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In the early mornings of St. Peter's Square, there are often only two sounds one can hear: the faint splashing of the water from the fountains, and the occasional coo from the pigeons, pecking up crumbs that have been left by flocks of tourists.
Today however, a distant but clear sound cuts through the usual peace: the sneezes of a very, very stuffy-nosed Cardinal dean.
"Your Eminence," Ray knocks on the door for what feels like the tenth time within a minute, "are you sure you're alright?"
"Nothing but the onset of a cold is affecting me, Ray." Thomas replies, followed by a honk of his nose against the tissue.
"I can hear that," he replies, and Thomas opens his mouth to give another assurance, only for him to sneeze once again. "Please allow me in; this does not sound like an onset of a cold so much as it is one."
Despite the door clearly in the way, Thomas still waves a hand. "There is no need. I am with a cold, and the last thing I would like is for you to get infected."
A pause. "I can get a mask—"
"Please," he's insisting now, almost on the border of pleading. Frankly, the only reason he's insisting so much is because he doesn't want to be a burden; not especially when it's just a minor cold.
"All I have asked is for you to tell the Sisters to bring my meals to my room for the day. You do not need to burden yourself with me."
Ray wants to object, to tell him that he's never a burden, not to him, but he knows that this conversation will only get Thomas to shut him down further.
So instead he gives him a "very well, Your Eminence," and he leaves him be.
For now.
There's a way to get him to open this door, he knows it. And he knows just who to approach. Or well, "run into", as he will explain later on.
Thank God Aldo is an early riser.
"Good morning, Monsignor," he greets as Ray passes by him, nodding his head. "Where are you headed off to this fine morning?"
"Good morning, Your Eminence. I was making my way to the kitchen to fulfill Dean Lawrence's request," he says, and he knows the slight shift in Aldo's eye has him immediately interested. "Would you like to accompany me?"
Aldo, of course, immediately gets the hint, and begins to walk along with him. "Of course. What sort of errand does the Dean have you going for?"
"Ah," he hums, pretending to be nonchalant for a moment before looking much more concerned. "He has requested that the Sisters bring him his food to his room."
There's more to that statement, and both of them know it. Aldo's eyes narrow slightly; he knows Thomas isn't the type to have the Sisters do something like that for no apparent reason.
"Is that so?" He replies, gauging the waters.
"He seems to be coming down with a cold," Ray replies, and that's when it all clicks into place for Aldo.
He shakes his head, a soft, knowing sigh escaping his lips. "Is that all the sneezing I've been hearing all morning?"
"I'm afraid so."
"Well. I suppose I should go check on him." He says, excusing himself, and Ray quietly smiles. Check.
It doesn't take long for him to arrive at Thomas's door, having known the route in his heart long ago. He knocks. A beat. "Ray, is that you? I told you, there is no need to fuss over me today."
"Actually, it's me."
Another beat.
"Did the good Monsignor put you up to this, Aldo?" He sounds tired. And congested to hell and back, but mostly tired.
Aldo scoffs, and Thomas could practically see his eyes rolling. "I don't need the Monsignor to tell me about the sneezes I've been hearing all morning."
That makes Thomas wince a little, his head burying itself into his neck in sheepishness. Does he really sneeze that loudly?
"You're over-exaggerating," he says, but the silence that comes after tells him that maybe it's not so much of an exaggeration after all.
"It's just a cold, Aldo," he tries again, and the other man sighs. "I'll be fine in a few days."
Still, he's not going to relent. "Let me in."
"I won't allow it."
"Let me in, Thomas."
"I don't want you to get sick!"
"Or do you not want to be cared for?"
Silence. Aldo sighs, knowing he's stepped a bit out of line, even though both of them know it's the truth.
"I'm sorry," he says. "But I do worry for you, along with the Monsignor."
"I know," comes the soft response. "And I worry that this cold will affect you as well. So please, stay away from me until I am better."
He knows when to push and when Thomas is being a stubborn bull. Unfortunately, this one is the latter.
"Fine. I'll leave you to rest for now. But do know that I will be coming by again later to check on you." He concedes, and Thomas sighs in relief.
Aldo, however, has also not quite given up just yet. He goes back to find Ray just finishing up his conversation with Sister Agnes, who he assumes has been told about the situation.
"No luck, Your Eminence?" Ray asks as he approaches, who returns it with a shake of his head.
"Stubborn as ever, the old fool," he scoffs. "There must be some way..."
"Good morning. It seems you both are rather deep in thought."
The ever gentle voice of Vincent startles both Aldo and Ray, who immediately turn to see him entering the kitchen himself. They greet him a good morning in return, and Vincent joins the duo.
"Thomas is sick," Ray starts, "and we are trying to come up with ways of letting him allow us to help."
That makes Vincent's eyebrows raise. "Sick?"
"Just a cold, really," Aldo waves his hand. "Still, you know how difficult colds can be at our age."
Vincent nods, though there's a slight worry in the back of his mind that he'll end up this susceptible in ten, fifteen years time as well.
"Well, what have you tried so far?" He asks, and Aldo and Ray share a look.
"Both Ray and I have attempted to persuade him to allow us to enter his room, but he refused us both. He said we might compromise our own health trying to fix his."
Vincent frowns. Sounds like him, alright. But he also frowns for a different reason; they've tried exactly one method, and they're already looking this stumped? It's almost funny to see.
"How about an offer he can't refuse?" Vincent suggests, and the two men look at him with curious gazes. In response, he takes off his mozzetta, rolls up his sleeves, and picks up one of the aprons that hang on one of the nearby hooks.
"What are we making, Your Holiness?" Ray asks, watching Vincent pick up a knife with practiced ease and a chopping board.
"Sopas," he says. "A Filipino macaroni soup dish. My grandmother used to make it for me whenever I got sick."
Aldo watches as he prepares some chicken to add to a pot of water, along with some dried laurel leaves and peppercorns.
"Is it like... a chicken noodle soup?" He asks.
Vincent chuckles, mainly focused on his preparations. "Chicken noodle soup is more like tinola, but it has more leafy vegetables in it, and... it doesn't... have noodles..."
He clears his throat. "Sopas is something like a noodle soup."
"Like a sopa?"
"Sort of. But a sopa is tomato based; sopas is made with evaporated milk." He says, stressing the s in sopas, and turns his attention back to the simmering pot.
Aldo and Ray glance at each other. Milk soup? But hey, they're not going to question the pope, and not especially something that he's clearly prepared a hundred times.
"Just tell us what to do, your Holiness."
With their help, the soup is practically done in no more than 30 minutes. The sisters in the kitchen start to prepare the tray they'll use to bring it to Thomas, but Vincent shakes his head and gently takes the tray instead.
"Come," he tells Aldo and Ray, who dutifully follow him. "Let's pay a visit to our friend."
And for the third time this morning, Thomas hears a knock on his door, interrupting his morning rosary. He glances at the wall; it must be one of the sisters bringing his lunch.
"Please, set it down by the door. I'll get it myself." There's a momentary pause, and once he assumes that the sister has moved away, he moves to open the door.
Except, there was no sister, and instead stands his personal assistant, his best friend, and the damn pope.
His eyes widen, and out of sheer shock, he tries to swing the door closed, only for Vincent to casually stop the door with his foot, still smiling.
"Your Holiness!” The horror is clear on his face; he definitely wasn’t expecting him of all people. “Forgive me, I am sick, and…”
"Please, do not worry about that," he says. "We have brought your lunch."
"You... really didn't have to do that," he replies, looking exasperated.
"I wanted to." Vincent replies. "May we come in and enjoy this lunch together?"
He wants to say no. By God, every single cell in his body is screaming at him to say no. But how could he refuse the Pope? Not especially when they've come all this way with his lunch.
Thomas sighs. He knows when hems been cornered. He steps aside, swinging the door open for them. "Please, come in."
Vincent smiles wider at him as he enters, Aldo and Ray close behind, impressed with how quickly Vincent managed to slip past Thomas' defenses.
(Or, rather, how quickly Thomas dropped it when faced with him.)
"Forgive the mess," he murmurs, moving to clear his table of some of his paperwork. "I'll set the table for us."
"I have it, your Eminence," Ray says, already equipped with setting the plates the moment the table was clear. "You're sick; you don't have to stress yourself out for us."
But you're my guests, he wants to argue, but he knows that a three against one would shut him down faster than a blackout.
When he sits, Aldo takes a seat next to him, and he already knows he’s definitely not going to be able to get away with pretending to eat. He wants to protest; he's a grown man, dammit! He can eat without three people watching him like a hawk.
Then again, were it not for the hawks, he'd be lying if he said he would have finished whatever lunch would have been served.
And speaking of lunch, Vincent opens the pot lid, releasing a puff of steam as the scent of sopas fills the air, and the two other men can't help but feel their mouths water immediately.
"That smells... really good," Aldo says, peering into the pot.
"I'll have to take your word for it," Thomas jokes, and Vincent frowns. Right. He probably can't smell anything in his current state.
"I'll make this again for you when you're not sick," he comments, scooping up a ladle of soup for him. "So you can actually get the full experience."
Thomas silently raises an eyebrow. "Make this for me?"
"His Holiness cooked this, Thomas." Aldo says, and Thomas feels like his eyes are going to pop out of his sockets. Shame and horror immediately fill his stomach.
"I'm sorry?" He sputters out, turning as white as the soup in front of him
"I can't take all the credit," Vincent says, waving a hand, "Cardinal Bellini and Monsignor O'Malley here helped me as well."
Thomas's head snaps to turn to the other two, now a look of bewilderment and a hint of betrayal in his expression. "You all made this?"
"You are very lucky to have friends who care so deeply about you." Vincent smiles, and the other two seem to duck down at the praise. "Not everyone has that luxury."
Friends. He had friends. Friends who cared about him, not as his position as Dean, not as one of the closest people to the pope, but as Thomas Lawrence himself.
He can't help but feel a warmth spread across him as he takes a sip of the soup. It tasted bland to him of course, but it was still the best thing he'd ever tasted in a long while.
"Thank you," he whispers, a small smile forming on his lips.
The rest of lunch goes on without issue; stories are shared, laughter is spread, and most of all, Thomas already feels better.
When lunch finishes an hour and a half later and they're all standing by the doorway, Aldo hands him a packet of cold medicine and warns him to actually take them rather than sit it out.
"Can't have the Dean of the College be such a bad influence by not taking care of himself," he tuts, but his eyes are sparkling with a teasing fondness.
"Don't you worry, Aldo, I'll be sure to take them." He assures him, giving him that same fondness in the form of a smile.
"I'll make sure to remind him, your Eminence," Ray chimes in.
Vincent takes his hand. "I will pray for your recovery," he says, giving it a gentle squeeze.
"Thank you, dear Vincent."
With a wave goodbye to the three holy men, Thomas closes his door, staring at the medicine in his hand with a smile.
Maybe the Lord had not left him abandoned after all.
(And then a few days later, when the three men start to walk around with sniffles, Thomas is absolutely horrified.)