Chapter Text
"Come house-sit with me" was just about the last thing Jud expected Benoit Blanc to say to him.
Jud had just finished regaling Blanc with a play-by-play of his ever first baptism earlier in that November morning (including the "bath" taken by the infant's big brother in the holy water font when no one was looking) when he mentioned that he had been granted the week after Christmas away from the Our Lady of Perpetual Grace.
Bishop Langstrom had offered to mind the church during what was almost always a dead week after the intense activity of the Advent season.
That is, he "offered" by insisting that Jud "get out of this town for a week or, so help me, I will drag you to the county-line myself."
Jud had been touched by the Bishops' concern (and tickled at his approach) and was almost giddy when he finally got the chance to share the story with Blanc.
He'd grown to see Blanc's calls as a highlight in his week, though they were slightly bitter-sweet. The calls usually happened Sunday afternoons, after the morning Masses were completed when everyone else filed home for what the residents of Chimney Rock still called Dinner and Jud was left to root through the fridge at the Rectory and hope that some of Alma's casserole was still edible.
That's when he reached for the phone and dialed Blanc's number.
That first year, the calls were mostly initiated by Blanc. Jud had been surprised, pleasantly, to hear from him and talking to Blanc through the morning had replaced trying (and failing) to find a way to get far enough out of town that he could hear Mass without getting stared at.
Jud had mentioned this dilemma once when feeling particularly lost, and the next week Blanc called not from his New York apartment or some far flung locale, but from the Rectory driveway.
"Need a ride, Father?" he'd asked smoothly, dressed down (for him) in slacks and a sweater. He had brought a printed list of Catholic Churches in the area, but somehow read the look on Jud's face without him saying a word. "Albany. Right."
Forty-five minutes later, Jud was pulling up to Bishop Langstrom's church preparing to hear Mass for the first time since that horrible Holy Week. As Jud was about to exit the car, he paused with his hand on the door. He had no expectation that Blanc would accompany him, but after the kindness of his gesture it felt wrong to simply walk inside and leave him sitting there on his own. Blanc smiled wryly, pulling out a fresh copy of 'La Monde' bearing today's date from beside him.
He must have been up before dawn to buy that in the City and make it to Chimney Rock by 8 am.
"Don't you worry about me, Padre. You go enjoy your storytime and I'll be right here when you get done. Maybe we can grab a bite before we head back?”
And he had enjoyed it. And they had grabbed a bite. And it had become a habit, when Blanc was available, for him to check-in late Saturday and see if Jud wanted a ride the next morning.
Blanc never came near the Church, just waited in the car with a newspaper and smiled when Jud returned, ready for a meal at a local bistro or a diner, depending on who's turn it was to pay for breakfast.
The truth was, Jud came to rely on those drives. Even more the afternoons afterwards, spent over coffee or tea after Blanc pulled back into the tree-covered Rectory drive and got out "just for a minute" before heading back to the City.
Jud more often than not watched him drive away under the light of the evening star as it appeared between the branches, feeling strangely empty as the car turned onto the road.
When he got the word that Our Lady of Perpetual Grace was to be opened again, Blanc was the first person he thought of. At first, he convinced himself that he was simply excited to share the good news. This was a triumph for both of them. Whatever his feelings on the Church, Blanc would no doubt be thrilled that they'd succeed in besting Wicks (both Jefferson and Cy) once and for all.
But that night, alone in the silent Rectory, Jud had woken sweating and panting and hard. Falling to his knees beside the bed, he tried to focus on something, anything, besides the searing images: strong hands, blue eyes, a low voice (sweet as honeyed figs) whispering in his ear.
Jud knew it was his own guilty soul flailing like an animal caught in a trap. Fighting to hold onto sin, even when his true path lay so close at hand.
Because, he realized, in this past year he'd strayed further than he could have ever imagined.
The truth was that there had been moments when he'd looked up and, seeing Benoit studying a Scrabble board or paging through a book, he'd allowed himself to pretend this was his life.
A home. A partner. A quiet Sunday afternoon.
He may have tried to dismiss it as an innocent fancy, but now Jud could see how wrong it had been. That life was one he’d lost the right to long ago. And to repay Benoit’s kindness and friendship like that…because it hadn't just been tonight, had it? Jud recalled other nights, other dreams, even being so desperate that he’d taken himself in hand just to try to get free.
He struck himself firmly in the chest as he prayed.
"Have mercy on me, O God, according to your steadfast love; according to your abundant mercy blot out my transgressions. Wash me thoroughly from my iniquity, and cleanse me from my sin.”
It wasn't enough. Jud clasped his hands and closed his eyes.
“God….I know You love me. Thank You for setting this path before me, clearing my way. I know I don't deserve it except through Your grace. I…” and here he couldn't help the tears that forced themselves from his eyes, “I am so sorry if I was anything less than grateful and accepting, even for a moment. I know this is the way You want to use me in this life, to show how even the worst of us is deserving in Your eyes. You've laid a table before me and I desired…”
‘More’ his treacherous mind supplied. That couldn't be true, what more was there than this for him?
“....what I should not. I have already had so many of Your blessings but please give me courage. Help me to fight temptation and not only serve You but not dishonor my friend. He doesn't deserve it. He's done nothing but shown kindness and warmth. I have been weak. I know I have Your love and understanding always but please…I beg Your help. Show me the way.”
He'd stayed on his knees until the dawn broke.
Rising slowly, he dressed in his full clerical garb for the first time in months. He was due to drive to Albany today and he needed to give up on these absurd fantasies and restart the path he'd chosen for himself. Downstairs, he paced and prayed the rosary while he waited for Blanc to arrive.
Walking to the car in his collar, part of Jud had quaked to see Blanc's reaction. He was clearly surprised, but listened happily as Jud discussed the future on the drive there and back.
It was a shame he couldn't stay after…but Jud could read signs when they were shoved in his face and knew that this was God's way of telling him to step back.
Leave Benoit Blanc to his life.
And he'd tried. He really had.
He'd had a moment of weakness, yes, but when Blanc was preparing to take his leave Jud honestly felt that he couldn't go on with the rest of his life not knowing how it felt to be in his embrace. He’d let the man go after only a heartbeat, forcing a smile onto his face as his new congregants entered.
And done penance after.
For a few weeks he was so busy he didn't even have a chance to think of Blanc. Our Lady was growing every Sunday, and between meeting the new congregants and organizing functions, Jud really felt fulfilled in his role...maybe for the first time ever. Those things that had tormented him (the dreams, the fantasies) floated away, and he was able to concentrate his full self on God and his flock.
But then Jud had actually had a quiet afternoon and read a brilliant new mystery and had to discuss it with Blanc, so he'd called. After these last few weeks, he felt strong; ready to contact Blanc and simply focus on friendship. And it worked! Their conversation had been a balm to his soul, so the next week he'd called again. And soon the Albany trips were replaced by afternoon phone calls and the (very occasional) in-person visit.
It was perfectly fine and yet…Jud missed those drives.
He missed the confined space of the car, feeling the subtle movements of Blanc's hands and legs as he shifted the gears even from a seat away. He missed being able to tell just from a side-glance if he was smiling or frowning. He missed the way that a conversation can be at once intimate and safe when you are so close together yet looking ahead at the road.
He missed watching Blanc talk with his hands at the kitchen counter, nearly overturning the coffee pot with enthusiasm while explaining why exactly 'Cats' was not about a death cult. Jud remembered a moment he'd been so concerned about spillage he'd grabbed Blanc's hands to keep him from disaster…and the jolt that traveled up his arm at the contact.
Now, even when they did meet, Blanc kept such a distance between them. He always chose the seat on the far side of the couch or on the opposite side of the table in El Diablo. Jud tried to tell himself it was better that way.
Because Blanc had always been clear on his position on God and the Church, hadn't he? As God had resumed His proper place in Jud’s life, it was inevitable that he and the detective would drift apart. Jud certainly couldn't regret that he had more time and focus to spend on his congregation and Church?
Of course not.
He reminded himself that this steady friendship was exactly what he'd prayed for that long night. If his heart ached for the easy closeness of the first year, well…that was Jud's weakness to be conquered. From week to week, Jud maintained this new status quo and he expected Blanc to do the same.
Hence, his frank surprise at the invitation.
Blanc explained that a friend of his, "a marvelous girl" he'd called her, was traveling and didn't want to leave her house in the middle of winter unobserved. "Massachusetts is only fit for Puritans, I say. Well...a few places excepted. Frozen tundra that that place is in January, pipes are liable to freeze solid and with no one to notice she'd really be up the creek without a paddle. Building that old, you don't know but what could go wrong if there's no one there to mind it."
"Where is your friend off to?"
"Europe with her family. She's never been. She wanted to spend Christmas at the house, but then she's taking off for all of January. Seein' London, Paris...even taking a trip on the Orient Express."
"For real?" He and Blanc had discovered that they had each started re-reading classic mysteries a few weeks into their Sunday drives.
Jud smiled remembering how they talked about that story for hours over Louise's apple pie and then hate-watched the newest movie version on Blanc's iPad, Jud straining to see over Blanc's shoulder. Straining not to rest his weight on him. Jud still remembered the warmth of Benoit's body, the smell of his cologne…he shook himself. "Thank goodness she didn't invite you!"
"My, that's a low blow there, Padre! If a man has the unfortunate propensity to continuously find himself involved in murder I would think you'd have the decency to refrain from comment!" Blanc's laughter belied any hurt that might have been conveyed in his words.
Still, Jud flinched.
"Sorry." It came out smaller than he would have liked.
"Now, now, none of that! You don't need to apologize for being both right and clever.”
Jud shrunk further inside himself. He didn't deserve those kind words, not from anyone. Certainly not from Blanc.
“Apparently her sister has wanted to ride that railroad since they were children and...well, this seemed like this perfect time…"
Blanc was talking again, something about who the house had belonged to before Marta and how he was looking forward to taking advantage of the massive book collection, but Jud could barely process the words. There was a tiny war going on inside him, between what his mouth wanted to say and what his throat could croak out.
There was a part of him that had dreaded the thought of trying to navigate that week alone. Without this place, his routine, the few relationships he'd built, he'd just be wondering without purpose.
And here was Blanc, again, coming to his rescue.
It felt like a miracle, and yet it brought back every feeling of being lost and pathetic and helpless that he's gone through that terrible week. Blanc was so kind, but even he would tire of keeping Jud as his personal charity case in perpetuity. Between that and...the other thing...how could he even consider spending a week alone with this man basically playing house? It was an absurd and dangerous idea.
And he wanted it so goddamn much.
“Lead me not into temptation’, Lord. Help my feet stay on the true and right path. Please, give me strength.” Jud begged silently, as Blanc continued speaking.
And in response he felt a flow of calm and peace, the tight muscles of his throat relaxing and letting in much needed air. It didn't happen often, these immediate moments of Presence, but Jud basked in the feeling of certainty and purpose that replaced his usual fog of doubt.
He said a brief prayer of thanksgiving, praising the wisdom of God. He'd asked for fortitude, for direction, and been granted it
That's why he was shocked to his core when he finally heard himself speak.
"I'd love to."
******
"Come house-sit with me" was pretty much the last thing Benoit Blanc planned on saying when Jud cheerfully revealed that he finally (finally!) had time off.
After eighteen months of work, struggle, and loneliness that godforsaken (all puns intended) institution had finally seen fit to give the boy a chance to breathe. Long past time, so far as Benoit was concerned.
He hadn’t meant to stay involved, really he hadn't. But with Cy still sniffing around like a truffle pig, and the whole town having decided that if Jud didn't kill Wicks in fact he did in spirit, he could no more walk away from the boy than he could have pushed him off a cliff.
At first, he’d just wanted to make sure that Jud ate enough to keep body and soul together and didn't end up talking to a reliquary or something. No saying what those religious types will do when at the end of their rope.
But he'd surprised himself by honestly loving his conversations with Jud…and it wasn't everyone Benoit Blanc enjoyed jawing away with for whole chunks of the day.
Jud was so interesting. Smart, yes. Simultaneously sliding right by the truth and being as open and honest as a summer breeze. And with a deep streak of dry humor that always caught Blanc by surprise.
And the little threads of his story that slipped through…who goes through what Jud had and still denied that the world was a wolf? Who embedded themselves in the most corrupt nest of vipers on Earth, knew it, but still insisted that there was a shining core at the heart of it?
Who saw goodness in every single human soul save, of course, his own?
But, much as those questions gnawed at him, most often Benoit had tried to turn Jud away from his troubles to lighter things. They talked about books, or music, or funny stories that had happened in their days. And Blanc has been almost satisfied that he could maybe step back a bit.
Next week, for sure (never mind that he'd told himself that for a month).
But then, one late fall morning, Jud had answered the phone clearly on the verge of tears. With some gentle prompting, Benoit had uncovered the trouble
He'd sounded so lost and Benoit had been so goddamn angry...how dare even such a heartless beast as the Catholic Church leave this man to fend for himself among people who so distrusted his shining heart? Jud was the best of them, and against all odds he still wanted the bullshit they were selling, and they turned their backs.
Well, if they wouldn't help the boy, he would.
He'd made up his mind then and there, got on the Googles and messed up his entire algorithm looking for Catholic Churches that didn't seem overtly hateful (good luck with that) but of course when he'd arrived, buzzed on street cart coffee and fresh air, Jud had given him those puppy eyes and traipsed straight back to Langstrom.
Benoit sent him off smiling, but steamed a bit when the door to the car had closed and Jud had disappeared up the stone steps.
It wasn't that he had a problem with Langstrom per se. As that type went, he clearly had a head on his shoulders and seemed to honestly see what was special about Jud. But he'd still thrown Jud at Wicks the way a general would send off a soldier to a vital but impossible mission: caring more about removing Wicks (one way or another) than whatever might happen to Jud in the meantime.
Save the Church, to hell with the man (all puns intended).
Still, Jud came back standing about three inches taller and over breakfast at a local bistro he'd volleyed and debated and laughed and Benoit finally, finally, felt like he was seeing Jud's light not just peaking through clouds of trauma and panic but shining out like a beacon.
If this is what a little storytime could do for the boy, how could Benoit deny it to him?
So, the drives had continued. Not every week, of course. He still had cases to solve and occasional other things to take care of, but more often than not he found himself watching the sun rise over the horizon somewhere between New York City and Chimney Rock, set on arriving on time and sparing Jud any worry about being late to church.
And after?
He meant to head right home, he really did. But after all the travel that first day he did need to freshen up before hitting the road again, and when he'd come from the bathroom Jud had a cup of coffee waiting "So you don't doze on the drive" and then that had turned into checkers (Blanc lost) and chess (Blanc lost again) and finally Scrabble ("Really, Jud! I object to that play" as Jud raked in a double word score for turning 'vest' to 'vestments') until he didn't arrive back to his place until well after dark.
From then on it became a habit. And he was glad to do it, to keep Jud's mind off the long hours of the afternoon and the empty church he could just glimpse from the window.
And if he found that he didn't miss the afternoons walking the City alone or trying vainly to connect with friends (so many of them were gone now, anyway) all to the good.
Benoit Blanc prided himself as a man who sought out the truth, so there was no small amount of embarrassment as well as confusion when he examined just how thoroughly he had deceived himself.
It might have started the winter afternoon he'd brought a movie over, that terrible version of ‘Murder on the Orient Express.” They'd cozied up (too close, in retrospect) in front of Benoit's iPad to watch. When he couldn't watch the story being massacred anymore, he had turned to see Jud’s cheek an itch from his shoulder, the light from the screen caught in his hair, illuminating him like a halo.
He was the most beautiful thing Benoit Blanc had ever seen.
And his heart had raced, and pined, and hoped.
In the aftermath, he might blame Kenneth Branagh (shameless ham) for making such a subpar adaptation of a delicious mystery story, or the Catholic Church (always a safe bet) for not supplying the Rectory with anything approaching a streaming capable device, but in his heart-of-hearts he knew that the blame lay squarely on his own shoulders for his uncharacteristic willful blindness.
A blindness which, he was mortified to acknowledge, had continued well beyond when even a moderately insightful man would have realized what a pipe dream he was chasing.
Because it had been easy, in the days when Our Lady of Perpetual Fortitude was closed and Jud was just a man he saw most every week, to imagine that things might continue like this until...well, until maybe those moments resolved themselves into something a bit more tangible. Until the two of them stopped dancing around each other and started dancing together, as it were.
Benoit could just almost...almost...see it happening a bit more each time they were near one another. And even that tiny bit of hope kept him coming back week after week…
Until the whole thing collapsed on him like the house of cards it was.
Seated in his car one early spring Sunday morning, Benoit had been startled to see Jud exit the Rectory in his full priestly get up. His surprise must have read all over his face, because as he buckled himself in, Jud had blushed prettily and started to explain. “I finally got permission to reopen the Church, so I figured I should start dressing the part again. We should be able to be open for Holy Week, if you can believe it!” And he'd chattered away the whole drive to Albany, sharing all the details of his plans for the congregation and his joy at finally getting to restart his work.
“It feels amazing! I honestly wasn't sure that I'd ever get this chance. I prayed for it, hoped for it…but still.” Jud's face was turned to the window, watching the spring woods fly by.
Benoit Blanc wanted to crawl into a hole and die.
How…how…had he been so stupid? How had he forgotten? Pushed aside that he was just, at best, the “other man” between Jud and his true loves; imaginary God and the Church he would always run back to. He might be kind to Benoit, might enjoy his company, but there was as much a chance of him returning his feelings as hell freezing over.
Benoit almost drove his car past the turn off for Langstrom’s church.
He'd held it together, somehow, until they arrived back. His dark thoughts made an unfortunate contrast to the gorgeous day, with the promise of spring leaking in the open car windows and Jud singing "Popular" quietly under his breath when it came up on the CD player. He hadn't even unbuckled his seat belt when Jud stepped out of the car, and turned to look back at Benoit, hurt question on his face.
"Plane to catch later tonight. Sorry, can't stay."
Jud nodded. "You'll be back in two weeks? The Bishop said Cy's coming." Jud looked nervous, eyes darting toward the Sanctuary. "And it's the reopening." he turned back to Benoit, smiling to rival the sun.
Benoit couldn't let his foul mood ruin the boys' joy. He'd sewn fantasies and reaped disappointment. Jud shouldn't suffer for it.
"I'll be here." He'd mustered a smile, dim though it was, "Can't wait to go toe-to-toe with young Mr. Wicks"
"I can't wait to watch you." Jud stepped back, closing the car door and raising his hand in farewell. "Safe trip.”
He pulled out of the driveway, and sped down the back roads and onto the highway, getting as far from Our Lady of Perpetual Fortitude as he could.
And if he skipped "Not That Girl" after the first three bars, well, there wasn't any all-seeing Sky Daddy to notice.
He'd driven himself straight to the airport (apparently, he couldn't lie to Jud either) and boarded the first plane to New Orleans. Hadn't even packed a toothbrush. Even though Mardi Gras was a bit past, the Crescent City was in her element. This time of year, she was like a woman who'd come home from a party and put on her comfortable pajamas. Less glamorous, but more beautiful to those few privileged enough to see her.
He'd counted it a success that he'd only consciously imagined Jud was with him one time, watching the sun rise on the Mississippi while the morning bells of St Louis rang out across the water. And if there have been more times than he could count where he'd wondered what Jud would make of his favorite city, well, so be it. He'd pushed those thoughts aside.
He was determined, at the end of that visit, to leave Chimney Rock and never look back.
Any doubts he had about that course were erased when Jud stopped him by stepping forward, wrapping him in an embrace.
Jud had meant it as a gentle thanks, no doubt, nothing untoward at all. And yet Benoit could not help how his head dipped to Jud's shoulder or how his hand lingered on his waist.
Dammit.
As he drove away, he resolved to never communicate with Jud again. Close the chapter. Done.
And then Jud had called.
Six months later, he still hasn't been able to stop himself from taking Jud's calls. All things considered, he was glad for the distraction when Marta phoned up to tell him about her trip.
“There's no one I trust with the house like you. Harlan would have too. I just don't like the idea of leaving it empty, with the snow and cold and…”
"And Ransom Drysdale goes up for parole January 4th."
"Yea." Marta's voice was small. "Blanc, you don't think that he's going to get it do you?"
Benoit wished that he had more faith that a man with money couldn't get whatever he damn well pleased in the current legal system. Drysdale had already slipped Fran's murder on a technicality, so he was only locked up for attempted murder (he hadn't actually killed his grandfather or Marta) and arson. Still, another man would have no chance of parole five years after that.
Well, thank the stars Benoit Blanc's GI tract was in order.
"Now, there's no way, Marta. No way in hell. But I'll be happy to watch the place if it means you can go and enjoy your time with your family without fretting. It would be good to get out of the City and get some clean air."
"I know. Helen is worried about you."
"Helen worries too damn much." The words flew out with more vitriol than he meant. "I am peachy. Never better."
"She thinks you're lonely. After everything with Phillip..."
"Water under the bridge, honey. We had drinks last night, me and him and his new beaux. Nice man, runs the legal department for a shelter for trans youth."
"Still."
"Worry less about an old man's social life and more about packing for Paris, sugar. Give me the logistics, so I can set things up on this end." And the conversation had turned practical.
When Jud had told him about his vacation, right when he was house-sitting at the mansion, his goddamn mouth had uttered an invitation before his brain could catch up.
When he realized what he'd done, he'd covered it with a tangent about Marta and her travel plans. Ended up pushing too far (as ever) and sending Jud skittering right back to his corner. Metaphorically speaking.
In discomfort, Benoit jumped off his couch and began to circle his living room, talking faster than even his mind could keep up.
He talked about Harlan and the books he had at his place, though as soon as he said it Benoit realized it just sounded like he was trying to convince Jud to come for the library. Dammit. He was making the poor boy uncomfortable enough, was it too much to ask his sorry self that he not dig this hole any deeper?
He was just about to reroute the entire conversation in a safer direction (the weather, maybe?), when the strong and clear voice on the phone stopped him in his pacing tracks.
"I'd love to."