Going Home
Charity had the odd sense of scales slowly swinging into balance, of ledgers starting by hemorrhaging debt and ending solidly in the black. Her questions had been answered; her decades-long guilt had been dealt with. She had grown closer to Molly than she had ever been back in Chicago. She'd met Carlos Ramirez, and found him to be a good person--and one who was deeply in love with her daughter. She'd even gotten to relive her teenage years, and had found them significantly less terrifying with Michael, Molly and Carlos on her side.
She had been wondering for a week or two if she would be in the village for much longer.
Now, though, it was Sunday, and she and Michael had gone to early Mass. Michael had left the church a few steps ahead of her and was just turning around to say something to her in a laughing tone as she exited the church--
And found herself walking back into St. Mary of the Angels in Chicago. There was no mistaking the art behind the altar of St. Mary's--or above it.
Could Michael still be in Haurvatat? The thought was almost insupportable.
She glanced around worriedly. "Michael? Michael, where are you?"
***
Handing the sword over to Harry had been the final peace for him, his time in the village had been spent well. The weeks without Charity had taught him to value his wife even more than he had, and as the secrets between then had faded away he'd felt as though they had become closer than ever.
It was a closeness he'd only ever felt with God, and he'd been ashamed at first that he'd never realized the holding back that existed between them. Secrets on her side, his guilt over his calling distancing him from their family.
It was gone now. He turned back to her offering his hand as he stepped out into the churchyard he'd tended since arriving and found himself suddenly standing on the steps of his own parish church.
He paused. Chicago was familiar and cold. And then he heard Charity's voice from inside and moved to enter, his hip and back protesting as the good health of the village vanished, sunlight going with him and scattering over her face.
"Right here, Angel." He wrapped his arms around her and kissed her lightly, earning him a reproving look from old Mrs. Milson. He didn't care. "Welcome home."
[OOC: Charity's half of the post was written by her mun; Michael's half was written by his. And yes, Charity and Michael have gone home for good.]
She had been wondering for a week or two if she would be in the village for much longer.
Now, though, it was Sunday, and she and Michael had gone to early Mass. Michael had left the church a few steps ahead of her and was just turning around to say something to her in a laughing tone as she exited the church--
And found herself walking back into St. Mary of the Angels in Chicago. There was no mistaking the art behind the altar of St. Mary's--or above it.
Could Michael still be in Haurvatat? The thought was almost insupportable.
She glanced around worriedly. "Michael? Michael, where are you?"
***
Handing the sword over to Harry had been the final peace for him, his time in the village had been spent well. The weeks without Charity had taught him to value his wife even more than he had, and as the secrets between then had faded away he'd felt as though they had become closer than ever.
It was a closeness he'd only ever felt with God, and he'd been ashamed at first that he'd never realized the holding back that existed between them. Secrets on her side, his guilt over his calling distancing him from their family.
It was gone now. He turned back to her offering his hand as he stepped out into the churchyard he'd tended since arriving and found himself suddenly standing on the steps of his own parish church.
He paused. Chicago was familiar and cold. And then he heard Charity's voice from inside and moved to enter, his hip and back protesting as the good health of the village vanished, sunlight going with him and scattering over her face.
"Right here, Angel." He wrapped his arms around her and kissed her lightly, earning him a reproving look from old Mrs. Milson. He didn't care. "Welcome home."
[OOC: Charity's half of the post was written by her mun; Michael's half was written by his. And yes, Charity and Michael have gone home for good.]