An offer

[Jensen James]

Tony's laughter disturbed Jensen's meager serenity. He sat back, blinking and confused. "A great talent?" He couldn't quite speak to that. As it were, he felt like he were cradling a newborn infant and was too afraid to divert a single shred of attention for fear of dropping him. Gabriel, his oldest, had slept snug and content in his swaddling blanket, but Malachi, on the other hand, shifted and squirmed until his arms and legs were freed. Thank the Lord Gabe came first to give him a chance to practice. A wormy thing like Malachi would have scared Jensen off from ever holding him. At least not on his own.

Jensen shifted in his seat. At least we knew where Malachi got his squirming. It wasn't from his mother. "It's not me,"
he said soberly, but he knew what Tony meant. He had to wonder if this thing intrinsic to his identity was the same that led him to Pastoral Service to begin with. It was a valid question, and for Jensen, who questioned everything, was one he would not soon release.

"I think I'm accepting."
The memory of a soothing light crossed his face, filling him with faith. "Or will in time at least, but I need to do something with myself. I don't want to waste whatever this is. There's not much time anyway."
His breastbone wanted to cave in like a sinkhole. To think, talking about the apocalypse over coffee.

"I just want to help people. While I can."