#WELL HELP SINNERS CLEAR THEIR LEDGER

[gyubby99]

And then I go and spoil it all by saying something stupid like “I think I want her back HEAR ME OUT—“

[ikesenhell]

Je Te Souviens

Elysium, Part Five. You can find all other IkeSen/IkeVamp works of mine in my Masterlist. NOTES: WELL WELL WELL IT HAS BEEN TOO LONG. Yes, I’m still working on this. Yes, it’s been a minute. Yes, I’m helaciously busy. Yes, I hopefully will get the rest of this out in a relatively short amount of time. I’m back-ish babyeee

---

The idea of meeting a priest as a bandit’s contact was, put mildly, somewhat odd. Did it border on heresy? Jean wasn’t quite sure. It didn't feel right. If the clergy’s first responsibility was to God, what was a priest doing tangled in this web?

Still--August gave a very clear direction. If they wanted answers, they met the priest. 

“I don’t like this,” he muttered. 

Napoleon’s eyes stayed fixed at some unknowable point in the distance, but the corner of his mouth ticked slightly upwards. “No?”

“No.” Jean squeezed the pommel of his sword. It was still there. Overhead, the sky bled purple and gold, grey swirling clouds far off yet. Their boots clicked in tandem on the cobblestone streets. Why were the streets so ghostly still? It was like Penrith only flourished in its twisted corners. People shrank along the walls, pulled up hoods and skittered into waiting doors.   

“We’re a bit obvious, don’t you think?” Isaac narrowed his blush-pink eyes at them, scurrying to keep up. “You two, all kitted out, me alongside you, and headed to the central plaza--”

Jean silently agreed. Between Napoleon’s typical dramatic flair (a black velvet capelet with a black and gold uniform coat? Really?) and his own distinct features, they attracted attention. It would be easy for the Guild to track them. But their fearless leader just smiled as he always did, fine lines of fatigue hovering around his eyes (did he ever sleep enough outside of his own bed?), and elbowed Jean in the ribs. “We’re going to church.”

Jean rubbed his side. “What?”

“Church. It’s been a moment since we’ve all been, and you certainly needed to drop in for a quick prayer…”

He contemplated the lie (which was a plausible scenario, but still a lie, and still a sin). It worked for cover. And as much as he didn't want to be here, sticking out like a sore thumb in the nigh-deserted streets, it brought them that much closer to whatever answers August promised. 

Speaking of August! Unbidden, those bright eyes flashed in his mind’s eye. An arch of severe brow, the twist of lip, the toss of copper curls, the curve of a rolling shoulder--Jean swallowed. Why did the scent of the street rise up and not their lavender soap? God help him. What did those eyes hold that dragged him in? Why did he follow so willingly? Some said that eyes were the window to the soul. That couldn’t be true. There was no cathedral stained glass that compared to August.

What was wrong with him? 

Isaac flapped a hand in front of his face, and Jean started. 

“Earth to Jean.” The advisor scowled. “Why are we stopping? Is it Them?”

Oh. Jean collected himself enough to realize the Them in question was not, in fact, August. “No. No, They’re not bothering me any more than usual. I was… in thought.”

“Well, come on. We’re close.”

The central plaza was crowded. Civilians headed home, tired from work, arms laden with goods, children in tow. Napoleon visibly softened as a couple of tiny girls skipped by, skirts in hand and giggling (and what could he even say? Did he show his friend a kind word? Was it even the time for that, time to acknowledge what Napoleon had given up in exchange for--)

On a nearby bench, flipping a coin, sat a priest. He was a wizened old man with bushy brows and stooped shoulders. The trio exchanged glances. It felt almost too perfect. But--never the man to shy away from trouble--Napoleon swept his capelet behind him and settled in beside the elderly priest. 

“Evening.” 

The man glanced at them and smiled. "Good evening, my children. What brings you here?" 

Napoleon visibly paused. What did they say? August hadn't given them any clear directions. None of them were good at subtlety. Doing his best, Jean cleared his throat. 

"A… friend recommended we meet you. And I could use some prayer, Father, if you would allow me."

The man fixed the three of them with a wry, gap-tooth smile, dusting his knees and rising. "I'd heard some worshippers might visit late today. Very well. Follow me."

---

It was a strangely humble building. That was all good and well, but next to the Guild’s extravagance… well, Jean knew where priorities were. It wasn’t that he expected the city to set religion front and center--God knew Napoleon didn't feel that necessary for Elysium--it was more the unsettling realization that the Guild saw it more important to purchase silk chair covers and gilded spoons than front a single gold coin to anyone else. 

Maybe that was what August wanted them to see. Maybe they’d envisioned how the creaking wood floors would sound under well maintained leather boots. Maybe they’d known that, against Napoleon’s cape, the rough-hewn benches and tattered hymnals told a different tale. This was Penrith. Twilight glow filtered through faraway paper slits serving as windows. Instead of the raucous colors and vivid golds from Elysium’s church, a humble, lovingly-carved wooden altar reached skyward. 

God help him. Jean hesitated on the threshold, deja vu circling like storm clouds. Wasn’t his childhood church just like this one? Marae in the height of autumn, all the colors of fire that later tried to eat him alive, laughter in the beams and a dozen dirt-poor families who still found a thousand reasons to smile. He’d taken communion in a place like this. He’d tried (horribly, terribly) to flirt with Annaliese from the farm over behind a hymnal in a place like this. 

He’d almost died in a place like this. 

Napoleon’s hand wrapped around his. 

“Friend,” he said, his green eyes understanding. “You’re missing the conversation.”

Sometimes breathing proved difficult. Now was one of those times. Jean gulped in the timber-rich air, forcing his lungs to remember that they weren’t full of smoke, that he couldn’t (but could still, always could) taste ash on his tongue and a sinner’s agony in his stomach. “My apologies.”

“That’s alright. Our new friend was just showing us around the chapel. Do you need to step outside?”

“No, no. I’ll be fine.”

Oh, Napoleon. His mouth quirked in that disarming smile, the weight of his confidence bolstering Jean’s resolve. Thank God for Napoleon. 

Fortunately, they hadn’t missed much. The priest gave Isaac a cursory tour in their absence--the pulpit, the prized books, the church office--and then excused himself with a wink and a nudge to find some tome or another he’d ‘misplaced’. The invitation wasn’t lost on them. As soon as the doors to the priest’s chambers shut, Isaac swung open the church office. There wasn’t much. He spied a safe, a large desk, a number of record books, some miscellaneous odds and ends...

“Let’s go.”

Jean wavered in the door. “I don’t know if--”

“--this’ll go faster if you help me look--”

“--Isaac, I can’t read--”

“--I’ve been teaching you! You can at least manage some things--!”

Napoleon choked back a laugh and shunted himself into the tiny space. “At least stand in the doorway. We’ll look.”

Only the sound of flipping pages rustled in the eaves. Jean was a practiced hand at forced calm by now. It felt unlikely--so, so unlikely--that anything could appear in the ledgers of a neglected church. What secrets could the Guild and Penrith hide here? 

“Nothing,” Napoleon murmured. “Isaac?”

“Mmm. I’m checking another book.”

Another book creaked open. 

But then again, all sorts of places held secrets, didn't they? Marceche hadn’t descended on Marae for no reason. They hadn’t tracked him down through sheer dumb luck. You just had to know where to look. Usually, though, that was through people. 

Oh.

Jean spun on his heel. “Is there a guest book? A parishioner’s book?”

Both Napoleon and Isaac stared. Impatiently, Jean pushed into the office. “Sometimes local churches keep records on who attends.”

“What do you think that’ll show?” Isaac demanded. 

He didn't know. It was just the nagging sensation in the back of his mind, the faintest inkling that it was with people, not words, that their business lay. Jean pawed his way over the books until he pieced together enough letters on one to make a guess. “This one. Check this one.”

Napoleon flipped it open. Sure enough, neat columns marched down the page. Jean couldn’t read upside down to save his life, but he knew names when he saw them. 

“I’m still not following.” Isaac ran the thick pages between his fingers, turning each one. 

Look closer look closer look closer

The voices clawed around him. For once, Jean didn't fight them. He was part of that hivemind by nature; now, no doubt, They only reflected his own thoughts back at him. “August wasn’t looking to loot our caravan. If not money, or goods, what were they looking for? What would someone hide in a caravan?”

Silence. Isaac bent his face to the pages once more, rolling his fingers along the names until--at last--he stopped. “Some of them are marked with stars.”

“People.” Napoleon straightened. “Someone is taking people from Penrith.”

[ugly-crying-over-bucky-barnes]

Hello if you don't mind could I ask you to do something with Alfie (I love all your Alfie pieces) I was looking at the prompt lists you posted recently and I was thinking that they are not together but obviously like each other she is working for him. And one day Alfie starts joking around with her and she says something thing about the beard and he starts kinda play wrestling her and tickling her with the beard on her neck or whatever which ends up leading to their first kiss. Hope you like the idea.

//I hope this is kind of what you were looking for! Enjoy!

            To the outside world, Alfie was a cold-hearted, sarcastic, violent man. But those who worked in the bakery knew that this wasn’t all true. Of course, he had a penchant for doling out punishments when he saw fit and the sound of him yelling was a common occurrence. Yet a new side to him began to show when he took on a secretary. She was the niece of a family friend. A girl he grew up with on the streets of Camden. Someone he used to know so well but lost contact with after he began working and especially after he left for war.

            Initially, Alfie was hesitant to bring on a woman. He lived in a man’s world, not just by running rum but in a traditional community of Orthodox Jews. But apparently, some of the Camden women were taken by the new age of the ‘20s and wanted to venture out of the home.

            Including Theresa who Alfie hired after meeting her for the first time. He didn’t consider him to be very shallow, but he appreciated beauty.

            And she was beautiful. Alfie wasn’t sure he ever realized how beautiful she was. There were times when they passed each other on the street and gave one another a brief hello. But she truly had grown into herself

            Alfie chalked it up to being a sinner. He was a sinner so he would want a beautiful woman around. What he didn’t realize was that he wanted Theresa around because she was a bright light in an otherwise dreary spot of London. She had always been a cheery person. Alfie couldn’t ever remember her being in a foul mood when they were children. She always seemed to be content even if they were poor.

            She made it very apparent on her first day that she hadn’t changed much. She brought in a little bouquet of flowers to liven up her desk outside of Alfie’s office.

            Alfie sighed, watching her set the vase down with care. “She’s gonna be eaten alive here.” He muttered under his breath.

            But later that day, he passed by her as she was trying to work a hole punch.

            “For fuck’s sake.” She hissed at the contraption.

            Alfie snorted.

            Theresa’s head shot up with a look of embarrassment. “Oh, Alfie, I’m sorry. I didn’t realize you were standing there.”

            He chuckled. “Love, there ain’t nothing you could say that would make me blush.” He informed her. “Just didn’t expect that from you.”

            “Me?” She raised an eyebrow. “We were raised the same way. I’m sure we were both swearing before our mums could do anything about it.”

            That put a smile on his face. “I remember the first time you swore in front of your mum. She was convinced the devil had gotten a hold of you.”

            Theresa giggled. “That poor woman.”

            Alfie paused for a moment. It wasn’t completely rare that he would strike up a conversation with his employees. He chatted with Ollie and some of the others who had been working for him for a while. He knew their families well, so he respected them for their hard work. But Theresa was much more and he felt stupid that he hadn’t realized that before. This was the girl he was raised with.

            He wasn’t sure whether to be at ease or nervous about the sort of feelings bubbling up inside him. So, he quickly excused himself.

~~~

            As time went on, the longer Theresa worked there, Alfie realized he couldn’t walk away from those feelings. There was a clear playfulness to their relationship. Alfie felt like a kid again around her and Theresa certainly wasn’t afraid of him like most people were.

            But he couldn’t help but feel a little foolish. Theresa was still the bright, uplifting person she had been since childhood. Alfie was now just a grumpy bag of bones who made God extremely angry with every breath he took. At least, that’s what he thought. He didn’t think there were any remnants of the young man he once was. Well, aside from being a troublemaker. He had been one since birth.

            But none of this seemed to bother Theresa. In fact, she was making it very difficult to stay away. She had a habit of making him laugh like no one else ever could. Not to mention when she noticed he wasn’t happy, she tried to ease his burden a bit.

            Despite Alfie’s reluctance, the relationship blossomed very naturally as the year progressed.

~~~ 

            Come springtime, Theresa was in Alfie’s office helping him with his ledger.

            Not too long after they began, Alfie noticed she was catching glances much more frequently than she usually did.

            “Something wrong?” He asked.

            “Oh, no.” She shook her head, not really embarrassed that he was calling her out. “I just was thinking about how it’s been a long time since I’ve seen you without a beard. You never had one before the war.” She remembered.

            “Yeah.” He consciously ran a hand over his right cheek. “Covers up the worst of me scar, don’t it?”

            “No, I didn’t mean I didn’t like it.” She clarified. “It was just something I was thinking about.” She shrugged.

             “Yeah?”

            “Do the women you’re with complain about it being scratchy?” She asked coyly.

            He gave her a funny look. “Do you see me frolicking about with women? You’ve worked here long enough to know I barely have time to breathe.”

            She smiled. There was no use in denying that Theresa enjoyed toying with him a bit. It made her day a bit more fun knowing she could flirt with him and he would either get flustered or send it right back her way. Even though she wanted something more with him, she figured the most she would get was harmless flirting.

            “Or maybe it’s the beard.” She replied casually.

            He narrowed his eyes at her. It was clear she was playing with him. “You’re in a feisty mood today, aye?”

            She didn’t answer. “I suppose it makes you appear older. More manly maybe.”

            “Oh,” He crossed his arms over his chest and leaned back in his desk chair as he eyed her. Almost as if he was trying to figure out her strategy, find out what her game plan was, or what she wanted out of the interaction. “So, I weren’t manly ‘til I grew a fucking beard.”

            “When you didn’t have the beard, I could still beat you up.”

            “Now that, yeah, is utter horseshit. There weren’t ever a time you could beat me up.”

            She laughed. “Oh please, I could pin you to the ground better than your own brother could.”

            “Well, that’s just rich.” He shook his head. “I’ll let you believe what you want, love.”

~~~           

            But Theresa wasn’t done. She waited until most of the men in the bakery had gone home. Since Alfie worked late most nights, it would be perfect. She came into his office and shut the door behind her.

            He was at his filing cabinet and nodded at her.

            She didn’t say anything, just came up beside him and poked him right under his ribs where she knew he was ticklish. Just as when they were children, Alfie nearly doubled over and stifled a snorting laugh.

            “Oi!” He caught her hand before she could get him again. “Little minx, you tryna give me a heart attack?”

            She giggled. “Still the same boy, aren’t you?”

            Alfie could argue that he wasn’t. He could list off all the things he had done. The horrible deeds he’d been up to ever since the war. But there was a sparkle in Theresa’s eyes that made his knees weak.

            So, he grabbed her by the waist and threw her over his shoulder. “Yeah, same boy that you used to wrestle, aye? You’d tear your stockings and your mum would chew us all out. Saying we were leading you astray.”          

            “Alfie!” Theresa laughed as he plopped her down on top of his desk.

            “Told her that it weren’t us. Nah, it was you the whole time. Always stirring the pot.” He stood in front of him with his hands on his hips but a faint smirk on his face.

            “You never complained.” She replied cheekily.

            He shook his head. “No one could find a single thing to complain ‘bout you.”

            Theresa chewed on her lip, thinking for a moment before she made up her mind. She stood up and stepped toward Alfie.

            For a moment, he thought she was going to make another go at him, but then she touched his cheek gently. She searched his eyes, waiting for him to push her away. But instead, he nodded and kissed her.

            Everything sank away. Theresa wrapped her arms around his neck and deepened the kiss with a soft sigh.

            Alfie’s brain was going haywire. A million different reasons for abandoning her flooded his mind. She would be better off, he was a terrible person, nothing good would come to her, everyone would think ill of her, he would be using her.

            But there was one good reason to keep her near. He loved her.

            He placed a hand on the small of her back to bring her flush against him. Never again did he want her to be so far. Having her close felt far too good to give it up.

            When Theresa drew away, she looked happier than he’d ever seen her before. “I don’t think I mind kissing you with the beard.” She said playfully. “In fact, I kind of like it.”

            He chuckled and pecked her lips again. “So that’s that, then?”

            “I suppose so.” She lightly ran her fingers through his unruly hair. “Although, I never expected you to, well I just thought that you would never want to be with me.”

            “Yeah? What gave you that idea?” He asked.

            “I don’t know. I just thought maybe you would want a woman who’s more…dangerous. Not some silly girl like me.”

            Alfie smoothed a thumb over her cheek, taking in how soft her skin was compared to his calloused hands. “You are a silly girl for ever thinking that’s the case.” He murmured. “This is a job, love. Why would I want to come home to someone who’s just like work, aye? I want to come home to someone loving and warm. Thoughtful and funny and…” He felt like he was losing himself in her yearning gaze. “What I mean is, I want someone like you. I want you. Just didn’t think you would ever want someone like me.”

            “Then you are a silly man for ever thinking that’s the case.” She replied. “I want every part of you, Alfie.”