewis sighed in disappointment.

Michael laughed. "No, thank God not. I was just thinking... there's a concert at St Gerard's Chapel on Saturday. Vivaldi, a mix of his spiritual and secular works. I was wondering whether you'd be interested. There'll be a guitar duo and a flute soloist, and one of the music students is going to sing Stabat Mater."

"That sounds lovely," James said and glanced at his calendar. Not that it was strictly necessary, his social life wasn't exactly busy and murders didn't make appointments anyway, but he liked being organised.

"It's probably not going to be very full," Michael explained, "and I'd hate if the artists felt unappreciated, so if you want to bring anyone..."

James briefly entertained the idea of dragging Lewis along, just to see if Lewis could sit through the whole thing without falling asleep, but then shook his head. "No, I don't think so. I'm not the social type."

There was a faint huff of breath, maybe a laugh, from the other end of the line. "Then I hope I'll be seeing you on Saturday, Sergeant Hathaway."

"Yes, thank you," James replied. "If nothing comes up I'll be there."

When James hung up and shoved his phone back into his pocket, Lewis resumed typing. Hathaway could tell that he was curious but too polite to ask.

"I got invited to a concert," James told him after a while.

Lewis raised an eyebrow at him. "I thought you didn't date," he said.

"I don't. It's a spiritual concert at St Gerard's."

"Ah," was Lewis's curt reply, his interest rapidly fading. "Well, have fun then, or whatever the appropriate thing to say is," he added.

As Brother Michael had predicted, the chapel filled only slowly. By the time the concert began, there were still quite a few free seats left. It was a pity since the musicians performed very well and would have deserved a wider audience, but then it wasn't easy to lure people into a classical concert on a sunny late summer day. In any case, James enjoyed himself and was pleased to be introduced to a few guitar pieces he hadn't known before. The highlight of the evening was, of course, the Stabat Mater, sung by a young alto and accompanied by a string quartet. The singer hadn't reached the level of a professional yet—her voice was sometimes a little rough and not always smoothly mastering the rapid changes in pitch—but the little imperfections made the impression of the songs all the more personal and haunting. James didn't attend service often anymore these days, it tended to leave him with too many uncomfortable memories and more questions than answers, but now, listening to this music, he could feel some of that wonder again that once made him decide to become a priest. He wished he could bottle that moment.

When the concert ended and the audience, after enthusiastic applause, began to leave, James remained seated, partly to prolong the atmosphere, partly to look out for Brother Michael. He spotted him among his fellow friars, a black robe in a crowd of black. Michael looked up and their eyes met, and Michael disengaged himself from the group to walk over. James got up, meeting him halfway.

"Hello Sergeant Hathaway," Michael greeted. "I'm glad you could make it."

"James, please." James said. "Thanks for the invitation, it was a great concert."

"It was, wasn't it?" Michael smiled apologetically. "I remembered that you liked classical guitar, so I thought it couldn't hurt to call you, seeing that our summer concerts could use some more attention."

There was a silence, almost stretching into awkwardness, before Michael cleared his throat. "Well, would you like to join me for a walk, James?"

"I'd love to," James said. He gestured for Michael to lead the way, following him outside into a mild evening. The greens of the trees and bushes were getting dull now, and any time the first brown leaves would speckle the scenery. Michael chose a path through the gardens of St Gerard's, and while they walked they discussed the concert, soon drifting off to various other subjects. They kept coming back to music, however—they both shared a lot of musical interests—so at some point, James told Michael about his own band.

"It's a mix of jazz, world music and madrigals," he explained, and after a beat added, "You're supposed to run away screaming now. Or stare blankly."

"Why would I do that?" Michael laughed.

"Most people do."

"Well, I think it sounds interesting. My musical taste is all over the place, and I like unusual combinations. I'd definitely give it a try."

James rifled through the pockets of his jacket, wondering if he'd brought his IPod with him. Obviously, he hadn't, though, so he resolved to send Michael a link later on.

"I've heard Professor Pinnock offered you the research fellowship in theology," Michael said after they've walked in silence for a while.

"She did, yes," James confirmed. "But I declined."

He found himself suddenly amused by the idea, though he wasn't sure why exactly. After all, he had seriously considered the offer—at least until Lewis had informed him that he wasn't going to take early retirement after all as his daughter had suggested.

"So, you studied theology? When did you decide to become a police officer?"

James's amusement turned into a small smile. "Actually, I wanted to be a priest for a long time. I even spent a year in seminary."

Michael turned his head, his full attention on James now. "Really? Why didn't you? Become a priest, that is."

James felt his smile fading. He looked away, searching for something to focus on in the distance, finally feigning interest in two crows fighting over a place in a nearby tree. After all this years, he still hated to talk about that particular episode of his life, tried not even to think about it most of the time. Even Lewis knew just a few bits and pieces, and that only because it had been relevant to a case. Will's case.

Sensing his discomfort, Michael apologised and said, "May I ask instead why you wanted to become a priest?"

"There wasn't really a decision as such," James shrugged. "My family is very religious. We said grace before every meal, and I was taught to pray every night. The children's bible I'd got was the first thing I read on my own. It made a big impression on me. And then I discovered Escrivá in the library. I actually read from one of his books in a reading competition at school." James laughed softly at the memory. "Well, that established my reputation as the weird kid. I've always been the bookworm, the shy kid, the smug one. I sort of liked it that way, most of the time. I wasn't much interested in what the other kids were doing anyway, except sport, maybe."

James finally turned back towards Michael, and finding nothing but understanding and interest, he continued. "I liked order. I was very sure of my faith. I was searching for the truth. In a way, I guess, I liked the thought of helping people while keeping a relatively safe distance to them. Being a priest seemed to be a natural development." With a wry smile, James added, "Besides, sex scared me."

That was actually a rather sad statement and definitely not a good basis for such a serious decision, but Michael took it as the joke it was intended to be. James had always found that biting humour was a good way to deal with topics that cut too close to home.

Getting serious again, Michael remarked, "You still do all that, though. As a police officer, you help discover the truth, you preserve order, and you help people."

Reasonable enough as that sounded, nowadays James wasn't so sure about truth anymore. Or about anything, really. According to Descartes, that left him closer to the truth now than he'd been back then.

If you would be a real seeker after truth, it is necessary that at least once in your life you doubt, as far as possible, all things.

Maybe it was a good thing that law and police work was much easier to grasp than faith and the world in general.

"Well, being a copper is a bit like celibacy, too," James said. Then he mused, "It never occurred to me to become a friar, though. Why did you join the order?"

Michael considered that for a while before he answered. "It was after I had finished my dissertation. I felt I was missing a meaning in life. Everything felt so hypocritical and ... vain."

James nodded. He could relate to that.

"I was also very lonely at the time," Michael continued. "I had split up with my long-term boyfriend just a few months before. The religious community within the order seemed to be just what I needed."

"Seemed?"

Michael grinned. "Still is. It isn't always easy, of course, but so far I haven't regretted my decision. It's good to have found a place where I feel I belong."

"Yeah," James murmured. "I can't say the same for me."

They spent the rest of the walk in silence.

He who does not understand your silence will probably not understand your words.

At that moment, James felt himself perfectly understood.

It was late by the time James returned to his flat. He went straight to bed, but sleep was eluding him for what seemed like endless hours. Rolling around in his bed, he felt an old restlessness bubbling to the surface. He had to admit he envied Michael's confidence with both his sexuality and his faith when he himself found nothing but conflicts. For a long time, his approach had been to deny he had a sexuality at all—which of course had worked out as well as you might expect. Now he was left with finding out what his sexuality was, exactly.

Lewis had asked him once. Are you gay?

James hadn't known what to answer. He still didn't. Lewis had thought he'd tried to be clever when he'd launched a speech about boxes and clearly defined lines, that he'd been lecturing Lewis for asking a narrow-minded question. James couldn't blame him for that.

He kept in contact with Brother Michael. Mostly they exchanged short texts—about work, about the news—but they phoned a few times, too.

When he had his next concert with the band upcoming in a church close by, James sent Michael a couple of tickets. He normally preferred not to invite people he knew—most of them didn't share his taste in music anyway and he felt strangely vulnerable when he played—however, he was pretty at ease with the idea of Michael's presence. Still, as always during a performance, he avoided looking at individual people in the audience and rather concentrated on the mood in general.

Only after they had finished their program and two enthusiastically asked-for encores and the applause began to die down, James scanned the audience. He caught himself searching for a familiar black habit although he wasn't even sure if Michael had actually come. He tried not to feel disappointed when he wasn't able to spot him because really, it was ridiculous and silly, but didn't quite succeed. Then he saw a movement in the front and recognised Michael in his casual clothes, looking ... almost shy. James beamed at him and was rewarded with a bright smile.

The band packed away their instruments, the technical equipment, the cables. It took some time, as it always did, but after they had finished, Michael was still there, studying the inside of the church. Waiting for James.

"You were good," he said when James approached him. "All of you. That's a really interesting mix you play."

"Thanks," James replied. "Care for a drink?"

"I'd love to!"

James said good-bye to his band mates, who were preparing for a happy celebration of a concert well done in one of Oxford's pubs. He didn't feel like joining them today, though, and led Michael to a quieter place. He lit a cigarette on the way.

"I went through a rebellious phase when I left seminary," he said, feeling the need to explain. "Lasted only four months, but somehow I never quit smoking." He watched the rest of the cigarette burn down to a stub, then flicked it onto the kerb.

"Sex, drugs and rock'n'roll?" Michael joked.

"Some of that, yeah," James replied. "I had a lot of catching up to do. And if I do something, I do it properly or not at all."

"It couldn't have been that bad if they still let you into the police force."

"Maybe I was just too clever to get caught," James said and was pleased about the laugh his little quip got him.

"Luckily, I skipped all of that," Michael said. "Although, I've often wished I could have gone back in time and take part in the 1960's folk rock scene. Woodstock and all that."

James raised an eyebrow. "I wouldn't have put you down as a flower child."

"And I wouldn't have put you down as a rebel."

"Touché."

James couldn't remember the last time he'd been so comfortable with anyone. The closest friend he'd got was Lewis, and maybe Dr Hobson—he didn't spend much time with his band mates past band practice—which was pathetic when you thought about it. He didn't mind, though. Now there was Michael, kind and curious and a devoted religious, and maybe it was the alcohol, maybe it was the lingering elation that always followed a good concert, but James suddenly wanted to tell.

"In seminary, I was a hardliner," he began. He'd never really talked about it before, so words didn't come easy.

I rarely think in words at all. A thought comes, and I may try to express it in words afterward...

Michael simply waited.

"I was so glad to have found what I thought was my vocation," James continued, "so happy to have found people like me. I wanted it to work like I'd never wanted anything before in my life. So I did what I knew to do best: I studied and I followed orders. I didn't just want to be good, I wanted to be excellent. And for the first time, my dedication was okay."

James took a long swig of his beer.

"It was more than okay. There were other people like me. I cut off most of my contact outside of church; in retrospect I realise that I subconsciously feared any liberal opinion might deconstruct my little sanctuary. Being uncompromising is so much easier in many ways." James snorted. "One of the reverends told me that I couldn't ignore the rest of the world if I wanted to become a good priest, as I had to work with people. I didn't truly understand what he meant at the time."

James fell silent, ordered another beer, drank.

"What changed?" Michael asked after a while.

"A friend of mine from school came to me for advice. He was gay and asked me if God could love him. I told him to the face he'd receive punishment for his perversion."

Michael's eyes widened ever so slightly.

"It's ironic, really, because I'm in no position to throw stones. But I didn't realise that then, and I was so sure of myself. Anyway, he believed me. And although I didn't have much contact with him anymore, even I couldn't fail to notice the effect my words had on him. I don't think he was ever truly happy again. That got me thinking. About him, about God, about myself."

James fiddled with his glass.

"The proper thing would probably have been to stay. To sort it out, to re-evaluate my faith and the rules I believed in and become a better priest because of it, but I couldn't do it. I couldn't bear seeing the ruins of what head meant so much to me, so I backed out. That's the story of my life: I'm a big coward."

There, he had said it. Made his confession. To his disappointment, the world continued to feel exactly the same as before.

"You're not a coward," Michael told him. "Not now."

James pulled a face. Whatever Michael saw in him, he knew better. There was still too much of himself he preferred to hide away.

"What happened to your friend?" Michael asked.

"He committed suicide three years ago."

"I am so sorry."

James felt a light touch on his forearm. He looked down at Michael's hand, watched it squeezing gently. It was only a small gesture, but surprisingly comforting. James thought he could sit like that forever.

It had been a while since James had last talked to Brother Michael, apart from the occasional text, and he was getting antsy. He missed their chats, however irregular they'd been. In a moment of inspiration, he pulled out his phone, keyed through his contacts and hovered over Michael's entry, though in the end he was too nervous to call. It took him a while to realise what that meant, but when he did, he threw his phone on the coffee table and flopped back into the sofa cushions.

It figured. Looking back, he'd had a few crushes on men, and conveniently only on those men that were well out of his reach. The first when he was still a kid was Sherlock Holmes, a fictional character; then Mr Saunders, his English teacher in middle school; Lewis, his—very straight—boss. Now Brother Michael. As if that somehow made it easier. Safer. Deniable.

Well, it had worked so far. He hadn't really seen his feelings for these men as attraction at the time, but in retrospect it was obvious. Now where did the new-found realisation leave him?

One must know oneself. If this does not serve to discover truth, it at least serves as a rule of life and there is nothing better.

James wasn't quite sure if it really worked that way, at least not for him.

He decided to visit another concert at St Gerard's a few weeks later. It was an organ concert with the intriguing concept of showcasing the history of organ music, albeit limited to the chapel's romantic organ. If he was being honest with himself, though, he had to admit that the music wasn't the only reason he was drawn to St Gerard's. He wanted to see Brother Michael again. James didn't know that the chances were that he'd actually be there, much less what he expected from meeting him, but for once James didn't feel like being sensible.

It was surprising how well organ music went with that state of mind.

After the concert was over, James lingered on. Michael was indeed there, and once he'd noticed James he came over.

"Hello James."

"Hey," James replied, and after a slightly awkward silence, he added, "Walk?"

Michael hesitated. "I'm not sure whether that's a good idea," he said quietly.

"Neither am I," James admitted.

Michael watched him for a while, thoughtful. It occurred to James that maybe he should better leave, but he stayed nonetheless, and finally Michael said, "Well, come on, then. How did you like the concert?"

It turned out that Michael knew quite a lot about organ music and the history of organbuilding, and he explained to James how the pieces they'd heard would have sounded if played on an organ from the appropriate period. James couldn't help but smile when he listened to Michael's enthusiastic words. Being usually a very quiet person, his excitement was all the more endearing.

"I hated physics at school," Michael said, "but the mechanics behind organs really fascinate me. And I'm always in awe how people can play an organ. I tried to learn piano as a child, and I was seriously challenged whenever I had to do two different things with my left hand and my right hand. I can't even begin to understand how you'd coordinate an additional pair of feet." As an afterthought, he added, "I hope I'm not boring you?"

James smiled. "You'd never bore me," he mumbled, but immediately regretted his words.

One great use of words is to hide our thoughts was a maxim James firmly believed in if he couldn't get away with saying nothing at all. That it were now words that had betrayed his feelings was almost ironic.

Thankfully, Michael either hadn't noticed or was good at ignoring James's faux pas. After a few minutes' walk in silence, they reached a footpath that followed the Thames's waterside, giving them an amazing look at the setting sun. It was really rather cliché.

"I don't want to be a nuisance," James said. "I'm sorry."

He wasn't quite sure what exactly he was apologising for. The situation in general, he guessed.

"You're not a nuisance," Michael replied. "It was rude of me to suggest you would be and I apologise for that."

There was another silence, heavier now.

"It is my own responsibility to find my way with God," Michael finally said. "Turning down people and running away from my feelings is not a way to solve problems."

There was that word again, feelings, now dangerously out in the open.

"I've learned that the hard way," James agreed, expression neutral. "Though often enough, I've found myself repeating the same mistake over and over again."

Michael's corner of the mouth curled up. He stopped in his tracks and turned around to look fully at James, hiding his hands in the folds of his habit. "I've been with the Capuchins for almost six years now. So far I've only made my simple vows. I'll have to decide soon if I want to profess the solemn vows and stay a friar for the rest of my life."

James knew exactly what Michael was referring to. The vows—poverty, chastity, obedience—were very similar to the promises he was about to make when he was training to be a priest.

"And you're considering leaving?" James asked, eyebrows raised.

Michael shrugged. "Maybe being a friar is my vocation. But it might not be. Maybe I can serve God better outside of the order."

Suddenly, James felt like an intruder, like the observer of a quantum physical experiment who was going to change the result by his mere presence. Ever since he'd left seminary, the idea of influencing people's live decisions scared him.

"Whatever you do, you're going make the right decision," James said, trying to convince Michael as well as himself. At the very least, Michael had all the confidence and maturity James had been lacking in his seminary days.

"I should go now," James added quietly.

Michael opened his mouth as if to voice a reply, but none came, making the finality of James's words almost tangible.

James nodded his good-bye and turned around, tracing back the way they had come without looking back.

Lewis noticed James's melancholy almost instantly; for all his complaining about how enigmatic he found James he was actually quite good at picking up James's moods.

"What happened to you?" he asked. "Did Innocent tell you about our new case already?"

James perked up hopefully. "What case?"

Lewis dumped a pile of folders on his desk. "Cold case. Double murder back in 2003."

"No, she didn't," James said, feeling his face fall. Usually he didn't mind digging through old files, on the contrary, but these days ordinary work left him with too much time to think about himself.

"So why the long face then, Sergeant, if you weren't already contemplating endless hours of reading through dusty reports?"

"I'm unhappily in love," James replied and congratulated himself for his dry delivery. Sometimes, hiding in plain sight was the best option.

Lewis raised an eyebrow at him, obviously not sure whether to take it as a joke or not. He settled for a non-committal "Ah."

In any case, Lewis invited him for a pint after work, and James thankfully accepted. Getting drunk seemed like a good course of action.

James hadn't heard anything from Michael for the better part of a year, so it came as a surprise when one day he got a text.

Would you like to go for a drink sometime?

All the old feelings James hadn't known were still there came back full force within an instant. Typing a reply, he almost dropped the phone in his haste, and that he'd just had half a bottle of wine didn't help either. After what was an embarrassingly long time he finally managed to send a simple message.

Sure. Say when and where.

When the initial excitement had worn off, however, James started to worry. He wasn't quite sure what to expect—Michael's text hadn't given him much of a clue—and he hated the insecurity. He didn't even know what Michael did these days. Maybe he had changed. Maybe he hadn't.

It was way too early when James turned up at the agreed pub, and he had smoked way too many cigarettes on his way. He considered waiting for a while around a corner in order to not look like a pathetic fool, but decided that he didn't care. He entered and looked for a quiet table, then stopped in surprise when he saw Michael already sitting in one corner, observing him, smiling.

"Hey," James greeted and sat down in front of him.

"Hey," Michael replied. "You're early."

"You're earlier."

Michael laughed. "Guilty as charged. Pint?"

James nodded. He watched as Michael got them their drinks before he remembered that staring might be all sorts of inappropriate, thus he averted his gaze.

"So," Michael began after they'd both sipped on their drinks. "What have you been up to?"

"Oh, the usual," James said. "Catching killers. Doing paperwork."

That got him another smile, a rather sweet one which might have been quite unsettling if James had allowed himself to indulge in it.

"I've read about the Elliott case in the news," Michael said. "And, well, it got me thinking about you. I wanted to know how you were doing."

James didn't know what to say, so he kept his face carefully blank and stared into his pint. "And what have you been doing?" He finally asked back.

"I still lecture at St Gerard's," Michael said, "though I'm not with the friars anymore."

"Oh," James replied stupidly. It took a while for the news to fully sink in, but then he felt a faint hope growing. There was also a nag of guilt, though, when he realised his own selfishness—he was convinced Michael would have made a good friar and he felt slightly sad for a lost opportunity. "Why?" he had to ask.

"The order was a good place to be for me at the time. It would have been convenient to stay, easy even, but I don't think that it's what I should be doing for the rest of my life." Michael sighed. "It wasn't an easy decision, and even after all these months there's still a lot that I miss. However, following the path of least resistance is rarely the right thing to do."

James nodded, and only then let himself think about the consequences. All of a sudden, Michael had become available, which was exciting and terrifying at the same time. There were no excuses now.

I tell you that there are terrible temptations that it requires strength, strength and courage, to yield to. To stake all one's life on a single moment, to risk everything on one throw—there is no weakness in that.

James wasn't sure he'd ever really understood what Oscar Wilde had meant by that, but now he thought he was getting close. He had no idea where Michael and he were heading, and maybe they'd just exchanged on set of landmines with a different one; after all James had never been with a man and it might turn out to be a big disappointment, and perhaps they were going to ruin a perfectly fine friendship, and did Michael even want to...

A warm hand touched his own and James looked up.

"You're thinking too much, James," Michael told him.

"That's what I do," James replied. "I hope you're not disappointed."

"No." Michael smiled and squeezed his hand. "So, tell me about your music. How's the band?"

And just like that, the old easy understanding was back. James told Michael about the band's plans to record what they called their new album, even if that was only going to be published on MySpace, and the conversation meandered from there. Somewhere between discussing jazz, the internet music scene and Michael's latest lecture, Michael had moved. He was now sitting at James's side, a warm and solid presence, promising, and for once James thought that maybe he could stop worrying.