Work Text:
As he entered St. Paul's Basilica for midnight mass, Henry Fitzroy caught a familiar scent. Michael Celluci, in the back row, with an empty spot next to him. He looked up, then did a double-take as Henry joined him on the kneeler, but surely, in this of all places, they could co-exist without argument.
Henry let himself relax into the familiar ritual. Stand here, kneel here, respond here, Celluci's hand warm in his as they exchanged the sign of peace. The English was sometimes jarring, and he would always regret missing communion, but he could still find serenity in worship.
After the service, Henry followed Mike, matching pace in companionable silence. Mike finally broke it. "You can't take communion."
Henry sighed. "Not as I am, no."
Without answering, Mike stepped sideways out of the light. Bemused, Henry followed him, and stopped short at the hand extended towards him. "Are you...?"
"Don't make me regret this, cartoonist."
Henry took Mike's hand and held it to his cheek. "The body and blood of Christ..." he murmured. He turned his head and pierced the skin, the blood flowing into his mouth a benediction.
It was Christmas, and all was right with the world.