Who: Ronan Lynch, Matt Murdock What: Ronan takes Matt to his Church When: Wednesday, April 11, after making arrangments during this exchange Where: St Agnes Church in Tumbleweed Warnings: On the low side Status: Complete in gdocs
It was really fucking weird to see St. Agnes here. It looked exactly the same as Ronan remembered it: approximately two stories tall, built of wood, with a white paint job that had seen better days. It was the way it looked against its surroundings that was weird as fuck. It belonged on a downtown Henrietta block, not between a warehouse and a railroad track. At least it wasn’t next to the Starbucks or the mall.
Ronan got out of the car and stared up at it. This was the closest he’d gotten to it since he’d noticed it was here.
He slammed the car door, just for the sound of it, to break out the dreamlike, hallucinatory quality of seeing something from home in the middle of Tumbleweed. And then belatedly, he remembered that everything sounded louder to Matt.
“Sorry,” he said, not sounding sorry at all.
He ran his fingers over the key to the church, still on his keyring from home. Then he finally started towards the steps. “It’s big and white,” he said to Matt, over his shoulder. “What kind of architecture would you call it?”
--
The entire ride over, Matt was grateful for Ronan’s quiet mood. His ear was cocked toward the window, concentrating on the non-visual clues that led him from his apartment to the church. He could tell by the sound of the cars moving around them, along with the nearly inaudible click of the changing of a stop light, how many intersections they’d crossed, and noted which turns were made, and when. With the window cracked open he could catch smells - a bakery that sold fresh bread, a coffee shop, a pizza parlor. It helped Matt to get his bearings in Tumbleweed.
The scents started to become not as clean, concentrated with industry. This was not unlike the areas by the docks, where Matt would often patrol as Daredevil. The car bumped as they went over the railroad tracks, and he could smell the mold in the air. Ronan got out of the car first, but he didn’t need to apologize about slamming the door - Matt had long learned to adjust the focus of his hearing so that noises such as these weren’t going to disturb him as much. Nevertheless, he clumsily smiled, and told Ronan, “It’s okay.”
Matt stepped out onto the pavement, holding his cane, and faced the direction of the church. He cocked his head this way and that, using the sounds around them with his echolocation to give him a general understanding of what the building was like. He was accustomed to the large, stone and brick churches of New York City, so something this size was significantly smaller in comparison, and not at all large as Ronan described it.
“I’m good at picking out my surroundings,” Matt replied, following Ronan. “But not that good. I have a basic shape, but no details. It’s smaller than I’m used to.” He paused momentarily to listen. “There’s nobody inside.” He could also hear the key ring in Ronan’s hand. “How did you get the key to the church? Did you work here in your world?”
---
“It looks bigger in Henrietta,” Ronan said. He supposed that was another part that was weird about it, besides the change in the surroundings. He ached for downtown Henrietta, for the feeling of the city, the magic of it. The Barns had magic unto itself that could not be dampened by its surroundings, but St. Agnes seemed worse for being here. As a result, Ronan felt protective of it, and a little defensive on its behalf.
He started up the steps, and stuck the key in the lock. It turned, and the lock gave way. “My brother used to take organ lessons here,” he said. “They gave us a key so he could practice when it was empty. Obviously he couldn’t practice during mass. He was terrible.”
Now he missed Matthew even more fiercely than Henrietta. He clenched his fists for a moment, waiting for the feeling to subside just the slightest bit, and managed to open the door normally instead of swinging it violently, like he wanted to. He should at least make an effort to be respectful of this church, even if he’d already almost died here, and dreamed horrible things here, and who knew if God even cared?
He still didn’t catch fire when he stepped inside, so that was a bonus. He looked around. “It looks the same,” he said, and then added for Matt’s benefit, “It’s all wood and white paint. And there’s your stained glass windows. The organ’s over there.”
--
The sound of Ronan’s heartbeat racing was quickly noticed by Matt, who held on to the railing as he ascended the stairs. Curious as to what might cause the reaction, he determined there was no immediate threat in the area, so the only disturbance must be in Ronan’s mind. Matt focused on the sound of how Ronan turned the key with more force than needed, but was relieved to tell that Ronan was calming down a little, at least externally.
Matt entered the church, and paused for a moment at the threshold until he was able to locate the holy water font on the wall near the entrance. He dipped his fingers into the water and made the sign of the cross before going any further, treating the place with reverence. His cane clicked against the marble floor to create the noise needed for his echolocation to help him get an audio representation of his surroundings - the height of the ceiling, the locations of the pews and windows. He paused to stand in the sunlight of one of those windows, basking in its warmth, able to tell by the minute changes in the degrees of heat that the windows were of stained glass, though he could not distinguish the colors or design. When Ronan gestured with his arm where the organ was located on the balcony behind them, over the entrance they’d just came through, Matt heard the gesture, turned, and lifted his head in that direction.
“It’s nice,” he said, approvingly. “It’s got a down-home feeling.” He cocked his head slightly to one side. “I learned how to play the organ at church, too,” he revealed. “Though I fare better with a piano, these days.” He flashed a smile to hopefully seem encouraging. “A place like this has got to hold a lot of memories for you. Both good and bad.”
This was Matt giving Ronan a chance to talk about whatever was on his mind
--
Ronan ran his fingers over the edge of one of the rows of seats. He was tempted to sit down in his family’s pew, but he also didn’t; what was the point if Matthew and Declan weren’t going to be there? That was the only point for him to come to church these days. Or at least he had been. Ronan hadn’t closely reexamined his views about church or God or anything else recently, except to say fuck that shit and stop worrying about it.
But he still believed in God. He still wanted, on some level, to believe in the things he’d been taught by this religion, both in church and by his father, who believed it. His father had been a dreamer and still believed that God cared about him. And from a certain point of view, in retrospect, it was possible that God hadn’t forgotten about Ronan in his darkest days, but already knew that Ronan had the tools at his disposal to work through it himself. Who needed a holy miracle when they had Cabeswater, and the best friends in the world?
He was silent for a long time, and then he finally said, “I used to come here at least every week, with my family. And then after my dad died and my brothers moved away, this was the only place I saw them. Every Sunday, right there.” He pointed to the rearmost pew. And then, because they’d already talked about their deceased Irish fathers, he added, “I got real angry at God for my dad’s death. And my…”
He hesitated, but his magic wasn’t a secret anymore either, now that he’d confessed to making the flowers on the boat. He just hadn’t confessed the details of how he’d made them, the fact that he was a dreamer, and that part he was definitely going to continue keeping to himself. “My magic was out of control, and I was out of control, and I kept coming here, and it didn’t help.”
The rest of the details of that were too dark, and he didn’t want to touch on them right now. “But I don’t know. Things got better, I got myself under control, and maybe God knew I would, or at least that I could.” He touched the wood of the pew beside him again, and dug his fingernails into it again. “It’s weird that this place is here, but I wouldn’t want to go anywhere else, so maybe it’s a sign I should start coming back to church. Even if my family isn’t here.”
Or maybe if he started coming back to church, his family would show up. It was possible.
--
Matt was good at listening, not just for sounds that would enable him to find his way and interact in his dark world, but to what people were saying, and the subtext of what was not said. Standing perfectly straight, facing Ronan with both hands holding his cane that was firmly placed upon the floor, Matt thought about what he’d been told. He knew enough about Ronan’s background to fill in the gaps of the story. Matt drew upon his own experiences to console his friend and help to give another perspective.
“I was angry at God, too, when my father was killed. Angry at myself because I felt responsible. I became an orphan with nobody, alone. And it was just then when my own powers started getting stronger, out of control. I lost faith, but if I’ve learned anything it’s that God moves according to His own pace. In His silence, he had something planned for me. Somebody came out of nowhere to train me how to focus my senses and begin the path I’ve chosen. And when he callously left me, I used it as an impetus to work even harder on my own. A priest once told me that you don’t really know what faith is like unless it’s been tested. You don’t know how strong you are until you’re challenged. And those times when God seems like He’s abandoned us, or has purposely let bad things happen, that’s when we’re meant to take what we’ve learned and apply it. And even if we fail in our trust, it shows us the areas that we need the most help. Does that make sense?”
He paused and turned his head to the side. “I think it’s a great idea for you to start coming back here. Maybe… you can ask the priest here if they can use some help? The place sure needs a new coat of paint.” Matt could smell it in the air. “I’d like to start coming here, too.”
---
Ronan knew all that bullshit about faith in the harder times by heart, and it really did feel like bullshit. He still did not trust God. He trusted Gansey and Adam and Noah and Blue, and Opal and Chainsaw, and now Baelfire; he trusted Cabeswater, and he trusted his magic, mostly, and he trusted himself, mostly. He saw the logic in Matt’s argument, but he was still angry at God, and it was the kind of anger that was hard to get past.
What surprised him was how much Matt had in common with him, not just the death of their dads - he’d already known that - or their struggles with their religion, but the fact that both those things had also coincided with Matt’s powers spinning out of control.
“The guy who taught me was a real asshole, too,” he said, but he didn’t elaborate on that. He wasn’t real sure he wanted to talk about Kavinsky. Although he supposed he might be willing to compare notes on asshole teachers if Matt really wanted to.
He ran his fingertips over the wood again, this time nearly getting a splinter in his forefinger, and then pulled his hand back. “I could help fix it up. I wouldn’t want anyone else to do it. They might make it too… fancy.” Fancy was the wrong word for what he really meant, the opposite of homeyness, but he couldn’t quite thing of what that word actually was. “And I might start coming back here on Sundays.” But not for God, at least at first. He could come back and see if his family showed. He looked up at the altar. “I wonder if the priest showed up here too or if it’ll be someone different.”
--
“Fancy.” Matt repeated the word, then chuckled. The word tickled him. “I can’t imagine this church ever being transformed into something fancy, at least not without a complete renovation. It’s got a very nice, modest feel. “
Something he’d said must’ve reached Ronan - what that was didn’t matter to Matt as much as that it did, and hopefully that might repair his relationship with the Lord. “Possibly?” Matt offered, in reply to whether Ronan’s priest was in Tumbleweed. “A lot of people show up. But usually, if it’s somebody we know personally, I think they would’ve been with us on the cruise first, or if they’re a recent arrival, they would’ve gone through the quarantine process at the military base and introduced themselves like we all did? Somebody different might be nice, though. Have a fresh relationship with somebody new?”
He cocked his head slightly to one side. Singular heart beat, outside. Slightly raised but in a way that suggested the person was engaged in light, physical activity. The beat also indicated it was a man… and older man. With a ring of keys that jingled as he moved. The scent of earth being tilled, the scraping of a rake against the ground, outside. “That might be the priest in the backyard, working in the garden. Could also be the a groundskeeper? Do you want to go check?”
--
“That’s how it’s supposed to be,” Ronan said, with more force than was probably necessary. He was attached to this building, in all its shabby glory. He didn’t want it to change. Fixing it up was one thing, giving it a new coat of paint, so long as it was Ronan and not some soulless painters that left their stench everywhere. He didn’t care about it looking nice. He didn’t want the place to lose its soul.
It was going to be really fucking weird if there were different people working here, and Ronan was probably automatically going to hate them, but they might grow on him. If they had souls. If they didn’t, then this wasn’t the real St. Agnes and he was never stepping foot in it again.
He wasn’t sure he was ready to break the spell of the place with a new priest or groundskeeper yet. “In a minute,” he said. He wandered over to the organ, and played a few notes, enjoying the loudness of it, the sameness of it, even the fact that the notes sounded off key - it had never sounded quite right when Matthew played it either. He was aware that Matt probably wouldn’t like the sound and didn’t particularly care. It was only four or five notes, anyway, before he stopped and said, “Okay, I’m good now.”
--
The way Ronan responded so adamantly told Matt exactly how he felt about the Church building without needing to express his exact emotions: Ronan was very attached to this place, which was understandable, but he also wasn’t the type to flat out admit his feelings. Understandable, since Matt was the was way. He stood there and listened to Ronan move, and he immediately guessed where he was going and what he was going to do.
Contrary to what Ronan thought, Matt was not disturbed by the notes played - the instrument was in tune, and it could use a bit of repair, but otherwise it sounded like your typical ecclesiastical pipe organ. When Ronan announced he was ready, he nodded, and said, “I think the priest heard you play, he’s heading toward the building.” Which meant they ought to leave quickly, if Ronan was trying to avoid a meeting.
--
Ronan considered this, briefly. He had been about to head out to meet the priest, but it would be a different meeting with the priest catching them in here, while the church was closed. If it was a priest that Ronan already knew, it wouldn’t matter; they would know why he had the key. If it was somebody else, then their first meeting was going to be awkward one way or another.
Finally, Ronan shrugged. “Guess we’ll find out if he knows me, then.”
He stayed where he was, brushing his fingers over the keys, but he didn’t play any more notes. It wasn’t long before the side door opened, and the priest entered. Or at least he was wearing a clergy robe, but he wasn’t a priest or any other member of the church staff that Ronan recognized.
He looked a little wary of the two of them, possibly because of Ronan’s tattoo, shaved head, and sharp edges, or possibly just because the church was supposed to be locked. But he offered them a small smile, and asked, “Can I help you?”
“No,” Ronan answered immediately. He didn’t want to talk to this stranger, who obviously didn’t know him either, and he definitely wasn’t going to reveal that he had a key to the place, or try to explain why. He was willing to come here for services, but he also wanted to be able to come back and have St. Agnes to himself when no one was around, because it really belonged to him more than anyone else here, except maybe Adam.
He started back down the aisle towards Matt. “We were just leaving.”
--
Matt inclined his head in Ronan’s direction, then told him, “I’ll be right with you, Ronan. Wait for me outside?” He then flashed a smile, and returned his attention to the other man, extending his hand to introduce himself. “My name is Matt Murdock. I just arrived in Tumbleweed a couple of weeks ago.”
A few minutes later, Matt came outside, where he knew Ronan was waiting for him on the steps. “That was one of the deacons,” he said. “Reverend Anthony Briody. Nice guy. He was wondering how we got in, but I told him we’d found the door unlocked… he had no reason to distrust a blind man.” He quirked a smile. “I said I’d attend Mass this Sunday, but that you might be busy.” That would give Ronan a chance to get out of the obligation if he wasn’t ready, yet.
--
Ronan sat down on the steps outside, and played restlessly with his leather bracelets. He was full of antsy energy, too many emotions that were not quite painful enough to turn into anger. He missed the real St. Agnes, and Henrietta, and his family. He couldn’t do anything to bring them here, or to get home. He didn’t know where that left him or what he wanted to do with himself.
He didn’t look up when Matt came back outside, and he didn’t stop playing with his bracelets.
“Liar,” he responded, but without much venom. In truth, the way Matt had handled the situation reminded him strongly of Gansey, which was never a bad comparison for anyone. He missed Gansey now, too, for a strange moment, before his mind caught up with his emotions and reminded him that Gansey was here in Tumbleweed with him and didn’t need to be missed. That was what he was going to do with himself; he was going to go and see Gansey.
He got to his feet. “Ready to go?”
--
Matt smirked at Ronan’s liar comment. “I’m a lawyer,” he corrected, jokingly. “Which amounts to much the same thing.” He took hold of the bannister as he walked down the steps, though he really didn’t need it. “Yeah, it’s cool. We passed a bar about a half a mile up the road on the way here, if you’re in the mood for a beer?”
A little day drinking never hurt anybody.
--
Ronan paused partway to the car and gave that offer some serious consideration. It was tempting; certainly he had used liquor to quell this kind of emotion in the past. But unless he was going to dance another Irish jig, having a drink meant sitting still, and he was far too antsy for that, nor did he really feel like dancing.
“No,” he said. He started moving toward the car again. “But I’m in the mood to see how you drive a go-kart, if you want to race me.”
--
Matt got as far as the car door with his hand upon the handle when it was his turn to pause. He inclined his head in Ronan’s general direction. “Is there a go-kart track in town?”
---
“I made one,” Ronan answered with a wicked grin, although he knew Matt probably couldn’t see it. He’d be able to hear it in Ronan’s voice, at least. He considered telling Matt that it was safe, that even if he crashed he wouldn’t get hurt, but he also suspected Matt didn’t really need the safety precautions. If he could get the general shape of a church, he could get the shape of the track just as easily.
He got into the car and slammed the door, this time with a ferocious kind of pleasure.
--
Though he might not have been able to see the grin, Matt heard the mischievous glee in the way Ronan spoke. Had the track been owned by some local person, Matt would’ve had to pretend he was helpless without the use of his eyes, but since it belonged to Ronan, that was a different story. He’d never been on a go-cart before, but he’d always wondered what it would be like using his abilities behind the wheel. This would be the perfect opportunity to give a shot.
“Bring it in,” Matt said likewise getting into the car, and being cheerfully competitive. “Five bucks says I beat your sorry ass.”
--
“You’re on,” Ronan said, his grin widening. He hadn’t had a good, proper race in a long time. Oh, he had raced people, but rarely were they as willing to drive as fast or as recklessly as he was. Getting Gansey to race him in a go-kart had been amazing in its own particular way, but he suspected Matt really would give him a run for his money. And that in itself was an extra brand of excitement. He would happily fork over five dollars if Matt was as good as he thought he was.
He pulled away from the curb, tires squealing, and headed back towards the Barns.