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Chapter Text

The bells of St. Peter’s Basilica chimed out a cheerful 2:00 despite the dreary downpour. It was mid July, so the summer monsoon that swept through the Mediterranean had arrived in Rome. While everyone at the Vatican had been grateful for the rain, it was getting to be a bit much. It seemed as though God had no intention of changing the weather any time soon.

A tired Cardinal, all dressed up in his black cassock with the red piping, was one such man caught in the affects of the storm.

He had just finished overseeing the reception of a Brazilian bishop who had come to the Vatican to be honored for his work protecting endangered species in the Amazon from the illegal wildlife trade. He had gathered over 10,000 volunteers, Catholic and otherwise, to remove traps over a few thousand acres of land.

“God calls upon us all to serve even his smallest of creatures, for who else may defend the meek but us?” The Cardinal remembered the bishop’s speech with a fond smile, but this quickly fell when a raindrop managed to land on his right eyeglass, despite the man’s death grip on his umbrella.

The reception had gone off well for the most part; a few lulls here and there. But what else is to be expected from the ceremony and ritual of it all? The Cardinal, a one Aldo Bellini, would never admit out loud his… annoyance… at the theatrics these sorts of things required, (far from it, actually. He found the spectacle of it all amazing.) but he was often annoyed at how much of his own personal time they required.

He checked his watch, and hastened his pace. He had been requested for a meeting with the Holy Father himself at 2:00 pm, (one of their weekly chess matches), but due to the reception running over time from how friendly the bishop had been with members of the Curia and the media alike, Bellini found himself late.

It wasn’t as though the Holy Father would have minded. In fact, it was likely if the Pope found out he had all but excused himself from the reception before it ended, he would have gotten a chiding from the old man. It was more that Bellini felt it upon himself to stay as textbook a perfect Secretary of State as possible. If that meant, even at his age, he would take to speed walking across the Vatican to get from appointment to appointment, so be it, thanks be to God.

He ran up the steps of the Casa Santa Marta. Bellini sent silent apologies to the Sisters who would likely walk after him with a dry mop to wipe away the droplets of water he was leaving in his wake. He left his umbrella in the foyer, and took a deep breath once he stepped inside the elevator and steadied himself.

Bellini and the Holy Father played chess every week. Recently though, the dates and times kept changing due to how busy the pair had become. A sign of the times. Good or bad, Bellini had yet to see. He approached the door, and knocked gently.

“Come in, Aldo.” came the old Pope’s gentle voice through the soft doorframe. Bellini turned the handle and entered. He saw the Holy Father in his kitchenette, tending to what smelled like two small cups of coffee.

“Take a seat, my boy.” Bellini did, opening and arranging the chessboard for their game. As always, the Holy Father was white, and Bellini was black. The older man placed down both of the blue ceramic mugs on the table before sitting as well.

“Don’t think I didn’t see you running wild through the Piazza as though you were in secondary school.” He admonished. Bellini bit back a smile, he felt the slight embarrassment color his cheeks at being caught.

The Holy Father was not dressed in any traditional gown this meeting. He wore a simple grey cardigan and black slacks, and hideous brown slippers he had gotten as a present in a white elephant four christmases ago. He wore his silver rimmed spectacles and considered his first move thoughtfully. Bellini was suddenly reminded of his grandfather by the sight. He’d died almost thirty years ago now. How wonderful and terrible it was to have lived for so long and remember so much of it.

The old Pope’s hand hovered over a pawn, before finally deciding to choose its neighbour, and push it forward by one square. “You know, Aldo, even God took a day of rest. Perhaps you should try it sometime.”

The younger man laughed at this, before quickly deciding on a pawn. “Ah, Father, rest is for the dead and the holy. I myself am neither, so I must continue on.” The Pope gave him a withering glare that they both knew was far from genuine.

“How was the reception?” He pushed a knight forward, taking on the offense quickly. He knew from experience that Bellini did not play defense well.

“It was excellent. Thank you for agreeing with me to allow us to honor Bishop Souza. I think it’s good the Church has something so hopeful to celebrate.”

Bellini countered, trying to figure out the Holy Father’s next two moves. “Not that I don’t enjoy feeding starving children, your Eminence.” He took a sip of his coffee. “But it does remind one of the fact there are children starving to begin with.”

The Holy Father moved another pawn. Bellini had no idea what game he was trying to play. The old Pope chuckled and shook his head.

“Aldo, where on earth would we be without your bleeding heart liberal sensibilities?”

Bellini shot him a look as he was trying to concentrate.

“You know, you’re quite lucky I agree with you. If this was still the old days I could have you hanged.”

Bellini scoffed at this, before drawing out his second knight to take out the Holy Father’s approaching pawn. “You still could… spiritually speaking of course. Excommunicate me and then put our dear friend Cardinal Tedesco in my place. Wouldn’t that liven up the Curia?”

“Don’t even joke, Aldo my boy. I’m worried enough about what state I’ll be leaving the Curia in soon enough.”

Bellini reached out and grabbed the Holy Father’s hand before he could move. “Don’t say things like that, Father, you still have plenty of–” But the older man shook him off with flair, and moved his bishop to take out the knight.

“Even if I had another 20 years to fix the mess the Late Holy Father left me with nine years ago, it would still not be enough time.” He stood suddenly, and walked over to the window to look out into the Piazza, rain still falling.

“Oh Aldo. These self important men, acting as though they themselves were God… I do wonder so often if this was what Saint Peter had in mind for the church. If there’s any way to fix it without scraping the whole thing and trying again.”

Bellini smiled and shook his head, pondering his game in front of him. How was he always losing so quickly against the Holy Father? He moved a rook to take out the bishop.

“Careful, Martin Luther. Maybe it should be me excommunicating you instead.” The Holy Father made a dismissive noise and sat back down. He took one look at the board before putting Bellini into check. The younger man had seen it but he had hoped the older man didn’t. Oh well.

“Whatever happens, Aldo, I beg you to try not to get swept up in all the excitement.” Bellini, who had been taking a sip from his coffee, spat it out quickly in shock.

“Excuse me, Father?”

“You are my Secretary of State and you are excellent at it. The College will be looking at you first and foremost, likely our Patriarch Tedesco second, and probably the most ambitious of our numbers third. I believe Cardinal Adeyemi out in Nigeria has been making a name for himself the past few years.”

“Oh Christ.” Bellini swore. The old pope raised an eyebrow. “Forgive me.” He took a deep breath.

“You cannot be serious, Father? Thomas is second in line! Why shouldn’t he take all the responsibility? Why am I thrust upon being the poster boy of social progress?” The enormity of the responsibility made his stomach drop. But he would be lying if he said there wasn't a pang of exhilaration at his own name being at the top.

The Holy Father held a bemused expression. “All I ask, Aldo, is for you to remain the brilliant and thoughtful man I know you to be, through it all.”

Bellini nodded, returning to the board and knowing he had maybe one, or two moves left until it was over. Was it better to lose with grace, or to fight until the dying breath? Aldo had never quite been able to decide… he accepted his loss, wanting to get it over quickly, and moved his bishop to take out a nearby pawn, opening his king even further.

“Checkmate, my boy.” The Holy Father said, his face unreadable, but still held a smile. Bellini shook his hand, and stood to take the mugs back to the sink.

“How are you able to beat me so thoroughly all these times?” He asked, rinsing them gently under the freezing water. The Holy Father laughed, and returned to look out the window. Rain finally calming down into a bright blue sky.

“You always think three moves ahead, but I only ever think about the move I must make right now.” The Holy Father walked him to the door. “I shall fear for my life the moment you find yourself in the present.” Bellini laughed, and gently grabbed the older man’s hand before walking out the door.

“Good afternoon, Father.”

“Until next week!” The Holy Father called after him.

Chapter Text

“Go forth! Mass has ended.”

The words reverberated around the pale blue walls of the Abbey church. The congregation rose, and the sounds of people standing and beginning to talk to each other soon overtook the closing words of mass.

Thomas Lawrence, no longer a Cardinal, now just an ordained friar at the small Abbey in Galway, Ireland, gently put his homily notes away. Once done, he stepped away from the altar to speak to a few people who had formed a group at the beginning of the pews.

Groupies was an overstatement. Perhaps fans was too. Friar Lawrence was really quite flattered at how popular he was among the congregation; word had gotten out months ago he had been a Cardinal for many years, and when he had made the mistake of mentioning he had helped elect Pope Innocent in the conclave two years ago, it seemed he couldn’t catch a break.

After answering a few questions from surprisingly some American tourists, (a web search later would uncover his previous deeds mentioned on a 5 star Google review of the Abbey that had gone viral in Catholic spheres, much to Lawrence’s chagrin) and blessing a few children, he finally had little to do but sweep the floors and begin setting up for tomorrows confessionals.

For the most part he loved the monastery. He was one of five ordained friars in the brotherhood, which meant twice a week he would hold mass for the public, take confessions, and deliver sacrament. Truthfully he was hoping to get away from that aspect of his former responsibilities, but such was life.

Outside of that, Lawrence worked every day, even during the winter, tending to the large garden that fed the Abbey. Every morning he’d awake before sunrise, put on a dark brown habit and cord, and walk out of the living quarters and over to the large shed to collect his tools.

Depending on the season, he would typically be planting or harvesting, or generally maintaining the crops. During the winter he’d be tilling and feeding the soil to make sure it would be ready for the spring.

Galway was much colder than Rome. His very first winter at the Abbey had brought about snow. It didn’t stick for very long, but the other friars had gotten excited about what it meant for the coming winter, a sign from God of hope and peace.

It was hard, occasionally, being here. Most of his brothers were mystics, and took the name very seriously. While he began to feel God within him again, he was still unable to hear Him the way he once had.

Leaving the Vatican had initially been difficult, but getting away from… being away from the sources that led him astray had made his head mostly clear. He had received several letters his first week, postmarked before he had even left from several bishops, cardinals, and even the Pope and the sight made him too emotional to read any right away, so he hid them in the top drawer of his dresser.

A few more long weeks passed. Weeks of feeling tired from manual labor, of getting little sleep and little food, of spending hours passing out soup and blankets to the homeless shelter a few streets down, Lawrence finally felt more connected with God than he had in years. His prayers still went unanswered, but it was a start.

One fall night he felt brave enough to face the letters in his drawer. Most of the letters were just well wishes from members of the Curia who had known him to varying degrees of well. He responded that he was happy, fulfilled through serving God, and keeping them all in his prayers.

The letter from Bishop O’Malley threw him immediately for a loop; it was several pages long, and went from a variety of topics such as thankfulness for his guidance to gossip he had not been privy to before he left; moreso: the reason for his departure.

Some had speculated disdain for the current pope or bitterness at his winning, some even speculated disdain for the Curia as a whole after the events of the conclave.

“The most ridiculous of all of them,” wrote O’Malley, “was not told to me directly, but overheard from a few conservative Cardinals by Sister Agnes three weeks ago! Apparently before Tremblay’s disgraceful resignation, he had made the preposterous rumor to Tedesco that you had been in an illicit relationship with another Cardinal during the conclave. Apparently Tedesco is still bitter himself from the outcome of the final vote, because he went and told his followers that it had been with Pope Innocent himself! Fortunately almost everyone here sees it for what it is, which is an attempt to stir up unnecessary and deceitful drama, but I supposed you’d want to hear it anyway.”

Lawrence stared at the letter in shock. He had known there would be gossip upon his resignation as Dean, but he had no idea how salacious it would have become.

What startled him most of all at how nearly accurate it was. While there had been no physically illicit relationships of any sort, a big reason why he had left only four months after Pope Innocent had been pontificated was because he felt himself becoming more and more devoted to the gentle man and less to God himself.

An affliction he was far too familiar with after decades in the Church.

Since the late Holy Father was no longer there to object, he had begged Pope Innocent to send him to a monastery. Though at first he was hesitant, he finally came around after Lawrence gave confession to him again about his doubts.

He hadn’t had a preference of orders, so when the Pope suggested the tiny Abbey in Ireland, he accepted immediately.

While he left the Vatican to find his soul, his heart remained there.

Of the letters he received that first week, he left only two unopened. One was from Aldo Bellini, one of his oldest and dearest friends; his relationship with him on rocky terms when he resigned. The other? From the desk of the Pope himself.

Lawrence was a weak man when it came to the heart. He always had been. As the months went by, more and more letters from one or the other began to pile up, stashed away from the understandably nosy eyes of his friar brotherhood.

Bishop O’Malley was the only person in the Curia that Lawrence kept regular correspondence with. Apparently only five months after Tremblay’s resignation, the French-Canadian publicly named all six of the Cardinals he had paid off, and all six too, resigned.

The College of Cardinals, formerly 118, now 108. The new Pope had his work cut out for him to bring the numbers up again.

Meanwhile, Lawrence worked and worked. He found a little coastal trail a few miles off the road the Abbey sat on, and he took to spending his free moments walking along it, and putting prose to the wide ocean view.

It was steep, and the old wooden steps were broken in some places as it wrapped around a pale white cliff’s edge. He would go every day after supper and watch the sunset, if the schedule allowed, and if it didn’t, he awoke early to trek out and watch the sunrise before his duties.

The oldest friar in the Abbey, Brother Cashell Quinn, who was nearly 90, often teased Lawrence for his private excursions and solitary behavior.

Lawrence took it harsher than it was meant, and after mustering up the courage to sit by him during supper one evening, he discovered the old man was humorous, intelligent, and lively beyond his years. He reminded him, in some ways, of the late Holy Father. He allowed himself to mourn his old friend for the first time in almost a year.

One day, after a long and tedious morning of tilling up dry winter soil, the former Cardinal took reprieve in the ancient Abbey library. It was quiet, most of the other brotherhood still out doing chores or providing for the community. Friar Quinn, upon seeing him, motioned him over to the large fireplace he sat in front of. Lawrence stood next to him a few moments, staring into the ever changing flames.

“You know, Brother, I must confess to you something terrible.” He said, not taking his eyes off the flame. After a few more moments he continued, “I often have doubts about God. I rarely see sign of him.”

The elder man looked at him a moment, before bursting into laughter. Lawrence turned to face him, eyebrows raised.

“My boy!” He wiped a stray tear from his eye. “My dear Brother!” He waited a moment for his breath to catch back up to him. “This is not a confession; This is faith!”

Lawrence was dumbfounded at this response. Friar Quinn continued.

“People expect much of us as friars, I’m sure you understand having been a Cardinal yourself. But the truth is, for us, for me, the mysticism doesn’t come from communing with God. It comes from us still being mystified at the beauty of His world!

God is in rain that fell on drying, thirsty soil. He is in the flowers that grow from cracks in the concrete and roads. His voice can be heard in the laughter and cries of the children that run through our Abbey after Sunday school.”

Friar Quinn rose, and picked up his cane. He patted the other man gently on the shoulder before turning to leave.

“He is within you; do not fight yourself so hard to bring him where He already is. Just allow Him to move freely through you. It will come.”

Lawrence stood there for some time longer; he’d only noticed the time had passed when the sunset changed the walls of the library to a bright and fiery orange.

After some thought, during his second spring, Lawrence proposed to the brotherhood to fix up the cliff trail and add stairs and railings so the senior members of the community would be more inclined to use it.

He carried stones, broke ground, and saw God in the faces of the early springtime daisies that grew upside down out of the cliffs edge.

It took almost four months, but eventually the project had been completed. Every Friar had helped in one way or another, even Friar Quinn had painstakingly carved the lettering for the trailhead sign.

The success Thomas Lawrence had felt, of making something for the people he served, of the pride in a job well done, of hearing God in the many voices of his Brothers working in perfect sync around him… it was not something he had felt in decades.

Lawrence felt so well that night even the nightly post bringing in two more letters from the Vatican did not bring him down as it often did. He held them gently in his hand as he went back to his living quarters, two more letters he would never open, two more letters he would tuck into a crowded drawer in his desk full of two years worth of unopened letters.

As it became a mellow summer in Galway, and Lawrence was sent briefly to Donegal as an additional priest to help out a fellowship camp for young and newly ordained members of the priesthood.

He was incredibly busy every single day, the young men full of joy and excitement he was sure would wane as the years went on. He received lots of questions about being a former Cardinal, but fortunately none of the priests seemed particularly interested in talking about Pope Innocent specifically.

Nigel, a young lad from Dublin, asked him about the bombing of the Sistine Chapel, which surprised him. He gave a very dramatic retelling of himself going up to put in his vote before the explosion rained the fresco down upon him, and the looks on the faces of the young men were incredible.

When the three weeks were over, he tried to get in contact with the Galway Abbey before he made his journey back, but was unable to get in contact with them.

He slept on the train, in full dark brown habit. Lawrence would be lying if he said he didn’t get a kick out of the austerity and reverence strangers gave him in his new Sunday best.

When he got off the train at the main Galway station, he was confused at the number of police officers and government cars he saw all around.

A terrible shiver ran up his spine as he assumed it was because of some kind of threat. He had hoped moving to Ireland would give him a bit of space from that kind of thing; terrorism was something on everyone’s mind constantly at the Vatican.

As he walked from the station back down busy streets, he noticed the crowds seemed to get greater. This was very unusual, as the Abbey was on an odd little side street near the coastline.

The crowd got bigger the closer he got. He decided to walk the street over and enter the Abbey from the side entrance that lead into the courtyard. Two heavily armed men stood in front of the gate.

They stared silently at him. They did not move an inch.

Friar Quinn, who had been tending to the summer crops in his absence, saw him and walked over.

“Could you please let our dear Brother Lawrence inside, Gentlemen? I’m sure he’s had a very long journey today and he’d love to come in for supper.”

The men said nothing, but one moved so Lawrence could unlock the gate.

“At ease, lads.” Joked the elder, giving them a mock salute.

Lawrence was led inside the dining hall by Friar Quinn, who had a pep in his despite the late afternoon hour.

“I’m not understanding, what on earth is going on?”

“Oh it’s just extra security. I’m sure you know how it is.”

Thomas Lawrence opened the doors for the old man to pass through. “Security for what?”

But Friar Quinn didn’t need to answer. There before him, in his white papal choir robes, stood Pope Innocent XIV. He looked the same, but somehow completely different, more confident, bold. The literal weight of the world on one’s shoulders tended to do that

Lawrence was afraid. For many reasons. But the one most of all was that somehow, in two years, the heart he had thought he had left at the Vatican has suddenly returned to him in full force. Lawrence was afraid he was a weak man once more.

“Your Eminence.” Lawrence bowed deeply. “To what do I owe the honor?”

The Pope gave him a wry and bemused smile, and held up an envelope with the Fisherman’s Seal on it.

“You never answered my letters.”

Chapter Text

Halfway through the second year of Aldo Bellini’s tenure as the new Vice Dean of the College of Cardinals, he found himself getting antsy.

An American abroad, permanently, for the first time in his life, and he was starting to miss the comforts of being the former Archbishop of New York. Mostly bagels. Real ones. The Sisters of the Curia tried their best at the occasional breakfast, God bless them, but it simply was not the same.

Another Cardinal, Thomas Lawrence, was getting antsy at his fourth year as Secretary of State of the Holy See. But his anxieties were more coming from personal faith struggles than homesickness.

The pair had become fast friends, having met twice before residing in the Curia together. Their first meeting was during the second to last conclave, over fifteen years ago now. The second had been at the conclave most recent, where they had decided over loose political talk one lunch that they’d be supporting the Cardinal who became the current Holy Father, and told him as such.

A few days after that election, Lawrence found himself as the next Secretary of State. Bellini had been a more recent addition, after the former Dean had passed on, and the Vice Dean had taken his place.

The past year the pair only grew closer in each other's confidence, finding they might have been some of the few Cardinals with similar liberal political leanings.

It was summer and it was hot. And humid. And hot. And this did nothing to tame the restless feeling Bellini began to feel in his core.

“Thomas.” He had said, one lazy afternoon in the library, where the pair had been doing a religious study to try and determine exactly how much feathers they’d ruffle in the potential pursuit of church sanctified divorce. (A lot, they’d determined unhappily.)

The other man was fully engrossed in the Latin text in front of him. Bellini poked him in the shoulder to get his attention.

“Yes!?”

“We should visit Rome.”

“Excuse me?”

“We should visit Rome!”

“That’s not the part I’m confused about.” Lawrence said, closing the book and checking out the area around them to see if there were any potential evesdroppers.

Bellini gestured for him to continue.

“You act as though we can just leave without cause. It’s not that simple.”

“You visit Rome often if my memory serves correctly.” The American pointed out.

“That’s different! That is for Secretary work, all official business.” Bellini raised an eyebrow at this. “Well most of it.”

“If we can’t go officially then we’ll just sneak out. You can be my tour guide. Show me the major sights.” He said this as if it was a normal and sane thing to say.

“Aldo, is this about the bagels again? I’ve no clue how else to tell you the bagels in the city taste the exact same as—“

“It’s not just the bagels.” Bellini interrupted. “It’s this!” He gestured around to the ancient grandiosity of the old Vatican library. “I haven’t felt like a real, normal person since coming here.”

“You’re… not a normal person, Aldo. You’re a Cardinal of the Catholic Church.” The man shot him a withering glare.

“So you won’t help me?” Bellini’s miserable face could make Lawrence move mountains. It was starting to become a problem.

“I didn’t say that. I just said it won’t be simple.”

The plan was simple.

First they’d need to sneak out of the Vatican. This was easier said than done, but it also wasn’t impossible. The hard part would be getting back in at the end of the day. The current plan was to exit through the main church in St. Peter’s Basilica. As priests, they had access to the back entrance so they could get in easily. All they would have to do is blend in with the tourists for a few moments, and exit through the front gates of the Vatican City.

The problem would be coming home.

They decided to go on a day when there would be an evening Mass, to give themselves more time to get back inside. Worst case scenario, if they got caught entering or leaving the Basilica, they had every reason to be there.

Next was clothing. There was no way the two gentlemen wouldn’t stick out like easy targets if they wore any kind of habit or gown. Unfortunately these days that was almost all the clothing they owned. Between what the two had together, and Lawrence sneaking off to the Vatican Gardens lost and found, they managed to put together two summer tourist looking outfits.

Bellini had chosen a red Las Vegas t-shirt his sister had sent him after she took a family trip to the Venetian this past year. Some attempt at humor for him being in Italy, he presumed.

It was tacky and he had never worn it, and it was just barely his size, but it would have to do. Lawrence had found a worn old pair of jeans deep in his closet he would let him wear, and they too were just barely his size.

Lawrence would be wearing a light blue long sleeve button up he had fished from the lost and found, and a pair of tan chinos he had purchased on his big move to Italy, but never had the courage to wear.

The last part was money. They were going to need it to get around, mostly for entrance fees and train fairs. They were technically given a stipend monthly to spend on necessities, but all this needed to be reported to the financial office through receipts. Over the course of a couple weeks, they saved up the odd change they would get now and again until they had enough for a days worth of foolhardy expenses.

The morning of the 8th of July was when they decided to make their move, as neither of them had any scheduled meetings or tasks to complete. The pair woke before the Vatican officially opened, and dressed first with their tourist clothes, and then again with their usual habits on top.

The Basilica was always crowded unless Mass was happening. Lawrence had come through last week to check if opening the door between the backroom and the church set off any alarms, and to his shock it didn’t.

He probably should let somebody know that, going forward. It seemed a bit like a security issue.

The pair left their cassocks in an easy location to retrieve on their return, but still out of sight in case anyone else decided to come back there before they made it home.

Aldo felt ridiculous, Thomas felt insane.

They opened the door and walked through, taking great care to close it gently so it didn’t make a sound.

They wandered through the masses, Aldo keeping a tight grip on his shoulder sling in case of pickpockets.

They exited the Basilica and walked from the courtyard over to the walled city’s entrance. Aldo paused, grabbing Thomas’ arm and pulling him off to the side.

“We’re really doing this? No going back?” Try as he might, the cowardice that had saved him in his youth still lasted well into his middle age. Thomas gently grabbed his hand and raised it.

“We’re really doing this.”

As they left, Thomas said, “We should come up with personas in case anyone asks us any questions.”

Aldo shoved him slightly. “You and your detective novels. That’s ridiculous.”

“This whole day is ridiculous and you’re making me do it, Aldo.” Thomas stated flatly. His eyes had a mischievous glint to them.

“Fine. Who are you going to be? I know you’ve already thought of something.”

“I’m Tom, and I’m a theology professor on holiday.” He said, as if it were obvious. Aldo stopped walking and stared at him.

“No. No, I’m not doing that. This is all my fault, I’m so sorry; I’ve made you have a nervous breakdown, let’s get you back inside.”

“You can be Al, an American bureaucrat here on embassy duties.” Thomas joked, continuing to walk.

Aldo let out a big sigh, and followed after him.

They walked from the Vatican to the Leonardo Express station to get back into the city. It would take them over an hour in the heat if they dared to walk it.

Twenty minutes later they were at the Colosseum.

“You’ve really never been here before?” Thomas asked.

“Not once. I’ve seen the football stadium before though, back in the states.” Aldo was wide eyed as they walked through the center of the stadium as old as his religion itself. “What about you?”

The taller man had stopped to read a sign on gladiatorial combat. He looked thoughtful.

“Hmm. I think three or four times? I came twice on school trips a long time ago; and once in college. We English love to visit good ruined building.”

Aldo chuckled, putting his hand on the other man’s shoulder as he looked over at the sign.

“Well of course you visit… you couldn’t take this all the way back to the British Museum, could you?”

Thomas snorted and pushed him away gently, rolling his eyes and shaking his head as he continued on to the next sign.

After the Colosseum, they walked a block over to the Roman Forum, the weathered remains of bureaucracy over two millennia ago sitting proudly in defiance of the modern city around it.

They didn’t pay for tickets to enter; just walked through the park sidewalks next to it.

They were silent and reverent most of the way through. Aldo was in deep contemplative thought of the millions of people living and dead who had stood at one point where he did. He thought of how different the view must have been for each person in time; how in another thousand years another person will stand there and see something entirely different.

“It’s incredible how powerful they all were at one point. They thought their empire was unbearable; that it would last forever.” Thomas said, breaking the shorter man from his thoughts.

They had sat down on a bench overlooking the ruins, watching tour groups below feed in and out of the old weathered stone.

Aldo turned his head to look at him. Thomas worried a thumb across the back of his hand.

“I just mean… It makes you think about today. Our own governments and religions. How long will they last?”

“Who can say?” Aldo stood, and offered a hand to Thomas to help him stand. “But at least we have the benefit of knowing the empire we serve is the one true and correct one.”

“You know, I actually thought you might be serious there for a moment.” Thomas teased.

“I was in my head for a while. That’s enough for God, I think.”

It was a 10 minute walk from the Roman Forum to the Pantheon. It was getting to be noon, so the pair entered a small cafe in the middle of a Piazza between four commercial buildings. They ordered small coffees and sat outside.

It was comical, really, the old red brick buildings, inhabited by Coach outlets and tourist shops. Thomas supposed in a way this was what Ancient Rome really looked like, shops and crowds and street vendors selling junk.

As they were sitting, Aldo did some people-watching. There were lots of Italian businessmen walking around proud, collars unbuttoned, sleeves cuffed, taking important calls as easily as fresh air. They all wore tacky sunglasses on their heads and wore the most hideous pastel socks the man had ever seen.

He supposed he had no real ground to comment on fashion; he wore religious clothes nearly every day of his life. And, the day he didn’t, he wore a too-tight t-shirt and jeans; though… that apparently seemed to be the fashion memo. (Among a certain demographic, and luckily for him, Aldo fit the bill to a T.)

Aldo looked between himself and Thomas, who at this point had finished his cappuccino and was amusedly watching a dog run after pigeons in the middle of the Piazza.

The taller man looked… off. His discomfort made him look awkward and stand out. Aldo was sure it was nerves, but either way the outfit wasn’t helping.

He stood and walked across the Piazza into one of the hole in the wall tourist shops. He came back with a black knockoff belt and a pair of dark sunglasses.

“Unbutton your collar and put these on.”

“Excuse me?”

“You look like a salesman. You’re on holiday in Rome right?” Thomas quirked an eyebrow but did as he was told. He’d unbuttoned his collar by two and rolled his sleeves up a little. With the sunglasses on the top of his head he looked very much the part of an older playboy abroad. Aldo swallowed and averted his eyes.

“Is this better, Donatella?” Thomas laughed, tightening the belt and tucking it away.

“Much, thank you.” Aldo took their cups back inside, worried perhaps he had too good a job and would be regretting his close proximity to it the rest of the day.

The Pantheon was also busy, but even better, it was free.

Thomas became anxious when he noticed he was getting lots of glances in his direction from people nearby. It came to a head when a younger gentleman, probably in his late 30s, gave him a wink as he was leaving.

He had known he was what some might have considered attractive, but to have it be thrown so casually at him like that was unusual. He’d never been hit on, especially not by a stranger in public. A sign of the times moving forward, of social progress. And, Thomas would be lying if he said it wasn’t flattering too.

He looked over at his companion, standing in the center of the Pantheon looking straight upwards at the intricately designed ceiling and skylight. A beam of light cascading straight down upon him and him alone, most everyone else stood to the sides of the room reading the plaques and looking at statues.

Thomas couldn’t remember the last time he had seen his dear friend so free and expressive. He had always had a guard up, keeping even heavy subject matter light with a joke or sarcastic comment.

This was probably the first time Thomas had seen him physically wearing so little too. Even in his apartment at the Vatican he wore long sleeved shirts and coats, always complaining of the cold. His arms were toned and well defined from the servile manual labor of his early years in the church. The shirt fit snugly against his figure accentuating the soft curves of his chest and abdomen.

Thomas set his jaw and tried not to let his mind wander the way it often did around Aldo these days.

He was no stranger to the heartbreak two priests could leave one another with. In his early years, he had allowed himself to revel in the companionship of an older priest in his fellowship. When it ended, Lawrence had asked to be transferred out of England; too hurt to face both God and his own failures.

Aldo gently grabbed his shoulder, breaking him from his thoughts.

“Are you quite alright, Thomas?”

“I’m fine.” He reached up to gently touch his friend’s hand. “Did you get your fill of the Pagan temple?” He joked, and turned to leave. Aldo snorted.

“As Catholics we should know better than to throw the ‘P’ word around. Baptists already think we run with the devil, you know.”

The mid afternoon sun was hot on the two men’s backs. The streets between the Pantheon and the Trevi Fountain were packed. Aldo grabbed Thomas’ hand and dragged him through the sea of people towards the base of the fountain.

“Scuse. Grazie signoras.” He tried to carefully push through a large group of what appeared to be a bridal party, but one lady was standing precariously on the side of the fountain and stumbled a little as he passed.

“Qual tuo problema, ah?” She shouted at him, fist raised in the air.

“Mi dispiace, bella donna!” He said, very apologetic. She took one look at him and Thomas, and her face changed instantly.

“Ooh! Niente di grave, tesoro! Ciao.” She turned back to her group, gigging.

The tips of Thomas’ ears turned pink slightly at the young lady referring to him and Aldo as darlings, whatever she meant by that.

Aldo tugged on his hand and pulled him close to the side of the fountain, his body flush with his back from all the people crowding around.

“I—“ Thomas stuttered, overwhelmed by all the people and the contact. He took a breath and stepped back a little, and pulled out two small coins from his pocket. He pressed one into Aldo’s palm. The other man looked at him curiously.

Thomas gestured to the other people around the fountain, fading it backward and making a strange crossbody motion with their hands.

“You throw a coin behind your back, make a wish to always return to Rome. You’ll spoil it if you look back before it falls in.”

Aldo gave him a bright-eyed and sweet smile before turning to face him completely and sitting on the fountain’s edge. He closed his eyes and tossed the coin over his shoulder. He opened them and moved over slightly so Thomas too could throw in his coin.

When Thomas went to throw in his coin, he made the wish to always come back here, to this moment, this day.

“Ragazzi Americani!” Called out the young lady from earlier. It looked like her girlfriends were getting ready to leave. “Vuoi una foto?”

Aldo checked his pockets and pulled out the small flip phone he carried for emergencies. He handed it to her and the ladies began giggling again.

“Aww, carino!” cooed a very pregnant bride-to-be, with a chorus of echoes from the ladies that surrounded her.

The lady took the picture and handed the phone back to Aldo.

“Grazie Mille, signoras.” Aldo said, waving after them. “Day drinking on a Tuesday.” He whispered to Thomas, conspiringly. The other man chuckled softly. 

Aldo grabbed his hand to navigate the crowds and not get separated as they left. When he forgot to let it go as they walked through the streets to the Spanish Steps, Thomas was in no hurry to remind him.

The crowds were much smaller here. Most likely due to experiencing it by walking up or down the stairs, and then walking away.

There was a small fountain at the base of the steps, that people would take turns drenching bandanas and handkerchiefs in to cool down from the heat.

“How many steps, do you think?” Aldo asked, gesturing with his head to the wide expanse of intricate white stone.

Thomas shook his head. “I’ve never counted.” Aldo nodded thoughtfully, as he took slow paces toward the stairs. Thomas followed, a few feet to the left.

When Thomas saw that Aldo had sped up slightly, he matched his speed. When the other man again moved a little faster, Thomas felt incredulous.

He was 51 years old! How ridiculous was Aldo to begin racing up the stairs like a schoolboy. This whole situation came from the American’s asinine pipe dream in the first place. And they were dignified men of God! Respectable gentlemen with power and influence and-

Aldo was ahead of him by 6 steps.

When in Rome, I suppose.

Thomas took off, Aldo right behind him. Neither one had been counting at all as they raced. Ado had gotten close to overtaking him, but he couldn’t quite make it before the top. Instead, he had gotten closer and grabbed Thomas’ arm before he could reach the top step, the race ending in a draw.

“Oh you’re such a sore loser, Aldo.” Thomas whined, laughing and out of breath.

“Losing at what?” Aldo feigned confusion. “Oh… at that? Was it a race? That seems quite childish to be racing up stairs at our age, doesn’t it?”

“You’re terrible,” Thomas teased, shoulder checking him gently as he walked past. Aldo pushed back, remaining what many would consider too close to the other man as they continued walking through the street and into another large Piazza. This one was more residential, with local cafes and shops and staircases to apartments on the upper levels.

Aldo had walked ahead of him for a moment as they passed through, but stopped dead in his tracks.

He shoved Thomas hard into a small alleyway to the right of where they had been walking, behind a small pillar near one staircase.

“Aldo! What o—“ Thomas shouted, but Aldo covered his mouth and hissed at him to be quiet.

Only a few moments later, Sister Agnes, the head of the Vatican Convent, came walking by, followed close behind by three other Sisters carrying various bags of grain and dried vegetables.

They did not look into the alley as they passed.

The two men froze, holding their breath until the shuffle of footsteps and sturdy shoes on tile could no longer be heard.

When they took a moment to relax, they both became very aware of their physical position. Aldo had put his arm up by Thomas’ head against the wall after he had shushed him. His other hand was still on Thomas’ shoulder from where he had pushed him.

Thomas had grabbed Aldo by the sides unconsciously. He had not removed his hands when the moment was clear.

They stared at one another, the tips of Thomas’ ears once again growing pink. He lowered his hands slightly so they rested on the other man’s hips.

Aldo moved his hand from the wall, gently caressing the side of Thomas’ face.

There were stakes involved with any action the two would proceed to take. They both knew this. They had known each other for so long.

Aldo’s brain was running a million miles an hour. Even so, he pushed his head in slightly. Thomas did the same.

What was scarier, to Thomas, than the ending of a friendship, was the breaking of his vows.

It almost didn’t matter. It almost was worth it. He leaned in further.

Aldo wanted more than anything to meet him all the way. To finally put action to the thoughts that had plagued him since their first meeting on the evening of that first conclave so many years ago.

He wanted desperately to be a normal person, with wants and needs of his own. To stake claim and ownership of what he had coveted for so long. But he had made the decision years ago, for devotion and self preservation, that he would rise above it.

Aldo pressed his forehead against Thomas’. The two closed their eyes. The breath of one another ghosting across their lips as an indirect kiss. The consequences would be broken hearts and intact vows. (Although, they both knew in truth those vows had been broken by the other ages ago. Even if it had not been physically spoken.)

They stood like that for an unknowable amount of time, the spell only broken by when a man passing by shouted,

“Prendi una stanza, frocie!”

They broke apart, but Thomas had not removed his hands from Aldo’s waist.

“Vaffan, bastardo!” The American cursed back with a smile. The man laughed and continued walking.

Aldo returned his hands to Thomas’ chest, taking a second to fully appreciate the scene in front of him. And then it was over.

“Where’s our next stop?”

So they weren’t going to talk about it. That was fine. Thomas didn’t know what he expected. He knew Aldo could be truly afraid of his own shadow if he let himself overthink it.

“Follow me. It’s a surprise.” He stepped to the side, and gently held his companion’s hand, interlocking their fingers.

The surprise was a five minute walk to the Gardens of the Villa Borghese, an old former aristocrat’s palace turned museum.

He lead him up the hills to a small bakery and cafe near the middle of the garden.

To Aldo’s shock, in the pastry display sat several blueberry bagels. He looked back at Thomas with a completely unreadable expression. The other man had to physically restrain himself from kissing him senseless against the countertop. They ordered some food, Aldo with his cream cheese bagel, and Thomas with a small coffee cake, and left the cafe area to go further up the Garden’s hill.

It would not be sunset for another few hours, but the lights in the garden had all been turned on.

They found a small shade tree to sit under, Aldo leaning against his dear friend’s shoulder. The view of the main city of Rome in front of them was breathtaking.

“How did you know they would have bagels here!”

“I always come here when I visit Rome. I love the gardens. I wish I could spend more time in the gardens back in the Vatican, but it’s always so full of tourists. If I dress in robes then I get stopped by tour groups and asked questions. If I dress in plainclothes I get harassed by security.

I come here often just to exist in nature as myself. With nobody looking to me for answers of guidance. I thought you might like it here too.”

Aldo looked up at him, and pressed further against him, before turning back to look at the city. Thomas let his sinful free hand wrap loosely around the other man’s waist.

It was quiet a moment.

“I can’t believe you’ve come here so often and never brought me a thing back,” Aldo was teasing him, but his voice wavered, fully emotional. “And you know what the worst part is?” He said, mouth full from another bite. “Is that you were right! They do taste the same as the ones in the Vatican. You asshole.”

He was not quite weeping, more laughing, with tears and heaving chest.

Thomas held him gently, the sinful part of his heart that harboured his devotion swelled, felt full of love and joy and pride. To know someone was to love them, and Thomas knew Aldo best of all. This was going to break him, he knew, someday. He didn’t care. Damned be the man or even the god who would get in his way.

This was all talk of course. They could only have today. Tomorrow they’d be Cardinals again. Men of faithful servitude to God. It was best to not let oneself get too attached.

The walk back to the Leonardo Express station was heavy. Aldo had returned for the most part to his stoic and sarcastic self, with a lightness in him Thomas didn’t think he had ever seen before.

They had held hands the whole train ride back, but had broken apart with some distance once they began walking near the wall of the Vatican City. They wandered in with the crowds who were all exiting before the night’s mass.

They slipped into the Basilica, weaving in and out of pockets of people until they opened the door to the staging area, and slipped in, completely unnoticed.

Lawrence rummaged in the now darkened room for their cassocks from that morning. He grew nervous when he couldn’t find them tucked into the bookshelf he had placed them on earlier.

A man cleared his throat. Lawrence and Bellini turned to see the Holy Father behind them, their cassocks folded neatly in his hand.

“Good evening, boys.”

“Y-your Holiness.” Bellini said in shock.

“I think it’s a good idea if you put those on and follow me.”

The walk back to the Casa Santa Marta looked completely ordinary to anyone of the Curia who might have seen them.

When they walked into the Holy Father’s residence, they both sat immediately. Fearful of what was coming.

“So, please spare me no details, and tell me what on our lady’s sacred earth the two of you were doing today.”

Lawrence looked at Bellini, who spoke up instantly.

“It was my fault, your Holiness. I had been dead set on seeing the outer city. Thomas had warned me it might be impossible to do without good cause, but I encouraged him to take me anyway.

All we did was see the sights and return home. I am sorry we broke not only the rules put in place for our own safety, but also for breaking your trust and faith in our servitude to yourself, Father, and to God himself.

I will take full responsibility for both of our actions. Please leave Cardinal Lawrence blameless in this.”

The Holy Father pinched the bridge of his nose tightly.

“Is this true, Thomas?”

“It is, Father.” Lawrence said quietly.

“I am glad the two of you seem properly remorseful for the danger you placed yourselves in today. There is no accounting for the sheer stupidity and foolishness you both have brought upon this Church as an institution.”

The pair looked at one another but said nothing.

“However,” began the Holy Father. They snapped their heads up to look at him. “Since you technically didn’t break any rules aside from due process and ridiculous theatrics, neither of you will be officially punished.”

“I don’t understand-“ Lawrence began.

“I’m not sure where you heard that you could not take leave without reason. This is a holy site, not a prison, for goodness sake!”

“Then—“

“All you would have had to have done was ask for a day of leave, Aldo. I would have granted it to you.”

“Really?”

“Well not for a while now!” Laughed the Holy Father, the intensity of it filled the room and eased the men’s nervous hearts. “I hope this trip was all you wished it to be! It will be your last one for the next several months. And I expect full confessionals from both of you before tomorrow evening.”

A fitting punishment, Bellini supposed.

“How did you know we were gone, Father?” Lawrence asked.

“The Curia has not had a day so quiet in some time. It was odd for the two of you to share a free day and not be out taking meals together.”

The two looked sheepish.

“And,” continued the old Pope, “Sister Agnes and her nuns saw you running up and down the Spanish Steps like a pair of juvenile delinquents.”

Lawrence felt a pit sink in his chest. How much had they seen?

“Ah, youth. If I could still walk like I did when I was fifty perhaps I’d run around foolishly too.”

Feeling properly chastised, Lawrence and Bellini left the Holy Father’s apartment and back out into the hot night air.

“I can’t believe you would take all the blame for me, Aldo.”

“This was one of the nicest days I think I’ve ever had in my life. It would be a sin to let you get punished.” Bellini took both of the other man’s hands on his own. “I am indebted to you for the kindness and friendship you’ve shown me today, Thomas.”

His heart swelled without his permission.

“I’ll do it again, if you ask me to.” Lawrence hoped the emotion he felt had been properly conveyed through his tone. He saw Bellini shift slightly, as if he went to lean in, but stopped himself at the very last minute. He looked conflicted.

“Goodnight Thomas.” He actually leaned in the second time, leaving a gentle Italian kiss on the sides of his cheeks, before turning and walking back to his apartment across the small city.

Thomas Lawrence gently brushed his fingertips against the spot, willing himself to calm down, before walking back to his own apartment in the darkness.

He felt his soul tremble at what this day would mean, for his friendship, for his faith. But for tonight, he would instead remain in bliss until falling into a dreamless sleep

Chapter Text

Cardinal Lawrence felt a deep, sinking feeling growing in the pit of his stomach. He had felt it begin the second he asked Pope Innocent to be transferred to a monastery two weeks ago. It had grown twice in size when he was given flight information and transportation plans three days ago, and now, as he finished piling all his earthy goods into a box to give out to his friends at the Curia, it festered into an all-consuming ache.

All day he had been going around, giving old annotated texts and mugs and stationery to whoever would take it. He wouldn't be able to take much of anything with him once he joined the Franciscan Order.

It had been fun, at first. He had timed it such that the day had been one when several Cardinals from across Europe had been present at the Vatican to give meetings with the Pope.

The look on his face when he gave Cardinal Tedesco, the Grand Patriarch of Venice, his well-loved copy of Agatha Christie's Murder on the Orient Express was priceless.

Tedesco, a grumpy, unpleasant sort of fellow, had actually seemed a bit sad when he accepted the gift. He wished Lawrence the best and bade him farewell, before walking away with a puff of cherry-scented smoke.

This of course, was not enough to stop his nerves. By the end of the day, he had one person left to leave items with, and it was someone whom he had not had a real conversation with in several months. The walk to Cardinal Bellini's apartment felt like a death march. Lawrence had never actually told him he resigned. He couldn't bear it; to look him in the eyes as he said he was leaving.

But on the eve of his departure, he had no other choice.

He knocked gently on the soft oak door. It opened, and the unreadable face of his friend was on the other side.

"Come in." He said, not even waiting for the other man's response. Lawrence felt the pit sink deeper. He entered and closed the door behind him.

"I leave tomorrow morning for Ireland." Lawrence said, plainly. "I brought you some items I thought you might like that I can't keep after I take my vows of poverty." He set the box he had been carrying gently down on an end table. Bellini wasn't even looking at him.

"Would you say something? Please?"

"I'm not sure what you'd want me to say, your Eminence." The formality struck him like an ice pick.

"Why are you doing this, Aldo?" Lawrence asked, approaching the other man the way one would a skittish horse. He gently placed a hand on Bellini's shoulder, but the man immediately moved away.

"How dare you act like this is normal, Thomas." Bellini's jaw was set, the beginning of angry tears forming in the base of his eyes. "How dare you not even tell me in person! How can you act as though I have no reason to be upset with you!"

"Excuse me?"

"I found out you were leaving when Sabbadin asked me what monastery you were going to. You were my best friend and you didn't say a word! I was the very last one in the Curia to know. Do you have any idea how embarrassing that is? It's as if you were trying to make me look like a fool."

Lawrence did feel ashamed, and remorseful, but he also felt an unwanted pang of white hot anger run through him as well. This the latest in the recent line of Bellini making wild accusations against his character. He had grown tired of it.

"Oh, well of course, I have to run all my life decisions through you, I had forgotten that. My mistake." Lawrence spat. "It's not as though I didn't talk to you about it because you have never once taken my crisis of faith seriously."

"That's ridiculous, Thomas how can--"

"There it is again! Between you and the late Holy Father I was told nothing but empty promises of faith returning. I was forced to stay here, to be used as a pawn in the last conclave for purely selfish reasons for both you and the late Pope and I'm tired of you acting as though that's not true...

Your suggestion that what I've been wanting for the past several years comes as a shock to you is what's ridiculous, Aldo!"

"'Used as a pawn'?" balked Bellini incredulously, "So wanting the Church to remain in good hands is unforgivable now, is it? I will not deny you that the late Holy Father clearly intended you to stay to oust Tremblay and Adeyemi from papal contention, but to say I had any sort of similar intentions with you is patently false."

Lawrence stared daggers at Bellini.

"Oh! So you are capable of admitting that the late Holy Father had ulterior intentions in the conclave!"

Bellini's jaw dropped.

"Is that what this is about, Thomas? I thought I apologized to you for my misstep with those simony papers during the conclave itself. I am not understanding why you would allow that to cause such a rift in our friendship."

Lawrence set his jaw, willing the anger to tame itself. He unclenched his fists from his sides and breathed deeply.

"I cannot say I'm surprised at your inability to see your own wrongdoings, Aldo. The Holy Father loved you more than anyone! You were his favorite among the College and the Curia. If you cannot understand why my trust would lapse seeing somebody utterly disregard the final wishes of a dear friend, all for the possible chance at retaining power I have little further to say to you."

Bellini stilled, his heart racing.

"Utterly disregard? That's-"

"Do you deny it?" Lawrence approached, and pressed his finger accusingly against Bellini's heart. "Would you say you did no such thing? That you gave up all convictions at Tremblay's weak-at-best promise for a returning tenure of Secretary of State? You would deny that you knew what the late Holy Father wanted and you sold it out to remain as close to the Papacy as possible?"

The American's body faltered slightly.

"You became someone I did not know, Aldo. In the span of hours I watched you turn from a dear friend to a stranger. To accuse me, a man who has for over twenty years been nothing short of devoted to you, of stealing what you claimed not to even want in the first place...

To see you become so greedy and prideful and paranoid I could scarcely recognize the Aldo I knew of intelligent and rational thought-"

"So is that it then? You'll forgive Adeyemi of his heinous sins but not mine? Is this so terrible I am no longer worthy of being your confessor, that you turn to a man you barely know and shut me out the second his light seems holier than mine?"

Lawrence felt the guilt course through him. It was true, all of it. He felt a rising wave of fear that it was not all Bellini had known.

"You are not as quiet or stealthy as you think, Thomas." Bellini said, voice just barely above a whisper. "You have little time for gossip now in the divine light of our new Holy Father but the Curia has eyes and ears as well." Bellini pushed away Lawrence's hand, and stepped further away from him.

"You may giggle and joke and whisper and call me neurotic and a coward all you wish. You may enjoy the attention of someone who may reciprocate more bravely and foolishly than I ever could. All of this is fine by me. I have made my choices to God and his service. But just know..." He took a breath.

"Just know that in this moment I am not the coward. I am not the one running away. It was not my attention that incited your fears, but it was his. I have never pushed your boundaries or your respect for God. I have never asked you to serve me or worship me instead of the Lord. Remember that."

Lawrence tried to speak, but Bellini raised a hand to silence him.

"Please leave, Cardinal Lawrence. I have work to do." He opened the door, and refused to watch as Lawrence left, shutting the door quickly on him on the way out.

Lawrence wandered the grounds of the Vatican aimlessly for half an hour, before he finally wandered to the Casa Santa Marta, to give confession to Pope Innocent for one final time.

-+-+-+-

The next day, Bellini awoke before the sun rose, body abuzz with nerves.

He was invited but did not attend the gathering of people heading to the train station to see Lawrence off. He refused to be party to it.

Instead, he boldly barged into the Holy Father's office, almost high on anger and nervousness alone.

"Ah, what a blessed morning, Cardinal Bellini!" Pope Innocent said, setting down the papers he had been reading onto his desk. He gave the older man a gentle smile. "To what do I owe the wonderful surprise of your company?"

"How could you do it?" He demanded, standing tall at the edge of the Pope's desk. The younger man, still smiling, cocked his head slightly.

"Ah, please forgive me, I have had a busy morning. What is it you speak of?"

"Accepting Thomas' resignation! Allowing him to leave the Curia!"

The smile on Pope Innocent's face became mildly snarky, and he quirked an eyebrow slightly.

"This is not a prison, my dear Bellini. If one of our members wishes to seek God elsewhere, he is well within his rights to leave, as you well know." His face turned serious. "It is not within the power or responsibility of the church to covet that which we do not own."

This set off Bellini, who immediately slammed his hand down on the desk.

"It IS the responsibility of the church to remain as guiding hand to those which are devout to it! To care for the people who care for it! You would allow Thomas in his despair to go to some place far away, to live a life of squalor and hardship which he does not deserve?"

The Pope stood, calm and serene as could be, much to Bellini's growing ire.

"Do you really believe me to send him away because I care so little?" He said gently. He paused, waiting for Bellini to reply, when he did not, the Pope continued. "Do you think you are the only one here with grief?"

"You cannot," Bellini spat, "Even begin to compare the depths of our feelings. You have known him for five months. I have known him for twenty-four years." The Pope said nothing, but his face, for one moment, looked remorseful. This emboldened him.

"I am certain the Holiness of your rank and proximity to God makes the world of difference to your perspective and heart but the actions themselves have been pure..." Bellini hesitated a moment.

"Pure what?" The Pope asked. When Bellini did not immediately answer the man nodded. "I agree, it is wise of you not to lecture me on the grounds of cowardice. I am very glad to know that, despite this emotional tantrum, your brilliance that was spoken of so fondly of by the late Holy Father is still apparent."

Bellini wasn't able to tell if that was supposed to be a compliment or not. A terribly backhanded one if it was. Pope Innocent had kept him on as his Secretary of State; he hadn't been sure if that was Lawrence's doing or if the Pope genuinely thought him competent. Even now, he still did not know.

"I forgot that our Thomas was a one-way telephone line between us. Next time I see him I'll be sure to have him pass you my warmest regards."

The Pope reached over the desk, and gently grabbed one of Bellini's hands with both of his. He caressed the back of it, and Bellini felt himself calm down without his permission.

"Do you have anything further to say to me? Or may I begin saying my piece now?"

"By all means, your Holiness." He said, flatly.

"I am, truly, very sorry. For lots of things. For things that you have no idea about and I cannot begin to tell you. I am sorry at the loss of your confidant, I am sorry for the loss of your oldest friend. I am," Pope Innocent said this pointedly,

"Sincerely sorry that all of this has caused you strife, and I am sorry that I allowed myself to be swept into carrying out what I knew must only be causing you self-doubt.

I am most of all sorry that I have been so uncharitable to you that I have not gone out of my way to know you, despite asking you to serve God and the Holy See so devoutly."

Bellini realized he was crying and tried hard to stop. He couldn't. He was still furious, still fuming, still miserable behind it all. How dare he return his anger with sympathy! It was impossible to stay angry at such a man. How entirely unfair.

"Forgive me, Father-"

"No, Aldo. I do not need a confession. You do not need to beg for forgiveness. You already have it, from me and from God." It was silent a moment. Pope Innocent had not let go of the other man's hand. It was as if he knew that if he did, Bellini may fall apart completely. Another few moments passed, and it seemed the Cardinal had calmed.

"Your Holiness, I would like to request a resignation from my post as Secretary of State." Pope Innocent looked at him warmly, with a smile that Bellini found unreadable.

"I'm afraid I cannot accept that. Just today my Dean of Cardinals has resigned and I cannot lose any more trusted advisors as such a new Pope. You understand this, I hope?" Bellini nodded and said nothing.

When Cardinal Bellini went to leave, the Pope had called to him from behind his desk.

"The late Holy Father spoke often about your weekly chess games. I admit I am quite terrible at it, myself."

"I could help you learn, if you'd like, your Holiness?"

"I think I'd like that very much, thank you."

Chapter Text

Vincent Benítez, known now as Pope Innocent XIV, was a very busy man.

He was not exactly sure what he had been expecting as Pope. Logically he knew the full extent of his responsibilities, he had been taught all the workings of the Papacy through his seminary and priesthood.

But the full extent of the job had never been directly explained. That in the mornings he would rise early and work on paperwork, then quickly eat breakfast and go to meetings either privately or publicly all day, leaving little time for much else.

It wasn’t that he hated the amount he had to do. Far from it! He was less busy now than he had been back in Kabul. But the type of work…

When his dear Dean Lawrence had mentioned to him his fatigue with managerial work during the conclave, he hadn’t truly understood what he meant until now.

He considered himself lucky indeed to have a man such as Lawrence by his side these early weeks into his Papacy. Lawrence was a paper pusher since his ordination, well liked and respected by almost all of the Curia. He was tirelessly explaining responsibilities to Benítez, never once making him feel foolish or out of place. Lawrence was always gently grabbing his arm or hand and leading him to where he needed to go throughout the Vatican, his touch always lingering, calming.

Yes, Benítez was lucky indeed to have such a man around to help.

Today was the day both Cardinals Adeyemi and Tremblay would give official resignations and leave the Vatican City forever.

Benítez found himself tired before it had even happened. He had gotten his lunch in the Casa Santa Marta cafeteria with Lawrence and Archbishop Ray O’Malley, the latter whom had brought paperwork Benítez would need to go over before accepting the resignations.

“I am not completely understanding why we need to do all this work in preparation.” Benítez said, flipping through the packet lightly.

Bishop O’Malley looked thoughtful and nervous. Lawrence had given him a look that Benítez had taken to mean ‘tread carefully’.

“We’re just… trying to prevent as much scandal as possible, your Holiness. There is procedure one must go through like in any job or position.”

“And there’s scandal?”

Lawrence's face went dark, his eyes had a look of anger in them Benítez had never seen before.

“There is.”

“I’m not sure I fully understand what exactly Cardinal Adeyemi’s scandal was. I confess that aside from the incident at lunch I was not privy to any gossip that surrounded the man.”

“I’m not at liberty to say, your Holiness. He told me the nature of what had happened in his confession.” Lawrence bitterness was thick in his tone, despite the man’s obvious attempt to conceal it. “But just know it was quite unacceptable.”

Benítez nodded and took his hand, softly. Hoping his touch would calm the other man down. It did. Bishop O’Malley said nothing at this, but rummaged through the small briefcase he had brought with him for a pen.

Benítez signed the paperwork, then clapped his hands together.

“Off we go, I suppose?”

It was unbearable and awkward. That was the only way Benítez could describe it. Benítez had once been tortured in Baghdad for information regarding the location of sex workers he had helped join the convent for freedom, only being released days later when local authorities had gotten involved.

And this stuffy meeting with men who hated him with every part of their being was only slightly worse than that.

He was exaggerating, of course. But his point remained.

By the time it was over and he had taken the men’s rings and titles, he stood from his desk, and stretched.

The only person from the meeting who had remained in the office was Lawrence, who wore the exhaustion Benítez felt quite plainly on his face.

“All of this for a job I find myself regretting signing up for. Such a waste.” Benítez joked slightly. When the other man did not even smile, he walked over, sitting in front of him on the edge of his desk.

“Let me carry your burden, Thomas. Please?”

He raised his hand out slightly, and Lawrence’s face looked pained before he took it, squeezing it tightly; worrying his thumb over Benítez’ knuckles.

“That nun, Sister Shanumi, the one from lunch during the conclave?”

Benítez nodded.

“She was the victim of an affair with Adeyemi. Only 19 years old. She had a child and was forced to give him up to spare Adeyemi the embarrassment.” Lawrence was not crying, but he looked very somber for the poor girl. “She had been working as a nurse over in Nigeria, but was forced to come here for the sole purpose of exposing Adeyemi.”

Lawrence dropped his hand, and stood. He walked to the door, but paused before opening it.

“Apologies, your Holiness. It’s over now anyway. I’ll leave you.”

Benítez did not move from his spot as Lawrence had left.

He was very familiar with the atrocities of man. Of what they did to each other and to women. It was unacceptable as a whole, but even more unacceptable within his church.

He wandered from his office to the Casa Santa Marta, gently knocking on the door of Sister Agnes. She opened it after a moment, looking very pleasantly surprised.

She gave a deep curtsey and stepped to the side.

“Your Holiness! Please, enter. Whatever brings you to my stead?”

“My dear Sister. I have been very recently made aware of the terrible predicament of one of your nuns. May I please have a moment with Sister Shanumi if she is not currently indisposed?”

Sister Agnes looked shocked, but said nothing. She nodded and left, returning only moments later with the short Nigerian woman, who was wearing an apron, her nose dusted with flour. She looked exhausted.

Sister Agnes curtseyed again, and stepped out.

“Y-your Holiness…” she said, giving as much of a curtsey as she could given the apron. Benítez waved his hand.

“Please call me Vincent, my dear Sister. And please take a seat. We are equals.” She nodded, a little dumbfounded at the polite forwardness of this new pope.

“I have heard a little of your story, and I’d like you to please tell me more, if you’d be willing. The man who harmed you is no longer respected by this church. And I only wish to make amends to you in the best way I can.”

“My name is Shanumi Iwaro, I am fourty-nine years old and I’m from Ondo, Nigeria. I was baptized and joined the church very early. When I was sixteen I became very involved with the church, and when I was eighteen I joined the convent. The bishop of the church I worked near, this was Adeyemi, took a liking to me, and spent most of my free time in my company.”

Sister Shanumi took a deep breath, straightening out her apron just to do something with her hands.

“After a year, we became very close. He told me all sorts of lovely things. One evening he had invited me to his apartment in the church to help him prepare for an event the following Sunday. He was so nice and pushy, and I was so curious and needy…”

She paused again, taking a shaken breath.

“There is no rush, my dear. Please take however long you need.” She gave him a weak smile.

“After the affair, when I missed my period, he grew angry. He called me all sorts of names, threw books at me, and told me I was going to burn in hell for what I had done to him.

He refused to speak to me my entire pregnancy. It was so hard on my body. We didn’t have much at the convent I worked at. My William was born premature, and he was immediately taken from me.

I hadn’t wanted to lose him, but the choice was not mine. He was sent to an orphanage ten miles away. I have heard very very little since.” She rummaged through her pocket and pulled out her wallet, and took out a very worn black and white photograph of a boy, who didn’t look older than fourteen.

“He is still with the church, I believe. He joined the priesthood.I wish I had known him.”

“I’m very sorry for your loss, Sister Shanumi. Would you like to tell me about what you did after? If you do not wish to, you may of course leave at any time.”

“Of course, your H- Vincent.” She wiped the tear from the side of her face. “It means the world to me that you would even spend a second of your time with me.”

She cleared her throat and began speaking some more.

“After he was born, I threw myself into my work. I was transferred far from Ondo, and ended up in Ghana where I studied to become a nurse. The convent was incredibly supportive of me. Once finished, I began working at a clinic run by the church treating HIV patients. I had been working there for almost twenty years now… until the late Holy Father called me here to the Vatican. I’ve been working here since in the kitchens.”

“How terrible!” Benítez sympathized. “I am so sorry you were forced to come here.”

“It’s okay. The weather here is nice.” Benítez chuckled at this. He placed a hand on her shoulder.

“Please do not be kind on my behalf. I agree wholeheartedly with you. The Vatican is a stuffy, self-righteous place when there are things more important you could be doing.”

Sister Shanumi laughed for the first time since arriving at the Vatican.

“Do you want to go back to Nigeria?”

“More than anything.”

“It is done. And your clinic will be granted twice the resources and finance it is currently receiving.” Shanumi broke into tears, her smile wide.

“Oh, thank you, your Holiness! How can I ever repay you!”

“You have served God and His people so faithfully in spite of His church turning its back on you. This is me repaying you. Thank you, Sister.” She wrapped him tightly in a hug, her body shaking from excitement and grief. He rubbed her back slowly, allowing her to cling to him until she was finally calm.

When Sister Agnes came in after Sister Shanumi had left, she had a proud smile on her face, that Benítez felt himself returning.

“She is free to leave at her earliest convenience.” He told her. She nodded.

“Of course, your Holiness. The Sisters and I are…” Sister Agnes paused. “We are very grateful to have such a wonderful new Pope.”

After leaving the Casa Santa Marta, Benítez found Lawrence in the Vatican library. He was pouring over several hand-bound manuscripts that looked quite old.

He looked up when Benítez approached, and offered up his hand for the Pope to take.

“She’s going home, Thomas.” He said, gently. He traced small circles on the back of hand.

Benítez found himself at peace with his position. Perhaps there was good to be done here after all. Pope Innocent XIV would become a very busy man indeed.

Chapter Text

“Please come in, Thomas.” The weak voice of the Holy Father was still clear enough to be heard through the closed apartment door.

Cardinal Lawrence did as told, shutting the door behind him softly so as not to disturb the old Pope more than necessary.

He was lying in bed, looking not so much the Man Most Holy and High but instead like a tired and sick old man. It was often the old Pope looked this way, these days. The littlest colds or injuries affected him greatly, leaving bruises or a cough that would last for days on end.

“Good morning, Father.” Lawrence said, walking over to the side of the bed to sit at one of the dining chairs that had been pulled over for this exact purpose. “I hope you had a pleasant rest?”

The Holy Father made a dismissive sound, and waved his hand absently. “Rest is for the dead, Thomas. I’m not quite there yet.” Lawrence did not know how to respond to this; any option he could think of made him sad. He elected to say nothing at all.

“I’ve been doing a lot of thinking lately, my dear boy.” mused the old Pope after a few moments of silence. “About the future and about the legacy I’ll leave behind here.” He gestured to the large stack of paperwork on his lap, covered in receipts and folders and odd bits of scratch paper. He shuffled through it bitterly.

“And what did you find?”

“Nothing of consequence yet… but I have my suspicions about the power dynamics in the upcoming conclave.” the old man chucked. Lawrence winced at this.

“Please, Father, I beg you not to speak that way. This is just a head cold; you’re going to be alright.”

“Whether it happens in a day or in a hundred days, there is still one coming, Lawrence. You of all people had better be ready for it.”

Lawrence felt his cassock feel uncomfortably tight at that moment.

“... Holy Father… I… I have been thinking lately too. About the future.”

“And what did you find?” the old Pope said with a warm smile.

“I think perhaps it’s time I resigned from my position as Dean.” The smile fell immediately. Lawrence faltered, worrying his right thumb over the back of his left hand.

“Father I didn’t expect after the cancer to still be living like this. I didn’t expect God to remain so far from me… I–”

The Holy Father raised his hand. Lawrence silenced himself.

“I have told you time and time again, Thomas, that He will come to you in time.”

“How much time?” Lawrence exclaimed, perhaps too loudly than was required. The old Pope gave him a withering glare.

“It is not for me to know or say, you know this well enough.” Lawrence stood, and gently sat on the side of the bed. He picked up the old man’s frail hand with both of his.

“Please, your Holiness. Please you must see how much I am struggling. I fear God has never truly spoken with me at all. Father–”

“Some are chosen to be shepherds, and others are needed to manage the farm.” The Holy Father squeezed his hand gently. “You are not a shepherd. You are a manager.” He removed his hand and patted the top of Lawrence’s knee.

The old Pope began putting the paperwork on his lap back into the many folders and envelopes he had sprawled across the bedspread. He looked up to see Lawrence’s miserable face.

“Do you think this is easy for me?” The old Pope shook his head kindly. “It is the furthest thing from it. But I need you here! I need you to take care of things.” He gestured to the envelopes in front of him, to the whole of the Holy See.

“Please do not worry, my dear Thomas. God will return to you. He always does.”

Lawrence batted away a heartbroken tear that threatened to fall from his left eye. He stood, attempting to compose himself. He was so hurt, that for the past ten years he had only been a manager to the Holy Father; incapable of being anything more holy or divine than that.

He assisted the old Pope into the living room to sit down upon his sofa. The two taking turns reading passages from the Cadfael Chronicles. Lawrence’s heart was not in it today; and he could tell that the Holy Father’s wasn’t either. It was the furthest he had ever felt from the warmth of the old man. After three chapters, Lawrence came up with a reason to excuse himself. He placed the novel back on the table and gave the Holy Father a gentle kiss on the cheek before leaving.

Lawrence didn’t know that would be the last time he would see him privately. He had wished he had; in spite of his wounded feelings he would have spent the rest of the morning with the old man. Instead, he simply departed, still second in line to the papacy, yet not one inch closer to God

Chapter Text

It had been a truly long day for Pope Innocent. The bustle to and fro for a public appearance in Rome was apparently normal, according to his Secretary of State, but it didn’t make it any less exhausting.

The first time he had seen his mode of transportation, he had stared incredulously at it.

“The Popemobile, your Holiness.” Bellini had whispered sardonically into his ear. Benítez grabbed him by the shoulder and stifled a laugh, willing his face to remain respectful and christlike to the outside observer.

“And I have to ride in this?” Bellini reached up a hand across his body to gently pat Benítez’s, pursing his lips and clearing his throat. Ever the professional.

“I’ll be right beside you the whole time, Father. Don’t worry at all.”

What Bellini had meant by this, of course, had turned out to be Pope Innocent standing precariously on a jerky moving platform, while Bellini and a few others got to sit down for the ride.

After about a half hour of that nonsense, Pope Innocent had called for the car to stop, and got out, walking to the railing to actually speak to the people he was appearing for.

He had brushed hands and blessed children and adults alike. He said a prayer with an Italian military man missing a leg and prayed for a young pregnant woman who had told him she was anticipating a premature birth. All of the people of Rome were to be seen by the new Pope.

Instead of the appearance taking an hour, it took three. Pope Innocent simply could not find it within himself to care. These were the people everything they did was for. It made no sense to him to lord above them so ridiculously in a box of plexiglass and metal.

At the end of the barricade, He turned around and waved, before returning back into the walls of the Vatican.

Bellini was beside him as he walked, going over some official statements the Holy See would be giving out over the next several weeks; back to business, as always. Never taking a second to enjoy the job well done.

“Pardon me, Cardinal Bellini,” Benítez said, stopping abruptly. The other man turned to him, and pushed up his glasses slightly to show his annoyance.

“Yes, your Holiness?”

“Since the both of us have a few free hours until the luncheon at 15:00, perhaps you would humor me for a game of chess?”

Bellini looked conflicted, glancing down at the paperwork in his hands and back at the kind eyes of the Pope before relenting.

“Of course.”

This was the third time Benítez had ever been inside the American’s small apartment. He had not been attempting to be humble; he really was awful at chess.

A fact that had seemed to endear himself to and pacify Bellini, which was helpful because it seemed not much else Benítez did seemed to do either.

Regardless of his personal feelings towards Benítez, he was a wonderful ally and advisor. The late Holy Father had not been blinded by favoritism as he had initially believed. He had just wanted to gain the man’s trust, but it seemed that it was going to be more difficult than anticipated.

Benítez reasoned that might have been slightly his own fault; by stepping on the toes of what he had thought was a ghost. But he would not apologize for his affections and his pursuit of them. They would both have to move forward from this.

“It’s truly a lovely little apartment you have here, Aldo.” He said, hanging up his scarf and coat on the rack near the door.

Bellini gave a wry smile at this. “Yes, you’ve said so each time you’ve been here, your Holiness.” Benítez fixed him a look and Bellini rolled his eyes fondly. “Excuse me. Vincent.”

As Benítez went to sit down at the side table, his eyes were fixed on a small box folded up the end table by the door. It had not moved an inch since the first time he had been in the apartment, which had been over six weeks ago.

Bellini placed the small chess set on the table, and went to make drinks in his tiny kitchenette. A cup of coffee, two sugars, no cream for himself, and a cup of cinnamon hot chocolate for the Pope.

“A pitiful excuse for the real thing, I’m afraid.” Bellini apologized, setting down the ridiculous black cat mug in front of Benítez, and another, equally ridiculous I Heart NY mug in front of his own seat.

“It’s quite alright, Aldo.” He picked up the mug, and stared at it a moment, sending a curious glance to Bellini.

“My sister gave that to me in college.” He explained. “I had a black cat at the time. All of the joke mugs are from her.” He gestured to his own mug. “So I wouldn’t forget my roots when I moved here.”

Benítez gave him a wide smile at ths, before moving his first pawn forward.

“What was her name?”

Bellini looked thoughtful, before matching with his own pawn.

“My sister or the cat?”

“Both?” Benítez moved another pawn two spaces over forward.

“My sister is Alicia. She’s stopped using the Italian pronunciation but we all still call her that anyway.” Bellini chuckled at this, taking another sip of coffee. “My cat was named Cleo.”

It was silent for a moment as Bellini considered his moves. He didn’t want to attack hard against Benítez, it wouldn’t be fair. He moved forward another pawn.

“Do you have any siblings, Vincent?”

The Pope nodded, moving forward a knight and starting the game’s first offensive.

“I had four. My older brother, Martín, my older sister Penelope, then me, a younger brother Joaquín, and a baby sister Louisa who didn’t make it past five.”

“Oh Vincent, I’m so sorry to hear that.”

“That’s very kind of you to say, but it’s alright. She is much happier with God now. She was very often sickly. There wasn’t anything that could be done.”

The room was quiet a few moments. Bellini moved forward a Bishop but did not take anything out.

“Do you miss them, your family back in the states?” Benítez took the bishop with one of his own. First kill.

Bellini looked thoughtful, his eyebrow quirked at the game in front of him, and he drank more of his coffee to stall both the question and the game.

“Yes and no. I miss my sister dearly, but I call her enough so it makes up for it a little. My parents? They’re not very happy with my life choices. Any of them.” He said this with a bitter intonation that Benítez understood completely. His own parents had felt the exact same way when it was obvious he had… a particular affliction… with other boys back in Mexico.

“But they support my work in the church. They recognize it was a lot of really hard work to get here.”

Benítez bit his lip at this, at the thought of management being hard church work, but his face betrayed him.

“Oh, do you disagree, Vincent?” Bellini said, mock offended. “I’ll have you know I led a mission trip in Chile in my early priesthood and spent a year building wells.”

Benítez put both his hands out in front of him, palms up, and gestured to Bellini. “Let me see, give me your hands.”

The man gave a big showy sigh and did as asked. Placing his hands palm down into the Pope’s.

Benítez brought them close to his face, making note of how well manicured his nails were; no hang nails, all trimmed short and very clean. He ran his thumb over the edge of one. Buffed smooth.

“Well groomed. Do I leave you too much free time, Aldo?” He joked. The other man rolled his eyes but the tips of his ears turned a shade of pink.

He flipped over his hands, and ran his thumbs over each of the proximal mounds beneath the fingers. Sturdy, but uncalloused. It had been a while since the American had worked seriously with his hands.

Benítez took focus on Bellini’s right hand, ghosting his index finger across his palm. Bellini shuddered, his ears growing a shade darker. He shot the Pope a quizzical glance.

“That tickles. What on earth are you doing?”

“I’m checking for calluses.” His finger stopped. There, between his thumb and his palm, was a firm bit of worn skin. He felt it up and down, before nodding.

“I’m sorry, Aldo, the hands do not lie. Writer’s bump, and nothing else. You are a man of politics, not a missionary.” Benítez matched the palms of their hands together, allowing Bellini to feel the roughness of his own calluses. Bellini’s hands were much longer, but Benítez’s were wider.

Bellini snatched his hands back with a huff, taking out the other man’s offending bishop with his knight.

“Well, not all of us can be assassination survivors.” He said this teasingly, but Benítez could tell he took it a little offensively too. “Some of us are just homosexuals from New York.”

Benítez actually laughed at this, a hearty, melodical sound, and moved his rook across the board in an attempt to scare Bellini into action.

It worked. He took the rook out too, with his knight.

“Aldo,” said Benítez when he was sure he had the other man distracted. “What’s in the box.”

“Nothing worth mentioning.” Apparently not distracted enough.

“Aldo.” The Pope said firmly. Bellini looked very somber, and refused to look the other man in the eye.

“Thomas’ stuff that he left behind… Go ahead, look through it. I won’t mind.”

Benítez rose and walked over to it. He gently folded back the edges, and was surprised at the number of things inside it. He had only received a few books and some journals from the man.

He supposed it made sense and tried not to take it too personally. After all, they had been friends for two decades.

The first item he had fished out was a pair of tacky sunglasses, then a knockoff coach belt. Then some novels, some journals, a couple touristy Christmas ornaments he had no doubt had been gifts from Bellini’s sister once upon a time.

There were some scarves and a mug and a weathered old blue glass rosary. But at the very bottom was a picture frame. The frame was cheap and made to look like a beach scene. Within the frame was a grainy and overblown phone picture of Bellini and Lawrence side by side at the Trevi Fountain. It had to have been at least ten years before, they both looked much younger.

Neither one was in church gowns, Lawrence wearing the sunglasses he had seen in the box. They both seemed lighter, happier.

“When was this?”

“2014. I had convinced Thomas to sneak me out to go play tourists.”

“Sneak out?” Benítez balked. His face shifted. “Was it hard?”

Bellini laughed. “Not even a little. We got caught by the late Holy Father on the way back in, though.” He grew somber.

“You must miss him terribly.”

“I’m sure you do as well, Vincent.” Bellini brushed him off. The earlier camaraderie dissipating.

Benítez took a seat back at the table and took a pawn with his knight.

They were both running out of options.

Several more pawns, two more bishops, and a knight later, Benítez and Bellini found themselves at a draw. The game was over. Nobody won.

“I congratulate you, Vincent, you are getting much better at chess.” He reached his hand across the board and Benítez shook it firmly.

“It is only because you’re playing easy with me, Aldo. But I am so grateful for your help.”

“Any time. Although maybe not so close to a luncheon on our next game?” He said, looking at his watch and gathering up his things.

“Tell me,” Benítez said, linking with Bellini’s arm as they walked across the Vatican. “How you snuck out… is it still there?”

“It is, your Holiness. Right through the Basilica. Why do you ask?”

“I have some ideas.”

Chapter Text

Lawrence simply could not believe the sight in front of him.

He could not, in one million years, have ever imagined that the Pope would come calling on him, certainly not like this, dressed in magnificent white in the middle of a tiny Abbey in Galway. He hadn't thought he was important enough for anyone to waste their time.

Before he had the chance to respond, the Abbot, Father Kenny rang the dinner bell to announce supper was ready, and all the friars in the Abbey came at once to the dining hall.

It took very little convincing from the brotherhood to have Pope Innocent say the meal's grace, a long-winded speech about companionship and unity under God. Lawrence pointedly did not look at the Pope during this. He knew his brothers knew him well, and he could not bear for them to see the wounded animal look in his eyes at the sight of the holy man.

The meal ran far too short for Lawrence's liking. Every friar had eaten quickly in order to spend as much time as possible in conversation with Pope Innocent, a small crowd forming around him. He had thought he had perfectly timed his exit when, as he reached the door to the dining hall, that gentle voice called out to him clear as day, "Wait just a moment, Thomas."

It seemed there was nowhere further to run.

"Yes, your Holiness?"

"I came to speak to you about official business from the Vatican. Is there somewhere private we can discuss this?" a few of the friars murmured quietly, no doubt this would become the talk of the dormitories in less than an hour.

"Of course. Please follow me, there is an office inside the church." He felt his heart pounding in his chest, as he led the Pope out of the dining hall and around the small Abbey.

His nerves got the best of him as he tried to unlock the door to the office, and he fumbled with his keys slightly. Friar Lawrence was truly a weak man. This was not a secret, to himself, to those who knew him well, and not even to the Lord. He sent up a silent prayer, and he finally found the correct key to open the door, thanks be to God.

"Why have you come, your Holiness?"

"I have already told you, you haven't been answering my letters." He said very plainly. He seemed almost amused at the situation. "Or our dear Aldo's, for that matter."

Lawrence looked like a deer in the headlights. If the pair of them had been talking, this did not bode well for him.

"I'm not sure why this called for you to make the dangerous journey to speak to me."

"Because we knew you wouldn't give a good answer unless spoken to in person. And Aldo and I agreed given the nature of your last conversation, it should be me. Besides, Ireland is truly quite beautiful this time of year." the Pope sat down coolly on the small office chair.

The Friar had no idea what to make of the man in front of him. Benítez had always been brave, he had always put voice to his own thoughts regardless of what those around him might think. But this, a confident, powerful man, emboldened by his closeness to God and stronger from the weight of the Universal Church on his shoulders?

Lawrence looked away from him. His needy heart could not bear the sight.

"I'm not sure I have an answer." When the room became all too silent, he added, "At least, not one you'll like."

The Pope crossed his arms and sat back further. "Was it the content of our letters that scared you? That we spoke to you more fondly than Bishop O'Malley and that frightened you?"

When Lawrence looked confused, it dawned upon the Pope. "You never even read them at all."

At least Lawrence had the decency to look ashamed.

"Not one. Not since the moment I got here."

Benítez had a strange bemused expression on his face. He tilted his head slightly.

"Well, then go read them. You kept them, yes?"

Lawrence was flabbergasted. "Right now?"

The Pope nodded, an odd smile forming on his lips.

"Get them and bring them here. I will wait until you finish."

+++

Lawrence did as told, walking to the dormitory to scoop up what must have been over forty letters from his bedside drawer into a small harvest basket he kept under his bed.

"What's going on, Brother Thomas?" asked Friar Quinn, who had been in bed reading on the other side of the room. A few other of the friars had perked their heads up to hear the news.

"Oh, Vatican politics." Lawrence lied, "Nonsense to be dealt with, you understand." This seemed to pacify his brothers, who chuckled at the foolishness of such self-important men.

When he got back to the office, he saw that Pope Innocent had dragged over another chair for Lawrence to sit in. He shook his head when he saw the sheer amount of letters, and gestured for the man to sit. Benítez picked up a novel from off the office bookshelf and began reading.

He couldn't hide from it any longer. Lawrence took a letter opened and opened the first letter from Bellini.

"Dear Thomas,

I write this to you only hours since we last spoke. I'm still furious with you, of course. But already does this rift between us bring me nothing but misery. 'Get rid of all bitterness, rage, and anger, brawling and slander, along with every form of malice. Be kind and compassionate to one another and forgive, just as in God Christ forgave you.' as was said in Ephesians.

And I do forgive you, Thomas. I forgive and absolve you in the sincerest hopes that you will forgive and absolve yourself. And return home. It has only been a few hours since I've seen you, and already am I weary at the time we will soon spend apart. Not in ten years have I spent a day without you. I scarcely believe I will be able to spend even ten weeks in your absence.

I am truly sorry that I have never taken yours doubts seriously. All I can hope is that God takes care of you and treats your soul as gently as I would have.

Yours,

Aldo"

He folded the letter back up into the envelope it came in. His heart ached; both in pain and relief he had not opened this sooner. If he had, he knew he would have been helpless but to return to the Vatican. It was for the best that he did not. Lawrence took a deep breath, hoping to prevent the tears he knew would spill.

He opened next the first letter he had received from Benítez,

"My Darling Thomas,

I bade you farewell just this morning. You will no doubt get this letter a week into your stay, if the mail is on schedule. I will miss you and your gentle touch quite terribly; the Vatican seems empty and foreign to me without your presence. But I am praying that you will find what you are looking for. Through real work and service will God's love present itself, I have no doubt of that.

May He flourish in you so you find what you have been missing. You deserve to feel warmth where I know now you feel only disappointment. I confess I had hoped that it would have been through me you found this atonement, but nevertheless.

May God be with you,

Vincent"

The honesty in his letter made the tears begin to cascade down Lawrence's face. He had known Benítez had wanted him; it had been the very reason he had asked to leave. But to see it written so plainly, as if it was no different than a comment on the weather, was sobering indeed.

Lawrence read letter after letter, finding updates of life from Bellini and Benítez, and discovering with dawning horror that the letters from one began referencing what was written in the letters from another. Talking of foolhardy adventures or boring politics or Benítez’s growing proficiency at chess.

He didn't know why this frightened him so; he should be grateful two people he cared for dearly were finding friendship with one another in his absence. But all he could feel was anxious.

"Have... Have the two of you been... talking about me?"

"We started writing our letters together when we realized you weren't responding to anyone but Bishop O'Malley. Aldo was very brilliant in assuming it would startle a response out of you. But neither of us could have guessed you hadn't been reading any of them at all!" Benítez laughed at this, but there wasn't humor in his eyes.

"You're mad at me?" Lawrence asked quietly. Benítez deflected.

"Why didn't you answer us, Thomas?"

"I couldn't bare to hear or speak to you. I have always heard God the least when my heart is full of desire for those around me. I thought it would be best for me to leave my heart at the Vatican City and attempt to begin anew."

Benítez stood and approached him, gently cradling the man's face with his hand. Lawrence leaned into his touch. He closed his eyes and took everything in, from the scent of the Pope's soap to the faint pulse he felt on his cheek.

"Did it work?" He caressed the side of Lawrence's face with his thumb. He sighed, tears falling unbidden.

"I had thought it did, I have found God once again. But seeing you here, I don't think I've learned much at all about matters of the heart."

This was all Benítez needed to hear, he leaned forward and placed a gentle kiss upon Lawrence's lips, which was returned almost instantly in kind.

It was chaste, soft, and full of promise. Lawrence stopped at once.

"Forgive me, Father."

Benítez caressed his face once again before stepping back. "It is already done." He looked around the office a moment, before continuing "You must return with me back to the Vatican tomorrow, Thomas. There are other apologies that must be spoken."

Lawrence began to protest, but the Pope got a look in his eye that silenced him into submission. "I am not asking."

+++

Lawrence in his luck, had not unpacked his things from his most recent trip only hours ago. He gathered his bag and said goodbye to the brotherhood, late into the night.

"There is a matter that needs me urgently in Rome." He explained. "But I will be back as soon as possible."

He had left in the armored vehicle with Pope Innocent, and arrived at the airport almost as soon as he had gotten comfortable. They had gotten on a small plane and Benítez handed him the letter he had been carrying with him at dinner.

Lawrence opened it immediately. It had been written by Bellini's hand.

“Dearest Thomas,

Return home and tell how much God has done for you. Luke 8:39

Yours Still,

Aldo”

He had exhaled a breathy laugh and shook his head at this. "You both were so sure you could make me return."

"All of this was Aldo's idea. He's quite remarkable when he isn't going out of his way to be obnoxious." Benítez gave himself a private little chuckle. "I’ve come to understand fully your need for frequent confession about the American."

Lawrence was too tired to examine what that had meant. He refused to press for fear it meant exactly what he thought it did. Was it jealousy that burned at the thought, or something very different indeed?

He had supposed two years was time enough for anyone to move on. Why did such a thought make him so miserable?

He slept on the plane, and for the first time in a long time, fell into a dreamless slumber.

Chapter Text

It was 6:49 in the morning when Cardinal Aldo Bellini had gotten an energetic series of knocks on his apartment door. The man had been awake, out of bed, and preparing for the absolutely absurd day ahead of him; but he still let out a deep sign before opening the door.

He knew who it was; of course Pope Innocent would be ten minutes early on a day such as this, and he let the man in without a word.

"Good Morning, my dear Aldo!" came the chirping voice of the leader of the Universal Church. His energy was infectious, of course, and Bellini could not help it but to return the smile.

He had remembered quite well being on the receiving end of a break like today. It had been one of his favorite memories in recent memory. It also carried a lot of heavy emotional baggage for the American, and of the man he missed more than anything, so he pushed those thoughts down deep to ignore them. He focused on the Pope in front of him.

"This is your last opportunity to turn back, if you so choose, Vincent. We can call it off and do something else entirely." The other man shook his head, beginning to strip from his vestments and put on the civilian clothes Bellini had laid out for him. Bellini found himself staring and quickly averted his eyes.

This time it was the dead of winter in Rome. This meant heavy coats and hats and scarves... much easier to hide behind. And this was quite important because one Vincent Benítez was the most famous man alive. They couldn't afford to risk getting even a little caught.

Bellini knew this would be much harder than two cardinals embarrassing themselves in Rome, so he had gotten Sister Agnes and Bishop O'Malley to help. Sister Agnes knew of an easier way in and out of the Vatican; It was the one she took for groceries and supply runs with her Sisters all the time.

He was surprised she had been so easy to convince, especially considering the danger of it all, but she had told him with a knowing smile and that matronly look in her eye that anything the Pope had wished for would be his, as long as she had any say over the matter.

Bishop O'Malley on the other hand had taken some wearing down; and it wasn't until Pope Innocent told him he would do it with or without his help that he finally agreed. He would be fielding questions and inquiries about and for the Pope until he returned in the evening.

So here they were, wearing cloth face masks and knit beanies and scarves and heavy coats, walking through the Vatican convent's doors at 7:30 in the morning, rushing off to the train station to get into the heart of the outer city.

"The sunrise this morning is remarkable, Aldo." Vincent whispered, pointing out the window of the speeding Leonardo Express.

"Awake, O sleeper, and arise from the dead, and Christ will shine on you." Aldo quipped back. Vincent chuckled at this, still awestruck looking out the window at the city of Rome. He was a funny curiosity of a man, the Pope. Still so full of whimsy despite all the horrors he had borne witness to.

Aldo had known him well for over a year now, and he still had no idea what to make of him. They were friends, he supposed. He had become Vincent's top advisor, spending hours a day with him planning and strategizing. Vincent had offered him a promotion to Dean almost as soon as Lawrence had disappeared, but Aldo had declined, saying he would be far more useful to him as Secretary of State.

He was fond of Vincent. He knew that. He was wise and charming, confident and sure-footed. When working together, the pair of them could run circles around some of the more conservative minded of the Curia, and when Vincent had confessed to him the quirk of his biology, it had only cemented further proof to Aldo that Vincent was born to be Pope; being made so completely in God's image.

Aldo felt… devoted to him. He had spent weeks planning this day just to ease some of the burden that being the Man Most Holy and High had taken on Vincent. But there were times, like right now, looking at the younger man in awe of God's beauty outside the speeding train, where all he could do was feel scorn.

It was long overdue for him to get over it; and he knew that. Thomas had left by his own accord. And by his own accord he was not writing him back. But seeing Vincent act so wonderful and holy, the very thing that had driven Thomas away, still made his heart ache with the loss of his oldest friend.

They had put on their coats and exited the train into the chilly Roman platform. Aldo gently grabbed Vincent's hand to guide them through the already large mass of people at the train station.

"I know you had been expecting perhaps to do some sight seeing, but I planned some other things I think you might enjoy more." Vincent looked at him curiously, but nodded, holding tightly to the American's hand so as not to get separated in the crowd of people.

Aldo led them down some of the less populated side streets of Rome, through back alleys teeming with early morning fog, until they arrived at a large church-looking building, with a small plaque that read Fondazione Thouret Onlus on the exterior. He walked around the building and entered from a small side door into a large, sterile kitchen.

"This is one of the larger food banks and soup kitchens in the Roman metropolitan area." Aldo explained, watching Vincent's eyes widen with elation. "I had coordinated with Sister Agnes who knows much of the Convent here to reserve time for us this morning to help with today's breakfast. We are simply two priests of the Curia wanting to help the less fortunate."

Vincent grabbed his wrist gently, "This is wonderful, Aldo! I've been wishing for months now to do something other than delegate."

"I know. I'm sorry I couldn't get you here sooner, truly."

A tall nun, dressed up in her full habit, came to greet them, and introduced herself as Sister Elena. She showed them a place to hang their scarves and coats, and looked a little curiously at them when they both did not take off their knit hats and masks, but said nothing.

She directed Aldo to the back of the kitchen, where he would be preparing potatoes and onions for the side dish, and he got to work immediately, cleaning what must have been over 20 pounds of large brown russets. Several other volunteers and nuns were also working diligently to clean and prep the food.

Sister Elena then led Vincent to the front room, and had him and a few other volunteers begin to clean up and prepare the tabletops for breakfast service.

"We expect over 200 people today." She said, her Italian almost too thick for Vincent to understand, and clapped her hands together loudly. "God gave us an icy night and a cold morning. Let us warm His people, yes?"

They had a little over an hour before the shadows of people in line outside began to form against the frosted glass windows.

Vincent was put on serving duty, carefully handing out eggs to all in line, occasionally heading to the back to pull out another tray once his was empty. He ran a hand across Aldo's back as he passed him, both to let him know he was behind but also just as a silent greeting to the other man, focused on his tasks.

His heart ached at the cold and hungry masses that walked before him. There were far too many people in general, but there were certainly far too many small children for his liking, eyes wide and hopeful to get (what he was praying was not) their first meal in a while.

It was unacceptable to him, in a rich, western, holy city such as Rome, that there were still so many going without. He made a mental note to tell Aldo to slash whatever budgets he could within the Vatican. There were things that desperately needed to change, and by the voice of God Almighty, Vincent had been chosen to be the one to make those changes. He was not taking his influence for granted for another second.

After the meal service had ended, Vincent went out from behind the serving window to speak to the people before him. He spotted a woman with three children of various ages, and decided to sit beside her.

"Good morning, I hope the food is well?"

"Oh it is. Are you a new volunteer here? I've never seen you before." She asked, caressing the head of the sleeping toddler in her lap. Her two older daughters had run off to go play with some of the other children who had also finished eating.

"Just a wandering priest from another country, wanting to help where I can."

"You must be here to visit the Vatican, Father." She nodded with understanding. The child in her lap began fussing before she could finish her meal. Vincent looked at her with great sympathy.

"Would you like me to hold him while you finish eating?" The relief in her eyes was devastating. He took the child in his arms over to a small children's corner and found a cardboard book to read him back to sleep. When he looked over, he saw the woman eating while in deep conversation with another woman next to her. Vincent prayed she had somewhere warm to go after this.

When she was done, he waited a few more moments to give her a brief break. When he returned the sleeping child back to her, he took the plate from her place so she wouldn't have to walk it all the way back to the dish return.

"Thank you very much, Father. I hope you have a good rest of your pilgrimage." She said, her eyes tired but hopeful.

"It is nothing, my child. I will pray for you and your children. God be with you."

He walked back into the kitchen, and found Aldo finishing the dishes. He had taken off his sweater and beanie and rolled up his white shirt sleeves all the way up to his elbows, glasses resting on top of his head. He put his body into it, bending down into the deep sink to wash a large stainless steel pot, all traces of the outside world invisible to him as he completed his task, moving on to a serving pan once the pot was clean.

Vincent was enthralled at the focus of the man in front of him; water dripping down his exposed forearms. He mused that perhaps the older man was capable of hard work when he set his mind to it. Perhaps they should do this more often.

He gently placed his hand on Aldo's shoulder, breaking his trance.

"Ah, if it isn't the second coming himself." Aldo teased, drying his hands with the white rag that had been on his other shoulder. "That was very lovely of you, to give that poor woman a rest." Vincent smiled at this.

"That is our job, to bring peace to the people, however we must." Aldo rolled his eyes affectionately at this, and began to put his warm garments back on, and gestured for Vincent to do the same.

They bade farewell to Sister Elena and her nuns, and were once again off into the cold Roman day, now half past noon.

"I don't have anything else planned until 4:00 pm, when there is another appointment I made for us. Is there something you would want to do until then, Vincent?"

The younger man looked thoughtful for a moment. He held out his hand for the other man to take, which he did without thinking.

"Do you know of anywhere nice for lunch? Somewhere with a view would be preferred."

Aldo nodded, and looked around at the bright blue signage in the street. He gently pulled Vincent's hand as they walked down the side streets.

The Pope was enjoying taking the role of follower for this outing. Far too often was he expected to make all the decisions, to make the hard and difficult choices a man in his position was constantly having to make.

In this foreign city, with its crowded piazzas and confusing street signs, and terrible drivers who were constantly taking red lights as suggestions, it was nice to just let Aldo be in charge. The American seemed to enjoy that as well, making commentary about locations where former Popes had visited, or giving odd little historical facts about which rich family used to own which large brick building that now was a designer outlet store.

It had taken them about twenty minutes to walk from the food bank to the real touristy center of Rome, passing by the Trevi Fountain that was already packed with people. Aldo had asked Vincent if he wanted to stop and get closer, but he shook his head, content to see it from where they were standing.

In the piazza of the Trevi Fountain, there was a small delicatessen and cafe that Aldo pulled him into. They ordered soup and coffee, and took their meal outside to the small patio on the sidewalk that had a table and some chairs. Vincent was pleased indeed to watch the tourists come in waves to take their memorial pictures and toss their pennies over their shoulders.

"How much money, do you think, is at the bottom of that?"

"It was once estimated to collect anywhere from 100,000 Euro to 1 million Euro every day, depending on the season." Vincent shook his head at this, finishing off the last of his coffee. "Oh don't look so miserable, Vincent, the local government donates all of it to charity." That fact made him feel a little better.

When they had left the cafe, Vincent had been leading the pair of them through the streets, until Aldo stopped suddenly, pulling on the younger man's hand. He was staring at a small gelato parlor, a spinning red white and blue barber pole sitting out in the front.

"Wait here just a moment." Aldo said, walking into the building. He came out three minutes later with two small brightly colored hexagon shaped cups, one teal and one blue, both containing some kind of pale green ice cream. He handed Vincent the teal one, with a tiny hot pink transparent plastic spoon sticking out of it.

"Ice cream? Aldo it's freezing."

"Gelato. Pistachio. My Nonna used to buy it for me all the time when we'd take outings in Manhattan when I was a kid, and nothing is better than the real Italian stuff."

"Pistachio?" the younger man parroted, very confused. He took off his mask and folded it gently in his pocket.

"Vincent, please trust me. I know you have a sweet tooth stronger than Samson." Vincent shot him a withering glare at this, but he took a bite anyway. The spoon came to an odd square point, which he wasn't expecting.

It was sweet, nutty, and had a pleasant bitter aftertaste to it. Vincent had had pistachios before, so he was familiar enough with the flavor. It was certainly much different than any ice cream he'd ever had, much fluffier and creamier; light on the tongue and melting quickly.

"Fascinating!" He chuckled, "I confess I've never had anything like this before, it's delicious. It's sweet but not decadently so. I fear I could eat this far too often after meals." Aldo had a terribly proud smile on his face, the pair walking side by side through the streets with no destination in mind.

"When we get back, I'm having Sister Agnes start buying you spumoni. I can already tell you're the type of person to love it."

"Spumoni?"

"It's a gelato dessert. Cherry, pistachio and chocolate, kind of like neopolitan? Except it's not solid, it's more like whipped cream and it has little bits of cherries and pistachios and chocolate shavings. It's an Italian tradition."

They walked in companionable silence for a while, Vincent finding a sunny Piazza for them to sit and finish eating in. It was different from the other piazzas they had seen that day, more residential, with shops along the bottom, and stairs to apartments that were on top of the shops.

When Aldo rose to take their trash over to a bin; a devastating realization occurred to him that he had been here before. Not ten feet over from him was the alley stairwell where he had so long ago held Thomas so close to him; an indirect kiss only stopped by Aldo's own cowardice. His Thomas that he had not seen or heard from in over a year.

The ache that he had been pointedly ignoring all day hit him at once like a city bus. He felt winded and miserable, the tears spilling quickly and he was powerless to stop it.

He covered his mouth, biding the sobs to stay in his throat. They did not. Aldo took great pride in his image as a deadpan, matter-of-fact sort of person, and here he was, in public no less, a great and heaving mess. The embarrassment only made him cry harder.

Vincent had rushed to his side, taking his face in his hands and wiping away the fast falling tears with the pad of his thumbs.

"Oh my dear Aldo! Please share your burden with me! Please tell me why you cry!" he begged, gently caressing the side of his cheek.

"Eleven years ago... Thomas and I..." He felt so foolish, he could barely get the words out, "We were here, in this very spot... I didn't notice until just now... I thought I was handling it better... I-" Vincent pulled him tightly against him, whispering soft platitudes and encouraging him to let it out, gently caressing the top of his back. Aldo returned the embrace, trying very hard to steady himself with the help of the younger man.

He didn't know how long it had taken until he calmed down, and his breathing had returned to some semblance of normal. Vincent had pulled back slightly, one arm still around the taller man's shoulders, the other coming to his face to finish wiping away the tears.

"Do you feel better now?" He asked, his face tender and attentive in a way that made Aldo almost begin crying once more.

"Oh Vincent, I beg you, please don't be so kind to me! You're making it impossible for me to hate you."

Vincent only smiled, a wide and wonderful thing, hooking his index finger underneath Aldo's chin.

"This is excellent news, Aldo, given that I'm trying very hard to get you to like me." He inched closer slightly, "And I'm glad to hear that it's working."

Aldo thought of their proximity, of the Pope's gentle touch on his face, of his own fear eleven years ago that left him now in such misery. He decided right in that moment he would not make the same mistakes again. He pushed out the scared voices in his head and closed the gap between the two of them.

The kiss was light at first; exploratory. The newness of the affection made both Aldo and Vincent respectful and chaste. But Vincent was not a patient man; Not in terms of matters of the heart.

He wrapped his arms around Aldo’s neck and deepened it; the unanswered desires from Thomas now finding a very agreeable alternative. Aldo returned it in kind, pulling the smaller man’s waist tightly against his own.

When it all became too much for him, Aldo gently pulled away, begging his unused and hormonal body to calm. Vincent’s wolfish grin and starving eyes made him look away, excited and terrified at what this would mean going forward. He needed to change the subject quickly.

“You know, Thomas has not replied to a single one of my letters.” He said with a huff, replacing his mask. “It really is ridiculous of me to mourn him so.”

Vincent stared at him.

“He has not responded to any of mine either.”

“Really? I had thought— I mean, when Ray gave his updates I had just assumed—“

The younger man shook his head, a bitter look crawling across his face.

“Not one word to me. I had assumed he was writing back to you and you were too mad to tell me.”

Aldo felt a hot guilt course through him, ashamed that if Thomas had written to him he would have done exactly that.

“No matter.” He said, shaking his head to clear his thoughts. “We shall start writing to him together. I’ll tell him to refer to your letters for some things and you tell him to refer to mine for others. It’ll scare him into thinking we’re sharing his secrets and he’ll respond.”

Vincent giggled at the suggestion, a musical quality about it. Aldo checked his watch and balked at the time. 3:30 already!

He grabbed the Pope’s hand and began leading him through crowds, down the Spanish Steps, and across several busy streets.

It took twenty-five minutes, and both men were slightly breathless from rushing, but they made it on time.

It was a newer building, lined with fences and had bustling sounds of barking and chirping from the fenced area in the back.

It was the Roman Humane Society, and, as Aldo explained, they were going to be volunteer feeders for the 4:30 feeding.

The lady at the front desk signed them in and reminded them to wash their hands between feeding each animal.

They took turns pouring dry food in the dog pen; a scruffy terrier looking mutt jumped excitedly onto Vincent, who returned several pets with equal enthusiasm.

In the cat crates the next room over, Aldo fondly cooed over a set of triplet kittens, coats pitch black with wide green eyes. They cried terribly until he had placed down the wet food into their bowl. Then they forgot all about him entirely, eating faster than Cardinal Tedesco before evening mass.

Aldo did not enter the parrot aviary. He watched Vincent who looked magical as the budgies and cockatiels flocked to his arms to eat seed from the palms of his hands.

The small reptile room was last, and Vincent about melted when a small Afghan tortoise crawled out of its pen.

“His name is Bayti. He’s 23 years old, surrendered when his owner died last year.”

Vincent looked fondly at Aldo. “It means home, in Arabic. Someone wasn’t very creative, were they, Bayti?” He fed him by hand some precut cucumber.

“We can take him back, if you’d like. I’ve filled out most of the paperwork already.” Vincent stood and walked towards Aldo, grabbing his scarf and pulling him into a kiss.

“That’s a yes, then?” Aldo teased, deadpan, when they had broken apart.

Once they escorted the small tortoise into a carrier, they completed the paperwork to make him another official member of the Vatican Reptile Sanctuary.

The pair walked slowly and gently back to a Leonardo Express station only a few blocks over. Once on the train, Vincent set the carrier on the small table to give Bayti a view of the early setting winter sun.

When they snuck back through the doors of the Vatican convent, Sister Agnes raised an eyebrow at the white carrier Pope Innocent was carrying.

“Another wayward tortoise soul.” Bellini explained. Sister Agnes stifled a laugh, and nodded.

They walked over to the sanctuary, and Benítez took great care to remove Beyti from the carrier; the cold outdoor air had already begun to take effect on the small desert tortoise, who had curled into himself to prepare for hibernation.

He placed him gently into the heated inside area of the sanctuary covered in peat; near a bowl of water and some dried greens in case he awoke before the next feeding.

Finding they were alone in the darkening courtyard, Vincent turned to Aldo, affection dripping off him in waves.

“You did all of this for me today, even though you hated me?”

The tips of Aldo’s ears turned bright red; visible even in the dark cover of night.

“I never said I hated you. I just said I was trying to.” He said, unable to hide the earnestness in his voice, “Unfortunately you’re just too wonderful to do anything but adore. I wanted you to have a pleasant day off. You deserved it.”

Vincent tilted his head slightly, a mischievous grin presenting itself upon his face. He leaned close to Aldo, lips inches from his ear.

“I suppose I’ll forgive you.” He teased. “For now.”

Chapter Text

Friar Lawrence awoke with a start as the small aircraft touched down hard on the Fiumicino Airport tarmac, just outside the heart of the city of Rome.

He hadn’t remembered falling asleep, and it must not have been for very long; the exhaustion he had felt hours ago had not dissipated in the slightest. Instead, he was disoriented, and felt the beginnings of a dehydration headache form in his temples. He sat up, trying to ground himself as best as he could.

"You slept for about two hours." Benítez said, handing him a small plastic water bottle and a tablet of ibuprofen. "I confess I watched you for most of it and it didn't look very restful."

Lawrence took them gratefully, and after swallowing it down quickly, he held out his hand for Benítez to take.

"What time is it?"

"Almost 11:30. We'll likely be back at the Vatican by midnight." Benítez looked thoughtful for a moment. "How much sleep have you had in the last twenty-four hours?"

Lawrence looked away, guilty. "Between all the traveling, not more than four hours here and there." Benítez shook his head, and squeezed his hand.

"By order of the Holy See," Pope Innocent said, his voice taking on that stern, kind quality that had sent Lawrence into a fit back at the Abbey. "You will go to sleep at once when you get to your room, and you will not awaken until you've gotten a full eight hours."

"Of course, your Holiness." He could not return his gaze.

Once the plane had come to a complete stop, the pair, and the guards who had been sitting at the cockpit, exited onto the tarmac, boarding into a large black vehicle that was escorted out of the airport and into the backstreets of Rome. It only took about fifteen minutes before they were within the safe walls of the Vatican City.

Cardinal Bellini had been waiting for them behind the security gates; Pope Innocent walked to him at once, linking their arms as they waited for Lawrence to exit gather his things from the vehicle.

"How was the trip, your Holiness?"

"Oh most excellent, Aldo, thank you. The weather in Ireland is very refreshing for the spirit... I was surprised you didn't meet me in the car at the airport like you usually do. I confess for a moment I thought you had already gone to bed."

Bellini reached across and gently touched the other man's arm.

"Never, your Holiness, I just thought it would be best to avoid an awkward car ride from the airport for our dear friend, who is no doubt tired from his journey."

As he said this, Lawrence approached, a sad, abandoned dog look in his eyes. He bowed slightly in greeting. "Your Eminence."

Bellini returned the greeting. "Friar Lawrence." His tone was unreadable. Lawrence couldn't stand that it was unreadable to him.

The air was thick enough to cut with a knife.

"Well, I think it's late enough for all of us," Pope Innocent interjected, patting Bellini's arm and removing his own from where they were linked. "It takes the Saints eight hours to bless a sleeping child. Let us not rush them tonight."

He gestured for the two men to follow, and they did.

Lawrence knew logically his old apartment was no doubt taken over by some other member of the Curia, but his heart still stuck in his chest when he found he was being posted at the Casa Santa Marta for his duration of the stay at the Vatican City.

Luckily this time his room was on the first floor, which meant it was slightly bigger than the ones upstairs. And he could open his windows as much as he liked.

"Just you right now, I'm afraid." Benítez teased as the trio approached the door. "You have the whole building to yourself. No neighbors to snore you awake this time."

"Thank you, your Holiness."

"Goodnight, Thomas.” Bellini said, offering a polite bow. “We’ll meet tomorrow morning after breakfast.”

Lawrence returned it. The formality was killing him. “Goodnight.”

He closed the door, and didn’t bother with changing. He kicked off his sandals and dropped his rucksack into the small desk chair. He rubbed his hands over his face, brushed his teeth in the too-small bathroom sink, and laid himself down gently on top of the covers of the uncomfortable dormitory bed.

He tried not to think. He tried not to imagine how easy it would be to hop out of the window and disappear into the night. Lawrence was still an older man but the past two years of manual labour had made him very fit, if he said so himself. He tried not to worry about what would happen if he was not able to repair his friendship with Aldo tomorrow. He tried not to worry about how devastated his brothers would be if he never returned back to the Galway Abbey. But most of all, Friar Thomas Lawrence tried not to worry about his relationship with God.

All he had wanted was a return to faith. All he had ever asked from those closest to him was to support him through his doubts. It seemed deeply unfair that the moment he had finally made peace with his relationship with the Lord, and learned to truly hear Him, that all of this should force him back into his sinful ways of blind devotion to others.

He wondered, perhaps greedily, if it were possible to have both. To keep true to his vows and enjoy the love of those he felt closest too.

It seems quite possible for Pope Innocent, who was both God’s mouthpiece and perhaps a mouthpiece for his own Secretary of State. Lawrence thought this bitterly, unable to bite back what he was now realizing was jealousy. He wasn’t sure of who.

These thoughts were not helping him to fall asleep; in fact they did the exact opposite. He shook his head to clear his mind, and crossed his arms to ensure his sleeping body did not betray him in the night.

Instead, he began to recite the daily tasks he had in store for him back at the Abbey, trying his best to remember the full latin names of all the plants he was to prepare for the fall. He dozed off halfway through the list. He dreamed of trains that didn’t move, on the run from two looming shadows behind him, trying desperately to find his way back to the sunlight.

+++

When Lawrence awoke, the sun was already high in the sky. The clock next to his tableside read 10:19 in the morning. He got up and stretched, pulling out a clean habit and undergarments from his bag and changing into them, retying his chord and adjusting it just so.

Not much else to do. He slid on his sandals and gave a morning prayer. Most of him really did enjoy how simple the life of the monastery was. No zucchettos to fiddle with and adjust all day, no sash that would fall if not pinned properly in place. Just soft brown cloth that carried with it a level of respect because of its simpleness.

The food court area of the Casa Santa Marta was always busy; being where a majority of the Curia took their meals. When he entered, the dining hall got very quiet for only a moment, before erupting with greetings and cheers as some of Lawrnece’s old friends saw him for the first time in over two years.

He was surrounded quite quickly, answering all sorts of questions about monastic life and Galway and what he’d been up to.

Cardinal Sabbadin quickly cornered him, and began to talk his ear off as apparently he had been given Lawrence’s old position as Dean after he had resigned. And his apartment too. He congratulated the American profusely, knowing how much the man must enjoy all the managerial work that would come with being the manager of managers of the Church. Somebody had to do it.

After almost an hour of slow eating and enriching conversation, Lawrence knew his stalling had to come to an end. He bade everyone goodbye and promised to meet them again come dinnertime.

The walk to Cardinal Bellini’s office felt like a death march. What could he even say? He tried rehearsing several different apologies but none of them felt right. He gave up, knowing even if he had found the perfect one, Aldo would still find a way to surprise him. After all these years he was still able to do that, somehow.

He climbed up the marble staircase of the Vatican office building, and finally arrived at the Secretary of State office on the third floor. Much to his surprise it was already open, Benítez and Bellini in the middle of a chess game across the wide oak desk. It appeared that the Pope was winning.

“I’ve taught you too well, Vincent. You have learned all my tactics and now will always beat me.” Bellini feigned frustration, but Lawrence could tell easily he was very proud of Benítez’s progress. Bellini looked up and saw Lawrence standing in the doorway. Benítez turned, and stood upon seeing their visitor.

“Ah! Thomas. Good Morning. I hope you slept well?” He brushed his hand gently across his shoulder as he moved to pass.

“Of course, your Holiness. Thank you for allowing me to rise freely this morning.”

Benítez smiled warmly at this.

“You're very welcome, Thomas.” He patted the older man’s cheek before stepping away. “I will leave you to sort out your mess. Excellent game, Aldo.”

He had turned and walked away before Lawrence had even a moment to respond.

Lawrence entered the office and shut the door behind him. He took a deep breath, and turned to face Bellini, who had not moved an inch since he arrived.

“Good morning.”

The American set his jaw. Great. Already off to a productive start.

“That’s the first thing you can think of to say to me? In two years? ‘Good Morning’ ?”

“Well I’m not exactly sure of what there is to say.” Wrong again. Bellini stood, and walked to the window.

“Oh, I don’t know, maybe ‘I’m sorry.’... maybe ‘I regret leaving you after an argument’... maybe even a ‘I really should have read your letters since you sent them so faithfully once a month and twice on holidays’…. Any of those would do, please take your pick.”

“I see you’ve been talking to the Pope since I’ve arrived.” Lawrence accused bitterly.

“I have, actually. Not so nice when you’re on the other side of it, is it?” Bellini turned to face him, his face looking both smug and on the verge of tears.

The comment was a low blow, and Lawrence supposed he deserved it. Had he not put Bellini in the exact same position he now found himself in two years ago?

“Is that what that is, then? Getting back at me?” It came out without thinking. Bellini actually laughed.

“In your absence, I think you will find how little anything has to do with you, these days.” He crossed his arms, and leaned back against the window. “Sometimes the people who got left behind have more in common than they thought.”

Lawrence tried to refocus. “I am, terribly, sorry Aldo. When I read your letter for the first time last night I realized perhaps I had made a grave mistake.”

“Why did you leave, Thomas. And why didn’t you answer me?” His voice was quiet, and Lawrence was terrified. On any given day, Bellini could be found yelling and raving for any and all to hear. But this? Silent fury? Thomas had never in his life seen him so angry.

He couldn’t bear the pressure of it.

“I told you why I left! I am not sure why the two of you keep pestering me so.” He exclaimed, incredulous.

“Because nobody believes you!” Bellini shouted, approaching Lawrence and pushing an angry finger into his chest.

“You respond to nobody but Ray? I sent you thirty-eight fucking letters. Ray writes you maybe six and he gets a reply to each one? That has nothing to do with God, and everything to do with me. Don’t you deny it.”

Bellini backed him into a wall, literally and physically.

“So I ask you again, Thomas Lawrence. Why didn’t you answer me?” Their bodies were impossibly close. The taller man couldn’t take it.

He shoved Bellini away gently, trying to distance himself as much as possible. How dare he demand such things of him, as if the answer would help! As if it would make anything better. It would only make things so much worse, if he spoke word to it.

“Why?” Bellini demanded, angry tears so close to spilling. Fine! So be it! Get ye as thou demands!

“Because I love you! Okay? Happy now?” He barked this, anger and misery at putting voice to how he’d felt for nearly two decades.

“Because you broke my heart during the conclave and because Vincent showed me that perhaps we are allowed to act on our affections if we so wished! Because I felt so strongly for the pair of you I stopped hearing the voice of God in my own head.”

He expected Bellini to break apart at this confession. He expected him to get angry or weep or smack him across the face. The American did none of those things. He just stood there, a bemused expression on his face.

“I knew this already, Thomas. I love you too.” He cocked his head slightly, a smile forming over his lips. “That’s a terrible reason not to write back though, truly.”

Lawrence was floored at the admission. He immediately sat down in the chair near the desk. He had supposed he had known, he had always known… but that didn’t make it any less life-changing to hear.

“You.. You do?” He said, when he finally felt his voice return to him. Bellini rolled his eyes.

“Is that really what you’re focusing on right now? Not on the thing I’m actually mad at? So typical of you Thomas.” Aldo teased, the anger and heat from his voice long gone.

“I couldn’t bear to keep hurting you so. I knew that my relationship with Vincent was unfair to you. But it was so lovely, even for a moment, to pretend that feelings weren’t fatal like they were with you.”

“And then they became fatal with him?” Lawrence looked away, but Bellini grabbed his chin and turned him back to face him. “It’s okay. I understand now. I really do.”

“I just knew I couldn’t stay here. It was suffocating. All I wanted was to hear God again.”

“Did you find Him? In Galway?”

“I did. I learned that God isn’t as black and white as I thought He was. That I’d been looking for voices in my head when He shows himself to us in other ways; He moves through us like a good feeling, like waves of excitement and energy and joy.”

Bellini kissed him, bending over the sitting man and putting action to what he had longed to do every day for twenty years. It was hungry and anything but chaste.

When they broke apart, he asked,

“What about now? Do you still feel Him? Are you once again a lost sheep under the strength of my thrall?”

Lawrence looked thoughtful for a moment, and shook his head. “I think I still do. I think I will be hard pressed to lose Him, now that I know exactly where to look.”

A pit formed in the friar’s stomach.

“What does this mean for us?”

Again, Bellini looked confused.

“I mean, who am I supposed to pick? Wasn’t that the point of the two of you dragging me back here?”

“Why do you need to pick?” This left Lawrence dumbfounded. He hadn’t considered that.

Well, he supposed he had, once, on an evening after drinking too much wine with his brothers a few months ago. He had been so ashamed at the fantasy he prayed the rosary twice and worked four extra hours laboring the next day.

“Vincent feels the same as I do.” Bellini said, “About everything.”

“How could you know that?”

“To know him is to love him. And I have gotten to know the Holy Father very well this past year.” he teased.

The jealousy flared up again within Lawrence. But he realized it wasn’t exactly jealousy. It was excitement, moving through him in waves.