Summary


SUMMARY: She was clearly in pain. She clearly needed help. How could I deny her? How could I ignore the distress of a child of God? I couldn't. And that was my downfall.

BxE AH AU of the spiritual kind

A collaboration between Belladonnacullen & FictionFreak95.

Please note that we don't own Twilight, or Catholic prayers, this is simply a work of fanfiction.

(originally posted to FF.net 01.13.2020)


Chapter 40 - Sabatical

 

Chapter 40. Sabbatical

Father Cullen

Jasper was right. Rome is fucking amazing.

Sunsets are spectacular, particularly if you're standing at the top of the Dome of St. Peter's Basilica in winter. Three hundred and twenty thigh burning steps to the top but, fuck, worth it. Never gets old.

I avoid sunrises if I can help it. I'm still holding on to the ones I shared in New York with the woman I love, but the countryside is peaceful in the mornings. The communities are close knit, the people are kind, always willing to give a friendly wave or a warm smile.

When I first arrived in Rome, I hit up all the hot spots - the Coliseum, the Galleria Borghese, the Palazzo Altemps, the museums. Even the Piazza di Spagna and the Domus Aurea.

When the dust settled, there was one place that became my favorite.

The Pantheon used to be a Roman temple. Nowadays it's used as a Catholic church. Its official name is Basilica di Santa Maria. That translates to St. Mary's. It's probably why I feel so drawn to the place.

It gets pretty crowded just like every other historical site. I still like to come here to hang out, think, dream… pray.

At Mass, tourists come to get a taste of Italian culture, but I watch the priest.

I get swept up in his perfection of the ceremony of it all. He never goes off script. He doesn't use sarcasm in his homilies. He simply lets his years of experience speak for itself.

His voice is calming, soothing. It reminds me of what attracted me to Catholicism in the first place... The comfort and solace that comes with the repetition of the chanting, if you let it.

I could use some comfort right about now because this city, despite its grandeur and nobility, is missing one thing. One person.

Bella.

Christ, she'd love Italy.

I think she'd really love the beaches, the castles on the beaches, the tranquility. We could find a place by Santa Severa, maybe. Something with a water view, just us in this quiet corner of Italy.

Fuck. I miss that cottage in Manhattan Beach.

I miss the woman I spent two nights with there more.

Bella's always at the forefront of my mind, no matter how far away I am from Sheepshead Bay. She's there in my sleep, during Mass, at the monastery I call home.

Even at the Vatican's counseling sessions.

Just thinking about them gives me pause.

Part of the reason I came to Italy was because I thought I might feel better if I put some distance between me and the things that reminded me of Bella.

It hasn't helped.

But I also came here in hopes of seeing some real change. I hoped to tell her, eventually, that it wasn't all for nothing. That the church could grow to embrace her and her entire family. Each and every one of them. That we had a chance.

I was thorough with my research. I laid out a plan. I outlined my points. I spent weeks waiting for an audience, making sure it was right. I didn't miss anything. I called for advocates, they came too.

In the end, it didn't matter.

The Vatican doesn't have an interest in accepting same sex couples into their church. They won't make a firm stance on the use of birth control but are very proud of the fact that they'll pretend it's not happening in extreme circumstances. They certainly aren't willing to entertain the idea of allowing priests a significant other, much less make an exception in my case.

There were a few priests who heard about my discussions. They took me aside and told me I could still have what I wanted. They called it taking a concubine and said it could never be official, but at least I'd be happy.

There are only a couple things wrong with that idea. I can only imagine Bella's reaction to that term. She'd kick anyone's ass who might use it. And I'm not willing to keep what we have… What we had a secret.

The Vatican was very interested in redeeming me of my sins, giving me absolution and my penance.

Maybe I was naive to think they'd actually listen with open minds, that there was a chance for change. That I could somehow spark that change.

Instead of taking anything I had to say into consideration, they offered me counseling.

Full disclosure, I nearly told them what they could do with their offer. Then I reminded myself these are just men. They aren't who my relationship resides with. I owe it to God to contemplate what I want for my future.

I owe it to Bella to find out what's important and not make a rash decision.

To try.

It's all she asked of me when she left.

Almost all she asked. She also asked me not to contact her. I've kept that promise. I can keep this one too.

So here I am, months later. Still trying to understand God's will, once and for all. Trying to forgive the shortcomings of small-minded men, to seek His guidance.

The one thing I'm not willing to give them is my confession. There's nothing for me to feel guilty about, despite what any of them believe.

Meeting with Bishop Romero has been enlightening. He's an interesting man who runs a school close by. He's older, so he has tons of stories about the area and families that he's known since he was little.

He doesn't agree with everything that goes on in the church, but he's not willing to make waves either. So he's not someone I feel like I can confide in. Not fully.

I'm careful what I share with him. He doesn't know the name Bella Swan. He never will.

We talk. He listens. He offers advice. Some I take, some I ignore. Some I tell him isn't helpful at fucking all. He's not as open to debate as Jasper is.

Still, I like to think coming here was the right thing to do, despite the fact that I missed the baptism of my godson.

Thank God Jasper was able to stand up for Patrick in my place. And I thank God once again for Skype as I sit down at the end of the day to chat with Emmett.

"Dude, then Liam threw up on Mom and I thought for sure she was gonna toss her cookies too, right then and there."

I laugh uncontrollably at Emmett's animated reenactment of the family photo at Christmas. Tears fall. Shoulders bob. I can barely breathe.

"Rosie's still not talking to me for giving him undercooked fish sticks before the shot was taken."

"How exactly do you undercook fish sticks, Emmett?" I shake my head.

"I don't know, man, those stove timers are confusing as fuck."

I try to hide my laughter as Rose passes behind him. She shoots him a glare I've come to know all too well since we started this ritual. He reached out about a month into my sabbatical and reminded me I wasn't alone. The rest is history.

"Hi, Edward." Rose peeks at me from behind Emmett while purposefully ignoring her husband. "How're things over there?"

I wave. "Hey Rose. Great. It's... great."

Jesus. Even I don't believe me.

Rose gives me a sympathetic smile as a phone rings on their end. She pulls her cell phone out and checks it. She gives me one last look of pity, then turns her back and answers it.

The upbeat feel of our chat fades. I think I know who's calling. The fact that Rose is talking with her sister just on the other side of this screen makes my emotions spin. Has she been thinking about me at all? About us? Does she ever ask about me? Would Rose tell me even if she did? Will Rose tell her I'm right here?

Fuck. Once upon a time things were so easy with Bella, so comfortable. It was the best time of my life. Now everyone gets awkward and tight lipped whenever her name comes up.

Everyone but Emmett.

"How much longer are you gonna hide out in Europe?" he asks.

I shrug. "As long as it takes, I guess."

He raises an eyebrow and purses his lips. I feel like he's about to give me shit, so I clear my throat and change the subject.

"Did you get the box I sent for Patrick?"

He lifts my godson up so I can see him wearing the onesie I purchased. It's perfect.

"I even played him some of their songs. I think he likes them."

"When you're old enough, we'll take you to see them, Patrick," I promise the baby. "You're gonna love Fergie. Hopefully she's back by then."

I figure by the time he's sixteen I'll be able to be around Bella's family without wanting to rip my heart out.

Patrick squeals like he agrees.

Emmett's face freezes mid-laugh. Patrick has a fist full of his dad's lip. The signal's starting to get jacked up. It's time to end the call.

I text Emmett to let him know. He says he'll be in touch.

The announcement they sent is tacked to the wall next to my bed. I laugh when I read the name Eddie in print again. His nickname will forever remind me of how Bella and I bickered about it. I still think he'll hate it when he gets older.

A familiar twinge of jealousy sets in as I wonder what she was calling Rose about. I've missed all the big moments in her life since she left - getting back on stage, the way the crowds grew with every city, the night a producer offered her a record deal, her album dropping.

I try to imagine her reaction to seeing Coastal Places in stores and online or hearing it on the radio.

When Mikey Mike's concert posters started popping up over here, I decided to buy tickets, just to go. Just to see her. I figured if I watched from afar, I'd be lost in the sea of people. She wouldn't even have to know I was there, but then she didn't end up on this leg of the tour.

Speculation about why was all over the internet. I don't buy most of it, but it still stings. The entire world thinks Mike was the love of her life. Sometimes when I'm feeling especially far away from her, I think about how much time she spent with him before I even met her. How I only knew her for two weeks.

Maybe the rest of the world is right. It would make sense for two rock stars to fall in love. We're the ones who shouldn't make sense.

It killed me not to dig her number up and call her, or at the very least call Emmett to find out all the details. I didn't. I've kept my promise. I've respected her wishes to not cross the line she's drawn.

That doesn't mean I don't know where she is, what venues she plays, what songs she writes.

What song she refuses to sing.

I open my laptop and pull up YouTube. I put my earbuds in and click on the link to Bella's latest song. This one is live, from Dallas. She looks genuinely happy as she interacts with the crowd, so confident and comfortable, real and raw.

Everything I've fallen in love with.

She smiles for the masses but it's not the smile. Not mine.

I guess, on some warped level, I take comfort in that.

With just the first few chords she plays on her guitar, it reminds me of our night out in Manhattan. When we rode the subway. When we saw Emily sing. When we held hands and it felt like the most seductive thing in the world. For those few short nights, I felt like I was the only person that got to see this part of her. Now the rest of the world does too.

I hear hints of Beethoven in this one, but it's unmistakably Bella. I feel like I'm holding my breath to the very last note.

"Fuck." I blink until my eyes don't water anymore. I scroll through the comments to see if she has anything to say about this one.

Sometimes she does, if she's feeling particularly good about it. Other times, her user name doesn't appear throughout them at all. I figure maybe those nights she's out with friends, or maybe she's not confident about how the set went. I haven't decided for sure.

There's one user in particular who seems to truly adore her, whether she comments or not. Everything she does, as a matter of fact. When a new song is posted, TeamStark001 is one of the first to comment.

TeamStark001 loves every song she puts out, every interview, every behind the scenes clip. He saves them all to a playlist he then proceeds to obsess over. During his spare time, he analyzes every lyric, wonders if they're about him. Them. The time they spent together.

I'm TeamStark001, by the way.

I leave her latest masterpiece on repeat as I lay back and close my eyes. I imagine we're on the balcony of our cottage in Manhattan Beach, eating pizza, sharing a bottle of champagne while we debate whether Thanos had a legit reason for wanting to cut the universe's population in half or not. She'd probably take his side. I love her anyway.

As I drift off, I dream about her last day in Sheepshead Bay, I replace the moment she left with another ending, one where she tells me she loves me too. Where everyone else, the church, and the rest of the world just fades away.

xXxXx

Days start to drag the longer I'm here. Weeks bleed into each other.

The more I try to tell myself these feelings for Bella will pass, the more I believe that's never going to happen. She's the first person I want to tell about something new I discover. She's the last person I want to talk to at the end of the day.

Not to mention, I'm starting to question if counseling is doing me or the church any good at all. In fact, I plan to tell Bishop Romero exactly that. I even get up early to make sure I can catch him before our next session.

On my way through the courtyard, I notice a group of students yelling and laughing. They're egging someone on. Cell phones are held up high so they can record.

A couple of teachers make their way over. They don't seem to be in too much of a hurry, so I decide to lend a hand.

There's a kid on the ground, bloody lipped and crying in a fetal position. He's getting his ass kicked by a kid half his size who…

"Shit." I know this kid. Or I've seen him around, anyway.

He arrives at school alone, walks to classes alone, eats alone, goes home alone. I've heard some off-handed comments flung at him from time to time. He ignores them for the most part. He's kind of scrawny, shy. And yet, to my surprise, he's not the one getting the shit kicked out of him.

When I try to grab him off of the other boy, I'm clocked in the jaw .

"Fuck."

It hurts like hell.

Kids ooh and aah at the fact that an adult would dare use such language in a Catholic school. They whisper and laugh. Bishop Romero gives them all warning looks I know too well from my days back at St. Vincents. Then he gives me the same one.

I'm not sorry, but I could probably use a drink anyway.

When we finally get them separated, Bishop Romero takes the bigger kid to the nurse. I tell him I'll take the other boy to the office and he accepts that. In his defense, he doesn't know any better.

With everyone cleared out of the courtyard, I sit the kid down onto a bench. I take the seat next to him so we can catch our breath.

"You speak English?" I ask him. He looks up at me and crosses his arms. He rolls his eyes like he's some five-foot tall badass who doesn't need to tell me shit.

I try to hide my amusement. Not only could he be Bella's long lost relative with his hell on wheels rebellious attitude, but I'm pretty sure he speaks English.

We sit there, quietly. It's cool. I could use some quiet and a little bit of time to figure him out. He's brooding and angry. God, I see myself in him. It's been years since I felt like that, but this kid's expression brings it all back.

I pull out a cigarette and light it. He gives me a look out of the corner of his eye. He knits his brow but still doesn't say anything.

I take a drag. "Wanna talk about it?"

He turns in his seat, so his back is to me. He stares at the ground because it's just so fucking fascinating.

I laugh a little. "That's cool. I know the feeling. I used to get into a lot of fights when I was your age, too."

He peeks back around at me, full of doubt.

I nod. "Yeah, me." I laugh some more, and he's trying not to. We both know it's funny though. It's hard for kids to imagine priests doing anything like that.

I remember the first time I saw Jasper lose his temper. It was the first time I saw him as someone other than this larger than life, godly representative in charge of everything I did.

"Used to feel like it was the only way to get my feelings out, ya know?" I explain. "About my dad. My mom. They were just so..." I growl and grab at the air like I'm choking some sense into my parents nearly fifteen years later.

The kid situates himself so we're face to face again. He's dying to ask, so I give him the answer, hoping it makes him feel a little more comfortable.

"They died when I was about your age. Fifteen?"

"Quattordici," he says finally. I give him a smug yet impressed nod.

Smug because he thinks I don't know any Italian.

Impressed because, "You've got a mean right hook for fourteen." I make a fist and point to my chin. "That's gonna leave a mark."

He grins and ducks his head. I take one more drag of my cigarette then crush it and toss the butt into a trashcan.

"So what's your excuse? Why?"

He doesn't want to say.

"Sure you don't wanna talk?"

He shakes his head, defiant. Offended I would even ask. "Not to a sacerdote."

"Tell you what." I pull my collar out and slide it into my front shirt pocket. "For the next hour, or, however long you need, I'm just Edward. No strings attached. No, eh, il effecto, um, negativo?"

He grins and rolls his eyes. "Effetto."

"Right. Effetto. Grazie."

He thinks it over. His expression tells me he doesn't know if he can trust me, but he wants to, desperately.

I don't push. It'll only give him more reason to believe I'm untrustworthy.

The kid finally nods, and for the next hour or so, we just fucking talk. We manage to communicate with his broken English and my shitty Italian. Afterwards, I'm filled with something I haven't felt since I left Sheepshead Bay.

Something I needed to be reminded of. Something I have to keep holding on to.

Hope.

xXxXx

"You are lying." Marco eyes me suspiciously as we sit at lunch. He's been listening to a hot new artist who's breaking out fast and furious in Europe. I happen to mention I know her family.

"Swear to the Big Guy." I hold a hand up.

"Lying about what?" his friend, Giuliana, asks as she takes a seat next to him. Marco's come a long way over the past few months - opening up, putting himself out there, making friends, even.

He nods in my direction as he answers her. "Dice che conosce Bella Swan."

Every time I hear her name, no matter how long it's been, there's a dull ache in my chest. I manage to smile through it.

Giuliana laughs and rolls her eyes. She opens her bag and huffs like Marco just told her a lame joke. "Sta mentendo."

She gives me a pointed look. "You are lying."

I throw my hands up. "Why is this so hard to believe?"

Marco raises an eyebrow. "Because she's Bella Swan and you're…" He looks me up and down, waving a hand like it's obvious. "disadattato."

"I take offense to that." I think.

The way the two of them laugh, I assume it was an insult.

I'm not about to tell them about how she broke my heart. I am about to give them a lecture on how even a disadattato like Captain America is someone's cup of tea, when we're very rudely interrupted.

"Father?" Bishop Romero's secretary interrupts us. The small, gray haired woman hasn't smiled once in all the time I've known her. Today is no different. "The bishop asked me to fetch you."

I take a breath and nod. "I'll be right in."

She shoots me a stern glare, disappointed that I'm not ready to jump out of my seat and run when the bishop calls. I don't give a fuck. I have something more to say to Marco.

My own counseling has been… fine. I've gotten a kick out of learning more about the history of the Church and the city it calls home. But this kid's given me purpose. Truth be told, he's mostly what's kept me here in Rome this long.

Not that we need to get mushy. We're beyond that.

"Guess this is it." I smile over at him as the bishop's secretary heads back into the school. I'm either getting assigned a new parish, or being told I'm beyond redemption.

Marco grimaces but doesn't answer.

I point to myself. "Buona fortuna?" I could use all the luck I can get.

He doesn't have anything to say to that either.

"You're gonna be fine. You know that, right?" I tell him. He nods but glances down at his food.

Giuliana elbows him. "Stop it. He is right. We are going to be fine." I fucking love that she said we. A reminder he's not alone, that she's got his back.

A hint of a smile starts playing at the corners of his mouth.

He's gonna be fine.

"You've got my number. If you need anything, I'm a call away. Or a text. Whatever you need."

"When I need it," he finishes. And my chest tightens because the only other person I've ever used those words with is a world away. I don't know if I'll ever hear from her again either.

"Kay." I tap the table and get up to go. He runs around to hug me before I can leave.

xXxXx

The inside of Bishop Romero's office has always reminded me of mine back at St. Mary's. There are two large chairs across from his desk, lots of books, and a photo of the Pope behind him. I've wondered if there's a poster of some rock star taped to the back of it. I haven't had the nerve to ask him though. With one look at his grumpy expression today, I'm thinking no.

Usually we start our discussions out with philosophy and ease into my issues with the Catholic Church and their issues with me. Today we skip philosophy.

"I'm very proud of you, Father Cullen."

Somehow, it doesn't have quite the same effect as when Jasper says it. First of all, he hasn't used my first name since the day I met him. Secondly, the guy says he's proud like he's reading from a script.

After he proceeds to list all my strengths and weaknesses, he makes a point to explain all the wonderful things I'm capable of. How natural I seem to be with helping lost souls find their way. That he's grateful Marco has had me to confide in over these past months, but that the Church needs men like me out in the parishes. The front lines, he calls them.

It's all very nice to hear, and most of it even feels right. But I've come to a different conclusion than he has.

He says I'm destined for great acts, and in his own, roundabout way, he says it's because Jesus tells us that success is everything.

We apparently have very different opinions on what success means.

Also, Jesus never fucking said that.

"Where?" I ask.

"Mi scusi?" He looks confused.

I pick up a Bible and try to hand it to him. "Where does Jesus say that exactly?"

The bishop holds a hand up like it's not necessary for him to look.

I lean back in my seat. "Cazzate."

"Father Cullen."

I wave a hand. It's not worth debating when the other person can't hear you anyway, and doesn't want to.

He changes the subject.

"Ordinary life is rather boring, Father," he tells me with great conviction.

"Agree to disagree," I shoot back. Because the few nights I spent with Bella were anything but boring. I'd take that life with her in a heartbeat.

He breathes deep like his tolerance for me is wearing thin. He reminds me how important it is for me to never break my vow of celibacy, but I already know how easy it was to break it once I understood it had nothing to do with my promises to God.

Because being with someone you care about this deeply, who you love… who can be a partner in your life, is a natural part of being human.

I try not to dwell on the fact that she's not actually my partner in life.

Bishop Romero pulls out a file with my name on it, opens it up, and picks up a form.

I'm pretty sure he's about to give me his final thoughts on my "situation" with the Vatican. He's going to explain to me where I go from here when he gets an urgent phone call.

"Mi scusi un minuto." He steps out into the hallway and closes the door.

I welcome the room to breathe. I've had one too many lectures on how to keep my relationship with God pure.

As I wait for the bishop to return, I think over my time in Italy.

I'm glad I came. I've kept my promises to everyone involved. I've been to counseling, like Jasper wanted. I've taken classes like the Vatican requested. I've prayed. I've read. I've prayed some more. I've spent days on end in silence. My thoughts were supposed to stay on God. I couldn't help letting them drift to Bella.

You need to figure out what else you care about. Besides me.

And then I think about Marco and how incredibly good it felt to meet him, help him, guide him. I became his confidant. I was so grateful to offer him the same tools Jasper gave to me once upon a time.

The longer I sit here thinking about the things that make me truly happy - building a relationship and making a difference in a person's life - the more I wonder what the fuck I'm doing here with Bishop Romero. He doesn't even know me. He's got the same perspective as every other official in the Catholic Church. I don't need them to tell me what I should be doing.

I already know.

I don't waste another minute. I grab my jacket and walk out.

I pass Bishop Romero. He doesn't even notice me.

I pass his secretary. "A dopo, Maria!"

As I walk across the courtyard, I wave to Marco. He's off to his next class with Giuliana.

At the monastery, it doesn't take me long to pack my things. I didn't bring much. When I grab my Bible, three small notes float to the ground, notes I haven't seen in a few weeks. I pick them up and read each one. The last gives me pause.

The greatest of these is love.

I slip that one into my shirt pocket, next to my heart.

I know what I love, what's most important, and what I can leave behind.

I tug at my collar and pull it off.

A flood of memories hits me as I stare down at the small white band - my shitty childhood then finding purpose at St. Vincents and a mentor in Jasper. I see the path God's had me on so clearly, from the moment I said my vows, to getting my own parish, to meeting Bella and falling in love with her. Even the aftermath of saying goodbye. That aftermath was important too.

I inhale and it's like I'm breathing for the first time.

No matter how often I question Him, no matter how many wrong turns I fear I'm making, He always finds a way to remind me not to lose faith.

I close my eyes and I thank God for the collar. I thank Him for everything it's taught me and everyone it's brought into my life.

Then I leave it on the bed.

I catch a ride to the airport and my heart hammers hard inside my chest as I wait in line for a ticket.

My stomach is in knots as I board the plane.

I have clarity of purpose as I take my seat.

I have no patience as I think about where I need to be and when I need to be there.

It's going to be scary and heart wrenching, lonely as hell without Bella there, and fucking messy because the only family I love is tied to the one person who doesn't want to hear from me.

Regardless, it's time to go home.

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