Suspension of Disbelief – Part Two
Jan. 31st, 2006 07:42 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
lizhanneTitle: Suspension of Disbelief, part two
Author:![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-syndicated.gif)
anne_elliot
Rating: PG-13 for this part
Pairing: Frank/Gerard, Frank/Ray
Author's notes: once upon a time, I saw the first priest!Gerard pictures, and helped by conversations about Stigmata-esque AUs with![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
restriction, I started with an idea and ended up writing something completely different. This means you will find no demonic possession here, only a psychic, fucked-up Frank and a tired, disillusioned priest!Gerard.
I would like to thank my Sam for correcting hideous mistakes, giving me good ideas and helping me with research on the Catholic church,restriction for reading and commenting on it, every single one of you I bothered with this in the last months, and most of all, acroamatica for the shiny beta job. Thank you. :)
No altar boys were (or will ever be) harmed in the writing of this story.
Disclaimer: this is an AU; you can't get much faker than that, right?
The diner is almost empty, and Frank is thankful for that. It’s one of the best things about working so late at night – not a lot of people around after midnight. Another good thing about the diner is that they rarely bother him there. The place is probably too recent, or just too depressing, even for them. It has no soul, and no-one brings it any - it's only full of lonely people eating in a hurry before rushing away, leaving their emotions outside.
The fucking bright fluorescent lights, on the other hand, are terrible for Frank’s headaches, and when his boss is not around he works with his sunglasses on, surely leading some of the customers to think that he’s a bit of a nutcase, because who the hell wears sunglasses at night? He’s forgotten them at home tonight, though, and he curses himself for that. He usually doesn’t mind working the late night shift since he and sleep are not the best of friends anyway, but he hasn’t had the chance to rest more than a couple of hours in the afternoon, and his headache is coming back with a vengeance.
Hiding a huge yawn behind his hands, he checks that no customer can see him and stretches lazily, feeling his back pop and crack.
"Tired?" A friendly voice from the kitchen catches him while he’s rubbing his eyes, and he turns to smile at Ray, the resident cook. Ray’s got a warm smile and crazy hair, and and he is possibly Frank’s only friend. They share the same shifts at work, rides home when one of them is car-less, and the occasional movie on their day off. They share each other’s bed at times too, if they’re feeling lonely. Much as he appreciates the sex, Frank is glad it has never messed things up between them, because Ray’s the only person he can talk to, even if, obviously, not about everything.
"Mmmmm." Frank nods. "Parents were horrible today, and I could only rest a couple of hours before I had to leave the house, or I would have exploded," he concludes with an exaggerated eyeroll.
"Man, that sucks. You do look wrecked, you know. What happened?" Ray is clearly concerned and steps closer to him, putting his arm around Frank’s shoulder and hugging him. It feels good to lean into his grip, and Frank relaxes a bit against him, shrugging. He does not want to go into details; Ray wouldn’t understand why his mother should be so upset about the church lights going off, and Frank is not going to explain it to him. He hadn’t meant to do that, he thinks with an inward sigh, but then he never does. That’s something his parents don't seem to have understood yet.
“Nothing much. We quarrelled in church because I didn’t want to confess and take communion” – and this bit is true, at least – “but you know how my mother is. She can’t understand how those things are meaningless to me now, and she would take any chance to get angry at me anyway.”
“Yeah, I know. But you shouldn’t have to put up with all that shit, y’know. You’re 24, you’re entitled to your own opinions and choices.”
“Yes, but I’m also a high school dropout who has a shitty job with shitty pay, no prospects of finding a better one and nowhere else to live. Best I can do is try to keep them quiet.”
A customer comes in right at that moment, and Frank has to leave Ray, who pats his shoulder and retreats to the kitchen again, mouthing “Talk to you later. Hang on, we’re almost done” – Ray’s closing the place tonight, as always, since the graveyard shift is almost customer-free most nights, and the owner trusts Ray anyway, something Frank is very thankful for on days like this.
He suddenly feels very heavy and dizzy, and for a moment he’s sure he won’t be able to walk. The room is too bright, he is too tired, the new customer – black suit and overcoat, open collar and a cigarette - seems vaguely familiar in an annoying way. Taking a deep breath, Frank finally manages to move. “What can I bring you, sir?”
---
Gerard always goes to bed late. It’s a habit he picked up as a student, and now that he’s not chained to his books until ungodly hours anymore he likes to walk instead, smoking cigarette after cigarette and thinking, and probably doing too much of both, because reflecting on how everything has started to look simply too distant from him lately doesn’t help him relax before sleep.
What makes him feel better is the fact that at night, walking alone in a random street, he can stop feigning being active or interested, because no one is looking at him, and thus stop feeling like his real self is only watching his body move from the outside. Trying to find the reasons for this is painful and confusing, during the day, but his thoughts seem to be clearer at night. Maybe they just become the comforting and self-forgiving rambles of a tired mind instead, but that’s why he likes to walk at night: the darkness around him is a blank background that does not interfere with his thoughts.
This particular night is quite cold, though, and the thought of a cup of coffee is incredibly appealing, so he’s glad when he finds an open diner and slips into it. The place is almost empty, but he likes it better that way. As the waiter, a young-looking and clearly tired boy, approaches him clearly stifling a yawn and dragging his feet, Gerard thinks he looks vaguely familiar.
“Hi, what can I get for you?”
“Black coffee, thanks… Do I know you?” Gerard adds, unable to shake that indistinct feeling of recognition. The kid – even if looking at him more closely, Gerard’s not really sure he’s as young as he initially thought he was - seems to really look at him for the first time since he’s entered the room, and Gerard is surprised to see his eyes widen in recognition at first, and then harden in a suspicious glint.
“Did my mother send you?”
That is definitely unexpected, and Gerard is taken aback by the strange question. “What? Your mother? I don’t ev- wait, you were in church this morning, weren’t you? I think I noticed your mother scolding you, or whatever, right before the lights went out. But why should I be here because she sent me? I don’t even know her!”
Gerard is puzzled both by the boy’s reaction and by his evident distrust of his words. But he’s used to dealing with troubled people, and waits patiently for an answer. The boy in front of him seems to be pondering the matter as he shuffles his feet uneasily, but his answer is just another question.
“You’re new here, aren’t you?”
His tone is still suspicious and his voice weary, and Gerard can see that he is clearly exhausted, red circles around his eyes and all. He’s also probably overreacting, and so Gerard tries to be as neutral as possible when he answers. "Yes, that was my first Mass there. I just came in from Newark last week."
“Oh. Ok then. I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to… right, I’ll bring you your coffee in a second.”
He turns around and starts walking away, probably embarrassed or still not trusting him, Gerard can't tell which.
“Wait!” he calls after him. “Why did you think it was your mother who sent me? Why would she think that I should talk to you?”
The kid freezes and Gerard can clearly see his back tensing below his black shirt as he turns slowly, distrust written in every line of his face. “My mother simply cannot understand when to give up on a lost cause. It wouldn’t be so strange for her to ask you to talk to me. Actually, I’m surprised she hasn’t done so before, or that she still hasn’t tried to find an exorcist to fix me up.” He abruptly shuts up after saying this, nervously biting his lower lip, and it’s clear that he’s regretting those last words.
“Listen – what’s your name?”
“Frank.”
“Listen, Frank. Your mother did not send me here at all, but why don’t you just sit with me for a moment so we can talk?”
“There’s nothing to talk about, and why would you care, anyway?”
“Well, I’m a priest, it’s my job to care.”
Gerard ventures a careful smile with this, hoping to break the ice, but Frank’s expression does not change. Still, he’s not moving away either, and Gerard feels encouraged to insist. He’s not sure why he’s taken so much interest in Frank, but his cryptic words make him intriguing when he would otherwise be only a sad, tired kid - boy, he corrects himself, catching a glimpse of ink under Frank’s sleeves - and for all his problems, Gerard is a caring person, or so he likes to think.
“Come on, there’s no one here” – it’s true, the only other customer left as they were talking – “and I’m sure you could do with a break. Grab some coffee for yourself and sit down with me. Keep me company, at least.”
He didn’t really want company, not tonight, and once again he wonders why exactly he is doing this.
“What are you, a fag? Is it true what they say about priests, then?”
Frank’s words are like a punch in the gut, but Gerard stays calm and looks at him levelly, until he sees realization dawn in Frank’s eyes. He has shown some kind of reaction at last, Gerard thinks grimly, inwardly cursing himself for not being able to mind his own business.
“All right, I’m sorry. That was mean. I’ll sit down and have some coffee, but only because I was going to take a break anyway.”
He comes back a minute later with a pot of coffee and two mugs, and pours some for Gerard before sitting down in front of him and lighting a cigarette.
Gerard studies him for a moment while he does that, and it’s striking to see how young Frank looks, even if Gerard’s by now pretty sure that he can’t be much younger than himself, and the exhaustion written on the lines of his face makes it even harder to judge. When Frank closes his eyes to inhale Gerard thinks that he even looks like a child for an instant, a tired and vulnerable child.
Frank raises his left knee to his chest to lean his chin on it, taking another drag from his cigarette and finally attempting a vague little smile.
“So tell me, father, how did you end up here?”
Three
Author:
anne_elliotRating: PG-13 for this part
Pairing: Frank/Gerard, Frank/Ray
Author's notes: once upon a time, I saw the first priest!Gerard pictures, and helped by conversations about Stigmata-esque AUs with
restriction, I started with an idea and ended up writing something completely different. This means you will find no demonic possession here, only a psychic, fucked-up Frank and a tired, disillusioned priest!Gerard.I would like to thank my Sam for correcting hideous mistakes, giving me good ideas and helping me with research on the Catholic church,
restriction for reading and commenting on it, every single one of you I bothered with this in the last months, and most of all, acroamatica for the shiny beta job. Thank you. :)No altar boys were (or will ever be) harmed in the writing of this story.
Disclaimer: this is an AU; you can't get much faker than that, right?
The diner is almost empty, and Frank is thankful for that. It’s one of the best things about working so late at night – not a lot of people around after midnight. Another good thing about the diner is that they rarely bother him there. The place is probably too recent, or just too depressing, even for them. It has no soul, and no-one brings it any - it's only full of lonely people eating in a hurry before rushing away, leaving their emotions outside.
The fucking bright fluorescent lights, on the other hand, are terrible for Frank’s headaches, and when his boss is not around he works with his sunglasses on, surely leading some of the customers to think that he’s a bit of a nutcase, because who the hell wears sunglasses at night? He’s forgotten them at home tonight, though, and he curses himself for that. He usually doesn’t mind working the late night shift since he and sleep are not the best of friends anyway, but he hasn’t had the chance to rest more than a couple of hours in the afternoon, and his headache is coming back with a vengeance.
Hiding a huge yawn behind his hands, he checks that no customer can see him and stretches lazily, feeling his back pop and crack.
"Tired?" A friendly voice from the kitchen catches him while he’s rubbing his eyes, and he turns to smile at Ray, the resident cook. Ray’s got a warm smile and crazy hair, and and he is possibly Frank’s only friend. They share the same shifts at work, rides home when one of them is car-less, and the occasional movie on their day off. They share each other’s bed at times too, if they’re feeling lonely. Much as he appreciates the sex, Frank is glad it has never messed things up between them, because Ray’s the only person he can talk to, even if, obviously, not about everything.
"Mmmmm." Frank nods. "Parents were horrible today, and I could only rest a couple of hours before I had to leave the house, or I would have exploded," he concludes with an exaggerated eyeroll.
"Man, that sucks. You do look wrecked, you know. What happened?" Ray is clearly concerned and steps closer to him, putting his arm around Frank’s shoulder and hugging him. It feels good to lean into his grip, and Frank relaxes a bit against him, shrugging. He does not want to go into details; Ray wouldn’t understand why his mother should be so upset about the church lights going off, and Frank is not going to explain it to him. He hadn’t meant to do that, he thinks with an inward sigh, but then he never does. That’s something his parents don't seem to have understood yet.
“Nothing much. We quarrelled in church because I didn’t want to confess and take communion” – and this bit is true, at least – “but you know how my mother is. She can’t understand how those things are meaningless to me now, and she would take any chance to get angry at me anyway.”
“Yeah, I know. But you shouldn’t have to put up with all that shit, y’know. You’re 24, you’re entitled to your own opinions and choices.”
“Yes, but I’m also a high school dropout who has a shitty job with shitty pay, no prospects of finding a better one and nowhere else to live. Best I can do is try to keep them quiet.”
A customer comes in right at that moment, and Frank has to leave Ray, who pats his shoulder and retreats to the kitchen again, mouthing “Talk to you later. Hang on, we’re almost done” – Ray’s closing the place tonight, as always, since the graveyard shift is almost customer-free most nights, and the owner trusts Ray anyway, something Frank is very thankful for on days like this.
He suddenly feels very heavy and dizzy, and for a moment he’s sure he won’t be able to walk. The room is too bright, he is too tired, the new customer – black suit and overcoat, open collar and a cigarette - seems vaguely familiar in an annoying way. Taking a deep breath, Frank finally manages to move. “What can I bring you, sir?”
---
Gerard always goes to bed late. It’s a habit he picked up as a student, and now that he’s not chained to his books until ungodly hours anymore he likes to walk instead, smoking cigarette after cigarette and thinking, and probably doing too much of both, because reflecting on how everything has started to look simply too distant from him lately doesn’t help him relax before sleep.
What makes him feel better is the fact that at night, walking alone in a random street, he can stop feigning being active or interested, because no one is looking at him, and thus stop feeling like his real self is only watching his body move from the outside. Trying to find the reasons for this is painful and confusing, during the day, but his thoughts seem to be clearer at night. Maybe they just become the comforting and self-forgiving rambles of a tired mind instead, but that’s why he likes to walk at night: the darkness around him is a blank background that does not interfere with his thoughts.
This particular night is quite cold, though, and the thought of a cup of coffee is incredibly appealing, so he’s glad when he finds an open diner and slips into it. The place is almost empty, but he likes it better that way. As the waiter, a young-looking and clearly tired boy, approaches him clearly stifling a yawn and dragging his feet, Gerard thinks he looks vaguely familiar.
“Hi, what can I get for you?”
“Black coffee, thanks… Do I know you?” Gerard adds, unable to shake that indistinct feeling of recognition. The kid – even if looking at him more closely, Gerard’s not really sure he’s as young as he initially thought he was - seems to really look at him for the first time since he’s entered the room, and Gerard is surprised to see his eyes widen in recognition at first, and then harden in a suspicious glint.
“Did my mother send you?”
That is definitely unexpected, and Gerard is taken aback by the strange question. “What? Your mother? I don’t ev- wait, you were in church this morning, weren’t you? I think I noticed your mother scolding you, or whatever, right before the lights went out. But why should I be here because she sent me? I don’t even know her!”
Gerard is puzzled both by the boy’s reaction and by his evident distrust of his words. But he’s used to dealing with troubled people, and waits patiently for an answer. The boy in front of him seems to be pondering the matter as he shuffles his feet uneasily, but his answer is just another question.
“You’re new here, aren’t you?”
His tone is still suspicious and his voice weary, and Gerard can see that he is clearly exhausted, red circles around his eyes and all. He’s also probably overreacting, and so Gerard tries to be as neutral as possible when he answers. "Yes, that was my first Mass there. I just came in from Newark last week."
“Oh. Ok then. I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to… right, I’ll bring you your coffee in a second.”
He turns around and starts walking away, probably embarrassed or still not trusting him, Gerard can't tell which.
“Wait!” he calls after him. “Why did you think it was your mother who sent me? Why would she think that I should talk to you?”
The kid freezes and Gerard can clearly see his back tensing below his black shirt as he turns slowly, distrust written in every line of his face. “My mother simply cannot understand when to give up on a lost cause. It wouldn’t be so strange for her to ask you to talk to me. Actually, I’m surprised she hasn’t done so before, or that she still hasn’t tried to find an exorcist to fix me up.” He abruptly shuts up after saying this, nervously biting his lower lip, and it’s clear that he’s regretting those last words.
“Listen – what’s your name?”
“Frank.”
“Listen, Frank. Your mother did not send me here at all, but why don’t you just sit with me for a moment so we can talk?”
“There’s nothing to talk about, and why would you care, anyway?”
“Well, I’m a priest, it’s my job to care.”
Gerard ventures a careful smile with this, hoping to break the ice, but Frank’s expression does not change. Still, he’s not moving away either, and Gerard feels encouraged to insist. He’s not sure why he’s taken so much interest in Frank, but his cryptic words make him intriguing when he would otherwise be only a sad, tired kid - boy, he corrects himself, catching a glimpse of ink under Frank’s sleeves - and for all his problems, Gerard is a caring person, or so he likes to think.
“Come on, there’s no one here” – it’s true, the only other customer left as they were talking – “and I’m sure you could do with a break. Grab some coffee for yourself and sit down with me. Keep me company, at least.”
He didn’t really want company, not tonight, and once again he wonders why exactly he is doing this.
“What are you, a fag? Is it true what they say about priests, then?”
Frank’s words are like a punch in the gut, but Gerard stays calm and looks at him levelly, until he sees realization dawn in Frank’s eyes. He has shown some kind of reaction at last, Gerard thinks grimly, inwardly cursing himself for not being able to mind his own business.
“All right, I’m sorry. That was mean. I’ll sit down and have some coffee, but only because I was going to take a break anyway.”
He comes back a minute later with a pot of coffee and two mugs, and pours some for Gerard before sitting down in front of him and lighting a cigarette.
Gerard studies him for a moment while he does that, and it’s striking to see how young Frank looks, even if Gerard’s by now pretty sure that he can’t be much younger than himself, and the exhaustion written on the lines of his face makes it even harder to judge. When Frank closes his eyes to inhale Gerard thinks that he even looks like a child for an instant, a tired and vulnerable child.
Frank raises his left knee to his chest to lean his chin on it, taking another drag from his cigarette and finally attempting a vague little smile.
“So tell me, father, how did you end up here?”
Three
![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
(no subject)
Date: 2006-01-31 09:56 am (UTC)More please?
(no subject)
Date: 2006-02-01 12:02 am (UTC)More has already been written, I'll post it as soon as it's beta-ed!
(no subject)
Date: 2006-01-31 10:34 am (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2006-01-31 10:44 am (UTC)It's a good thing I'm alone in the office right now, because I just squealed aloud. :D
Can I can I steal, pretty please?
(no subject)
Date: 2006-01-31 11:00 am (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2006-01-31 09:23 pm (UTC)UPDATE SOON!
(no subject)
Date: 2006-02-01 12:14 am (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2006-01-31 10:18 pm (UTC)And this story has gerard as a priest. which is also
goodfantastic!i cant wait to read more.
(no subject)
Date: 2006-02-01 12:15 am (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2006-01-31 10:31 pm (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2006-02-01 12:04 am (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2006-02-01 02:08 am (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2006-01-31 10:50 pm (UTC)Whatever it is, it's great.
(no subject)
Date: 2006-02-01 12:14 am (UTC)I'm glad you like it! :)
(no subject)
Date: 2006-02-01 01:20 am (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2006-02-01 08:16 pm (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2006-02-01 01:22 am (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2006-02-01 08:19 pm (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2007-04-23 03:37 pm (UTC)