Chapter Text
"For every action there is an equal and opposite reaction."
-Newton's Third Law-
The scenery flowing out the window is pleasant and lonely; a never ending heap of grass and trees, just like Sister Imperator had hinted at. The nature you see segueing out the window never seems to vary, illuminated by the warm reddish light of the sunset.
Although your hometown is not far from your destination and those landscapes are somehow familiar, you don't remember ever having driven that isolated road before.
As you drive, you wonder how long it would have taken you to get used to it there. The countryside has never been particularly to your liking, and your phobia of insects would certainly have complicated things, but a quiet, taciturn person like you would have quickly gotten used to the silence of those places. Not that you have much choice; just thinking that you would have had to take care of one of the most talked-about personalities in the entire Ministry makes those thoughts less melancholy.
You have never met him. The fresh aroma of pine and fir trees enters through the open window, and you begin to wonder what he is like in person, whether he really is as the other Sisters describe him or whether they are mere legends that, now that he can no longer disprove them by his presence, have grown out of proportion.
In your mind, his figure begins to form composed of every piece of information gathered over time, like a puzzle that comes to life piece by piece: he is flamboyant but also reserved, charming but also elusive, sympathetic but often stern. A living paradox, a man of contradictions whose presence made everyone around him dazzled and nervous at the same time.
There had to be a kind of magnetism, an irresistible charisma that made anyone attracted to him, by the way they still talk of him years away. Anyone or almost... Sister Imperator, once learned the news of his injury, had not even deigned to lift her gaze from the papers she was filling out as she commented, "Well, not that he ever had much sense of balance." and those in the room swear they even saw her suppress a laugh.
You had heard all kinds of things about the incident once the news had spread through the walls of the Sisters' wing. Some said he had broken both legs and would never walk again, others that he had broken an arm and not a leg, others that he had been in a car accident, and still others, even, that it had not been an accident at all. Whatever had happened, you had simply submitted your CV on Sister Imperator's desk once you knew she was looking for a caregiver.
Sometimes you happened to imagine him when you were in the Ministry; as was often the case with all novices. You imagined him giving speeches and sermons, his warm, authoritative voice echoing through the walls, his leather-covered hands clutching the lectern.
You begin to fantasize about what it must be like to be in his presence, with the weight of his gaze on you, when you finally see a pond in the distance, in front of a wooden house surrounded by a few trees and a fence.
It must be the house that had been described to you by Sister Imperator. It had to be, because even though the houses in the area, lacking in address deny you a sense of direction, that is the only one that matches the description you had been given. It is the only one, in fact, that has a pond in its backyard.
You direct your car to the house and notice the beauty of that small lake, so calm that it looks like a mirror in which the sky and the vegetation around are reflected. You park in front of the house, which, as unexpectedly well-kept as it may seem for being in the country, seems perfect for such a place, blending in the landscape like in a painting. You notice that another car is already parked in front of the house.
You get out and walk up the steps that lead onto the porch, where something beyond the sandblasted glass of the door catches your eye.
You manage to glimpse a dark-haired silhouette that, however, instead of approaching the door, walks away as you get closer, as if they were only trying to spy on who was outside. Yet another figure emerges from the house: a priest. He approaches to inform you that His Excellency is ready to receive you alone and that he is in good spirits today.
Left alone, you raise your fist to knock, but his distant voice anticipates you. "It's open!" he suggests, so you simply turn the handle and enter, and the subject of years of fantasies finally proves to be real.
Apart from the obvious elephant in the room that is the wheelchair, the first thing you notice is that he is without his corpse paint, and by what you know, really few could boast of having seen him that way. His face is tired, marked by hospitalization and sleepless, painful nights, despite the thick, naturally dark outline of his eyes. His clothing is simple, dark and comfortable, and his hair is slightly shorter than what you recall having seen in photos, but well combed; visibly recently dyed, it suggests the idea of a man who does not give up on taking care of himself despite the obvious difficulty.
You lower your gaze to look at him, and never in your new life did you expect to have to look down in the presence of a Pope.
Almost ironically, the first thing Terzo notices is your traditional Sister of Sin corpse paint that he hasn't seen in a long time, and which he imagines covers - unfortunately - the features of an average pretty girl.
"Your...Excellency." you greet politely, mentally thanking the priest who unwittingly suggested what title to greet him with, "I am-"
"The Sister chosen by Imperator to take care of what’s left of me," he interrupts you, before asking your name. "My name is Terzo, which is enough of a title." he introduces himself, as if there was any need, finally breaking that ceremonial air with a listless gesture of his hand. However, that reassurance fails to relax your nerves. "I know, maybe you were expecting someone more...imposing." he adds, and you imagine he's joking but you find it hard to tell with his serious expression, "I'm not usually this short, I'm just sitting." and that manages to make you smile for a moment; he reflexively does the same, before breaking the ice again, "Come on, I'll show you around the house and explain a few things."
You don't even have time to reply, that Terzo has already turned his chair around and is heading through another room as he speaks, and the only thing you can do is follow him in silence. It's a relief that he seems so undemanding, but experience has taught you that the most difficult patients are the ones convinced they don't need help.
"You can close the door, please." his voice warns you, and you have to step back to close it.
"Would you like me to help you?" you ask as you approach, bringing your hands to the handles of the chair, but Terzo quickly blocks you. "Don't even try, ragazzina." His tone is firm, not mean but stern in a strangely gentle way, and you quickly pull your hands away. "I still have to get used to it, but that doesn't mean I need someone to push me." he explains, leading you into the living room, divided from the dining room by a low wall.
You carefully observe the space illuminated by the warm twilight, trying to focus and memorize all the things that might be useful to you, smiling from time to time at the jokes Terzo manages to pull out, making that situation almost seem pleasant.
After a brief tour of the ground floor, you head for the stairs leading to the upper floor. "This is one of the main problems," Terzo begins to explain, "Besides almost succeeding in killing me. My bedroom used to be upstairs, but now everything has been moved down here, to the room I showed you earlier. There was also a guest room upstairs, but that was also moved down here, next to mine, to make it more comfortable for you." He says, "Pretty much the whole upstairs has been moved here."
You nod thoughtfully, inferring that if all the main rooms have been moved to the ground floor, you won't have to have the task of carrying him up the stairs. "So what rooms are upstairs now?" you ask.
"Nothing interesting or that you might need, I think. There's a second bathroom, if you want it can be yours, my study, and a couple of rooms with furniture moved from here." he replies. "If you want to take a look, go ahead."
"No need now, thank you." you say, so he takes you back to the living room to talk quietly about the work you were to do with him. He explains that he doesn't need some kind of caregiver to scrounge him around as if he were paralyzed, and that he only needs you for cooking, housekeeping, and the things he can no longer do independently without being able to easily get up.
You nod unblinkingly, hearing a strong pride in his voice, flaunting his strength and independence as if he almost wants to defend himself… perhaps he is simply trying not to think that he, Papa Emeritus Terzo, is in a wheelchair, even though temporarily, having traveled the world and preached from the top of the Ministry pulpit for years in a state of semi-divinity. Still, you admired the fortitude he showed, aware that, though in facade, he was just hiding what he felt like a shame.
"So let's get to the point," he says, "how long will you be staying here?"
The question surprises you. "For six weeks...to my knowledge." You almost stammer "Do you know differently?"
He shakes his head without looking at you "I don't know shit." he replies with a bitter smile "Do you find Imperator an easy person to converse with?"
You'd like to answer but you really wouldn't know how without being disrespectful to at least one of them, and since it's your first day of work you'd rather not risk it.
"I hope you at least get paid well."
"I receive no compensation." You reveal, and before he can formulate the question you read on his face, you add, "I volunteered." reassuring him with a small smile, trying not to think about why you're doing that.
"Oh." He only says, a thoughtful expression rippling his eyebrows, "Well, I don't think I need to tell you anything more. You can settle down in your room now, I guess you've already brought what you need."
"Yes...I'll go get the bags." you reply, calmly getting up.
Terzo follows you, stopping near the door. "You'll excuse me if I can't help you carry them..." he says, lifting only a corner of his lips, resulting in a veiled expression of bitterness, to which you smile understandingly but without responding. He then turns to you one last time, before you can take your leave; with a wave of his hand he points to your whole body, "The corpse paint, the habit ... all these ceremonies," he tells you, "It's not necessary here."
*
You sigh with relief as you sit on the bed, despite the fact that you are usually reluctant to sleep in a bed that is not your own. It would have taken you a few days to get used to it; the first few days are always the most critical, away from your comforts, and you start by ignoring the negligible hardness of the mattress you are sitting on.
Suitcases were no problem to carry, few and relatively light, filled with just enough for a month and a half stay. You write an email update addressed to Sister Imperator's office and go back to looking around.
Having nothing to do until dinnertime, or so Terzo told you, you sit and run your eyes around the perimeter of the room. It is clean and neat, not too cozy for the hastily moved furniture that makes it clear it was not intended for that room, rather bare and with only one large window, on the opposite side of the bed.
It is definitely bigger than the room you sleep in at the Abbey, almost three times as big. You try to remember how your childhood room was, but as much as you try, you find yourself unable to remember anything significant. Maybe you never observed it enough to imprint that space in your mind. With another sigh, you finally decide to unpack and arrange your things.
You could call your Sisters later and talk to them about that first meeting, compare your experiences - certainly theirs would have been very different, having known him in his golden era. They were all extremely excited that you would be living in the same house with him for a month and a half, ignoring the fact that you were not there on vacation.
In your imagination you would have expected to find him with his traditional corpse paint, almost forgetting that he hadn't been Pope for years; what you were confronted with instead was a simple man, tired and in his most vulnerable moment. He is not as canonically - and understandably - handsome as you might have expected, but he still retains in him a spark of the charisma and personality still capable of awe-inspiring those who stand before him. Yet there is still a dormant beauty in his timeworn features, and you remember what one of the senior Sisters had told you about him: at first, you might think you can't stand him or don't like him at all, but that man is dangerous. He always finds a way.
You look out the window for a moment, distracted by the bright, silent greenery lit by a dying sun; it's a nice place to stay, albeit a bit isolated, and surely you would have had to drive at least twenty minutes to even get groceries.
But there is no reason to complain. You never complained, and it wasn't going to happen this time either.
That month and a half would pass quickly, and when Terzo would start walking again, you would become nothing but the memory of that brief period when he had feared that his life would end there, in that wheelchair.
You turn on the small television and focus your attention on the scrolling images, trying to chase that thought away.
A month and a half and he would be back on his feet and you at the Ministry with your Sisters and your routine. Stop.