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“Do you have any specific requirements I should know about? Dietary restrictions, access needs, medical-”
“Nothing, thank you.”
The new Cardinal - Benítez - is polite but clearly exhausted, walking with his head bowed as if under a terrible weight. As the Archbishop of Kabul, it isn’t too hard to put the pieces together as to why. His appearance here will have knock-on effects that they can only begin to speculate at.
They stop at the front desk, where Sister Augustin beams at his approach.
“Hello Sister,” he says tersely, “I’m afraid we have an extra occupant for the duration of the conclave. Could I possibly bother you for a room key?”
Her smile widens.
“What’s the password?”
Ray feels his face abruptly heat up. This happens every time - he doesn’t know what it is about him, but the sisters have always teased him mercilessly. Normally he doesn’t mind so much, because it rather reminds him of being at home with his own sisters… but he has a guest.
“I solemnly declare that I... have been…” he mumbles, trailing off.
Sister Augustin raises her eyebrows expectantly.
“A… very good boy.”
“Yes you have!” she says, patting his hand and then scanning a new keycard for him.
Beside him, the new Cardinal looks delighted by the exchange.
“Must we all say this when we have a request of the sisters?” he says curiously.
“No!” gasps Ray, mortified.
“Oh, no - no, your Eminence. It’s… just a little joke between the sisters and I, you don’t have to-”
“They must like you, then.”
Ray blinks at Benítez, bewildered by this observation.
“Oh, I just think I’m something of an easy target,” he says, ducking his head in embarrassment, jabbing desperately at the button for the lifts.
The new Cardinal pales on their way up, sways a little more at the movement of the lift than would be expected. Ray steps in closer to him, ready in case he becomes unsteady on his feet.
“Why don’t you rest a little in your room while I sort out the rest of your things?” he says gently.
Benítez takes in a deep breath.
“Thank you,” he says softly. He doesn’t seem to have the strength to say much more.
Ray leaves him to his room while he makes his collections - toiletries from the sisters in the Casa Santa Marta, who press him for details on the arrival of the Cardinals. He obliges willingly after a brief show of reluctance, mentioning the protestors outside as well as the several ongoing interpersonal spats to watch out for.
He’s waved inside as he passes the back entrance to the kitchens, a paper towel of biscotti pressed into his hand. You haven’t eaten yet, Monsignore, I can see it in your face. They keep you too busy.
The storerooms have a collection of mismatched clothing that has been put away - mostly pieces from previous guests, lost property joined by old books and radios, and far more personal items too - lockets and tiny photo frames, engraved pens, personal diaries. They seldom throw any of it out, since all of it belongs to people important enough that, were they to call for their long lost personal items one day, they might find themselves in a great deal of trouble if they’d been disposed of.
He manages to locate a shirt and coat that seems to be in Benítez’ size, though perhaps the coat will be a little large on him. He finds both a red and a black cassock, mozetta, zucchetto - though there’s no fascia to be seen. It will have to suffice. God will understand, he thinks.
There’s several rochets in there as well, but all of them are so large he’s sure they’ll drag along the ground if Cardinal Benítez tries to wear them. He holds one of the white garments up against himself, and even at almost a head taller than Benítez, the smallest of the collection hangs down far longer than it should.
There’s no time to ask around for help with tailoring. Anybody around who might have skills like that will have their hands full with other duties, and the voting begins tomorrow.
Ray’s own rochet will be a little long on Benítez, but at least it won’t be comically so. He can wear this one, which will also be a little long, but serviceable. He drapes his clothing selections over his arm, then hurries to make his swap.
He knocks before letting himself back into Benítez’s room, which is fortuitous because the Cardinal is asleep, stretched out still fully clothed on top of the bedclothes, though he’s taken off his shoes.
He stirs as Ray enters, jolting slightly, his eyes flying open in alarm before he seems to get his bearings. Ray averts his gaze while Benítez eases himself upright, rubbing at his eyes.
“Toiletries,” says Ray, holding up the little plastic pouch, “I’ll put them in the bathroom for you.”
Benítez seems to still be getting his bearings, so Ray busies himself by hanging the clothes he’s selected up in his wardrobe.
“The sizes won’t be perfect,” he says apologetically, “but they’ll suffice. I can make any additional purchases you need in the morning, and I’ll be around if there’s anything else you require for the evening.”
“Thank you,” says Benítez, in that quiet voice of his, “you’re very kind to do all of this for me. I appreciate it a lot.”
He looks up at Ray, and his smile is genuine and warm. It’s quite arresting in its sincerity, though his eyes are still clouded with fatigue. Ray isn’t used to being looked at like this, not here in the Vatican. He feels oddly vulnerable in the face of Benítez’s kindness, and a strange sensation of self-consciousness comes over him. He feels awkward, standing there in the middle of the room, paper towel of biscotti in his hand. He glances down at it, then holds it out.
“The sisters gave me this for you,” he lies, not really knowing why he does, only that he blurts out the words without really thinking about it, “it’s still a little while until dinner is served.”
There’s a moment of hesitation, where Benítez holds his gaze for a beat longer than is strictly necessary. Ray panics for that moment, wondering if this strange Cardinal is about to call him on his flustered untruth.
But instead, Benítez touches his wrist lightly, and smiles.
“Share it with me?” he says, “you must be hungry too, running around after me.”
He shuffles to the side, making room on the bed for Ray to sit down too.
Perhaps it’s because Ray is unaccustomed to this sort of behaviour from the other Cardinals. He’s used to keeping out of the way, making sure his work goes unnoticed - a process he takes great pride in, in knowing that the smooth running of the Vatican is in some way attributed to his silent work. Most of the college don't take much notice of anyone who isn't also clothed in scarlet.
But Ray finds himself rather charmed by the ease with which Benítez seems to notice the people around him - he doesn’t find himself to be under judgement or scrutiny, and the contrast to the tension he normally feels when he is addressed the other Cardinals is stark. He’s an earnest man, a sincere man, and whatever sort of a man he might otherwise be, he seems fundamentally… kind.
They take a biscotti each, and Benítez laughs when his instantly crumbles as he takes a bite.
It’s a relief to Ray. He's sure that Cardinal Benítez will not be an additional personality to add to the inevitable headache of political clashes during the Conclave. One more kind man among the college of Cardinals will be a blessing to them all, and especially to Cardinal Lawrence.
He finds himself hoping that they might even be friends.