He pushed his hand through his hair, the coarseness and grime not even making him blink. What even was the point of what he looked like, really, when they’d made it back to here of all places after the world had been torn apart and then healed again?
When they’d come here in the long months before, he’d always brought so many expectations, such huge asks in his prayers. Strategies for a future free of the Romans, for building popular support and attention so that they’d be in a position to usurp the corrupt priests and representatives…really, not much had actually changed in these three day in terms of the world around them. Those unanswered questions, however, those pressures were gone.
Jesus had told him that when he had returned, when the newly risen Lord had healed him, looked at him with eyes that had somehow become even more calm and composed that before, and invited Simon to walk with him in the garden.
They had spoken there, and the interaction was so blinding in Simon’s mind that the details escaped him, but not in anyway the feelings, the sense of understanding. Jesus had thanked him for everything they’d put into the cause, their energy and their sacrifices, but that they were following a different direction now, of peace, of fostering love and humanity in people one by one. Simon knew in his heart, even as he said it that it was right, that on some level this had always been what they had meant to do, and that a lot of what else had gone down had subverted this single, pure, original intent.
Sitting here with Thom, staring out towards where the wilds became the city of Jerusalem again, it felt so right. He wasn’t responsible anymore for the problems of the world, wasn’t somehow betraying everything that was good by pausing in slamming himself against the corrupt influences. He could just be here in this space, be here with his brother, and with God, and it felt…so good.
“Yeah. I get it.” He said wistfully in response to Thom losing the words. “I, uh, figured this was where you’d be, when Thaddeus said you weren’t with the rest of them. Made sense.” As hard as it was to tear himself away from Jesus’ prescence, there was more to be done, and people more than him who needed that light right now, he could see that. As for sitting with the other apostles and followers, well, it wouldn’t have felt right. The way he felt right now, so blasted open by all that he’d seen, by all that had happened - he couldn’t imagine going back to small talk. And, they’d been one pair of arresting eyes in particular, large, hollow, and familiar that had caught his, and - things had been pretty messed up between him and Tabatha when they’d…parted. It seemed better to steer clear of the whole thing for now.
“We’re not?” Simon exhaled, lying back on the hilltop until only the stars and Thom’s shoulder filled his eyes. “Then, I, uh, I guess there’s some stuff I have to apologise for. I mean from…before.” Jesus may have undone the marks they left on each other, but that didn’t excuse any of what had gone on, really. It made his stomach turn to think of it now. Although maybe that had something more to do with the bare bites he’d stolen while travelling over the last few days. His body pitched in with a dubious stomach gurgle that made clear it’s feelings on the matter, but he ignored it. He could deal with hunger. He couldn’t not address this, however. “I just…I want you to know that a lot of what I said, it wasn’t true. Wasn’t ever true. I’m sorry.”
His stomach rumbled again and Simon burst out laughing at the ridiculousness of it, of not being able to escape being human right when he felt the most transcendant he’d ever been in his life. “Cana.” He sputtered out in reply, rubbing the space under his ribcage with his palm as a distraction. “I’d gone back, pretty much after…the thing with us, and had been back with…mum, until I got the message…shit. I should probably text her.” He dragged a hand over his face. “I sort of left without saying anything…yeah, crap. Hold on.”
He pulled out his phone, the screen splintering and fractured where it had come out of his pocket where he’d run down one of the highways and smashed on the asphalt. It had still worked enough to lead him back to Jesus, so he hadn’t been too worried - but it was only now that he was registering the little 92 number next to his mum’s contact details.
Crap. He started tapping out that he was safe and that he’d get back to her properly soon. It was about as much as he could manage, at this moment.
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