Phillip Hughes, M.D, S.J. (fidesetratio) wrote in whatprice, @ 2009-06-07 01:00:00 |
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Current mood: | flirty |
If you like it, then you should have put a ring on it.
Who: Bad boys, bad boys.. er, Phil & Sam
When: Sunday, 31 May 2009 (BACKDATED)
Where: starts out in Church of Immaculate Conception, Mayfair. Ends up somewhere near the ocean.
What: Confessions, crumpled paper, and civil partnerships
Warnings: non-gay gay. :P
He needed not to think for a moment. It was too much to take in, all
of this, and for once, Samrat wanted to escape. Not in his sorrows
but into the person that he had once been. It was with that in mind
that he strode into the church and waited, his body sprawled out
across the last pew, a lazy grin cresting his features. Leaning
forward, he scribbled a drawing of the interior on a crumpled program
that had been in his pocket, wadding it up thoughtfully afterwards.
When Phillip emerged, alone, he threw a balled-up piece of paper
towards him, deliberately trying to push the studious expression off
the other man's face.
Phillip's face cracked into a small smile despite the austere look he
was giving off, largely due to the somber black cassock he was
wearing. Picking up the piece of paper, he took it and leaned over the
back pew, dropping the paper on Sam.
"Young man, did not anyone ever teach you how to have proper respect
for places of worship?" he said, doing his best impression of their
stern professor at Cambridge.
"I respect the institution," he grinned, reaching up to swat
Phil. "But this is not my place of worship. Infidel." Sam sprang
up, then said, "I need to do something that does not consist of
mourning or running - when are you free?"
Phillip pushed up the sleeve of the cassock to check his watch. It was
nearly one in the afternoon on a Sunday. Masses were done for the day
and with the exception of lunch with his fellow priests, there wasn't
much left on his agenda.
"I can be free now if I make my excuses for lunch. Wait here a
moment," Phillip said before excusing himself and striding to the
sacristy where his superior was. Returning a few moments later, he
took Sam's arm. "Alright, I'm free for the rest of the day. Lead the
way."
"To where, I do not know." But Sam led, regardless, his face amused.
"What excuses did you have to make?" They walked companionably. "I
hope that they were good ones."
"That my long lost lover had arrived and I needed the moment to shag
his brains out," Phil said deadpan before bursting out laughing.
"Something about a close friend needing me for advice and comfort.
There may have been a sick relative."
Samrat snorted. "Someone would be sick if you tried to shag my brains
out on your-" And he waved in the general direction. "Pulpit.
Altar. Whatever." His mouth quirked as he pushed the door open,
leading them into faltering sunlight. "I want to go to the ocean."
It was a sudden, brave inspiration and he could not explain it. It
was something about the brilliance of the day, perhaps, or the freedom
that it promised - the ability to take them both away from the land
and all others.
"You got a car or do I have to rent a bike?" Phillip asked curiously.
"I had not thought that far," Sam admitted. "It just came to me."
Phillip chuckled and grabbed a pair of keys from a cabinet.
"We can take the church car. It'll be simpler than borrowing a bike,"
Phillip explained. Sometimes it was a bit inconvenient not owning
property.
Amused, still, he asked, "And will I burst into flame when I step inside?"
"You survived the church uncharred, I'm sure the car will be fine,"
Phil said as he led the way to the old car and unlocked it.
"Any particular part of the ocean I should drive to?"
"A wet one." Sam grinned, stepping inside.
"Arse," Phillip said as he turned on the engine and started driving.
It wasn't till thirty minutes out of the city that Phil realised he
was still in his cassock.
"Perhaps I should have changed."
"You go swimming in that," the other man said innocently. "I am sure
that you will get plenty of attention." He snorted, leaning back in
his seat and staring out at the open road. "It looks hot - I would
worry you'll overheat. Should we pull over and find something else?"
"It's a wonder how we stayed friends when you're so mean to me," Phil
teased back.
"I've got a vest and shorts on underneath. It'll do in a pinch."
He laughed. "You enjoy it - that is how."
Rolling down the window, Sam leaned his elbow out it, feeling the wind
on his face. Closing his eyes, he added, "We always talk about things
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that are painful. Tell me something good about this week, Phillip."
"I managed to save someone's leg so we didn't have to amputate," Phil
said with a shrug.
"Got any smokes?"
"You are bloody cheerful." He wrestled a smoke out of his pocket and
lit it, then handed it over to Phil. "A regular light of happiness."
Lighting his own fag, Sam took a long puff on it with a sigh. "I
suppose that you cannot talk much about your work as a priest, then,
either."
"Performed a few christenings this morning. Healthy babies. That's
happy, right? They always screamw hen you pour the water over their
head," Phillip said with a chuckled, taking a long drag before tapping
it outside the window. "Our choir is doing well, though I don't have
as much time to work with them as I'd like."
"I would scream too - that seems so odd to me. Do you not drown them
or something?" He grinned, to show that he was teasing. "That was
one of the myths about your priests back home. I find it amusing that
we can be so worried about such things when we used to burn our
wives."
"Well, we try, but the Brits have their knickers in a twist about
infanticide. Seems it's just not proper or something," Phillip teased
back. "There is something majestic about a funeral pyre. In an odd
way. Very dramatic."
"I suppose - would you like to be on mine?" He joked right back.
"Well, someone's got to throw themselves on yours wailing. Might as
well be me. After all, I can pull off the dress," he teased.
"But not the walk." Samrat sighed. "Oh, if only."
Phillip chuckled.
"But you've got Hermione now. Unless you're planning on amassing a
harem," Phil teased.
"That has always sounded horrifying." He leaned forward, stubbing his
cigarette out in the tray. "Can you imagine, managing all of those
women at once? The idea of virgins in the afterlife? To be honest,
this has never appealed to me either."
"Sounds a right headache," Phil teased.
"They made us read the Kama Sutra in a world relligions class once.
Hearing seminarians and old priests discuss that was the height of
amusement."
"That book was perhaps the best idea anyone had for a religions
class." He grinned. "Or any class - how did the priests take to it?"
"Some of them were virgins with no knowledge. Young lads who stayed
beet red throughout the whole discussion. Some of the older priests
were crass and wise, reminding us that they weren't always priests. A
few were even widowers," Phillip said with a chuckle.
"Great book though. Lots of good pointers."
"I know." The salt of the air was starting to drift into the car and
he inhaled it, feeling it rush into his lungs. Strangely, it made Sam
feel younger. "I do not know how I will manage on the boat this year.
I love the water but there is so much else happening here. Perhaps I
should find another path to live on." His fingers drummed on the side
of the car. "I miss being a physician. I ran into an old
acquaintance of ours - do you remember Gus Pye?"
"Then we have to find a way for you to practice again," Phil said
adamantly as though it was the simplest thing in the world.
"Yeah. He and I reconnected a few weeks ago. that weird movie night,
he was there. And then we had coffee yesterday. He wanted a consult.
As it was, so did I," Phil said. "Did the small world strike again -
where'd you bump into him?"
"I was actually looking for something Majd had dropped outside his
clinic," Sam did not specify what. "What sort of consult does he look
for? He was asking questions in a way but I had not enough specifics
to make anything more than a light suggestion."
"Nerve damage caused by a GSW that's a few years old," Phil said. "I
could show you the file. As it was, I suggested him putting both of us
in a room together so we can filter out each other's rubbish
suggestions. He seemed amendable to that."
"I would enjoy that. It has been so long," There was a note of
longing in the other man's voice. "Did he say specifics on the
injury? I told him acupuncture but I cannot imagine he took that
seriously."
"He did, though. Apparently he was able to repair most of the damage -
the patient is regaining muscle use and sensory perception in his
lower arm, but it's just going slow. Some of the stuff he's able to
do.. it's incredible," Phil said with a bit of awe.
"Seriously." His mouth quirked. "Is this... magical? Or has he some
other means?"
"The injury was normal. His techniques are mostly magical with a bit
of western medicine thrown in. I told him to check for a neurological
glitch. Seemed worth a shot," Phil said, taking a final drag on the
cigarette before stubbing it out.
"I wouldn't mind really practicing again."
"If I was able to immigrate, we could start our own clinic," Sam said
wryly, staring out the window again. "I used to think about that, in
Ahmedabad, when things were past bearing." His eyes watched the
scenery blur past as he lit another cigarette, almost reflexively.
"It was a comfort simply to know that you existed, then, somewhere
outside of all the tedious business and headache." His mouth quirked,
thinking about that.
"Britain does allow civil partnerships," Phil quipped. "And I'd be a
nice husband and let you see Hermione on the side."
Sam's feet found the dashboard as he leaned back, sprawling. He
laughed, a lazy, happy sound. "And you could wear the red dress then?
No, I am quite sure I would not ask you to cheat on your God."
Phillip chuckled.
"Perhaps I could convince him to share," he said, wiggling his eyebrows at Sam.
"I hope he's better in bed than Allah," he snorted. "Because I
believe I have been through that once before."
"According to St. Theresa, he is," Phil teased. "Powerful, knowing
your every desire, able to fulfill it all.."
"What did he do to Theresa?" Sam gave Phillip a wary gaze.
"Ravished her," Phillip said with a leer before chuckling.
"There's a statue called the ectasy of Saint Theresa in Rome where it
looks like she's in the throws of orgasm."
"No, seriously," it was apparent that he didn't believe Phillip a bit.
"This must be like your Mary."
"No, there's a long tradition of mystics going into ectasy because of
the love affair with God," Phil explained. "A bit like the Sufis."
Samrat shook his head. "I do not understand it. I never have." He
was, perhaps, too pragmatic in some ways, he considered. "To have an
idea overtake you so intensely?" Then he paused. "Is that what you
feel?"
"It's more than that. More than just an idea or an emotion. It's
almost like being possessed, consumed. Completely and totallly,"
Phillip said, waving his hands a bit to explain and trying to steer
the car with his leg. "It's being so madly and passionately in love
that everything else falls away."
"People do not love like that," Sam said flatly. "That is something
from a book."
"Well, most of the mystics are dead, so I can't lock them in a room
with you and see who wins," Phil said. Although he was fairly certain
that if anything happened to Sam again, he'd move mountains and
everything would fall away.
He threw back his head and laughed so hard that tears fell into his
eyes. Calming after a moment, he said with a sharp cough, "I believe
that Saint Theresa would win that. But I would like to see her
try."
Phillip chuckled, glad to to see Sam laughing like that again.
"Well, if anyone could bring you to your knees, it'd be her."
"I'd- oh, chood, I think we missed the exit." Sam unbuckled
his seatbelt and leaned out the window, his body swinging out easily
as he watched the sign blur right past them. He slipped back inside
with a shrug. "If there was ever anyone I wanted to be lost with, it
was you." Falling away... he wondered if Phillip had ever felt that
passion.
Phillip chuckled.
"Some navigator you are," he teased affectionately. Phillip couldn't
help being smugly satisfied that he still filled such a position.
"We're not lost, we're on a road. Want me to take the next exit and
see where we end up or turn around?"
"Live dangerously."
And with that, he leaned forward, opening the glove compartment, his
fingers reaching in blindly for a moment, searching for a map before
he paused. The man pulled his hand out, looking a little sheepish.
"I forgot that this car belongs to God."
Phil laughed and pushed his foot down harder on the gas, closing his
eyes and tossing his head back as the car revved up.
"The church. Not God. What are you looking for? Map should be there
somewhere. Father Hugh gets lost all the time."
"That was what I wanted. I did not know if it was a good idea to go
through the papers." Sam frowned, digging out the map and blinking at
all the scrawled notations on it. He unfolded it, his finger tracing
the roads until he laughed again. "I cannot read this bloody map - it
is bad enough reading it in Gujarati." Folding it up, he dropped it
between them, then said, "I will just trust to the fates."
Phillip laughed.
"To the fates it is then," he said. "Or to you. Tell me when you want
me to turn off."
"I will close my eyes," he answered. "And tell you when we've hit a
point in the conversation that it seems we are destined to turn." The
statement was followed by a grin. "Of course, this means that I have
to think of something sufficiently intriguing to say."
A slight sigh. "We are such the pair. You cannot talk of work,
neither can I and yet that is most of what we do." He did not mention
Hermione - that subject seemed to grow increasingly more difficult
with her own situation. "I have not read much of late, either - have
you published anything recently?"
Phil chuckled.
"I could. Well, I'm not supposed to, but I've already told you stuff.
At this point, I don't really see the point of keeping things from
you, but it is rather depressing," he said with a shrug.
"No, I haven't published anything since last year."
"You should. The problems have not left." He could see the red of
light filtering through his closed lids. It reminded him of taking
blood. Blood... "Wait. Phil-"
Phillip slowed the car down a bit.
"What is it?"
His eyes snapped open, furious with energy. "Gus. AIDS."
"I'm not following. Gus doesn't have AIDS. At least not that I know
of," Phillip said, looking at Sam like he's grown another head.
"No - no - this patient, this case, that you showed me - what
did he do to that patient? What were the symptoms?" The other
physician's voice rose, caught up in his own thoughts.
"The symptoms? It was a gunshot wound, causing a puncture in the lung
and severing nerves in the shoulder. They lost time because they had
to heal the lung first. He's since regained temperature sensitivity in
his lower arm and gets muscle spasms in it, so there's ability, just a
missing link," Phillip said, not seeing the AIDS connection.
"But you said that it was amazing," Sam thought out loud. "And how did
they heal the lung? Did they regenerate it? Do they have a way to
regenerate cells? Tissue?"
"They at least had a way of regenerating tissue.. I don't know if they
still do. I.. My bosses want me to find out how it all works. Their
type of medicine. Because of that, I don't ask too many questions. If
I don't ask, then I don't know, then my bosses can't torture them out
of me," Phillip said.
"Do they even have a disease like AIDS?" He was still musing. "Or
lupus? Cancer? Or does their magic preclude it?"
"I don't think they do. Or rather, I think they have different
diseases. I've been trying to do research on the blood, but I can't
figure it out, " Phillip said.
"I wonder if their style of healing is what does it - turn here."
Phillip did as he was told, turning off onto the smaller road.
"Perhaps. But it was to be something physiological. It doesn't make
sense that it wouldn't follow rules of some sort. Everything follows
rules."
"It does, but do you not think the rules apply both ways?" Sam was
considering. "It seems as if we can heal them."
"Well yes.. And Gus uses both techniques, but we can't use their
techniques without magic.. Although there are medicines of their
types, which I would imagine would work on us," Phil said thinking
aloud.
"I think you, Gus and I, need to discusss this sometime. "
"Yes. I believe that we do." He was so heavy in thought that he
wasn't watching the road, his mind contemplating what he knew of the
wizards that he himself had helped. He rested a hand against his
chin, thinking quietly. "Some of their techniques... we might be able
to use - I believe they have potions."
"I've read about that a bit... I'm not sure if we could replicate
them, though," Phil said.
"No, but we could use them. Perhaps." He frowned.
"Perhaps what? Why the frown?" Phil aske worriedly.
"Concentrating." It relaxed and Sam laughed. "Obviously, I do not
spend enough time in thought if you cannot recognize it." His eyes
followed the road, watching it wind in front of them. "If this car
runs out of petrol, I am going to mock you relentlessly." There
seemed no end to the place that they were going.
"If this car runs out of petrol, my dear sweet Indian husband will get
out and push," Phil teased.
"And there's nothing wrong with setting up camp God knows where. I'm
sure there's a blanket in the boot."
"Oh, pull over. This looks as good a place as any." He smiled as he
lit a cigarette. "We cannot smoke out your car." His fingers drummed
on the window. "A walk would be a good thing."
Phillip slowed down and pulled over.
"I think we'll probbaly go through an entire pack. Bad habit you
know," he said as he turned off the car and pulled out his own pack
from inside his cassock, holding one out to Sam.
"I only have 20, 30 more years. Why stop?" He handed Phil the
cigarette he'd just lit, taking the one he'd been offered with a grin.
"Besides, there are worse things to kill you." Samrat stepped out,
breathing the hot English air. "It feels as if there is something on
the wind."
Phillip chuckled as he got out and leaned against the car, taking a long drag.
"Besides our bullshit?" he teased. "So, do you want me to stay in the
dress or not?"
"I thought it was called a cossack."
"Cossacks are on the steppes of Russia or something. Cassock is what a
priest wears, but I thought I'd indulge your sense of humour," Phil
said.
He snorted at that. "I will leave it to you, then." His eyes
followed the clouds overhead. There was something static about the
air - it crackled and snapped, pulling the hair on the back of his
forearms up until it tingled. The slight flutter of wings echoed
overhead, a pale bird swooping down to perch on a nearby pole.
"I will be the good wife and wear the dress for now then," he teased
as he followed Sam's gaze.
"Looking for God?"
"It simply caught my eye. It reminds me of-" And he almost said
home, then, then realized that he was home, though it had
nothing to do with the country.
Phil smiled.
"Your best friend swooping through the aisles in a huff?" Phil teased,
elbowing Sam playfully.
"Home, I was going to say." His eyes met Phillip's. "But then I
realized that I was. Home."
Phillip smiled and hugged the other man tightly.
"And it's taken you this long to figure it out? Chood, you're slow."
"I have not been home for a year." He didn't leave the embrace for a
long moment, although the ash from his cigarette was staining the
ground. When finally he did, Sam turned away, taking a drag from it
and watching the smoke tint the sky. "Or I was not. I suppose that I
left it when I went into mourning." He had not come out of it alone -
he wondered if Phil understood that.
"Perhaps we both needed to leave home to realise what it was we had...
and missed," Phillip said as he tapped the ash from his cigarette.
"Perhaps." He flicked his own into the gravel, watching the ember
fade out. "But you never speak of your family, at least not often."
It was Phillip's turn to stare up at the sky, searching for answers.
"You saw them enough when we were at Uni. And my mother considered you
another son. My brother has two small children now. Everyone's still
up at Newcastle. When I decided to enter the priesthood, my parents
knew the church would kind of become my family. Well, the church and
you. I think my mother knew we'd be inseperable the first time I
brought you home. I haven't been home much in the past year. I'm sure
my bosses know where they live, but I'm trying to protect them. We saw
each other over Christmas though."
Phillip paused.
"You're my family. Always have been."
"That's what I meant. You seem... I worry about you." As they stood
there, far from anything that could overhear the conversation, Samrat
finally felt free to speak. "Because you are my family - you are
closer than that." His hip butted the car as he leaned into it. "I
worry that you are separating yourself from the world too completely,
just as I feared that you would before. You let this all consume
you."
Phillip stared at the ground for a moment.
"It's how I've always been. Footy, AIDS, uni - you know that, I throw
myself into things."
Phillip paused.
"If I separate myself, then it means I can do the right thing without
having to worry about the cost to others. I am not programmed to be
selfish anymore, I live for others."
He put out the stub of his cigarette and lit up a fresh one, offering
the pack to Sam.
"I meant what I said. If citzenship is what you want, I will enter
into a civil partnership with you. It would allow us to practise
together for one."
"You are mad," he said with a laugh. It was better not to address the
question of Phillip's selflessness although considering what he had
just offered, it needed to be referred to, at the least. "Doing that
would result in you leaving the church." He shook his head at the
pack. He'd smoked so many that Sam was beginning to wonder if he'd
get lightheaded, continuing.
"Many things would involve me leaving the chuch. But you would
certainly be worth it," Phillip said honestly. "I have not made my
lifetime vows yet, there is still time."
"I could never ask that of you." He shook his head. "There is no
guarantee it would even work, is there? And you would give up the
church for what? No, Phillip, the worst that could happen here would
be that they would send me back to India and I have managed to escape
it so far."
"And what kind of life is this? You long to practice and you cannot,"
Phillip said. "Somehow I doubt marrying Hermione would be any better
for you."
Samrat stopped. "What do you mean by that?"
"I mean that getting married to a witch would probably not be a smart
political move. Especially considering everything. I do not think it
would grant you any legal advantages."
Phil also thought it was too soon, but that was because he had lost
Sam for awhile.
"And marrying you would," He wondered at that. "Phil, you cannot give
up everything in your life for other people."
"You are not just any other person," Phillip said quietly.
"Besides, there is already the chance I might leave because of their
cooperation with the company I work for."
"I wish that I could just tell you no." Sam stepped back.
"To what? All of it?"
"I cannot take that from you." he shook his head. "How would you
tell this to your church? What would I tell Hermione? How would I
explain this? And why would you expect that, given the life I led
with Chandni, that I would give that same life to someone that I have
lived for?"
"Whether or not I leave the church is my own bloody choice," Phillip
snapped, a bit upset at the harping on it and bringing bother Hermione
and Chandni into it. "They willingly put me into an organization that
tortures people and told me it was for the greater good. That is not
acceptable!"
"Then leave it for that and not for me! Do not use me as your
excuse!" He fired right back, his dark eyes glaring. "Chai se
jyada kitali garam hai - you bloody, bloody arse."
"Trust me, if I leave it, it will not just be for you!" Phillip
snapped, tossing the used cigarette on the ground and grinding it out
with his foot.
"Good!" Sam spat back, his own foot stomping. Then he stopped and
looked down at it, realizing how very childish his gesture had been.
"It's always been a bloody wedge between us and I'm having it
challenged from all sides now and it's fucking hard to believe in God
let alone a church!" he snapped.
"Stop it." The other man's voice dropped. "How can you say that you
do not believe?" His eyes bore into Phillip's face, angrier than
before. "How can you look at me, at the fact that we are still here
and standing across from one despite everything and tell me this? God
is not your church, Phillip. God has not failed you. I have. The
country has. But God is not either."
"You have not failed me," Phillip said quietly. "Although I must admit
to jealousy."
"You cannot possibly be jealous of what you already have."
Phillip turned away from Samrat.
"Regardless, I am jealous of her. Of how you smile when you talk of
her. To get you back and lose you to her.." he whispered to the wind.
His hand reached out and forcibly turned the other man, wrenching him
back hard. "And do you think I do not look the same when I am
speaking of you?"
"I want you happy," Phillip whispered. "No matter what."
And once again it returned to putting other people's happiness over his own.
"And what do you want, Phillip, because I do not know. I have
never known."
Phillip ran his hand through his hair.
"To cure AIDS. To watch Hadi grow up. To grow old practising medicine
together - either here or in India. To see Newcastle win the
premiership. To do what God wants," Phillip answered, his hands
falling to his side.
"I never expected to be jealous of anyone in your life. It took me by
surprise. But this.. I do not like the feeling. I wish I could just
get rid of it and be happy."
"You have nothing to be jealous of," Sam repeated again. "You have
been the one thing in my life that is consistent. Why should that
change?"
"Because she is different from Chandni. We did not like each other,
but we had an understanding. I don't know why it feels different with
her, but it does. And I am a stupid snivelling idiot for being like
this, so just give me a swift kick in the arse and be done with it."
"It feels different because with Chandni, you had no space. It was
already done when we met."
"And yet I did not mind as much," Phil said quietly. "Let us talk of
something else, already."
He did not argue that. There was something to Phillip's words that he
did not understand and Samrat frowned, trying to contemplate what that
meant. But he began to walk, kicking at the dirt as he looked down
the dusty road.
"Where do you think this leads? When I was younger, I used to believe
that all roads led to the ocean, eventually." His feet traveled in
the direction that he fancied he heard the waves calling.
"I don't know. But sometimes the journey is as important if not more
so than the destination," Phil said thoughtfully.
"I'll be away next weekend. Have to lead a retreat."
He wasn't sure he was in the best mental or spiritual space for it,
but God's time and man's time did not always coincide.
"What kind of retreat?" Samrat thought that the word was an odd one -
it implied defeat. Surrender. Then again, he reflected, perhaps it
was what they sought.
"A spiritual one. Sort of taking them out of their surrounding,
allowing them to discern how God is working in their lives and how
they can align their will with God's," Phillip said, waving his hand.
"Is this priests? Or ordinary people?" He was curious about this
work of his friend's. "And where is it that you take them? To some
place like this? More secluded?"
"Usually to a monastery or a retreat centre. Somewhere away from the
city. I tend to have a no technology rule - no mobiles or computers
for the weekend. I've gone on retreats as a priest, but I'm not
experienced enough to lead other priests. I'm actually just taking one
person out on an individual retreat. We'll spend the weekend praying
and then examining his life and what possible changes he can make so
that he is doing God's will. "
"How do you select this person?"
"It's not like choosing someone for the lottery. It's more that the
person I'm working with really needs this," Phil said with a shrug.
"But since I won't be available all next weekend, I wanted to let you
know. I'll give you the number there in case of emergency."
Sam smiled at that. "I will not break, I promise."
"I am fairly certain of that, but I do not want you damaged either
without me around," Phil said with a smile.
He thought of pointing out that there was Hermione as well but
strangely now, that comment seemed as if it would be more painful than
reassuring. Samrat tried not to frown but his brows knit over the
smile, still wondering.
"Things will be as they will be." He reached out and gently punched
Phil's shoulder.
"What are you? The Doomsday Soothsayer or something?" Phillip asked
with a chuckle.
"You are the one who thinks that I will fall apart without you for a
weekend," Sam protested with a grin.
"I just want my husband to know where I am," he teased. "I trust you
not to fall apart, but I don't trust the world to not explode."
"Your husband?" He shook his head, laughing. "You would not know
what to do with me, if I was. Imagine having to feed me constantly -
it would drive you mad." His stomach was growling, in fact, as if in
response to the crack. Samrat trudged on resolutely. "And the fact
that I clip my toenails in the shower- that is something you do not
know about me."
"See, we are learning new things constantly. I use whatever soap is on
hand, but I love the smell of spice. I blame that on you and India,"
Phillip said as he walked with Sam.
"What kind of spice?" He grinned. "Because coriander soap must be
difficult to find."
"Cinnamon. Ginger. Saffron. Curry. But they do not make soaps in all
of those. But Patchouli still reminds me of India. I suppose if I
became an Anglican priest, I would be free to marry," Phil said idly.
"A woman, I would think." His feet brushed the dirt, kicking up small
clouds of it. He was not sure what Phil was referring to. "Become an
Anglican, then."
"As long as I had no wish to become bishop, I could marry a man. Well,
not in the church, but a civil partnership would be allowed," Phillip
said, obviously spending way too much time thinking about this.
Sam simply wasn't sure of what to think about the situation. He
stopped, midstride, and asked, "How long have you been reading about
this?"
"I haven't been reading, but I do have non-catholic friends," he teased.
"The partnership is what I meant."
"I haven't yet. Just thoughts swimming in my head," Phillip said with a shrug.
He said nothing, still considering. They continued to walk, the faint
rays of sun beating down on their backs. There was a smile on Sam's
face however as he simply chuckled to him, wondering how well he would
have taken such a proposal in university or how Phil would have made
it. His hand reached out without thinking, taking the other man's as
he would have done to a colleague in India, touch common between men
at home.
Phillip took his hand easily enough as they walked.
"We do not do this enough," Phillip said. "I miss this more than I can
say. Even when we are making bad jokes."
"Do not do what?" Sam could feel the warmth of the other man's hand,
familiar where their fingers joined. His thumb pressed against Phil's
palm gently. "Walking?" He smiled, then said, his words gentle, "No.
We do not. We have not."
"Walking. Talking. Simply existing like this," Phillip said, squeezing
Sam's hand in response.
"Then let us go on as we have begun." Their hands swayed and caught
as Sam lifted them, holding them up so that the sunlight filtered
through their fingers, catching golden shadows on both of their faces,
illuminating them both for one moment before the darkness began to
fall.