there is freedom in the dark (once someone has illuminated it)

by swissarmymanenjoyer

Summary:

The one miracle to come out of all this was Benoit Blanc. Jud had assumed the detective would solve this case and move onto the next one, vanish out of Jud’s life with the same abruptness as his arrival. And he did disappear, often and swiftly, with few niceties or goodbyes.

But then a few days later he’d suddenly reappear: be it at hearings where Jud would have otherwise had to battle the tedium of bureaucracy alone, or online, posting statements to cushion some particularly devastating blows against Jud in the media, Benoit Blanc kept cropping up when he was needed the most. 

Or,

An exploration of the "one year later" gap, from the moment the diamond falls from Martha's hand to the moment Jud pulls Blanc in for a hug.

“Father Jud, did you hear what I just said? Jud? Hey, kid, are you in there?”

Jud shook himself out of his stupor. Refocusing his eyes, he found himself back at the police station, still covered in mud and grit from the night before. Sitting beside him was Bishop Langstrom, a look of paternal concern deepening the lines of his kind face. 

Jud straightened up. “Your Excellency, you’re here. I’m so sorry about all this—”

“It’s alright,” the bishop told him. “You’ve been through a lot. There’s no need to worry.” He glanced back towards Chief Geraldine’s office. “The detective has been reassuring everyone that you’ve handled yourself very well.”  

Jud followed the bishop’s eyes. There indeed was Detective Blanc, pacing up and down the small room and animatedly talking to someone on the phone while Geraldine watched him with crossed arms. 

Blanc caught Jud’s eye and winked. Jud smiled and then tensed up, suddenly remembering the diamond boring a hole in his right pocket. His hand squeezed the bulge. Blanc’s eyes followed the movement, eyes widening. He quickly hung up the phone.

Jud felt panic rise in his throat. “Shit. I’ve gotta get out of here,” he breathed. “I’m sorry, Bishop, I really need to go.”

“I thought you might say that. We’ll work on getting you reassigned as soon as possible, but since the murder investigation is still—”

“What? No. No, no, you don’t understand,” Jud said. A fluorescent light buzzed threateningly above him, adding to his throbbing headache. “I don’t want that. I don’t wanna leave here, I just can’t be in here right now. I’m sorry.”

“I hear you, kid, but the officers said—”

“Ah, let the boy go, Bishop, Geraldine and I have it covered for now,” Blanc ran over to them, placing a firm, stabilizing hand on Jud’s shoulder and starting to usher both of them down the stairs. “No one’s had a crazier week than him.”

“Actually, Blanc, I still need him for—” Chief Geraldine began, but Blanc spoke over her, too. “Now, now, chief, you said it yourself. Enough toyin’ with the boy. What he needs is some rest, a shower, and a fresh change of clothes.” Blanc said the last part with a pointed look at Jud’s pants. Jud nodded in understanding and obediently stepped towards the exit. 

“Thanks, Blanc,” Jud said over his shoulder. Blanc made a little face and waved him off dismissively. The automatic police doors shut between them.

“Well,” Bishop Langstrom said primly while straightening his robes, “glad to know someone’s been looking after you in all this.”

Jud hung his head and said nothing.

***

An entire month went by in a flurry of urgency and tediousness. The media coverage was a circus. The town was in shambles. Jud could hardly show his face outside, and his beloved church was closed to the public, instead crawling with officers and half the Catholic clergy of New York. 

The clergy kindly offered Jud some time off away from Chimney Rock, but he declined. He had a feeling that if he left, they probably wouldn’t let him come back, and everything he’d worked for these past nine months would have been in vain. So instead he stood his ground, busying himself with packing away Samson and Martha’s things, organizing and eulogizing their funerals, and looking to hire short-term replacements.

It wasn’t easy. Doing anything felt borderline impossible. The bishop had to leave after a few days, and the rectory was now eerily empty. Jud kept catching himself hoping that Martha would sneak up on him and make him jump, and he prayed to hear Sam’s sports program blasting from across the garden one more time.

Instead, they were only ever there when he closed his eyes. Martha’s pale, poisoned lips. Samson, poor Samson, with his pierced chest. Jud’s eyes stung from crying. He hadn’t cried this much in years. Or slept so little.

And then there was the diamond. That wretched apple. Jud couldn’t make up his mind about whether to hide it or get rid of it. How do you even get rid of something like that? Bury it? Throw it in the water? What if someone fished it out? It didn’t feel right. It felt shameful. It felt unfair to both Martha and Grace.

So he bore it. He made it his own burden, obsessively checking that it was still there, that it didn’t suddenly disappear like Wicks’ poisoned flask. He kept rotating the hiding places, less scared of the police or Cy and his lackeys, moreso half-convinced that his nightmares of Wicks coming back to finish the job were premonitions.

In short, Jud was losing it.

But it wasn’t all bad. He still spoke with Louise, and a few other townspeople that blessedly hadn’t bought into Cy’s propaganda. What remained of Wicks’ old flock mostly ignored him, which he had to accept was for the best.

The one miracle to come out of all this was Benoit Blanc. Jud had assumed the detective would solve this case and move onto the next one, vanish out of Jud’s life with the same abruptness as his arrival. And he did disappear, often and swiftly, with few niceties or goodbyes.

But then a few days later he’d suddenly reappear: be it at hearings where Jud would have otherwise had to battle the tedium of bureaucracy alone, or online, posting statements to cushion some particularly devastating blows against Jud in the media, Benoit Blanc kept cropping up when he was needed the most. 

The bishop also informed Jud that Blanc was one of the main reasons Jud may yet get to keep his job.

“Blanc? Having church connections?” Jud was incredulous.

“He knows people who know people,” the bishop shrugged. “Perks of the job, I guess.”

The idea of the detective setting aside his distaste for the church to pull some mysterious socialite threads to let Jud keep his place here in Chimney Rock made Jud feel strangely uneasy. He tried to take it up with Blanc, who quickly dismissed his concerns.

“I made a whole mess out of that reveal, and now the media is on Cy’s side… I suppose I feel like I owe you some support, at the least,” Blanc said, abashed.

Jud shook his head. “You did the right thing back there. Martha and her story and the… you know…” 

Blanc quickly shushed him again, as he always did when Jud alluded to the “lost” inheritance. He steadfastly refused to acknowledge that particular elephant in the room.

“Sorry, sorry. But, yeah. None of it would be in safe hands otherwise. Not to mention how we saved her soul from eternal damnation.”

Blanc made a valiant attempt not to roll his eyes. He didn’t like being reminded of his Damascus moment.

“Yes, best not to mention that. Well, regardless. There have definitely been some consequences. Besides, I don’t have anythin' better to do at the moment.”

“What, no new impossible crime to solve?”

“Crazy, ain’t it? It’s a dyin' art form.”

“Well, I really appreciate it, Blanc,” he said sincerely. Blanc’s eyes crinkled with a humble smile, eyes looking anywhere but at Jud. Switching gears, Jud told him, “Hey, are you staying over for dinner? Kasia’s making something she calls blood soup, and I don’t wanna bear it alone.”

Kasia was the new groundskeeper that Jud found on short notice. She was an androgynous, heavy-footed Polish woman that dutifully held down the fort by taking over some of Martha and Samson’s old duties. It wasn’t quite enough, but it helped Jud keep his head above water, and he really appreciated everything about her. Even her strange soups.

Blanc hummed. “Mmm, Polish cuisine.” He considered Jud for a moment. “Sure, why not?”

And that was how it went, on and off, for two months. Blanc would appear out of nowhere, they’d have supper, indulge in a quick drink or two by the fireplace, and then he’d quickly excuse himself. Jud never knew if he was leaving for the Bed&Breakfast he stayed at or leaving town entirely. He didn’t want to seem pushy by asking.

So Jud practiced his own detective skills. He would quietly observe the detective and make private deductions: If he refuses supper, it’s a daytime visit. If he stays longer, maybe I’ll see him again tomorrow. If he gets a phone call, he might leave. If he only keeps frowning at his phone, he’ll stay.

Jud wrestled with the desire to ask what those numerous phone calls were about every time, but he wasn’t sure if they were work related, and he had the feeling the detective would not appreciate him prying. He hadn’t mentioned anything about himself or his life since their first meeting at the church, before Geraldine revealed his identity. Since then, it all felt extremely off-limits.

Until, one day, the detective arrived at the rectory not with his usual briefcase, but with a giant black box. At Jud’s raised eyebrows, he explained:

“It’s a mystery box. Won’t open unless you solve its puzzles. Allegedly very hard. I saw one of ‘em once but it was… uh, pre-opened. Since then, I’ve been dyin’ to get my hands on a fresh one, as a lil’ thought experiment. Do you mind lendin’ a hand? Unless you’re too busy, of course, I’d hate to—”

“Not at all,” Jud nearly jumped for joy. He had been inventing busywork for himself with nobody but Kasia and a house full of ghosts to keep him company. “I’m open. I mean, my afternoon is open. Let’s do it. I’ll clear the area in the living room.”

And so they tinkered well into the night. Some of the puzzles came easily to Blanc, others had him lighting up a cigar indoors (“Do you mind?” “Uh… not presently, but—” “Much obliged.”) and cussing lightly under his breath. Jud was mostly there to be a dutiful sounding board, although he did have a few good guesses in him. He mostly just sat on the couch and looked up at Blanc who, as Jud knew very well by now, liked to have an audience. 

Jud didn’t mind; he genuinely enjoyed watching Blanc work. There was nothing quite like someone who was very passionate about their job and incredibly good at it. It was something he liked seeing in Bishop Langstrom as well. And, he hoped, in himself, one day. 

Blanc had a certain panache to his work that Jud had never really seen in another man before. He was like a well-dressed magician, or a charismatic university professor, circling the box in his tailored suit and glasses and tinkering with its various corners, providing what Jud was sure was very insightful commentary as he did so. 

(He had stopped listening a few drinks ago. Blanc’s hair kept falling in his face and he kept swatting it away just for it to fall right back. Jud busied himself with hiding his smile behind his glass.)

“Clownin’ Derry, I think we’ve got it,” Blanc exclaimed eventually. “That took way too long. Swear you’ll never tell how long that took. Father, you have to swear.”

Before Jud could swear, Blanc’s phone buzzed. He took a quick look at it and a string of tension straightened his already very stiff shoulders.

“Shi-it,” he hissed. Jud shifted in his seat, bracing himself for another one of the detective’s signature quick exits. Instead, Blanc surprised him by throwing himself into the armchair by the fire.

“Pour me another one of those, will you?” Jud obliged. Blanc downed his drink in one, glaring at the box as he did. “Thought that’d feel better.”

“What, the bourbon? Or solving the puzzle?” 

“No, no, this is some class-A church bourbon,” Blanc said, waving Jud’s helpful hand away and grabbing the bottle for himself. “Winnin’, however. It rarely ever feels as good as you think it will.”

Intrigued by Blanc’s sudden mood shift, Jud opted for a small nod, his face betraying nothing. 

Blanc narrowed his eyes, then chuckled. 

“Hah, there he is. Hello, Padre. Didn’t think I’d activate ya that quickly.”

“What? What did I do?”

Blanc did something squinty to his face that suddenly made him look detached and patronizing. “Schoolin’ your features so as to not give away what you’re thinkin’. So your suspect – I mean, your repentant – won’t get their guard up and stop talkin’. We share quite a few tricks in our respective hats, don’t we?”

Jud blinked. “I didn’t realize I did that. Sorry. I don’t want to pry.”

“Ye-es you do. You just know better. But we can’t help who we are, can we,” Blanc said, blue eyes scrutinizing Jud from the rim of his glass. 

Increasingly uncertain how to respond, Jud held Blanc’s gaze, still keeping his face stubbornly blank. 

The detective broke first. 

“I’m sorry. I’m in a funny mood. Shouldn’t take it out on you, not after all your hospitality.”

“Puzzle box get to you that bad?” Jud said. His words were getting a bit slurred. Then, before he could stop himself, “Or was it Phillip?”

Blanc froze. 

Jud bit his lip.

Shit. 

“I’m so sorry Blanc, that was out of line. I shouldn’t have—”

To his surprise, Blanc laughed. If a little too loudly. “Not bad, detective Jud.” He turned to look at the fire, rubbing one eye behind his glasses. “I suppose this conversation was always comin’. Go ahead, ask your question,” he said with an indulgent nod.

Jud thumbed at his knuckles thoughtfully. “I don’t really—I mean, I’ve noticed that you get notifications from a Phillip. And sometimes they, uh, they kinda affect you. Is he… a friend?”

Blanc scoffed. “Uh-huh.” He took another sip of his drink.

Jud was suddenly aware that all this was a test, and that he was in serious danger of failing it. He tried another approach. “You know, when I open my church… All will be welcome. And I mean that. Me and the Bishop… We’ve actively been working on making the church open, you know, to everyone.”

“Not about to start trying to convert me, are you, Padre?”

“No! No. Not at all. I’m just trying to—”

“I know what you’re tryin’ to do, son.” Blanc sighed with audible disappointment. He was still staring away from Jud, the fire reflected in his spectacles. 

Jud lowered his head. Lord, I am messing this up so bad. But what else was he supposed to say? How was he being the difficult one here?

After a beat, Blanc took pity. “Ah, well. Credit where it’s due. You deduced correctly, Catholic mincing of words notwithstandin’. Phillip is—was. Is. My husband.”

Blanc scoffed at his own phrasing, visibly frustrated with himself. Jud softened.

“Family? Complicated?” he offered gently.

“You know it. Well, hah, complicated. Not really. This, what I do… It ain’t exactly easy to live with.”

“Married to the job,” Jud nodded. “I know a thing or two about that.”

“Yes. I suppose if anyone might understand, it’s you, Father Jud,” Blanc swiveled the armchair back to face the table. “That part, anyway.”

Jud snuck a glance at him. He was grateful to see a small smile on the detective’s lips despite the tension between them. He hesitantly returned it. 

“So, did you two—” Jud made another attempt, but it was too late. The detective was pointedly stretching and getting up.

“Oh, wow, look at the time. It’s gettin’ late. Thank you for your company, Father Jud. I’ll get this out of your way. Terribly sorry about the mess.”

“Don’t worry about it,” Jud said. He felt very tired all of a sudden, and a bit drunker than he’d thought. “You could always just stay here, you know. We’ve got a few spare rooms.”

Blanc waved him off, hands full of broken-down puzzle. “That won’t be necessary. I’ll be out of your hair in a second.” He practically ran out the door. “Alright, toodle-oo.”

Jud stared after him, hand stuck mid-air in a hesitant wave.

“Bye.”

 

 

***

 

 

Jud didn’t see the detective for a few weeks after that strange evening. He texted him a couple of times, sharing some interesting article links here and there, and Blanc would always respond, if a bit impersonally. Maybe he’s just not a good texter?

Jud suspected that he had messed up by sticking to a script. The open-minded priestly spiel might have worked on strangers, or even people in his flock, but Blanc was — different. 

It occurred to him that Blanc was the only actual atheist Jud knew.

“That’s bad, right? It’s bad. I shouldn’t be living in an echo chamber. Right?” Jud asked Bishop Langstrom over the phone. “I should be able to connect with, like, non-religious individuals,” he paused his pacing, adding, “even those who have no interest in converting.”

The bishop took a while to respond. Jud picked up his pacing speed. He usually didn’t mind how long Langstrom took to collect his thoughts, but today he was a little too wired.

“Your Excellency?”

“I’m here, Jud,” the bishop sighed. “Look. Benoit Blanc isn’t just any heretic. He is a world renowned genius, and — in my experience anyway — a fantastic conversationalist. But, from what you’ve told me? Maybe that’s the case only as long as you don’t talk to him about anything too… real.”

Jud frowned. “Yeah, but — but we’re —” Close. Was that true? Jud wasn’t sure. He wanted it to be. He considered the detective a friend. Was he wrong to assume the feeling was mutual? After everything they’d been through? After all of Blanc’s drop-ins?

“We’re priests, it’s what we do, yes, I know,” the bishop said. “I just don’t think talking to him like a priest is going to get you anywhere.”

“I don’t know how else to talk,” Jud said defeatedly. “Not when it’s about real things.”

“Then maybe that’s something you could work on,” the bishop suggested. 

Jud rubbed a hand across his face. “I just don’t want to push another person away. From the church, I mean,” he added quickly.

The bishop chuckled. “You’re in no danger of pushing Benoit Blanc further away from the church than he already is, kid, trust me. But you have a point. Being friends with someone like him could be very rewarding. Especially since it sounds like he helps you remember who you are outside the church.”

“But there is no me outside of the church,” Jud said with a frown.

“Now who’s inventing the echo chamber,” the bishop shot back, not unkindly.

Jud paused to consider that, and upon considering it he decided that it annoyed him. 

“Alright, I see your point. Thanks, Bishop.”

“Any time, kid.”

 

***

 

 

Just when Jud thought things were finally calming down in the town, a downpour of vandalism came upon the church and the rectory. Graffiti, broken windows, all of it at once. When Jud ran outside to try to get a good look at the culprits, he got rewarded with a rock to the face. 

“I just don’t understand why you won’t report them,” Kasia said, putting ice on Jud’s broken nose. 

“It’s just kids, Kasia,” Jud said, not for the first time. “They don’t mean anything by it.”

They were high school-age, by the looks of it. Maybe college. Cy’s meddling crossed Jud’s mind, but he doubted that even Cy would be that petty and vengeful. Then again, he didn’t have to get his hands dirty. He did all his damage online. Jud sighed. The boys’ cackling still rang in his ears. The name “Judas Priest” may have been sing-songed. 

Jud tried not to let his worsening infamy get him down. It was just that he was also essentially unemployed and running out of things to do and people to talk to. Even when he wanted to go to confession, he had to make like the rest of the town and commute almost twenty miles to the nearest catholic church. And now his two friends – bishop Langstrom and detective Blanc – were also too busy for him. 

And maybe this was controversial, but Jud found that he could only spend so much of his day talking to God before he started to feel a little abandoned.

At a loss for what else to do, Jud started writing. It was just a bit of journaling at first, a space to materialize his thoughts. Then he wrote down everything he knew about Grace and Martha. After that, he moved on to the other members of the flock. They really jumped off the page, with their larger-than-life personalities. Then he found himself tinkering with the detective of the story, merging his role and Blanc’s role into that of a lonesome priest that solved local crimes because he just couldn’t help himself.

It was incredibly self-indulgent, and he was embarrassed at the idea of anyone — especially Blanc — ever reading it, but it soothed him. Writing was not unlike praying, in a way, it turned out.

 

 

***

 

 

One late summer morning, Jud’s personal phone rang for the first time in what felt like ages: a FaceTime request from Blanc. Jud nearly tripped all over himself to answer it.

His phone screen came alive with a bright, smiling Blanc, lounging at an outdoor cafe with what looked like vaguely European architecture as his backdrop. Shielding his eyes from the sun, Blanc squinted down at him.

“Hoo-ey, someone decked ya good. You doin’ alright, boy?”

Jud glanced at himself in the corner of the screen and winced. He’d momentarily forgotten that his nose still looked a mess. “What, this? You should see the other guy.”

Blanc laughed his huge laugh. He looked sunkissed and more cheerful than Jud had ever seen him, pastel ascot and fruity drink in tow. 

“Look, Father, I don’t wanna bother you if you’re in recovery—”

“Blanc, it’s literally just a broken nose. Some kids got carried away with their vandalism. Tell me what you need, I’m here.”

“Alright, if you say so. Look, I’m here in Rome and I—”

“In Rome? Blanc. Are you at the Conclave?”

“Well I’m not at the Conclave, as you know, it’s an awfully private affair—”

“I do know!” Jud laughed incredulously. “What are you doing there?”

“If you’ll let me finish,” Blanc said primly, “I have a couple of questions for a man of God such as yourself. Now, and please don’t let this get out, but there’s been a murder.”

Jud gasped. “At the Vatican?”

“Well, not exactly. I can’t talk about it in detail, I just need to fact-check some things by you. There, uh, isn’t anyone here I’d trust not to lie. Would that be alright?”

“Absolutely. Fire away.”

They spoke about the case for a while, Jud wracking his brain for anything he might remember about the Vatican that could be of any use to the detective. Blanc leaned his tablet on the restaurant table, freeing his hands to jot down notes on a little notepad. Jud was rewarded with a view of his form-hugging striped white shirt, and what looked like a pair of remarkably high-waisted linen trousers underneath. 

The connection gave out for a moment, and Jud caught his own busted reflection, smiling dumbly at his phone. Fortunately, his fashionable southern friend popped back on the screen before he could feel too self-conscious.

“Thank you, Father,” Blanc said. "This has been a very enlightenin’ conversation.” 

“Jud.”

“Pardon? What was that?” Blanc put his ear to the screen. He FaceTimed like an old person. Jud suppressed another laugh. 

“You can just call me Jud. If you want. Sorry, I probably should’ve said that ages ago.”

Blanc paused to hide his eyes behind sunglasses, but he was smiling. “If you insist. Thanks for all your help, Jud.”

Jud liked hearing his name in the detective’s accent. Ju-uhd.

“Any time. Seriously, it’s so boring here,” he admitted. “I mean, no, it’s not boring. The paperwork never stops, Cy never lets up, and the townsfolk are keeping things more eventful than I’d like. I just, you know. I wish the church would open sooner.” Jud winced at the sudden burst of complaining. None of this was the detective’s problem.

But Blanc’s eyes seemed to soften behind his sunglasses. “How long, now?”

“They said not ‘til next year. If that.”

“Ah. Well, maybe when I’m back —” A flutter of words spoken in agitated Italian interrupted Blanc just off-screen. The detective’s face darkened. “Sorry, Fa—sorry Jud, I gotta skedaddle. Catch you—” He hung up.

“Later?” Jud finished for him.

Maybe when I’m back.

After the call, Jud went downstairs for lunch. Kasia eyed him dubiously as he wolfed down her unconventional soup, smiling to himself the whole time.

 

 

***

 

 

The Conclave Murders were all over the news by the following week.

“I helped solve those,” Jud said, pointing at the news on the TV above the bar. He’d started frequenting Il Diavolo again because the owner was one of the few people that never minded his presence. Sadly Nikolai wasn’t there that evening, just his long-suffering wife, who did not share the same fondness for Jud. She glared at him.

 “Solved what?”

“The, uh, the Conclave…” Jud trailed off, remembering that it wasn’t very pious to brag or seek credit. He filed away five Hail Marys about it for later.

“O-okay Father, I think you’ve had enough of those. You good to drive home?”

“Oh, for sure. Don’t worry about it.”

Jud knew his penchant for drunken biking wasn’t very safe, but there was nobody there to tell him otherwise. Plus it was safer than an actual car, so he figured God didn’t mind that much. And so he bravely mounted his bike and cycled in uncertain figure-eights on the empty streets, idly humming to himself to fill the silence.

Then, beneath the streetlights in the near distance, he saw a flash of a white hat getting out of a dark car. 

Could it be?

Blanc?

Jud sped up his cycling. The wind picked up speed, getting some of the haziness out of his eyes.

“Blanc!” Jud yelled. The figure spun around with a flourish. It really was him.

Jud reached him and pulled over with a screech. Blanc took an uncertain step back, regarding him with raised eyebrows.

Jud looked him over. He was still in his “Italian summer” getup, shell-pink bandana and off-white polo shirt pleasantly contrasting his tanned skin. He was even wearing boat shoes.

“Wow,” Jud said nonsensically. He was very out of breath.

Blanc shifted his weight. “Uh, hello.” 

“You’re here!” Jud said. Noticing Blanc’s tan suitcase, he added. “Did you fly back here from Italy? Directly here?”

“Uh, well, no, I had a layover,” Blanc said vaguely. “What are you doin’, bikin’ out here at this hour?”

“Just on my way home. Oh, this is the B&B,” Jud realized, looking up at the building above them. “That makes sense.”

“I’m sure it does,” Blanc shook his head at Jud with a smile, and then turned away from him and gripped his suitcase. He seemed tired, and a little off-kilter.

“Wait, wait, lemme help you with that,” Jud demanded, but alas, untangling his legs from his bike proved to be a feat of great difficulty. The suitcase and Blanc were already in the doorway by the time he was free. Jud climbed up after him, anyway.

“Ooh, can I take a peek? I’ve always wondered what it’s like in there.” And why you choose to stay here instead of at my rectory, he valiantly stopped himself from blurting out.

Blanc wordlessly opened the door wider and beckoned Jud inside, tired blue eyes crinkled with amusement. It was nothing special, just as floral and ugly as any other B&B. Jud pursed his lips in a totally non-judgmental manner. Blanc let out a giggle.

“What? I didn’t say anything,” he argued. Blanc opened his mouth to respond, but then—

“Mr. Blanc? You’re late. Check-ins ended two hours ago,” a stern-looking woman whose face Jud couldn’t place materialized behind the front desk. “Oh. Hello, Father.”

“My apologies, Cheryl, the Father was just leavin’,” Blanc said. “I’ll see you later, okay, Padre? Are you good to, uh, ride that stallion home?”

Jud waved him off, shoulders hunching down in disappointment. “Fine, I’m fine, I’m going.”  

The detective watched him as he steadied himself back on his bike. Before leaving, Jud looked back at the figure in the doorway. 

“I’m glad you’re back, Blanc,” he said with a lopsided smile. “Straight from Italy.”

Blanc rolled his eyes dismissively, but, unless Jud was imagining things, he also looked a little sheepish.

“See you tomorrow, Jud.”

 

 

***

 

 

Blanc didn’t reappear until the afternoon, by which point Jud had half-convinced himself their late-night encounter was a drunken dream. He’d waited patiently for the detective to drop by, busying himself with his mountain of paperwork and pretending he wasn’t nursing a pulsating hangover.

By the time Blanc did show up, Jud was half asleep at his desk.

“Lookin’ kinda down, Father Brown,” Blanc quipped.

Jud jumped. He hadn’t heard anyone come in. No one had snuck up on him like that since… Since Martha. He quickly pushed the thought away.

“Hey, Blanc,” Jud said. “Not down, just tired. Did you sleep okay?”

“Oh, yes, for twelve hours. No jetlag for me.”

“That’s great.”

A strange pause. Jud noted that Blanc was back in one of his three-piece suits. There was a new energy about him now, an erratic kind of buzz around the edges.

“Already on a new case?” Jud guessed.

“Undetermined,” Blanc said. “Soon, probably. Actually, uh, that’s what I came here to talk to you about. May I?” he asked, gesturing towards the second chair by Jud’s desk.

“Of course,” Jud said. “Just… push those papers off. Yeah.”

The detective made himself comfortable, and then the two men just sort of sat there and smiled at each other.

“So, uh, Jud?” Blanc said at length, toying with the hem of his hat.

His coyness was starting to make Jud nervous. 

“Yes, Blanc?” 

Blanc opened his mouth to speak, then closed it. Then he sighed, suddenly impatient with himself.

“Look, Father, I know you’re busy, and you know I’d hate to take you away from your priestly duties, but I figure — since you said it’s been dull — and since I haven’t had much luck findin’ my Watsons these past few cases — how would you feel about joinin’ me on this next one? Hmm? As my Watson?”

Blanc’s stumbling around that request was so endearing that Jud had the urge to reach over and hug him, but the moment didn’t strike him as right. Jud could never really tell when the right time was for something like that. It used to be Blanc that initiated all their casual touches, but he hadn’t since he — since before that night with the box.

Not that Jud was keeping a tally. 

“Uh, Padre?”

“Huh? Oh, yes. Yeah, if it’s just for a few days, I can be your Watson. Yep. Let’s do it.”

Blanc laughed. Jud joined in. Them matching each other’s awkwardness helped dissipate it a little.

“Well. Great!”

 

 

***

 

 

The case turned out to be a multi-suspect murder mystery at a coastal town a few hours north of Chimney Rock. They drove up to it on a Thursday, with Blanc swearing it wouldn’t take longer than a weekend. 

(“I told you, Blanc, I’m practically unemployed right now. It’s fine.” Jud had insisted.

“You say that now, but I know for a fact that one phone call will have you ditchin’ me and runnin’ back to your parish.”

“... You've got me there.”)

A private school squabble had ended with a professor dead in his office. Blanc’s efforts on this one mostly consisted of keeping up with teen drama. 

“Are you gettin’ all this, Father?”

“Yes,” Jud said dutifully from where he sat with his notepad. It was a mess of names such as “Kayleigh” and “Mackenzie” and arrows pointing at who had beef with whom. “Barely.”

“Why are you working with a priest, anyway?” asked Mackenzie, whose turn it was to be questioned by the detective. “This isn’t a catholic school.”

Blanc shrugged. “Priests make good listeners,” he said, shooting a fond glance at Jud.

Jud bit back a smile and pretended to scribble something in his notebook.

Mackenzie looked between them with the sort of disgust one could only ever find on a teenage girl’s face. “Ew.”

 

 

***

 

 

Blanc didn’t seem to need much more from Jud than some rather one-sided brainstorming and the occasional note-taking, so Jud took a few hours to explore the town by himself. He had to admit that leaving Chimney Rock felt nice, and very needed after the year he’d had. Nobody knew him here. His frock attracted some looks, but no more than usual. He even managed to visit the local church, and had an amicable conversation with a couple of elderly nuns.

His heart ached for a place like this. For a sense of normalcy and kindness. He quietly admitted to himself that the loneliest parts of him were on the edge of giving up, on letting Fortitude rot and moving onto something else. But the stubborn side of him, the side that guided the rest of him like a compass, was determined to make it work. He took the diamond. He bit the apple. He would end the cycle. It was to be his penance.

He just wished it would happen already. In some ways, the aftermath of the murders felt worse than those months he’d spent under Wicks’ thumb. At least back then he was fighting for something, scheming, making a bad thing work. Now he was in limbo, watching the days go by, and at times his thoughts veered a little too far away from God than he would have liked.

It was worrying that he was doing this at all, playing detectives with Blanc again. That, and writing his borderline blasphemous mystery stories. And hiding an entire inheritance from a son that legally did deserve it. Jud was only a priest in theory anymore, and it was really starting to get to him. But what else could he do?

“Penny for your thoughts,” a familiar southern drawl pulled him back down to Earth. 

Jud blinked. He was sitting in the sand, facing the ocean. It was a cloudy day, but bits of sunlight kept peeking through the grey clouds. Blanc hovered next to him, coattails gently moving in the wind. Jud watched them sway for a while before finally answering.

“Same old, you know,” he shrugged. “I miss being a real priest.” He stood up and dusted himself off. 

Blanc’s eyes followed his movements. “You know, most people in your position, they’d leave. Take a breather, move somewhere else. Pursue other options.”

Jud shot him a look. “And what would you say if someone told you to leave and pursue other options?”

“I’d tell ‘em to go fuck themselves.”

“Well, there you have it, detective.”

Blanc chuckled appreciatively.

They proceeded to walk together along the beach, idly talking about the case. Blanc was already on the cusp of solving it. He looked like the cat that got the cream, serene rather than wired. Jud was finding that he liked “waiting game” Blanc better than “case-drunk” Blanc; he was still high on the murder-mystery fumes, but he also stopped to smell the roses.

“So you definitely know who did it?”

“I’ve got an inklin’”

“Who?”

“You’ll see.”

“You sure you don’t wanna tell me?” Jud batted his eyelashes, basking in his own childishness.

“Hey, I ain’t pointin’ fingers ‘til I’m certain. Innocent until proven guilty, remember?”

Jud nodded. “Very graceful of you, detective.”

At the word graceful, a patch of sunlight broke free from the clouds and lit them both up.

“I swear, the sun follows you, boy,” Blanc told him.

“The sun is always there,” Jud deflected. But it was true, this was the most sun they’d gotten since they’d arrived here. A perfect golden hour. Jud took a deep breath. The oceanside air really was doing him good. And now, with Blanc at his side, Jud was struggling to remember why he was so down a few minutes ago.

“Do you swim?” he asked the detective. 

“Not if I can help it.”

“I used to love swimming. I haven’t gone swimming, God, in years.”

“Well, I ain’t gonna stop ya.”

Jud blinked. “What, now?”

“Why not? You’ve got everything you need,” Blanc said. “Water,” he said, pointing to the ocean. “Sunlight. No one around.”

“Except you.”

“Oh, I don’t count,” Blanc said. “Here, I’ll close my eyes.”

“Seriously?”

“Dead serious.”

“But won’t it be cold?” Jud asked. 

The idea of an impromptu swim was obviously ludicrous, and yet Jud’s fingers were already thumbing at the button under his collar.

“Likely freezin’, yes.”

“I really do miss it,” Jud admitted. “Okay, what the hell. I mean, hah, what the heck.”

Jud removed his collar and then wavered. The feeling of indecency was immediate. But the sun glistened over the waves, and the salty water smelled so inviting. Who knew when he’d have a chance like this again?

He hesitantly moved on to the buttons.

By the time Jud was half-undressed, Blanc had dropped the pretense of covering his eyes, hands rummaging his coat pockets for a lighter instead.

Once he found it, he snuck a glimpse at Jud’s bare chest, gaze traveling up to his neck to find his tattoo. Jud turned towards the water to avoid meeting Blanc’s eyes, aware that he was giving him a better vantage point in the process.

“Feels kinda weird when it’s only me doing it.”

“Yeah, well. Welcome to my world.”

Jud laughed, even though what the detective said made no sense. He felt strangely light-headed. Blanc struggled to light his cigar against the wind. Jud moved closer to help, but he shooed him away. “Go on, now. The ocean awaits.”

Jud did as he was told.

Getting into the water was a shock to the system; Jud shrieked multiple times. Swimming in the ocean, however, was another thing entirely. It was cold, but the cold was not unwelcome. It felt freeing and dangerous at the same time, the wind beckoning bigger and bigger waves for Jud to swim against. He didn’t mind. He liked a challenge.

Blanc watched him from afar, light autumn coat flapping in the wind. He looked like a detective from a story. Which, Jud supposed, was what he was. And he kept sweeping Jud into his stories. He wondered if he would ever work up the courage to ask why. Why him.

He swam deeper.

 

 

***

 

 

Emerging from the water was a slightly mortifying affair. Jud felt like a raw, goosebump-riddled chicken. Probably looked it, too.

“I did not think this through,” he laughed awkwardly, teeth clacking. With an absent-minded smile, Blanc handed him back his clothes. Everything but his boxers, which were damply glued to Jud’s thighs.

“That feel good?”

“Yeah,” Jud said breathlessly. “Really good.”

“Good.” Then, after a beat, “Good boy.”

Jud suddenly didn’t feel the cold anymore.

 

 

***

 

 

Jud couldn’t sleep. He kept tossing and turning in his large, unfamiliar bed, disoriented and constantly having to remind himself where he was. 

In a coastal town. At a hotel suite. Blanc is in the other room. I’m safe. I probably have a fever. I shouldn’t have gone swimming in the fucking wind.

He really did feel feverish. He was hot to the touch. His throat burned. Something had changed in the air, some sort of charged electricity beneath his skin zapping everything it brushed against. It frightened him. He wanted to go home.

Home to what? 

With an annoyed groan, Jud got up. He would go for a walk, clear his head. Ask Blanc to let him leave first thing in the morning. He had practically solved the case already anyway, he said so himself.

He put his frock back on and snuck out of his room. The idea of anyone seeing him without it, even for a night walk, made him feel way too exposed.

“Goin’ somewhere?” Blanc’s voice sounded off from the living room area. Jud jumped.

He turned to look at Blanc. He was still wearing his full three piece suit, sitting on the couch beneath a lamp. His face reflected a soft shade of blue, courtesy of the tablet in his lap.

“Can’t sleep either?” Jud asked him in lieu of answering.

Blanc shook his head. “Never can, this close to crackin’ a case.” He nodded his chin at the spot on the couch next to him. “Care to join?”

Jud hesitated. “Only if you want me to.”

“Of course,” Blanc said. “There’s a murderin’ teenager on the prowl. Best to be safe and stay inside.”

Jud chuckled. “So it is one of the teens.”

Blanc scrunched up his nose in response. Jud sat down next to him on the couch and glanced at his tablet.

“What are you reading?”

“Honestly? The kids’ final essays. I doubt they’ll ever be read, what with their teacher bein’ dead and all. They put so much effort into ‘em. It’s a cryin’ shame.”

Jud smiled. That struck him as very sweet. “Anything good?”

“Oh, yes. Mackenzie is a firecracker, that one.”

“Think she did it?”

“I simply cannot say.”

A pause.

“Blanc?”

“Mm?”

“Do you mind if I pray?”

“Oh. Uh, no, not at all.”

With Blanc’s permission, Jud closed his eyes, laced his fingers, and tried to pray. For the dead teacher, for these girls. For Blanc, which he did often, although he knew better than to ever admit it to the detective. But try as Jud did to focus, his head kept swimming. He still felt woozy and untethered. Like he never fully emerged from the ocean. 

He didn’t realize that he was fussing in his seat until Blanc chuckled. “Pleather couch not doin’ it for ya, your Holiness?”

Embarrassed and defeated, Jud slumped backwards onto the couch. “I don’t know. I don’t know what’s wrong with me.”

“Wrong with you?”

Jud said nothing. His limp body began sliding off the squeaky pleather cushions. He didn’t move to stop it. Eventually, he was fully just sitting on the floor. Blanc watched this happen over the rim of his reading glasses, expression caught somewhere between amusement and concern.

“You alright there, Jud?”

Jud shook his head. “It’s fine. I think I’m just going insane.” He spun around until he was kneeling in front of the couch, right next to Blanc’s knees. He laced his fingers and stubbornly attempted to pray once more.

Blanc didn’t stop watching him, Jud could tell. He could tell even with his eyes closed. The electricity in the air amplified. He wanted to ask for something, but he didn’t know what. He opened one eye, made eye contact with Blanc, immediately shut it again. 

At that, Blanc cleared his throat and lightly shifted in his seat, going back to his essays. 

His knee bumped into Jud’s elbow.

Jud felt something inside him crack open and leak hot liquid all over his insides.

Why won’t you touch me anymore?

Jud sighed shakily. His elbows were starting to give out. His head felt too heavy for his neck. He needed somewhere to rest it. He just wanted to rest.

Blanc’s knee protruded invitingly to his left. Jud slowly, imperceptibly leaned his head until it made contact. Then he left it there.

Blanc’s leg tensed up beneath him. Neither of them breathed.

Jud felt pathetic. He gently rubbed his temple against Blanc’s knee, the rough fabric a welcome sensation amidst all that void he was feeling within and around him.

Please.

An intake of breath. Blanc’s arm rose from somewhere above Jud, hovering in mid-air. Jud didn’t see any of this. He could feel it. He could sense every part of Blanc’s body with every fiber of his own. 

Finally, Blanc’s fingers found their way into Jud’s hair. 

The relief was instant. Jud’s entire body sagged underneath the touch. 

Thank you.

The weight of Blanc’s hand rested comfortably on Jud’s head, moving from time to time. Eventually, he started lightly scratching his scalp. Jud tried not to make a sound, terrified to ruin the moment, grateful it was happening at all. The touch was grounding him, warming him up in more ways than one. 

Blanc, on his part, continued with his work. Jud chanced a glance up at him, but the detective wouldn’t meet his eyes. He kept his face expressionless, his breath steady. As if this was normal. Nothing out of the ordinary. 

Gratitude and frustration bubbled up inside Jud in equal measures, but he was too out of it to do anything about either feeling. He burrowed his face into Blanc’s knee and shuffled closer to make himself more comfortable, to absorb as much comfort as he could out of this fragile moment. 

Blanc’s hand never left his hair. 

They stayed like that until the sunrise started peeking through the window, illuminating them both.

 

 

***

 

 

Blanc solved the case the next day. It was not Mackenzie. 

Jud went home to Chimney Rock. Blanc went — wherever he went when he wasn’t around.

They spoke to each other just enough to say goodbye.

 

 

***

 

 

Autumn was suddenly in full force, and Jud completely stopped the pretense of keeping up with his busywork. Ever since he got back from the seaside, he’d been feeling off-kilter. Agitated. Spaced out. He commuted out of town for a confession, and ended up not really confessing anything. What was there to confess? He didn’t do anything. 

Jud dug up Samson’s boxing bag, one of the few belongings he hadn’t ended up donating. He hung it back up in the garage, and started barrelling into it twice a day.

We didn’t do anything.

Louise’s mother finally succumbed to her illness, and Jud was ashamed at how relieved he felt at having something real to do. He practically made himself her family’s at-home priest, to the point where he could tell he was getting on everyone’s nerves.

“I really appreciate everything you’ve done for us, Father,” Louise finally told him. “But I think we’re ready to grieve alone.”

God.

“Of course, Louise. I’m sorry again for your loss.”

Dammit.

The unsettling dreams were also back. Sometimes it was Wicks and Nat, sometimes it was… men from before. Jud sweated through his bedsheets on a near-nightly basis, shamefully washing them at dawn, before Kasia could wake up and shoot him with a look.

On top of it all, he had begun moving the diamond around so often that half the time even he wasn’t sure where it was. Which was, needless to say, terrifying every time it happened, even for a second.

On one such night, a night of night terrors and sweating and where the hell is it, Jud panicked so hard that he ended up dialing Blanc’s number before thinking it through. He was on all fours on the hardwood floor of his room, once again desperately rummaging through his belongings.

Where the fuck is it.

Blanc picked up on the third ring. “Hellow?” his voice was gruff with sleep, deeper than Jud had ever heard it. It immediately soothed something in him.

“Blanc,” he breathed. “Hi. I’m so sorry. I’m so sorry about this.”

“What — what’s wrong, Jud?” Blanc asked. The concern in his voice made Jud want to cry.

“I lost it. I fucking lost the—,” but before he could finish the dreadful sentence, the diamond rolled down along the floor, seemingly from nowhere. Jud stared at it dumbly. Then he glared up at the cross directly above.

I fucking hate when You do that.

The cross didn’t respond.

But Blanc did. “Do what? Lost what? Boy, you ain’t makin’ any sense.” He sounded genuinely alarmed.

Shame washed over Jud like a wave.

“Fuck. I’m so sorry, Blanc. I was — I think I was having a bad dream. About losing — something important. I’m sorry to wake you. I’m really embarrassed.”

“Who is it, love?” someone near Blanc asked. A man. An English, sleepy-sounding man. Jud froze.

“It’s nothing, it’s work, go back to sleep. Jud, let me call you right back, all right?”

Jud squeezed his eyes shut. “There’s really no need, Blanc. I apologize. Go back to your — to your husband.”

“Now, wait just a minute—”

Jud hung up and tossed away his phone like it burned him. He slumped down on the floor, feeling more pathetic than he had ever felt in his life. He eyed the wretched diamond. Wicks Senior opting to just swallow it and end it all was starting to make a frightful amount of sense. 

His phone kept buzzing. Jud tried to ignore it, but Blanc was relentless. After a few minutes, he accrued enough guilt about making the man worry and forced himself to pick up.

“Hello,” he said, feeling very stupid.

A huff of noise on the phone told him that Blanc was sighing in relief. 

“You are a real piece of work, you know that?” he informed Jud.

“I’m doing well, Blanc, how are you?” 

“Don’t get cocky with me, son, you just scared the bejesus out of—,” Blanc stopped himself. “Look. Are you all right?”

Jud shook his head, a single hot tear escaping from his closed eyelids. “No. No, not really.”

Blanc paused. “How can I help? Are you safe? Is everything… safe?”

“Everything is safe,” Jud said. Except maybe my eternal soul. “I just, uh. Yep. I’m having a rough night.”

“I’m sorry to hear that,” Blanc said. “And I’m sorry I haven’t dropped by. I’m uh, I’m actually in England right now.”

“It’s not your responsi—wait, England?” Jud frowned up at the ceiling. “You mean—”

“Yes, yes, the ol’ Queen and country. Well, King now, I suppose. It’s actually eight a.m. here, so, y’know. There could’ve been worse times for you to have called. Phillip just really ain’t a morning person.”

So it was Phillip. “Are you two… back together?” Jud asked, hoping his tone wasn’t betraying anything.

Blanc made a noncommittal noise. “It’s complicated. We’re actually here to, uh, settle some property issues. For the divorce.”

Jud’s head was suddenly reeling with all this juicy new information. Personal agonies temporarily forgotten, he tentatively tried pushing further. “Wait. So, you are getting a divorce? But you traveled to England with your, um, with Phillip, and then slept in the same room?”

Blanc huffed out a laugh. “Yep. Welcome to gay marriage.”

Jud bit his lip. “Thanks for having me.” 

Blanc’s laugh increased in volume. “I can’t explain it any better than that. This place, it’s his family’s cottage. It holds a lot of memories for us, this place.”

“Oh,” Jud said. After a beat, “Tell me about them?” he asked softly.

Blanc hesitated. “Are you sure? Would that help your, uh, situation?”

Would it? 

“I don’t know,” he admitted. “I’m just… yeah. I’d like to hear it, I think. If you don’t mind.”

When he spoke again, Blanc’s voice was surprisingly gentle. “Alright. Well, I met Phillip in the ‘90s during a particularly interestin’ case that turned out to be a big turnin’ point in my career…”

Jud closed his eyes and listened, picturing it all: two young men, sharply dressed. Solving a rich man’s murder in the gloomy English countryside. Young Blanc, handsome and blond, face clear of lines and stubble. And Phillip, who Jud didn’t know, but he imagined him as brunette and curly-haired, maybe slightly taller. 

Blanc, true to form, focused on the tale of the crime, with all its twists and turns and sneaky suspects. But beneath the murder mystery there was a story of two lonely souls that recognized something in each other, a certain pull. They couldn’t be more different, Phillip an Oxford boy, Blanc a nobody from smalltown Louisiana. But it happened. A brush of hands here, an ill-advised glance there. Propelled towards each other by the adrenaline of the case. They fell in love.

Jud felt a familiar ache rising deep within his bones. Their love story sounded wretchedly beautiful. It sounded like nothing he had ever gotten to experience. Not until it was too late.

“... And I couldn’t stay, so he came to New York with me,” Blanc concluded. “He made so many compromises for me. All our lives. Always him. Never me.”

Jud hummed. “Mmm. Married to the job.”

“First and foremost, always,” Blanc sighed. “Well, it got to a boilin’ point. Covid, you know. He told me he wasn’t happy anymore.” 

“I’m really sorry, Blanc,” Jud said.

“Eh, it’s alright. I was scared at first, but uh, I’m better now. I think.”

“Yeah? What changed?” 

“Oh… you know. A bunch of things. This trip, for one,” Blanc’s tone was shifting into something unreadable. Jud propped himself up on his elbows, eager to hear more. “Helped me think that maybe I ain't about to lose him completely. And, I, uh…” he trailed off.

A strange air of anticipation filled Jud’s room.

“And?” Jud prompted.

“And, uh. Well. I honestly didn’t think it was possible, but, uh, I think I’ve met someone.”

Jud could feel his heart in his ribcage. Stop it, he told it.

“Oh?”

“Yeah. Similarly married to his job,” Blanc’s voice suggested a hesitant smile. “Similarly neurotic about it all.”

Jud tried to swallow. His mouth was very dry. “Sounds like you have a lot in common.”

“Not at all,” Blanc laughed. “Diametrically opposed in almost every way. But he’s a good — he’s a good man.” He cleared his throat. “He makes me want to be better.”

Jud’s head was swimming. His eyes unfocused. He was starting to feel untethered again.

“I’m sure it’s mutual,” he heard himself say.

“See, I don’t know about that, Father,” Blanc said. “In fact, I think I’m a mighty horrible influence. A future regret. Maybe even a present one.”

“No,” Jud said unthinkingly. “I mean, I don’t see how you could be that for anyone.” 

The line went quiet. Jud looked down at his phone. The call was still green.

“Blanc? You still there?”

“I am,” Blanc sighed. “God help me, but I am.”

Jud smiled. “Me, too.” 

God help us both.

 

 

***

 

 

Jud had every intention of turning Blanc’s words in his mind over and over until they pushed him off the precipice of sanity he’d been balancing himself on. He was both dreading and looking forward to it, sinking into it but not quite addressing it yet. 

But alas, the very next day after the call, a brisk knock on the door beat Jud to the punch.

“Hello, Father Jud Duplenticy?”

Jud frowned, confused.

“You know it’s me, Jerry,” he told the police officer.

The man remained unmoved. He handed him an envelope. “You’ve been served.”

Jud took the package, frown deepening. “Served what?”

“A lawsuit. By Cy Wicks. He’s suing the church. And you.”

“Oh,” Jud said dumbly. “Okay.”

He slammed the door in Jerry’s face.

 

 

***

 

 

In the four hours since Jerry handed him that envelope, Jud had barely moved. He hadn’t called anyone. Not the Bishop, not Blanc. He hadn’t even told Kasia. He’d just holed himself up in the living room, by the fireplace, side-eyeing the papers. 

Nursing his third glass of bourbon, he played a little game where he mentally listed every single sin he remembered committing. It was almost soothing.

Something grim and sticky was spreading across his insides. The ever-familiar feeling of a man knowing he is destined for the gallows. The first shoe had dropped. He was waiting for the second one.

As if on cue, his phone lit up. It was Blanc. Jud answered on the first buzz. He was past caring how that made him look.

“I’m not interruptin’ anything, am I?” Blanc’s voice sounded a little hazy, like maybe he’d been drinking too. It was probably around midnight for him, somewhere across the Atlantic.

“Not really,” Jud said. Then, unable to help himself, “Can I — Could I maybe see you?” 

Blanc obliged, FaceTime video blinking into view. He was in some sort of antiquated office, lit up by a green banker’s lamp. He was wearing a button-up and black suspenders, free hand holding a glass of dark liquor. 

“Cheers,” Jud said, lifting his own.

Blanc nodded appreciatively. “Bottoms up.”

“And the devil laughs.”

They both snickered, although it wasn’t that funny.

“Just, uh, callin’ to check in,” Blanc said vaguely. “Make sure you’re doin’ alright.”

Did he know? Surely he wouldn’t be so calm if he’d heard.

“Oh, yeah, I’m great,” Jud assured him. He aimed for sarcasm, but even he could hear the despair in his words. “Thriving, really.”

Blanc’s brow furrowed. 

“What’s goin’ on?”

Jud opened his mouth to answer, but then Blanc cut him off.

“Listen, Jud, if this is about—what I said—”

What he said? Jud mirrored Blanc’s frown.

“Wait, what do you mean?”

Blanc shuffled a bit, clearing his throat. “I, uh, what we talked about earlier, it was — I was —” he paused, clearly picking his next words carefully. “You know I haven’t been in my right mind recently, what with my uh, my personal affairs, and I just — I think I said some things I shouldn’t have.”

The dread that had been spreading across his chest reached Jud’s throat.

“Is that right?” he managed.

“I—I just don’t want you to think that I’m tryin’ to be inappropriate with you,” Blanc said uncomfortably. He looked as if someone was holding him at gunpoint. It was painful to watch. “I would never do anything untoward.”

Anything untoward. Heaven forfend.

Jud clenched his jaw. He couldn’t say he wasn’t expecting something like this. He’d just been hoping — hoping they’d have more time.

That’ll be the other shoe dropping.

He searched Blanc’s pixelated face. He had it schooled in that unassuming, squinty way he’d called out Jud for sporting all those months ago.

Bubbling with rage and shame, Jud forced a tight smile. “Right. Yeah, no, of course. Makes sense.” Then, “You being back with Phillip and all.”

That got to Blanc, as Jud knew it would, as mentioning Phillip always did. His nostrils flared. “That ain’t—that’s not the issue here and you know it.” 

Then, after a put-on sigh, “I’m just tryin’ to get us back on course before this car veers straight off a cliff.”

“How graceful of you,” Jud said with mock-awe. He knew he was being difficult, that Blanc was condemning himself for Jud’s own benefit. But with everything that had happened recently, Jud felt he should be allowed a bit of insolence.

On his end, the detective was visibly trying not to squirm. Jud watched his shaky hand try to adjust one of his suspenders, only for it to end up snapping against his firm shoulder in the process. 

Blanc flinched. 

Jud bit the inside of his lip so hard it nearly drew blood. 

“So I’m guessing you haven’t heard, then,” he said, unable to hold it anymore.

“Heard what?”

“Cy is suing the church. And me,” he informed him matter-of-factly.

Blanc abruptly stood up, phone camera wobbling in his hand. 

“What? On what grounds?”

Jud scoffed. “What do you think? On the grounds that somewhere on this property,” he gesticulated around the living room. “Lies his inheritance. And I’m hiding it.”

Blanc was shaking his head, suddenly reeling. He side-eyed Jud. “Now, you’re not thinkin’ of doin’ anythin’ stupid, are ya?”

“Stupid? Me? Never.”

This riled Blanc up further. Whatever avoidant persona he’d tried to put on to shut Jud out was quickly being shed; he was back on the offense.

“Listen, Padre, you made your bed when you decided to — to take the course of action that you took. Seekin’ absolution now could only ruin your life.”

Jud rolled his eyes. “I’m aware of that, thanks.”

“Are you? Because you ain’t takin’ this seriously enough for my liking.”

I’m not taking this seriously enough?

Jud calmly counted to three, then decided to snap. 

“Oh, I’m sorry. But did it occur to you that maybe it’s always felt like this for me? That this is no different from how I’ve felt this entire friggin’ year? Because whatever sense of impending doom you just felt — that’s where I live, Blanc. That’s how it’s always, always felt. From the moment —” 

Jud abruptly realized that he was making a racket, stomping on the hardwood floors and yelling impassionately about his sins. He lowered his voice, worried Kasia might have decided today was the day she’d finally learn how to sneak around. 

“... From the moment Martha died. Or Wicks. Maybe even earlier, who knows. So yeah, I’m sorry if my reaction to getting the entire church sued for something I did isn’t meeting your standards,” he finished with a hiss.

On the other end of the call, Blanc’s face was doing something complicated that Jud hadn’t seen since they solved Wicks’ murder. He’d been pacing too, his video moving erratically. But now suddenly he was fuming motionlessly, pinning Jud down with a stare.

Shit. Those eyes could be so scary sometimes.

On instinct, Jud braced himself.

“Now you listen to me, boy. Are you listenin’?” 

Jud looked up at him petulantly. Even on camera, Blanc was able to make himself take up more space when he wanted to. He somehow towered over Jud all the way from Europe. 

Relenting, Jud sat himself back down. He gave Blanc a small nod.

“Good. ‘Cause we ain’t lettin’ this go to court. We ain’t lettin’ Cy even think he has somethin’ on you. So none of this self-defeated crap, you hear me? You’re innocent. You’re not goin’ down for doin’ the right thing. What you will do is get your act together, and tell the Bishop he needs to get that church opened sooner. Whatever it takes. All this pussyfootin’ makes it look like the church has somethin’ to hide.”

Blanc paused, taken aback by himself. “God, listen to me. Playin’ PR manager for the church. I can hear Beatrice laughin’ at me from beyond the grave.”

“Who’s Beatrice?”

“She’s—she was my—Nevermind that, now, Jud, focus up. Do you understand what I’m tellin’ you to do?”

Jud swallowed. “I think so.”

“And are you gonna do as I say?”

Jud’s head was spinning. His eyes stung with tears. He was tired. He was angry. He wished Blanc was actually there so he could — so he might — 

Oh, fuck it.

“Yes, sir,” he bit.

Blanc flashed him a smile that bordered on a sneer. It was only then that Jud noticed that the detective’s chest was heaving, suspenders moving in and out of frame with every deep breath.

“Attaboy.”

 

 

***

 

 

It was always the same dream. 

The men differed. The locations sometimes differed, now, too. It used to always be a boxing ring. Nowadays, sometimes it was the forest.

But there was always a man, and Jud was always up against him. Fists up, knives out.

Sometimes he’d be doing the beating, other times he’d be the one taking it. 

Tonight, it was the latter.

Jud crashed down onto the boxing ring floor, teeth gnashed, nose broken. Blood oozing from his mouth and eyes. 

He couldn’t see his opponent. The flashing white-red spotlight was blinding him to everything.

Jud knew this dream. 

He would die, and it would end. Or he would kill, and it would end.

So he took the punches. He preferred to die.

Tonight, though, something was off. A new sensation. Not a hit, but a pull. 

A firm, familiar hand dragged him off the floor and into the corner, hanging on by the ropes. 

Coach?

The man was gripping him by the chin and spritzing water into his face. He kept shouting something at him.

Jud’s ears buzzed uselessly. He couldn’t hear what the man was saying. He watched the stubbled jaw move in vain. 

A strand of hair fell into blue eyes. Jud wanted to touch it but knew he couldn't; his boxing gloves kept him firmly anchored to the ground.

The man placed a rough finger in Jud’s mouth, removing his mouth guard. He messily fed him more water from the bottle. Jud gulped it all down, parched, dying. 

The lights kept flashing on and off. The boxing ring blinked in and out of existence.

The stubbled jaw grew closer.

Jud could almost make out the words now. He tried to straighten up, to get closer to the source. He could almost hear it.

Blanc’s mouth was almost on him. He could feel the heat of his breath.

Then Jud finally heard it:

WAKE UP!

 

 

***

 

 

Jud woke up.

He was face-down on his small bed, sheets soaked with sweat. Nothing out of the ordinary, really. Nothing, that was, until he moved, and an unbearable sensation cut across his groin.

Jud hissed with discomfort. He was no stranger to morning wood, but he must have agitated this one in his sleep because it felt unignorable to the point of painful.

Before he could dwell on it too hard, he threw himself into the shower. He made the water as lukewarm as possible. He hummed a Christmas hymn to himself. He would will it to go away. He would not think about the man’s — Blanc’s— fingers in Jud’s mouth. Or in his hair. Or thumbing at a pair of suspenders. Snapping them. Blue eyes crinkling with a wince. With a smile. With a probing look at Jud’s neck. At his torso. At his—

Jud couldn’t bear it anymore. He reached down. 

He did it. He made it go away.

It barely took ten seconds.

Watching it all go down the drain, he couldn’t help but hear Wicks’ lazy drawl in his ear.

Five Hail Marys. Five Our Fathers.

 

 

***

 

 

The next week, Jud and Bishop Langstrom drove down to New York together. The Bishop was tense, which made Jud tense up too: before the lawsuit, he’d been certain that the church would reopen, that Jud would take his place there as pastor. It was just a waiting game, that was what the Bishop had led him to believe.

But it was the end of the year, and there was no end in sight to the black hole of bureaucratic bullshit and media backlash. And now Cy was suing them. Jud was beginning to worry that he’d been living with ghosts all year for nothing.

Once again, his salvation came from Blanc. Whatever strings he and the Bishop were able to pull were about to get Jud in front of a room full of people that had the power to fix this mess. All Jud had to do was present his case as convincingly as possible. Swear on the Bible and then lie without lying.

No problem.

So he did it. He stood in front of a dozen frocked-up, unimpressed faces, and told them his story. Well, a version of it, anyway. But he remained open and sincere, even in the face of provocative questions, even under the probing glares of the Wicks sympathizers in the room. 

He could tell in their eyes that they all judged him, both for what happened to Wicks and for the backlash, even though they were the ones that had thrown him in there, that had all but encouraged him to meddle. Jud knew there was a very high chance that they were going to let him fall on his sword. That he was on his way to getting defrocked just for being a nuisance.

He did not waver. He knew he would not. What was at stake was too important.

Once he was done presenting his case, he waited in the snowed-in garden as the clergy decided his fate. Somewhere in the distance, he heard a soft melody. Carol singers. Christmas was right around the corner. Jud hummed along, soothing himself. 

His mind reeled; something about the way things had ended in there felt strangely anticlimactic. He realized that he had been gearing up for a fight. It was difficult not to see it all as one big, futile fight. 

For a fraction of a second, he let himself imagine his failure. Defrocked, revealed as a false priest at last. A sinner with nothing to his name. No purpose, no home. Back at square one.

But would that even be true? Between the Bishop and Blanc, he had two generous, kind men in his corner that always seemed to look out for him. He’d never had that back in the day. Maybe the Bishop could help him work with the church in some other capacity. And maybe Blanc might —

Maybe Jud could have normal adult experiences. No longer chained to his chastity, who knows where that might lead him? Jud thought of the ocean. Of walking along the beach with a handsome man, hands brushing, coats flapping in the wind. 

Jud’s phone buzzed. A text from Blanc.

Cy taken care of – lawsuit dropped. They come to their senses yet?

Jud’s chest did something painful. He pulled his thoughts back to the present. His mind had taken him down a dangerous road. 

He looked over at the Mother Mary statue across from him. She smiled down at him. Her nose had a bit of snow on it. Jud smiled back, dusting it off.

This was all another test of faith, he knew that. Am I failing?

He was slipping a bit, this time. But he would stick it out. He owed it to everyone he had wronged, and everyone the church had wronged. He would see this path through for them. Whatever it took.

Still, there was that part of his soul, the part that could not lie, that for a moment lived in a reality where he and Blanc could walk side by side, in plainclothes, seeing the world, solving mysteries. Jud knew it would take him a long, long time to forget that.

Feeling increasingly cold and discombobulated, Jud laced his fingers together over his rosary and prayed. Not for any particular outcome — just to remind God that he was still part of the conversation. He knew how he felt about his faith, and that would never change. He felt the need to remind Christ of that. 

Minutes later, the door cracked open. Jud jumped. It was Bishop Langstrom, his kindly face unreadable. He gingerly closed the door behind him. Jud walked up to him, gearing himself.

“Well?”

“Cy Draven — apologies, Cy Wicks has been persuaded that suing the catholic church is bad PR, so he has been dealt with. At least for the moment.”

Jud nodded. “I heard. Just now, from Blanc.”

“You have found yourself a miracle in that detective.”

Jud shifted his weight uncomfortably, not quite meeting the bishop’s eyes. He couldn’t bear addressing that right now. “Yeah, he’s—he’s amazing. But what about…” My immortal soul?

Bishop Langstrom glanced at him sideways. He didn’t seem very happy. Jud tensed up. But then, with a small, slightly rueful smile:

“The church is scheduled to open by Easter,” he said, “with Reverend Jud Duplenticy as its pastor.”

Jud took a step back, shoes slipping on the icy snow. He felt as if someone just kicked him in the stomach.

“I— is this final? Are you sure? Are—are they sure?”

The bishop nodded. “Near-unanimous decision.”

Jud’s chest heaved. His legs couldn’t hold him. He slid down onto the snow. His eyes stung with tears. He didn’t know what he was feeling. His thoughts were all over the place. Relief. Joy. Grief. Regret. Everything swirling around inside his head. Drowning him.

He clung to the rosary. His body trembled with quiet sobs.

The bishop put a comforting hand on his shoulder.

“You did it, kid. You wore them down. You won.”

 

 

***

 

 

Congratulations, Reverend.

 

 

***

 

 

Christmas was a quiet affair. The church was still closed to the public, so Jud and Kasia celebrated with their own private ceremony. Kasia was bright and cheerful, visibly relieved that the church finally had an opening date. Jud felt bad; he hadn’t even thought about how living with a raving guilt-ridden priest at a closed parish must have felt for her these past months. He hoped she would like it here, now. 

He hoped he would, too.

That evening, after Kasia went to bed, Jud donned a coat and went back to the church. The air was crisp but clear, welcoming. He lit a few lamps and sat down on a pew.

Jud wasn’t sure why he didn’t make a point to visit the church more in the past year. He supposed it felt haunted. And not in the holy presence kind of way. But it felt calm and full now, and Jud was able to sit on the pews and feel himself transcend for the first time since… Since that first meeting with Blanc. 

Jud leaned his chin on his knuckles and stared at the empty outline of the cross, lost in thought. 

He fell asleep.

For the first time in months, he did not dream.

 

 

***

 

 

It was December 31st, and Chimney Rock was alight with celebration. Everyone seemed eager to leave the year behind. Jud didn’t quite feel included in the festivities, but people seemed warmer to him than usual — Nikolai had even invited him to a New Year’s party at Il Diavolo. Jud was touched but he politely declined, not wanting to be a thorn in anybody’s side. 

He was far too busy at the parish anyway — he and Kasia ignored the post-Christmas lull and worked on getting their side of the work finished, eager to kick off the year with everything in place for the church’s long-awaited opening.

When Blanc materialized, in that sudden way of his, Jud was on the phone with Nikolai’s wife. She had warmed up to him after he helped her get one of her daughters into a prestigious music program, and was now constantly blowing up his phone. 

Jud’s heart jumped at the sight of Blanc in the doorway, but the rest of him was zeroed in on the call. He lifted a hand, asking Blanc to wait.

Blanc nodded stiffly and tapped his foot, impatience wafting off of him. 

New case?

“Alright, Nina, thank you. Yes, you too. Yes, I hope she does too. No, no, I don’t think so. That’s alright. I appreciate the invite. Okay, yes. Happy New Year. Alright, bye.”

Jud hung up the phone and straightened up, facing Blanc with a small smile. 

“Blanc. I didn’t expect to see you again this year,” Jud said.

He wasn’t sure how he was supposed to address the detective. They’d been on uncertain footing since — forever — and Jud had lost track of where they stood on the chess board. A lot had happened since their last in-person encounter.

But Blanc didn’t seem to have the same inhibitions. As soon as the call ended, he startled Jud by turning around and closing the door behind him. He swiped his phone, played a loud Sondheim song, and slammed it onto the desk. 

Then he walked around the desk and got all up in Jud’s space. 

Jud felt his face heat up.

“Um…”

“I, uh, I can’t stay long, I just wanted to suggest somethin’. I’ve been wantin’ to catch you. It ain’t the sort of thing you can ask for over text —” 

“Blanc, if this is for another case, I’m about to be a little busy now with the church, so—”

“I think you should give me the diamond,” Blanc blurted out in a hushed voice.

Jud blinked. 

“What? The diamond—?”

Blanc grabbed Jud by the shoulder, shushing him. “Don’t make me repeat myself, Father, I’m already riskin’ both our necks by bringin’ it up at all.”

Jud struggled to understand. He struggled to think about anything other than the sudden warmth of Blanc’s hand. “But—what? Why?”

“Why? Because! It’s been drivin’ you insane! Raving like a madman about your guilt. You almost gave it all up. Don’t deny it, I saw you. I saw that look in your eyes. I’ve seen you go down this path before, Padre, and I can’t have it hangin’ over me again.”

Jud stared at him dumbly, mouth open. He was at a loss.

“Let me help. Let me bear it. I won’t use it or do anythin’ untoward, I promise. And if you ever truly need it, I’ll give it back.”

“Blanc, I—” Jud swallowed. Blanc’s phone sang about baking cats into pies.

What the fuck is happening right now. 

“But—wouldn’t that put you in so much shit?” he finally managed.

“No. No, it’s the least I can do,” Blanc insisted. “I had a choice, back there, too. I’m already implicated. I’ve been selfishly havin’ you deal with it alone all year. Well, no more.”

The least he could do? 

Jud’s mind was spinning. It was true that he had been anxious about the future, about continuing to live with Eve’s apple on his conscience. It had never even occurred to him to try and implicate Blanc further. He was simply grateful that someone out there knew, that he had someone in his corner. 

The idea of making this Blanc’s problem in any way felt unthinkable. 

“I…”

Jud’s eyes searched Blanc’s face. It was sharp with intent. Stubborn. Jaw working. Hair strand slowly sliding off his ear. 

Jud had missed him so much. 

He’d known Blanc cared for him, already risking his reputation by sticking by him and the church, but this? This gesture? It felt too enormous for Jud to wrap his head around.

Then it finally struck him.

I’ve never been loved like this before.

Love flowed out of Blanc. Love for the innocent, for the disenfranchised. For the guilty, too, Jud saw him with Martha. Let me help, the detective had told him when they first met. And Jud let him. Again and again, he let him. Until they were both addicted to it.

Jud felt his body get pulled towards the man in front of him. His own personal guardian angel.

“Blanc…” he began softly.

Startled by Jud’s sudden softness, Blanc broke the moment. He took an awkward step back. Both of them were a little out of breath.

“All right, I — I — I’ll text you where to meet me. We’ll, uh. We’ll talk then.”

Blanc took his phone and stomped away, leaving Jud in silence, heart thrumming in his ears.

 

***

 

Following Blanc’s cryptic texts, Jud walked out to meet him by the archway outside the church at around midnight. The detective’s grand idea had been that meeting during the New Year countdown would mean that nobody would even think to snoop around. Which made sense, of course, but Jud privately thought Blanc just enjoyed the dramatics of it.

It was quite a rendezvous point, Jud had to hand it to him. The foggy, slightly light-polluted sky. The thick layer of snow. The church, a tall gothic shadow in the background. Like a scene out of a noir film.

And completing the scene was the detective, in a winter coat, lighting a cigarette in the dark. As Jud walked up to him, Blanc was humming Auld Lang Sine. Jud smiled warmly at that, letting him finish the melody.

Blanc nodded his head towards the new sign. Fortitude was no more: the church was now named after Grace. The text below read All Are Welcome.

“You work fast.”

Jud lowered his head, abashed. “I know, it’s a little eager. I just wanted to let people know what we were about as soon as possible.”

“Well, congratulations.”

“Thanks.”

They regarded each other for a moment. It was dark, but in a dim, wintry sort of way that felt more like dusk. Jud remembered their argument in this very place, almost a year ago now. The things he’d said to Blanc in his fury. Calling him selfish. If only he’d understood then, seen the kindness that lay in the detective’s heart. Maybe he would have done some things differently.

Blanc blew out a puff of smoke. “Do you understand what I’m askin’ from you, comin’ here?”

Jud nodded, shivering lightly in the cold. “I do.” His hands were in his coat pockets. Blanc eyed them pointedly.

A chorus of distant voices filled the air. Several hundred people began counting down to zero in the town square, just beyond the forest.

Blanc took that as his cue. He extended his hand, eyes expectant. It could have been construed as a request for a handshake, but Jud knew what the detective really wanted. Jud took his fisted hand out of his pocket and accepted Blanc’s palm in his own.

Blanc’s eyebrows worked quizzically. There was nothing else there. Just their hands.

“Uh, the thing we had agreed on?”

Not letting Blanc’s hand go, Jud took a step closer. The first sign of fireworks flared up above the trees.

An explosion of color lit up the whole scene. Blanc’s wary face glowed pink, then white, then blue. It kept flinching. It struck Jud now that the soul in front of him was still quite young. And very, very frightened.

Blanc’s hand in Jud’s had its own gravitational pull. Part of Jud wanted to collide into the man, corner him into that All Are Welcome sign behind him. But he knew it was unwise. Even now, the idea of Cy and his stupid little camera holder were on the periphery of Jud’s mind. Blanc’s too, judging by his deer-in-headlights expression.

Resisting all other impulses, Jud only got close enough to whisper in Blanc’s ear.

“Can I show you something?”

 

 

***

 

 

They walked back to the rectory, Jud leading the way a bit ahead, eager and scared to lose his nerve. Behind him, Blanc hardly breathed. They made it back to Jud’s office. 

Jud rummaged through his drawers, looking for something.

“You’re not keeping that thing here, are you?” Blanc said tersely.

Jud didn’t answer. He pulled out a thick journal and handed it to Blanc. It contained a mess of papers, both printed and handwritten. Blanc raised an eyebrow.

“What am I lookin’ at here?”

“I’m not sure,” Jud admitted softly. “But I think I’d like you to read it. Please—please read it?”

Something about Jud’s tone moved the detective. Making a face, he took the journal from Jud and promptly sat himself down on the armchair to read.

Jud wasn’t sure what had come over him. He had sworn to himself he would never let those stories see the light of day. He’d even pushed their existence out of his own mind half the time. They were silly, frivolous detective romps. Grossly misrepresenting facts. Self-indulgent to the bone. Predictable.

And he loved writing them.

The detective in those stories started out as a priest. A priest that liked to help people a little too much. He was clearly grappling with something within himself. The hopeless dream of absolution, maybe. Of justice. There was a lot of Jud in that character, obviously, but a lot of Blanc, too. Both their minds in one body, and that body at war with itself. The Detective Priest.

Jud waited sitting up, too wired to relax. Anxiety rose up in his throat like bile. This was somehow even scarier than Blanc reading his written confession. He suddenly felt that it was incredibly stupid, that the detective would laugh at him and mock him and wouldn’t understand what Jud was trying to say. That he was about to lose Blanc’s respect entirely by way of writing God’s stupidest detective fairytales.

But then again, the only time Jud had ever felt remotely understood in his life was after Benoit Blanc had read between the lines in his writing. The connection they’d shared that night had been what created this safety, this camaraderie between them. 

So Jud hoped — he had faith the detective would understand.

Blanc kept reading, his silhouette by the fire revealing nothing. The minutes trickled on. An hour passed.

Jud kept his eyes closed, praying over his knuckles on the couch. At length, he heard the detective sigh and begin to shuffle. He glanced up. 

Blanc was looking straight at him, standing tall by the fire. His face was obscured by shadows. Unreadable. After a beat, he began making his way over to him. 

Jud’s nerves spiked up again.

Déjà vu.

Blanc hovered over him, gripping the journal with twitchy hands. Jud looked up at him through his eyelashes. The detective met his eyes, then looked down at the journal. He huffed out a disbelieving laugh.

“What goes on through that head of yours, I still cannot solve.”

Jud shook his head. “There’s nothing you can’t solve,” he said softly. “You said so yourself. You can’t help it.”

Blanc’s hand reached out as if to touch him, then paused. Jud closed his eyes, nuzzling into the ghost of the aborted touch. 

Blanc dropped his hand with a frustrated sigh. He was still at war with himself, even now. Jud’s heart ached; he’d been hoping he would understand. He wanted to make him understand. He looked back up at Blanc, eyes stinging with tears.

Please.

This made Blanc falter. Disarmed, he lowered himself on one knee in front of Jud, bracing his hand on the arm of the couch. They were now perfectly at level with each other. Jud could finally see the light in Blanc’s eyes.

“Where’s the diamond, Jud?” the detective asked softly, clever gaze searching Jud’s face.

Jud looked down at Blanc’s mouth. He really liked how it said his name.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Jud whispered, and closed the distance between them.

 

 

***

It was a gentle kiss; not for lack of passion, but due to the enormity of it. Jud could tell Blanc was holding back. He hardly moved, letting Jud be the one to decide the pace at which he wanted to poke cracks at his own chastity. Ready to stop at a moment’s notice.

Jud didn’t mind, so taken with the sensation of it, his first kiss in half a lifetime. He relished in every tiny movement, every breath, every scratch of stubble. But when he tried to deepen the kiss, Blanc broke it off with a gasp.

Jud didn’t let him go away very far, reaching up to cradle his face. 

“Blanc. It’s okay,” he whispered. “It’s okay.”

Blanc looked so wounded that it broke Jud’s heart a little. A strand of unruly hair had fallen into his eyes. Jud let his hand do what it had been itching to do for months: he tucked Blanc’s hair behind his ear.

Blanc squeezed his eyes shut. “Are you sure?” he asked. “I need — I need you to be sure.”

Jud laughed a little incredulously. “Of course I am. I’ve been trying to tell you—”

Blanc cut him off with his mouth. He’d finally heard enough.

Now this was a kiss befitting the detective. That rough certainty that Jud loved being at the mercy of, it was finally starting to creep in. Blanc took control of the kiss, deepening it, breathing hotly into his mouth. 

Jud’s body sagged with relief. He let himself get pulled further into the embrace, down to the floor. His knees didn’t last very long. He slid down, opening his legs, letting Blanc crowd him against the couch. 

Blanc was a tongue-heavy kisser, and Jud was more than happy to open up and take it, to let Blanc’s desire wash over him like a wave. He did his best to match him, out of his depth as he was. Every little thing he did in response seemed to rile up the detective further. His hands were beginning to wander. 

Jud happily let Blanc touch him, more than ready to be ravished right there in front of the fire, but then a loud clang somewhere in the hallway made them both jump.

Kasia?

Jud had forgotten anyone else lived at the rectory. By the look of him, Blanc had, too.

Their eyes met, the same naked vulnerable delirium mirrored in both their gazes. Blanc looked every bit as dazed as Jud felt, hair in disarray across his face. 

He exhaled. Steeled himself. Pinned Jud down with a stare.

“I think you better show me to that guest room.”

Jud bit back a smile, stomach swooping.

Finally.

***

Jud carefully handpicked the guest room with the least amount of religious memorabilia and the biggest bed. It was, fortunately, not Wicks’ old bedroom, but a room on the second floor reserved for guests from the clergy. 

The Bishop usually slept there when he stayed over. Jud was choosing not to dwell on that.

Jud and Blanc let themselves in, an air of boyish nervousness entering the room alongside them. Jud lit a lamp and stood by the bed. Blanc lingered close to the door. 

They regarded each other. Blanc kept his hands in his pockets, hips swaying lightly. His gaze scrutinized Jud from head to toe. Jud straightened up, letting him look: Here I am. All yours.

Blanc’s eyes moved from Jud’s face, to Jud’s knees, to the rug on the floor. Then he looked back up, meeting Jud’s eyes with his own. There was a challenge there.

Jud thought he understood. 

Slowly, gracefully, and in a practiced manner, he got on his knees. 

The detective suppressed a full-body shiver. Jud smiled.

Then, for a little test of his own: he reached up to remove the white tab off his frock. Blanc flinched with slight disappointment. Jud’s smile widened.

“Oh, you lapsed Catholics,” he ‘tsked, leaving the dog collar in place.

Blanc scoffed. “Not a Catholic,” he said haughtily. Jud watched his pristine shoes approach where Jud knelt, stopping a hair’s breadth away from Jud’s legs. 

He towered over Jud again, now, and it was incredible how familiar it all felt. They’d done this before. Blanc gently put his hand in Jud’s hair, scratching slightly. Jud closed his eyes, letting Blanc’s hand softly guide him to his inner thigh. Jud rubbed his cheek against the rough fabric. He was beginning to float again. He’d missed this feeling very much.

Inhibitions pleasantly lowered, Jud began letting his impulses take over. He moved his head slightly to the left, nuzzling into Blanc’s crotch. Blanc’s grip on his hair tightened. Jud bit back a moan, eyes snapping open. The trousers in front of him were so snug that he was face-to-face with an honest to God bulge outline. He let out something between a laugh and a gasp. His mouth watered. He was going to do it —

“Wait,” breathed Blanc. Jud frowned up at him. What now?

Blanc was breathing heavily, his face and neck flushed red, likely sweating beneath the layers of his three-piece suit. His eyes were wide, a little crazed. Jud wanted to eat him. 

He tried to go back to do just that, but Blanc stopped him again. He tapped him on the shoulder, motioning him to rise. With a confused huff, Jud complied.

“This ain’t some sort of religious fantasy, you know that, right?” Blanc said to Jud, eyes searching his. “That ain’t what this is.”

Jud shrugged, shoulders hunching. “It’s okay if it is. I get it. I don’t mind.”

But Blanc was adamant. “But I do. You deserve better than that. This —  this can feel better than that. Here, let me just—” he reached around Jud’s neck and plucked his entire collar off. Jud let out a gasp.

“There we go,” Blanc said in a low, distracted voice. His breathing had calmed; he was back in his element. “Hello,” he greeted Jud’s tattoo, outlining it with his index finger. “Ain’t you pretty.” Then, looking back at Jud, “You doin’ alright?” 

Now it was Jud’s turn to feel a little off-kilter. Whatever the detective was doing was uncharted territory for him. He nodded at the ground.

Blanc cupped Jud’s chin gently, clearly relishing in his sudden coyness. “Show me again where the buttons are?”

That made Jud smile again. The buttons were right there. He obediently undid them. Blanc took off his own blazer, tossing it onto the chair by the bed. Jud hadn’t seen him in just his vest in a while. His arms looked wonderfully toned underneath his button-up. 

The detective undid his tie next. Jud stared. He was beginning to realize he was about to see Benoit Blanc naked. The reality of this situation had hung around the corners of his thoughts for a while, but it was different when it was actively happening.

“Need somethin’?” Blanc smirked, his eyes crinkling fondly. Now that he had Jud exactly where he wanted him, he was puffing his chest up again. Ever the performer.

But Jud was too overwhelmed to play along.

“Yeah,” he breathed, and crashed his body into Blanc’s. 

Blanc was ready for him, but the force of the collision took them both by surprise. They slammed into the wall, not so much kissing as breathing into each other’s mouths, undoing the remaining layers of their clothes.

Standing upright was going well for a while, both men crowding each other, a vertical push-and-pull. But then Jud’s legs got tangled in his pants, and Blanc took the opportunity to push him down onto the bed. 

Jud let himself fall. Blanc was on top of him in a second, making quick work of both their undershirts. Jud pulled him close, eager to feel Blanc’s chest against his own. It felt extraordinary. Even better than he had remembered. Nothing in the world felt as good as skin against warm skin.

Allowing Jud’s hands the freedom to explore, Blanc busied himself with planting wet kisses alongside Jud’s neck. He seemed to have a special affinity for Jud’s tattoo, if the bruise he was sucking onto it was any indication. Jud moaned. 

Blanc looked at him reproachfully. “And just how thick are these walls, exactly?”

Jud just shrugged, sheepish at the detective’s scrutiny. He obediently covered his mouth with his own hand. Blanc’s eyes sparked.

“Good boy,” he said in a gruff whisper, and then went back to town on Jud’s chest. 

It wasn’t until his mouth had reached Jud’s ribs that Jud truly understood the trajectory of Blanc’s intentions. He shivered, skin riddled with goosebumps. He gently pulled at Blanc’s hair. He felt he had to warn him. 

“Blanc,” he said softly. “Blanc, you should know. If you’re — if you do this, I’m not gonna last long.”

Blanc didn’t look up, but Jud felt him smile against his happy trail. He kept going lower, undeterred. If anything, Jud’s nerves seemed to invigorate him. He slipped off Jud’s briefs, only stopping to admire him for a second.

Then, with a quick watch and learn wink up at Jud, he bent down and took him in his mouth. All of him.

Jud saw stars. The inside of his eyelids looked like the foggy sky outside, still lightly booming with distant fireworks. He felt like a ball of fire himself, shooting off into the air, ready to blow at any moment.

Jud clasped his hand back over his mouth, not trusting himself to stay quiet. 

He was right to worry. He barely lasted a minute. 

“Sorry, sorry, I’m so sorry,” he breathed. Blanc was crawling back up towards him, licking his lips, unbothered.

“What ever for?” he said.

Jud looked up at him in blissed-out amazement. “You are incredible.”

Blanc just waved him off, kissing him lightly. Jud could barely even taste himself. Craving more, he tried to deepen the kiss, but Blanc broke away. He looked down at Jud with unabashed hunger. Being under his gaze when it was this sharp was exhilarating. Jud found himself exaggerating his frailness, arching his back slightly. 

It worked. Blanc’s arms gave out. He slumped onto Jud’s collarbone with a frustrated groan.

“You don’t happen to have any condoms in this here catholic rectory, do ya?”

Jud looked down at him with a frown.

“You seriously didn’t bring any?”

“Are you kiddin’ me?” Blanc lifted himself up on one elbow. “I’ve been carryin’ around the same pack all year. It just happens to be at that goddamn B&B.”

They burst out laughing, both of them a little hysterical. Jud hadn’t even realized how much he’d wanted Blanc to fuck him until it wasn’t a possibility anymore. He quieted down, the unspoken fear that they only had tonight threatening to press onto bruises he didn’t want to inspect just yet. The sad crinkle in Blanc’s eye told him he wasn’t alone in this train of thought.

Jud pulled him into another kiss, shielding them both from the threat of their bubble bursting so soon. Blanc let himself get maneuvered onto the bed next to Jud. He was hot to the touch, body still taut with desire. Jud snaked a hand between them, cupping Blanc through his briefs.

“What do you need?” he asked him. Blanc placed his hand on Jud’s cheek, shaking his head imperceptibly.

“Just you,” he said quietly. 

Jud’s chest squeezed. It somehow felt like a big admission. He felt his eyes sting again. 

The imminent danger of ruining Blanc’s orgasm with his crying forced Jud to get a grip and take some initiative. He turned his head slightly, causing Blanc’s thumb to poke at his lips. He opened his mouth, waiting for Blanc to take the hint. Blanc did, and soon Jud found himself crying anyway, from choking on Benoit Blanc’s fingers.

“Sorry,” he said breathlessly after a minute, mouth stinging. “My reflex —”

“No, no, shh,” Blanc said. He looked wrecked. His eyes were glued to Jud’s mouth. “You’re perfect. Do you mind—” he glanced down, suddenly timid.

Jud moved immediately, eager to serve. “Yeah, yeah, of course.”

He got down on all fours and did his best, using both his hands and his mouth, letting Blanc’s fingers in his hair steer him. Blanc tried to give him guidance, but was quickly reduced to a cacophony of grunts and small moans. 

When the warning came, Jud made a point not to heed it. He held onto Blanc through his orgasm, then emerged from the mess completely dazed, smiling sloppily. He didn’t wipe himself dry. Something told him Blanc wouldn’t mind.

Blanc didn’t. He pulled Jud close and kissed his mouth and chin clean.

“Was that good?” Jud asked.

“So good, thank you,” Blanc patted his head with a tired, heavy hand. “Sweet boy.”

Jud preened, nuzzling deeper into Blanc’s neck. His bones sagged. He didn’t remember when he’d last felt so relaxed.

He was asleep within minutes.

***

A disorienting sense of urgency awoke Jud in the middle of the night. He was sweating, out of breath, unsure where he was. Seeing Blanc beside him, surrounded by his warmth, he suddenly felt feverish with hunger. He burrowed into the man next to him, clinging on for dear life.

Blanc’s body came awake, arms tightening around Jud protectively. Jud whined, the pressure making him feel even hotter. Blanc squinted down at him in the dark, placing a hand in his hair. 

“What’s goin’ on?” he asked, voice thick with sleep.

But he knew. Jud could tell from the way his spine tensed up. So Jud just shook his head, opting to show him instead. He moved his hips closer, bumping against Blanc’s thigh. The impact was immediate and intense. Jud hissed.

“O — oh,” Blanc managed. By the time he was awake enough to act, Jud was rutting against him in earnest. He was a little mortified, but he couldn’t stop. It felt incredible. Blanc stared up at him in amazement.

As soon as Jud felt Blanc harden against him, he took both their lengths in his hand. Unthinking. Pure impulse. Jud was suddenly aware of his own size, of Blanc’s body at his mercy beneath him. He could tell he was crowding him. He didn’t care. He didn’t make himself smaller. He just wanted more.

But Blanc wasn’t one to give up control so easily. He threw his leg over Jud’s thigh, at first as if to give him a better angle, then using it to roll them over on the bed. Jud’s head spun in the dark. Blanc anchored him back to his body with a rough kiss, noses bumping, stubble scratching. 

They kept moving together, gasping into each other’s mouths, the ends of Blanc’s hair tickling Jud’s forehead. Flush against each other. Sweaty and magnificent.

Jud lasted longer this time, although not by much. All it took was a few seconds of Blanc firmly pinning his wrists above his head with one hand. 

Blanc followed right after, Jud’s squirming pushing him over the edge. 

He slumped on top of him, both of them gasping for air. Jud felt so light and untethered that he might’ve floated away if Blanc’s weight didn’t keep him firmly in place. He was grateful for it. That restless thing inside him had finally calmed. He was so, so intensely grateful.

Meanwhile, above him, Blanc appeared to be having a spiritual experience of his own. He was trembling lightly, unable to stay upright. Jud helped him shift his head to the pillow, their legs and arms still linked.

“Twice in one night, at my age… What have you done to me,” Blanc managed.

Jud smiled deliriously, pleased with himself. “Happy New Year,” he whispered.

Blanc burst into giggles. Jud joined him, their sticky stomachs twitching between them.

Then Blanc moved away for a moment, reaching for something on the chair behind him, and cleaned them up with his handkerchief. Ever the gentleman. Jud reached back for him, whining at the lack of contact. Blanc obediently tangled their limbs back up.

 

 

***

 

 

The window was rapidly brightening. Neither one of them wanted to go back to sleep. Jud was way too quick to pass out. It annoyed him. He kept twitching himself awake and nudging Blanc, who would squeeze his arms around him in response.

A few more kisses. A couple more whispered secrets.

“Promise me you won’t beat yourself up over this?” Blanc asked as soon as the first beam of daylight hit the window.

Jud looked up at him. “I won’t if you won’t.”

“I’ve got a lot less to lose.”

“I don’t know if I believe you.”

Blanc’s throat worked. Jud nuzzled into his face, enjoying the way their stubbled cheeks felt together. He wanted to tell him it was okay, that the Mother Mary hanging above them wasn’t there to condemn. Jud had put her there. He knew what she was for. 

He knew that God would not have sent him Blanc as his guardian angel if He didn’t know what He was doing. It had taken him a while to understand, but he'd gotten there. 

Jud also knew that Blanc would recoil at the God of it all if he told him any of this, so instead he moved to whisper in his ear:

“Know no shame.”

A beat. Then Blanc turned to look at him. His crinkly eyes sparkled in the daylight.

“No-no shame?” he said, voice silly but sincere.

Jud huffed a laugh. He nodded. “No-no shame.”

 

 

***

 

 

By the time they forced themselves to get up, the room was almost painfully bright. They got dressed as slowly as they could. Jud fussed about the room, nervously rubbing his bare neck. He couldn’t find his collar. The situation felt strangely pointed.

As usual, Blanc came to the rescue. He dug up the collar from underneath the bed. “Wait, let me,” he said, brushing aside Jud’s hand. Then he slowly, carefully pinned it back onto Jud’s neck from the back. Jud’s throat worked. After a few intense seconds, Blanc’s fingers were gone. All that was left was the familiar press of the collar.

Jud shut his eyes and hung his head. Blanc walked over to face him.

“Oh, now, don’t get like that,” Blanc said gently. He propped Jud’s chin up. “No shame, right?”

It wasn’t the shame. It was the injustice of it all. Of having to choose. Having to hide. Having to —

With a shaky breath, Jud pressed it all down. He wasn’t going to let it get to him. After all, this was exactly the kind of thing he was staying here to try and fix.

He smiled up at Blanc. “Right.”

Blanc’s face twitched into a too-big smile back. He patted Jud’s arm with a wink, taking a step back. Jud’s heart fell. This was Blanc pulling away, pulling back into his jaunty public persona.

Jud already missed him.

“Blanc,” he called out, unable to help it. “Could we maybe — can we talk about —”

But Blanc waved him off. “I’m sure we’ll have plenty of opportunity to, uh, to talk about all sorts a’ things. I’ll be around,” he stopped to look at Jud. “I will. I just gotta, you know,” he finished with a low whistle, pointing at the door.

Jud nodded, attempting to shift gears. “I understand. I’ll see you around, then, detective.”

He extended a hand. Blanc shook it. 

“See ya, Father.”

And with that, Blanc walked off into the dim corridor, leaving Jud alone in the light.

Jud looked around. The bed was still a mess. He bent down and began to unmake it, dreading the thought of Kasia touching the sheets and recognizing the smell of sex for what it was.

Jud paused at Blanc’s pillow. He pulled it up to his chest. He wasn’t sure what he was supposed to do with himself. Any fantasies he’d dared indulge in before last night didn’t prepare him for the after. 

Jud knew where he stood, but the idea of dealing with Blanc pulling away again was so unbearable that he couldn't —

“Ahem.”

Jud jumped and turned around, feeling caught.

Blanc was in the doorway again. He was a little out of breath.

“I’m sorry,” he said. “I’m really not good at —” he looked down at Jud’s arms, still hugging the pillow. Blanc's face shattered.

“Aw, hell,” he said, and marched back up into Jud’s space.

Jud barely had time to drop the pillow before the detective was kissing him again. Jud’s legs hit the bedframe. Losing his balance, he teetered and sat on the bed. Keeping his fingers in Jud’s hair, Blanc leaned one knee beside him, practically in his lap. Jud’s hands roamed Blanc’s back, clawing at the vest underneath his blazer. It felt strange to hold him like this after the night they’d just shared, fully clothed and in broad daylight. Strange, but far from unwelcome.

They broke apart because they had to, because the other option was taking off each other’s clothes with the door wide open. Blanc took a few steps back. He was reaching for his hat, which he’d dropped onto the chair, but his eyes never left Jud.

Jud’s eyes never left Blanc, either. He stayed where Blanc left him on the bed, on his elbows, wrecked. He opened his legs a bit more widely.

Blanc looked away. He shook his head, sobering up, backing off. Jud was finding that pressing the detective’s buttons was kind of fun, now that he knew what they were.

Blanc left him with a wave, dazed. He shut the door behind him.

Jud let himself fall back onto the bed, rubbing his face with trembling hands. He laughed a little. He was in shock.

Holy shit.

 

***

 

 

The next few months felt less like an endless fight and more like a steady, agile race to the top. The winter persisted. Cy persisted. The media circus persisted. 

Unfortunately for all of them, Jud also persisted. 

Inspired by the professionalism he’d seen in Blanc and the Bishop, Jud began crafting an unshakeably calm persona for himself as Reverend. Once he’d put it on, nothing could get to him: whatever provocations he was unable to resist in the past were now child’s play. The wild animal within him was no longer raving with hunger. It was calm, sated. Alert. Waiting. Hoping—

The night of the New Year never fully left Jud’s mind. How could it? He knew that he’d broken the rules of a game that he himself had chosen to play. And there were times, late at night, when the guilt would latch onto him like a leech. But he had confessed (not to the Bishop, he couldn’t deal with that. He traumatized a local pastor instead), and he’d said his Our Fathers, and he truly was sorry.  Sorry it had to happen under the circumstances that it did. Not sorry that it happened at all. Never that.

Blanc, on his end, had gone back to acting as if everything was normal. He was still around — Lee Ross had written them both into his outrageous book and the media insanity around its release was suddenly tenfold — still using his obscure socialite powers to protect Jud from the worst blows of online “cancellation” and whatever that entailed.

In fact, Jud was beginning to notice that some of Blanc’s leftie, anticapitalist online fans were beginning to take note of the detective’s “killer priest” client, and not entirely in a bad way. Many of them did seem to believe he snapped and killed everyone, but that was somehow fine to them because those people were generally bad. Jud was bewildered, but strangely flattered. The punk youths thought he was cool.

Just wait ‘til you hear my sermons.

Right before Jud’s first Mass, Cy made a final attempt at getting to him. He’d scheduled a meeting with his lawyer, demanding to hear the account of the inheritance again. Jud obliged. He didn’t bring a lawyer. He didn’t need one. Bishop Langstrom and Blanc had both materialized at his side as soon as he’d forwarded them the email.

And so, once again, Father Jud found himself telling the story of Monsignor Wicks’ murder. He weaved all the elements in and out, never missing a single important beat. The jewel was never found.

“It was never found,” Jud concluded. Cy raved. The Bishop insisted that Detective Blanc was there, and he didn’t see anything untoward.

Jud had avoided glancing at Blanc at all costs during his story, but he snuck one now. Blanc was leaning against the armchair nonchalantly, vaguely amused eyes not really looking at anyone. The white suit he was wearing hugged his form so nicely. It looked like his Sunday best. And it was a Sunday, so Jud wondered if maybe —

He had to focus. He was walking outside with Blanc, but Cy was still there, spewing threats.

“I hope you come back to the church someday, Cy. Your real inheritance is in Christ,” Jud told him, keeping his face as patronizing and pastorly as possible. He glimpsed Blanc suppressing a snort to his left. The Bishop subtly elbowed him. Jud was glad that one landed.

And they don’t even know.

The Bishop barely waited until Cy was in his car. “Little punk bitch,” he said. Blanc giggled. Jud smiled at them both.

“You’re going to be very popular once you open. Maybe not in a good way,” the Bishop warned him, not for the first time. Jud wondered if he was saying all of this for Blanc’s benefit. To make sure he'd remain at Jud's side. Jud appreciated him. “Are you ready to take that on?”

Jud opened his arms benevolently, confident smile still in place. “Let ‘em come.”

Both men eyed him appreciatively. Jud tried not to preen.

“Good luck, kid.”

 

 

***

 

 

After Cy left, Jud made his way into the church, idly going over his mental checklist before his sermon. Blanc ran inside after him, calling out. Jud spun around. 

“Listen, um,” Blanc began, and from his body language Jud knew he was in a rush to get out. “I’m — I’m — I’m gonna go.” he stuttered, foot halfway out the door. Jud rarely got to see Blanc stay in one place very long, these days. The closer the church got to opening, the further away from it Blanc wanted to be. Jud understood. It frustrated him, but he understood.

Still, when Blanc offered up a polite handshake, Jud couldn’t help himself. What was one more impulse among friends? He pulled himself closer to Blanc by his hand, not unlike that night beneath the fireworks. Except this time, he actually permitted himself an embrace.

Blanc froze for a moment. Then, with a hesitant hum, he pressed his cheek against Jud. He patted his back a little impersonally, visibly tense at this hug transpiring inside a church. 

Jud smiled sadly at his restraint. We’re in my church, now, Blanc, he wanted to say. My God won’t mind. But he said nothing. He knew this wasn’t the sort of thing you paid lip service to. It was the sort of thing you proved.

They pulled apart. Blanc looked a little more flushed than before, his hand dragging along Jud’s side. Jud’s chest fluttered. 

He decided to try his luck. 

“My first Mass is coming up, if — if you wanna stick around?” he asked hopefully, burying his hands in his pockets.

“That’s so nice of you,” Blanc said from the doorway, fidgeting with his hat. “There is, uh, nothing I would rather not do,” he added with a final sharp glance in Jud’s direction. “Toodle-oo.”

He left.

Jud watched him go, feeling strangely challenged. He didn’t mind. He liked a challenge.

He turned to look at the shadow of the cross. 

From his pocket, he pulled out Eve’s apple. It had been right there, in the room with Cy, the whole time. Jud didn’t know why he’d gambled like that. He supposed he wanted to see what would happen. If anyone would notice. If God would care. If Jud would care.

He wondered whether Blanc noticed. He did at the police station, a lifetime ago. Maybe someday they could talk about it.

Oh, well. Until then, Jud rolled up his sleeves, diamond resting safely back in his pocket. 

Time to get to work.

Notes:

come yell at me @ judblanc on tumblr dot com

Series this work belongs to:

• Part 1 of freedom in the dark trilogy