OTA - Don't Stop Believing

[traitorsdelight]

He's not the most religious of guys, anymore. He used to be; he was raised a devout Catholic boy, after all, served as an altar boy for years. And he never stopped believing. Not even when he started working for the mob. Not even after Molly died. But lately...well. He hasn't been to confession in almost a year. And he hasn't been to mass in longer

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[lisburn_lion]

She was raised catholic. Of course that means something else entirely where she's from, all wrapped up in politics and sectarianism and thirty years of civil war everyone's now trying to pretend didn't happen, but even thousands of miles from home there's a constancy to the scent of incense and echoing solemnity of the church. She's aware that she's not alone, of course, but she would hardly expect to see anyone from Grimm here of all places. So she pays little mind to the other figure kneeling silently in the dimly-lit nave of the chapel as she slides into the front pew and bows her head.

It's only quite some time later that a flicker of movement catches her eyes, and she's surprised to recognise her sometime sparring partner. She hesitates, momentarily torn between an automatic greeting and not wanting to interrupt what is surely a private moment.

[traitorsdelight]

He's pretty sure all churches over the world have that smell, that spirit. It's comforting. Gives one a sense of constancy. When he closes his eyes, he could be right back in the church he grew up in, kneeling next to his family and not even praying, just basking in that sense of being part of something larger than himself. And it's helping, despite the ache in his knees, no longer used to the position. He ignores the pain until he's ready to leave that quiet place, standing and stretching, and only then noticing he isn't alone in the chapel. And that head is one he recognizes, though he didn't really expect to see anyone he worked with here. They didn't exactly seem like the religious sort. But, well, for that matter, neither did he.

Which is probably why, when she turns her head to look at him (at least, he thinks she is, the shadows make it a little hard to tell), he lifts one hand in a tentative wave. He doesn't want to interrupt. She's likely got her reasons for being here, too.

[lisburn_lion]

She bodily turns a little further, the fabric of her coat whispering as it slides over the smooth-worn wood of the pew, and raises a hand in response with a tentative smile. If they were anywhere else she'd call out a greeting. But the sanctity of the silence here is something that's been drummed into her from earliest childhood, and breaking it with anything louder than a low murmur feels wrong.

[traitorsdelight]

It's that tentative smile and wave returned that have him approaching, sliding onto the pew a few feet away. A greeting generally means he isn't interrupting. At least, he hopes. And it's surprisingly nice, to find he's not alone in this thing. "Didn't think anyone else from work came here," he admits quietly, folding his hands in his lap as he leans forward. "Figured I'd be the only one."

[lisburn_lion]

"Me too," she replies, giving a small shrug. "It's not really the sort of thing you expect from mercenaries, is it?" And yet she can't help but wonder how many are here for reasons not unlike hers; how many fell into this life by sheer chance. How many are pretending not to feel wrong and out of place here.

[traitorsdelight]

"Yeah. I guess not." He lapses back into silence for a moment or two, looking up at the altar. It's a comfortable silence, at least, not like some of the semi-awkward ones that had before that usually end with going another round or finding something else to hit. For him, at least, it's just nice to find someone who shares his faith. What's left of it. And maybe that's why he asks the question he didn't exactly mean to. It was personal, after all, and none of his business, but it's all he's thinking about, lately. His eyes are still fixed on the altar, giving her permission to refuse to answer, if she wants.

"You ever have doubts? About how to reconcile what this stands for with what we do?" Sure, the technical details of what they did weren't exactly the same, and spiritually speaking, she was likely quite a bit better off than him. At least she could heal. But still.

[lisburn_lion]

There's a long pause. "...I don't know," she says eventually. It's not what she meant to say, but the words come out before she's really thought them through. She's a medic, she's further removed than most from the ugly reality of what it is that Grimm does, but she comes from a place where religion and violence are irrevocably entangled. She doesn't find the two concepts as hard to reconcile as others might. It's a crisis of faith of a very different sort she finds herself going through just now.

She lifts her eyes to the altar. "I don't really know why I'm here," she tells the crucifix hanging over the monstrance. "It's been a long time since I really believed in anything much. I haven't been to confession since I was a teenager." She'd even been married in a civil ceremony, to the enduring shock and horror of her entire family. "I don't know. It's just...what you do."

[traitorsdelight]

"Sorry. Heck of a question. I didn't mean to spring it on you. Just been doing some thinking of my own, lately." And it made sense, really. What she said. It was just what you did. It had always been about more than just belief, to him. It was about family. It was about belonging. The real question was, what did he believe these days? And was this more than just what he did?

"Just seems like things were a lot easier before I started. But I guess that's kind of what getting older is all about, right? Things getting more complicated." His voice is wry. Only 23, and already old and jaded.

[lisburn_lion]

Fran huffs something that's very nearly a laugh, shaking her head. "Do you remember being fifteen and thinking you had life figured out?" she asks with a wan little smile. "I miss that." Misses her biggest worry being her exam results, misses a bad day being a day where she'd missed the bus or had a fight with her sister. When did life get so complicated?

[traitorsdelight]

Fifteen wasn't that long ago for him, but it feels like a lifetime. Eight years. God. Has he really been in this business for only six years? Not that he'd minded so much of it. He still didn't, if he was honest. It was easy, it was fun, it was what he was good at. But did he miss that younger Chris? Yes. As much as he missed Molly. As much as he missed Justin, despite how much he'd hated him. Or thought he did.

Shaking his head, he manages a grin, breath almost a chuckle. "Fifteen was an awkward year. Growth spurts, you know. Being jealous of how perfect my older brother was. Working on a black belt. Soccer practice and failing history tests. Think I miss seventeen a little more. At least by then I wasn't a shy, awkward kid with too many elbows."