Remade Champagne Challenge #136 G

[MoonShadow]

I'm writing without a beta so please forgive any errors.

Pairing: Mick
Rating: G --but it's pretty black
Spoilers: I wish it had a spoiler
Beta Thank You:
Summary: Nothing happens by chance, beware of coincidences


CBS & Paramount owns Moonlight, No copyright infringement is intended.

Champagne Challenge #136 Mick’s Ring
Please bear with me. This makes several references to the Catholic Church and the Beautides. I don’t endorse either; they just fit into this story.

Remade
By Moonshadow

The cold winter rain streamed down the glass unseen, grey light shadowed and danced across the desk top painting his cupped hands with a pale wash. He ached. He sat, silently begging for the ability to pray. “I’m really truly dead. I can’t even pray for them. I’m an unholy monster. I shouldn’t even touch these!” His pain erupted, flinging the handful across the room his throat ached as he roared white hot rage.

In his mind her bell like voice rang calm and clear, cutting across his pain. “Michael, it’s time.”

Mick turned from the memory and stared at the dancing flame.

“Blessed are those who mourn for they shall be comforted,” she said smiling. It had been so many years since he’d seen her smile the warmth of it shook him.

Turning away from her image, Mick looked out the window into the grayness as yet another memory took hold.

Sitting in the tiny funeral chapel staring at the dancing flame above the white lilies, the scent of them mixed with incense felt cloying and overwhelming. Their scent pressed against his chest squeezing the pain into a reality that he couldn’t deny. As the priest concluded the funeral the pounding pulse of two living beating hearts created an obscene cacophony against the silence hollowness of his own heart. The priest, the funeral coordinator, and himself, Mick hadn’t contact anyone in the family. “How could I see anyone, contact anyone? I’m a monster they wouldn’t understand.” Mick ground his teeth tensing his jaw fighting the anger. “She deserved a funeral mass Coraline, not this sham. You made me into this unholy monster; she never deserved this, not her.” Mick made the sign of the cross in response to the priests closing benediction. “I’m so sorry Mom, I’m so sorry.”

Mick shuddered. Wave after wave they kept coming, memory after memory, the last few days had blurred with white hot anger.

Mick had taken the glass and sat heavily. Taken a deep swallow of the whisky and felt the burn.

“Irishmen shouldn’t drink Michael. We have too much sorrow on our hearts.” The old priest toasted him, “Whiskey makes it easy to lose our way,” he added swallowing hard on the tail of his own burning mouthful. Pouring another healthy draught into their glasses before capping the bottle and shuffling over to his favored spot in the office the priest raised his glass, “Mary Margaret, Blessed are the clean of heart, for they shall see God.”

Mick’s head snapped up meeting the old man’s laser like stare. “How do they teach that?” Mick wondered. “Is it a class in seminary? How to make parishioners squirm101” Mick fought the growing urge to squirm, swallowed, and carefully framed his reply, “Thank you for being with her when she passed. I know Dad wanted to be there for her.”

“That would be Mick Senior?” the old priest interrupted.

This time the urge to squirm was too much; Mick shifted and hesitantly glanced down at the glass in his hand. “Great, lying to a priest” “uh, Yes Dad,” he finished quietly.

He knew coming to see the old priest had been a mistake. Father Bernard had called after the funeral, requesting his visit. It was more of an order than a request. Regardless, Mick wanted the items Mom had entrusted to the old man.

Sipping the whiskey this time, and setting the glass down gingerly Mick rubbed his hands together, he needed to get this done and get out of here. “I know you’re busy sir, if I could get the package you have, I’ll get out of your way.” Inwardly Mick cringed, this really wasn’t going well.

The old priest watched him, a master of silence, at home in his domain. “Mickey, the church has broad shoulders. Confession brings peace. You should think about that.”

Mick’s gut clenched, “Forgive me father, I’m an unholy monster? How about, forgive me father I’m vampire.” “Thanks father, I appreciate your concern, if you don’t mind I need to get going.” He said jerking to his feet. “Could I get those things from you?” the words coming in a mechanical rapid fire pace.

The old man drained his glass peered into it, then carefully set it down before slowly rising up. His level solid stare never wavered and Mick fought the rising sense of panic.

Dipping down the lop sided conversation continued came from behind the army green surplus desk, “Your mother,” the bent back grunted, “fought a long hard fight.” The priest said swinging back around to face his desk and then disappeared as he began digging through a bottom drawer.

“I didn’t get to California much as a kid, I didn’t know my grandmother very well.” Mick replied.

The priest paused his rummaging glanced over his shoulder, grunted and continued to dig. Shoving the heavy drawer shut he dropped the manila envelope on his desk and straightened the crook in his back. “I was Mary Margaret’s priest and confessor for 37 years. Thomas and Mary St John were two of my favorite parishioners. Your,” the old priest paused staring at Mick, daring him to interrupt, “Your father’s,” he added a drawl emphasis on the words, “marriage was a mixed blessing to them.” Mick blinked and the priest continued, “They never understood how a good Irish son could be too busy,”

Mick’s hand quivered ever so slightly as he reached for the envelope.

“Remember what I said, confession is good for the soul.” Father Bernard shuffled from behind the desk fastening the bent wire rimmed glasses over his ears before placing a heavy hand on Mick’s arm. “Mary loved the beatitudes. Do you know them? She said her favorite was, Blessed are the clean of heart, for they shall see God.”

“I didn’t know that,” Mick lied softly.
Now he knew exactly what the envelope held.

Mick ripped open the envelope pouring the old heavy rosary into his left hand. Pops wedding ring clanked heavily against the crucifix next Mom’s rosary slid onto the pile and her wedding band tinkled as it dropped against the tangled handful.
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Mick had stood silent after his raging howl of pain, stunned at the sight of her smiling at him. “Mom?” his voice barely a whisper, “I’ve gone crazy. You can’t be here. I know you’re dead.”

“Oh, my boy. My sweet, sweet, boy” She tilted her head like she always did when he’d done something wrong.

Shamed Mick looked away from her smile, out at the cold grey rain, as it poured down the glass. His was the only reflection there. Mick gathered the scattered items from around the room. “What do I do now?” he asked the silence.

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The motor shuddered once jerking Mick out of his thoughts and he swore. Empty. He looked again just to be sure. Mick glanced around, aware of the city around him for the first time that night. “great,” he thought knowing that nothing would be open at this hour of the night. Had he really driven all night, he had no idea where he was going. He’d just driven. Now the idea of leaving the Mercedes in a strange neighborhood wasn’t something he really wanted to do, then again, neither was getting caught out in the daylight in some strange neighborhood.

As he pulled to the curb, the irony of his location was just too much. Mick laughed bitterly as he shook his head. “Kizmet, fate, whatever you wanted to call it. Sometimes the universe conspired against you.”

Locking the car door, Mick shoved the key deep into his pocket and shrugged the collar of his jacket higher. Coraline had picked this cathedral because of his parents. He wanted to go to Vegas but she’d insisted on a big catholic wedding and his folks had been tickled. Mick wiped his hands over his face trying to erase the memories. Their wedding was the last time he’d seen his father alive.

Mick walked, the chill winter wind blowing over him. He’d circled the block more than once before giving in. He pulled the heavy ornate doors open and slid within. The soft glow of candlelight made the shadows quiver. Mick’s hand hovered over the font of holy water, hesitating. Coraline had said it wouldn’t do anything to them. But then, it wasn’t like he trusted much of what Coraline’d said anymore. His resolve grew, What did he have to lose?

Mick’s fingertips brushed the surface breaking the tension. Touching his forehead, heart, and crossing from shoulder to shoulder, Mick watched as the rings glided outwards one following another.

Waves passed over him, placing a hand on the worn wood of the pew, he knelt, and light caught the diamond in his Mom’s ring making it wink at him. Mick sat carefully, tipping slightly as he slid Pop’s rosary out of his pocket. He looked at his left hand and the three rings there. “Why hadn’t I gotten rid of it?” he wondered. Three rings, Mom’s on his pinky, his wedding band on his ring finger, and Pop’s on his middle, his legacy of sorrow.

Mick clutched Mom and Pop’s rosaries and for the first time since he’d lost her forever, tears blurred his vision then spilling freely.

The hand on his shoulder shocked him so badly that he almost lost control. Mick jerked and mentally yelped, “Crist”. He’d lost control. He’d let his guard down and even never heard the priest coming. Blinking hard to cover his silvered eyes Mick wiped away the tears, sniffed, and felt like swearing. It was Father Bernard.

The old priest took his hand off Mick’s shoulder and sat down, the pew creaked as the old man settled. “It’s peaceful here this time of the night.” He smiled, “I always like the nights best. I fancy long conversations with the saints.” He chuckled glancing at Mick, “No, I’m not crazy, just old.”

Mick snorted and couldn’t stop the curl of a smile that crept to his lip.

“Better, much better.” The priest folded his hands together, leaned back and stretched out his legs. “Do you happin’ to know who’s feast day this is?” he continued conversationally.

Mick’s brow clouded with annoyance. “Why would I know or care anymore” he snapped mentally. “No, but I’m sure you could tell me.”

The old man smiled sadly, “I don’t believe in coincidences. I believe God directs us. Places opportunities for us, to teach us and guide us back to him. December 14 is the feast day of St. John of the Cross,” He pointed and shook a meaty finger at the crucifix in Mick’s hand, “You didn’t end up here in my lap tonight by chance. You were led here.”

Mick sighed and moved to stand.

“Sit down Michael.” The voice snapped with authority.

Mick looked at the rock solid man beside him, the eyes that judged him were hard. “You’re wearin’ your family’s life, right there. Holding their legacy in your hands, “I don’t know what is wrong in your life Mick or why. But, I know that you can remake yourself. Like that gold you can bend and reform yourself into something new.” He waved his hand a Mick and shook his head. “You don’t have to be so far away,”

“You’re wrong father. I’m very far away from God.” Mick whispered.

“Mary talked often of her son.” The priest ignored Mick's whisper and continued. “The Michael I heard about, he went to war and served his country. Did ya’ know your father was a medic in World War 2? Did ya know St John was man of healing?” Without waiting for Mick’s reply the old man continued. “Mary used to talk of how proud she was, what a kind and compassionate son her boy was. How he’d made a good life for himself with a good future.”

A single tear rolled down Mick’s cheek, he made no move to wipe it away.

“What I’d don’t know is how such self-sacrificing parents could raise a son who would in turn raise such a cynic.”

Mick reached up and rubbed his head. Tears muddled his vision, “Coraline was wrong he thought. He’d gone mad. Here he was in church ready to confess everything. Then what? If I confess I’d have the blood of a priest on my hands.”
“We have Rules, Josef had told him.” “There are Rules, Coraline had told him.”
“Mom and Pop had raised him to follow the rules.” “Sometimes we can’t confess,” wiping his face he turned to face the old man.

“Then Mick,” the priest replied, “remake your life. You’ll get to the place where you can.” He rose slowly.

Mick listened to the swishing of the tired old heart knowing that time was growing short for the old man. Time, something he would never run out of. Maybe it was time for him to remake himself.

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Mick slid the heavy ring onto his finger. It felt right. The rain had lifted and the cemetery was empty. “Father, I took your advice.” Moonlight made the stones glow as he crossed himself and knelt. “I’ve remade my life. I’m still a monster, I can’t change that, I’m a licensed P.I. Vamps can’t be cops but I can still make a difference. I can find the murderers, the thugs, the ones that hurt innocent people. I can make sure they face justice.” Mick looked about the calm lawn of silence, knowing that this was right. He finished his confession in silence and rose.

As Mick walked across the damp grass he paused, looked again at the St. Johns cross on his hand and turned. Looking back at the head stone Mick couldn't help but laugh out loud, “How did you know?” he asked.

The shadows parted and Mick turned into the bright moonlight walking with purpose.

Driving away the carved words echoed in him. “Blessed are the peacemakers, for they shall be called the children of God.

finis

[francis]

So, did I read this right, did he take all the rings and remake them into the ring he's wearing now?
This was great. I love that the priest seems to know he's Mick senior but pretends with him that he's Mick junior. He understands there are secrets you just can't tell.
I love the whole story.

[MoonShadow]

Yep! You got it right. I wanted that to be subtle and yet part of the "remake".

[MickLifeCrisis]

I had to reach for a tissue for this one. I also thought he took the rings and made them into the one he now wears. What a wonderful idea!

Thanks for posting.

[jen]

Moonshadow

I'm with MickLifeCrisis. I'm home for a short lunch hour but my makeup is streaked and I don't even want to think about what my mascara is like right now!

This was wonderful!!!

To me, Moonlight has an enormous redemption angle in it. Mick took a horrible piece of his past and turned it into something he could use for good. Your descriptive skill and imagery are truly wonderful!

Thank you!!

Jenna

[MoonShadow]

Thank you both so much for the comments.

I see Mick, post Coraline, as a lost wandering soul. Being a good Irish catholic boy from the 20-40's family, rules, and commitment would have been paramount for how he saw his life. I think he would have been in a very dark place dealing with being turned, losing his family, and direction in life.

But also, I see Mick as a survivor believing and hoping for the best in humanity. I looked for a path as to how did Mick get there. How did he become a PI,
How did he go from being a swing band player, to a solitary hunter. What did he take with him along that path and what did he leave behind.

So thank you for reading and enjoying!

[allegrita]

This is a very deep story. I really love the symbolism of Mick remaking his and his parents' rings into the beautiful ring he wears every day. It feels like something he would do, symbolic of his determination to recreate himself as someone who uses the "monstrous" powers that he can't give up, in order to help people who need it.

[Marigold]

This was lovely, MoonShadow!

Creating a new ring out of the old rings is very symbolic of Mick's journey into self-acceptance. Mick was able to move forward (becoming a P.I. and using his powers to fight evil) while still remembering his past.

Thank you!

[Luxe de Luxe]

Yes, I also like the beautiful symbolism of Mick remaking the rings (ie, his life). As always, you make us think. Lovely stuff, Moonshadow.

[MoonShadow]

Allegrita, Marigold, & Luxe, thank you so much for the lovely comments.
As always I appreciate every the feedback. I enjoyed this challenge very much.

[cassysj]

I really like the fact that he made the ring out of his parents. Since they were the ones who first brought him into the world it is a good place for him to start to remake his life.

Great answer to the challenge

[darkstarrising]

This is wonderful, Moonshadow

Separation from Mick's family is something they'd explored more in the series, but you've done a masterful job conveying his pain at having to divorce himself from the people he loved and who loved him. His parent's wedding rings and the rosary are all things he knew were dear to them and now, they were all he had left of them. I, too, had to reach for a tissue realizing that they were the basis for the ring we see him wear.

Love the priest. He's the character who nudges Mick back away from the dark path he's on by presenting simple truths in the form of the beatitudes. But he's not above a little verbal jabbing either.

“What I’d don’t know is how such self-sacrificing parents could raise a son who would in turn raise such a cynic.”

Guilt, the gift that keeps on giving. Yet in Mick's case, it's a turning point and a new beginning. He's remade keepsakes from his parents into something to remind himself of the day he decided to follow the old priest's advice and remake himself

Nicely done, Moonshadow

[jen]

Truly wonderful.

Mick remade himself.

Is in the process of remaking himself.

Thand you!

Jenna

[MoonShadow]

thank you three for the lovely comments, it's hard to believe how quickly time passes.
I don't mean to be remiss in saying thank you, your comments make my day.

[BlueEyedMonster]

You have a beautiful way of making your words into pictures that play out in the minds eye. A bittersweet story of sorrow and redemption.