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Chapter Text

First Day Of Vacation

It was the first day of Thomas’ enforced vacation, and he did not know what to do with himself.

He thought it likely that anyone else would raise an eyebrow at this being described as a vacation. But not Thomas, and thankfully, not Vincent.

He had set himself up in a hotel just across the Tiber, with the Villa Borghese on the other side. Not even a 15 minute car ride from the Vatican. Anyone else would declare he hadn't even really left, but just being outside of those walls, in plain clothes, made a world of difference.

It felt like he could breathe.

He’d just got himself settled into his room - sleek, perfectly functional and not extravagant. The modern style wasn’t entirely to his taste but he wished he’d been aware of the place sooner. It was so close, surely he had colleagues who knew of it. He’d only found it by searching for affordable 3-star hotels in the area but, he supposed, many of his brothers had finer tastes and more extensive requirements of comfort.

Perhaps knowing there had been an investigation into all of their finances would alter their appetites for such things. Thomas could only hope.

He would definitely mention The Albergo Etico to Vincent - Thomas knew he’d adore their ethos, and they certainly deserved the good press of a papal visit. The building itself was a former convent and still retained a private chapel for guests to use. It was a quiet, residential area, which Thomas also appreciated, but what impressed him the most was the company’s commitment to employing people with disabilities and their efforts to be as eco-friendly as possible. The staff he’d encountered thus far were ever so welcoming and enthusiastic without being overbearing. They were genuinely happy to be there, and that made Thomas happy to be there too.

He’d deliberated for a long time over whether to wear his clerical collar before he left his apartment. He was meant to be on vacation and that told him he probably shouldn’t be wearing a work uniform, but on the other hand, he was always doing the Lord’s work - irrespective of official Vatican duties.

In the end, he had left his apartment as he was, fearing he’d never get past the front door if he didn’t just make a decision.

It turned out that making a decision entirely for oneself was far more difficult than it had any right to be.

It was also difficult to refocus his thoughts, which immediately veered to the work he’d left behind and the schedules of the coming days. Actively wrestling them onto a barren path each time was as tiresome as it was frustrating.

Surely my time would be better spent doing the work rather than thinking of it not being done.

With that thought, he turned and left his hotel room to seek a distraction. It would certainly be a waste of his time to think about his work, or to turn around and slink back. Imagine having to tell Vincent- The Holy Father, that he couldn’t follow the simplest of instructions to literally do nothing! It wasn’t something he shouldn’t even be able to fail at!

He was distracted enough investigating the hotel and its grounds, looking into the little chapel he would be using to pray each morning. The grounds were satisfyingly neat and orderly, and the chapel itself was quiet and cool when he stepped inside. As empty as he’d expected too.

He ought to pray now, he knew that. There was no reason to wait until the next morning made it routine. He should introduce this place to himself and his soul to this place. But Thomas was reluctant still, he knew that, and he knew why.

The trials of the conclave, and the aftermath of it, had restored his faith. At first it had felt like a spinning compass finally locking to the magnetic pole - he had felt the Holy Spirit move through them in the wake of the explosion, in himself as he was called to action to ensure everyone’s safety and the continued running of the vote. He had true purpose in those moments and had risen to his calling - what it had always been: a manager. Certainly never the Pope.

It was God’s guidance. God’s will just as it has been the late Holy Father’s for Thomas to run the conclave, to assist and protect Vincent as he took up the mantle Thomas had so dreaded being bestowed on himself.

Yes, Thomas was aware of God’s presence more immediately than he had been for a very long time, but he did not hear Him. He could not speak with Him. To pray still felt like sending his words out into a vast, empty space. Sometimes it felt as if they came from one too, his soul too old, too worn - hollowed out.

Why would God answer if Thomas’ prayers weren’t spoken from his heart?

He had, unfortunately, in his lowest moments, prayed in anger and that had certainly come from the heart. But Thomas didn’t begrudge the Lord’s silence then when his prayers had been akin to an angry teenager acting out.

Thomas’ reluctance - which he felt keenly approaching the pews - was the confirmation of God’s silence each time. He had been so certain that he’d been fixed when he prayed after the announcement of Pope Innocent XIV, that to have felt absolutely nothing was jarring. Frightening, even. He’d excused it away by blaming exhaustion, but weeks later the emptiness surrounding his prayers persisted.

Each time a part of him, now reduced to the tiniest whisper of hope, would think: this time will be different. Each time he was disappointed.

Not with God, only with himself.

Each failure wore him down and made each attempt more difficult than the last. Yet it was a challenge he need to overcome - had to overcome. For the Holy Father if nothing else. Thomas had told him the truth that he no longer wished to resign, that he wanted to be by Innocent’s side, but to serve as he ought to, Thomas needed to be able to commune with God as he was meant to.

He knelt to pray, his heart already knotted with doubt and his mind clouded with second-guesses. As he closed his eyes: silence.

But no, not empty silence. Not the silence of a cold and endless void. An earthly silence.

Birdsong. The whisper of a breeze through the gap in the door.

There were plenty of ways to communicate, weren't there? He might not have heard God as he had done in the past, but he felt Him in this moment - more than just feeling His presence. A sense of a dialogue, without speaking. A sense that he was acknowledged and understood.

Thomas felt a deep sense of calm.

Perhaps he didn't receive God's guidance because it wasn't necessary? Perhaps all God wanted from him was for Thomas to continue living his life, just as he was.

Could it really be that simple? That easy? Right there, in the quiet of the chapel, it felt like it could be.

-----

As Thomas had already discovered, making decisions and therefore living for himself, was not as easy as he felt it ought to be. Thankfully, on his first day of this task, there were still plenty of distractions to keep him occupied and prevent his mind from spiralling into the same old circles.

He investigated the local area, familiarised himself with the amenities. Although the sky wasn't completely clear, the sun was still bright and the breeze cool. It was nice to be out and to be present about these things. This was what living in the moment was surely meant to mean, not clinging on day to day, getting through each moment.

He was met with a whole mess of books on a street corner. Stacks upon haphazard stacks beneath three large, square parasols. It definitely couldn't be called a bookshop - it was very barely a book stall, but all the more intriguing for it.

There was one woman, older than Thomas by about a decade, burrowing through a stack with determination. Upon closer inspection, there didn't seem to be much organisation, but at the very least cookery and information books were together and separate from fiction. It would take forever to find anything in such a place, but today Thomas had nothing but time. He dug his glasses out of the inside pocket of his jacket.

Most of the stock was Italian, as expected, and no barrier for Thomas, but there was the occasional wildcard: French, Spanish, Portuguese, he'd even passed a little pamphlet of a thing in Arabic. The owner clearly had some kind of quality and content measure, but Thomas could not fathom what it might be.

He was part way through the second table when something caught his eye. The Complete Sherlock Holmes embossed in gold on a smart brown leather spine, with a simple line rendering of the fearsome hound of the Baskervilles between the title and the author.

How strange to find such a vivid reminder of his childhood in the heart of Rome. This edition was nothing like the beaten-up paperbacks of his youth, but once he finally unearthed it after carefully balancing books on neighbouring stacks, he could see that it had been well-loved.

“Ah! Englishman, yes?” a man who Thomas supposed was the proprietor appeared beside him, so suddenly that Thomas very nearly sent the tower of books beside him flying.

Evidently he had sensed an imminent purchase, but had not considered to assist when Thomas had been battling book jenga.

“SÌ, I’m afraid so,” Thomas replied in easy Italian. “This is a surprising and pleasant reminder of home. I’ve not read any of these stories since I was a child,”

He drummed his fingers against the cover.

“It might be our lucky day!” The man raised his index finger before dashing around the table to search for something. “I might have something else for you. Old, English detective. An interesting one. Hah!”

He waved a slim, black paperback aloft and made his way back to the other side of the table, thrusting the volume at Thomas. Thomas accepted it gently, pushing his glasses back up his nose to read the cover: The Casebook of Carnacki The Ghost Finder, W.H Hodgson. Thomas did not outwardly grimace, his manners were far too well-trained for that, but paranormal and horror fiction were certainly not his preference. He wasn’t frightened by such things, he just often found the grisliness distasteful - not to mention the hackneyed religious tropes of exorcisms and the like. No, Thomas could do without horror, thank you very much.

But the proprietor seemed so pleased that he had found a man for this book, after however long a lesser-known, early 20th century collection of English detective fiction had been languishing here, that Thomas didn’t have the heart to refuse him.

“Interesting!” he said politely as he tucked both books under his arm to retrieve his wallet.

It was reasonably priced. Thomas supposed the extra few euros was worth it for the widening of the man’s smile.

Thomas continued on to Villa Borghese, bypassing the Terrazza del Pincio to find a suitably peaceful and pleasant spot to sit. He kept his pace leisurely and focused on taking in his surroundings, making a note of every beautiful, charming and fascinating thing he passed. He appreciated the dappled light as he walked beneath the trees, tuned his ear to the birdsong and tried to identify what he heard, noted the delightfully old-fashioned bicycle that passed him that was clearly well-loved. A pedestrian walking the comical partnership of an extremely tiny dog and a large fluffy one. Thomas didn’t know enough about dogs to name the breeds, but they were well-behaved, in good condition and appeared happy. Also well-loved.

The world contained so much love if one looked for it. One bird feeding another, a woman’s dedication to her bicycle, someone else’s adoration for their pets, a man’s love of eclectic literature, the creation of a business to support those with disabilities… all of it came from a foundation of love. Perhaps even the insistence of a week’s vacation did too.

You're my friend, Tomás, not only the dean, or my cardinal or my advisor. You understand that you are much more than that, yes?

He thought of Vincent, of Vincent’s concern and care for him. They hadn't had the time to get to know one another particularly well on a personal level, yet still, Vincent had named him a friend. They hadn't known each other long at all and yet almost immediately Vincent’s care and concern had been shown to him. Amidst the conclave, which must have been even more bewildering to him than anyone else, he still gave Thomas the space to confide in him about his struggle with prayer and to offer his help. Looking back, Thomas recalled that Vincent had even wanted to make sure Thomas had eaten.

Thomas had not been as thankful for that kindness and support as he should have been. Those delicate gestures were all too easily trampled and forgotten under the many crises that had been vying for Thomas’ attention. Then knowing Vincent’s intentions of voting for him, anything akin to praise or devotion from him risked Thomas recoiling from it.

How terrible, for kindness to be met with distaste.

And how foolish of Thomas to think that Vincent would be anything other than genuine in himself and his actions. When Thomas had gently awoken him after his arrival, and Vincent had looked up at him with those dark eyes of his, so tired yet so full of grace and kindness, that very first moment they'd met, ought to have told Thomas everything he'd needed to know. His focus wasn't where it ought to have been.

And still, Vincent was kind to him, even now as the Holy Father.

I only… I cannot see this joy in you. I can only see you wearing away.

Thomas wasn't sure he deserved it, that level of attentiveness, but he wouldn't be dismissive of it again. Not because Vincent was the Pope now, Thomas should have been more thankful for it before then.

Vincent seemed to have love for all of God’s creatures. His quiet joy and wonder at the discovery of the turtles was the first thing that had come into Thomas’ mind when the name Innocentius was chosen. Didn't it make sense for that to extend to his fellow man, Thomas included?

I'd have you by my side, always, but I want us to begin this new chapter together, fresh.

That one was still knocking around in his skull - the by my side and the us and the together of it. It gave him the sensation of the hair standing up at the back of his neck, a warm buzzing in his gut. It was a call to action Thomas wanted to respond to, he wanted to deliver on, to the best of his ability.

Whether Vincent's attention was misplaced or not was ultimately irrelevant. Thomas couldn't bear to disappoint him, so he'd strive to live up to the task.

His feet had led him to the Temple of Aesculapius - a perfect spot. Thomas took a moment to look across the lake and admire the temple itself, as well as the few little boats gliding across the water to get a closer look.

On the bank, right on the other side of the railing he was leaning on, were turtles. Ten of them, sunning themselves on a rocky outcrop, and now that Thomas’ eye had picked up on them, he could spot many more swimming about.

Vincent came to mind again, bringing a smile to Thomas’ face.

He found a bench to set his books on, dug his phone out of his pocket, fumbled for the camera app, tutted to himself, fished out his glasses, and got to work. He returned to the railing and zoomed in on the turtles to get a good picture. Thomas was thankful that they were incredibly easy subjects to photograph.

Back on the bench, he deliberated for a moment, checking the time and trying to match it up with Vincent’s schedule. Would sending an incredibly pointless message now be an inconvenient distraction?

Thomas reasoned that if Vincent was in a meeting or in the middle of something important, his phone would be on silent and the message would go unnoticed. There was no reason to hesitate - Thomas was doing this because Vincent had asked him to, after all.

He sent the picture and then thought that was rather too blunt, so began to type.

These fellows are stripier than our mutual friends

Thomas turned off his phone screen before he overthought it and overcompensated with awkward, rambling paragraphs.

The phone didn't even make it back to his pocket before the screen flashed with a notification.

!!!

Thomas smiled at those three little marks and unlocked his phone again. Another message greeted him as soon as he did.

What fashionable stripy legs!

Ah under the neck too! Beautiful!

So many of them!

Where are you making such lovely friends Thomas?

Vincent wrote in perfect English despite his obvious excitement - of course he did, but something about it was disappointing. It was seeing his name written Thomas that made his mind read it in his own accent, not the soft, gentle lilt of Vincent’s.

Would it be odd to ask Vincent to text him in Spanish, especially when they'd never had a conversation in Spanish together?

I’m at Tempio di Esculapio in Villa Borghese. Just across the river from you.

It looks beautiful there

I hope you are relaxing

It is and I am, thank you

Thomas decided to send another photo of the Temple of Aesculapius itself.

I hope you are able to find some relaxation yourself and that your day hasn’t been too taxing.

I am certainly finding it here with you. Thank you Thomas

I think I must see our own turtles before my next meeting!

Give them my regards

Thomas tucked his phone away, the soft smile having never left his face. He settled back with a sigh and flipped open the first page of Sherlock Holmes.

-----

Thomas had been so absorbed in his reading, almost transported back in time to when he had been a boy sat at the window, that he hadn’t noticed the sky darkening. Perhaps it was precisely those memories that had made him oblivious to it - the patter of rain and gloomy grey English skies felt perfectly natural for that moment. But when a large droplet punctuated the end of A Study in Scarlet, he took notice.

Then, the rain fell heavier by the second.

Thomas slapped the book closed and tucked both volumes inside his jacket. He had no coat, no umbrella - evidently he had been in Italy too long to not be prepared for the rain. He stood, immediately looking for shelter to wait out the downpour, but he remained still.

He looked up at the uniform grey sky, closed his eyes, and felt the rain against his face.

It ran off the little hair he had left, trailed beneath his collar and began to plaster the front of his trousers to his shins. Thomas licked the cool moisture from his lips and felt refreshed. Alive. Nourished just like the rest of God’s creatures.

When Thomas opened his eyes again, he looked to the turtles, who were indeed revived. Wriggling around the rocks and over each other, lifting their little heads to the heavens too.

Thomas didn’t even consider a taxi, or to make a dash for his destination like those around him. He walked back to the hotel at the same pace, and with the same presence, that he’d arrived with.

When he finally stepped into the hotel lobby, Thomas was soaked to the bone and only realised his error when he became acutely aware that he was dripping all over the lovely polished floor. The look of horror the receptionist gave him was simultaneous to his realisation and only compounded it.

“Signore!” The poor young man rounded the desk quickly to approach with care (and Thomas thought, a certain amount of caution). “Are you okay?”

Thomas laughed, light and easy. He felt light. Although judging by the poor receptionist’s expression, this outburst didn’t ease any concerns about Thomas’ sanity.

“I am quite well, my dear man. I’m English - a little rain doesn’t bother me. In fact, I think I might have needed it. Although I am dreadfully sorry for making a mess of your floor.”

“Please, don’t worry about that, Signore. I have a mop, and I know how to use it! You need to get warm and dry. Please,” he gestured for Thomas to continue into the hotel, his other hand firmly at Thomas’ elbow.

“Thank you, I will.”

“Have you eaten? I can make you a reservation at the restaurant?”

Thomas hadn’t eaten all day. He’d left the Vatican without breakfast, which wasn’t unusual, and he’d been completely unaware of lunch time. Meals weren’t a particularly rigid staple of his life, but the realisation now, after his day of exploration and getting thoroughly drenched, hit him squarely in his hollow gut.

“That would be lovely, thank you.”

“Come back down when you’re ready and if a table isn’t ready yet, I’ll get you some coffee. Tea?” he added, evidently remembering Englishman.

“Coffee would be just fine. Sorry again, about the mess.”

The receptionist - Elio his nametag read once Thomas was able to squint at it - just waved him off.

Thomas slunk back to his room, trying in vain to keep the dripping to a minimum. Once inside, his books were deposited on the counter - not entirely undamaged from their ordeal. A bit damp and a bit crumpled, but Thomas found he didn’t mind.

He ran the shower as he peeled off his clothes in the bathroom, feeling his age once again as his joints protested against the damp and cold they’d been subjected to. Warm water wouldn’t ease it much, he knew. The shower would likely bring his exhaustion out but that was okay. He had coffee waiting for him, and a filling meal on the way. He had no responsibilities - he could be tired. He could acknowledge it, accept the age and state of his body, and allow it to rest on clean hotel sheets.

Perhaps this vacation would have the intended effect after all.

Chapter Text

Second Day Of Vacation

Thomas had found it difficult to fall asleep that first night, despite the tiredness of his body, the deep ache in his bones and muscles. He was more than used to sleeping in hotel rooms and temporary accommodations so that wasn’t a factor in his predicament. Perhaps it was because there was no plan for the coming day, or because he hadn’t been solving problems and putting out fires all day that his mind wasn’t exhausted enough?

He stared at the ceiling, hands folded over his abdomen, and tried to plan his week. It became apparent rather quickly that this was impossible. Thomas had no idea of what he wanted to do with his time other than to continue visiting Villa Borghese and read. Neither of those things required a plan.

Perhaps he ought to plan for interesting photographs instead. It would be dreadfully boring for him to send Vincent pictures of the same things - Thomas needed to seek out at least one point of interest each day. Maybe a visit to the Galleria Borghese tomorrow, it had been many years since Thomas had visited. Was Vincent interested in art? Thomas supposed he’d find out soon enough.

Sleep finally overtook him, bringing with it visions of Vincent’s gentle eyes and kind smile.

-----

Despite his struggle to fall asleep, Thomas slept right through the night, not waking up until nearly 10am. He could not remember the last time he had woken so late or slept so soundly. His body was stiff, but certainly well rested once he’d stretched it out.

There was someone different at the front desk that morning, but Thomas could only assume that Elio had relayed last night’s incident to his colleague by the way she greeted him and waved him over. Thomas tried not to allow pride or vanity to embarrass him at the idea of being seen as a senior citizen in need of care. He should be thankful for the kindness and concern of strangers. Regardless of how they might perceive him, and if he believed that perception to be accurate or not, would not detract from the genuine root kindness of their worry.

“Buongiorno, Signore Lawrence.”

Carla her nametag read. Thomas couldn’t remember the last time he’d just been called Mr Lawerence, not Father or Cardinal or Brother. He wasn’t certain how he felt about it. Free? A liar? He avoided examining that one.

“You’re still in time for breakfast, please help yourself.” She gestured in the direction he ought to go in and, although friendly, the firmness of her gaze brooked no argument. It reminded Thomas of Sister Agnes, and he couldn’t help the small smile that tugged at the corner of his mouth.

“Grazie,” Thomas replied with a smile and a nod, only realising then that Carla was wearing supports on her elbows and wrists. She couldn't have been older than 30.

Perhaps all the rings on her fingers weren't only cosmetic. Indeed, when he looked at her hand, the palm now facing him, the ‘rings’ above and below the knuckles of the same finger joined behind the joint. He should not refuse the kindness of others, especially when it came from those who were all too familiar with how harsh this life could be. Thomas would eat, and he’d try his best to consider it a gift rather than a chore.

Even though Thomas was catching the tail-end of breakfast, the available options were still somewhat overwhelming. When he did eat, he rarely thought about it. He ate whatever was put in front of him, whatever had been cooked by the sisters or prearranged for whichever meeting or visitation.

He decided to just grab whatever caught his eye first, although he avoided the crostata which did grab his attention with its neat and glossy latticework. It seemed rather too indulgent first thing in the morning. Bread, cheese and salami with a cup of tea would suit him just fine.

Thomas unlocked his phone as he ate, just for something else to focus on. Perhaps he should bring a book down with him instead in future. There was nothing he needed from his phone - the time didn’t matter, he didn’t need to check how to get to the gallery and he didn’t particularly want to know what works they had. He’d rather discover them as he perused the rooms and be pleasantly surprised. He supposed he should check the weather to be better prepared, but his phone greeted him with the last thing he had open from the previous evening: Vincent’s message.

Vincent had sent him a photo of their turtles.

I told them not to be jealous of your new friends

They’re playing it cool but I knew they were worried

About me leaving them for other turtles?

haha yes! But I told them our Dean is loyal and even if they don’t have fancy patterns or pretty colors, they are very special to have been gifted to the Pope.

Thomas smiled at the message, once again imagining that Vincent had very literally spoken this aloud to his reptilian friends.

It was nice to be conversing with Vincent in this way - as friends, not colleagues. He had named Thomas as a friend, but Thomas hadn’t felt it so keenly and so true as he did now. How funny for their relationship to gain more clarity when they were apart.

It was a relief that Vincent seemed in good spirits, although Thomas knew he wouldn’t let on to any work stresses in their conversations, his messages seemed happy and lighthearted. Still, part of Thomas wished he could hear proof of Vincent’s mood himself. Just to be certain.

Thomas returned to his room once he’d finished eating to pick up anything he’d need before he headed out for the day. Only after walking though the door did he realise that he didn’t need anything. His wallet, phone and key were already on his person, yet he was so used to needing to deliver messages or paperwork or have travel documentation, that it perpetually felt like he was forgetting something.

He glared at Carnacki, grabbing it solely due to the fact that it was far slimmer and easier to carry than the book he actually wanted to read, and shoved it half into his jacket pocket. Perhaps it wouldn’t be too bad.

Thomas visited the chapel on his way out, finding it just as quiet as before. His prayer was brief, but not hesitant, and he did not expect to feel a clear presence of God. This expectation was proven correct, but it did not unsettle or demoralise him. Peace remained in his heart with the knowledge that God was there still, in the smallest ways.

Thomas made his way to Villa Borghese with the same pace and presence as he had done previously. He took note of every person he passed and considered how they all shared this beautiful space together in this particular moment. He heard the birdsong and this time attempted to identify it rather than let it wash over him.

Sparrow and blackbird he was familiar with. Pigeon, of course. A crow. Some sort of gull.

Thomas found his knowledge on this subject incredibly lacking, even after just ten minutes of focus and being aware enough to begin separating what turned out to be a myriad of different calls. This ignorance of the place he had lived in for so long, and of God’s creatures, humbled him but once again, he was able to resist the following sense of shame that typically occurred with such revelations about oneself.

He might be getting old, but he could still learn, still grow. Vincent had shown him that when he had shared the secret of himself. Thomas was not proud of the shock that had given him - the immediate fear and instinct to reject such a thing that he felt - but he had listened and realised that of course Vincent was still Vincent, just as Thomas had known him to be. There was no deception. Just Vincent’s calm, quiet honesty and resolute will. Just as God had made him.

Thomas’ worldview had broadened in that moment, and why should he look back at the narrow space he once lived in and cringe? Shouldn’t he instead set forth into the wider expanse and continue to learn? To be better?

He had made peace with the information Vincent had given him. Vincent was still his Brother Cardinal and then his Pope. Still a man, as far as Thomas was concerned - and from what he gathered, as far as Vincent was concerned too.

Thomas hadn’t sought to expand on this knowledge himself. He wasn’t sure it was his place to dig deeper on the particulars of what Vincent’s body might be. It felt like it would be a violation of his privacy, so Thomas didn’t allow his curiosity to get the better of him. Vincent had told him all that he needed to know.

But he had learnt the term intersex, that it was different to transgender, and transsexual was largely a term of the past. Although this last point seemed a little complex, Thomas gathered it was probably a term best avoided if he didn’t possess the knowledge to use it. Vincent was an intersex man, and after Thomas had been gifted this knowledge, even without the terminology (with such grace, patience and kindness), he was able to see the beauty and wonder of the variance and mystery of God’s creation.

Native birds would certainly be an easier topic to navigate as thoroughly as he wished!

His musing had taken Thomas up to his destination, where the gentleman at the desk performed all manner of tutting, sighing and eyerolling at Thomas’ lack of a pre-booked ticket. It seemed that Thomas really ought to have done some research over his breakfast rather than reading over old messages. He apologised for his lack of knowledge and leaned into his age a little - Thomas had plenty of experience in getting what he wanted out of officials and gatekeepers, and he’d lived in Italy long enough to hold his ground and dispense with English politeness when required.

If he’d just missed an entry, what difference was one extra person going to make? Surely the group couldn’t have been that large on a weekday?

Thomas wasn’t on a schedule, he could wait an hour if he had to, but it was the principle of the thing. And, well, despite what some might assume, Thomas wasn’t always the best at following orders. Sure, he could do what was expected of him, act the good little soldier, but his mind always searched for the why of something. Aldo had been known to groan and roll his eyes and complain about Thomas being a contrarian in their discussions, to grow frustrated with him when Thomas couldn’t just leave something be that was ultimately inconsequential. Thomas was often frustrated by this trait too - and it had caused him enough problems during the conclave when he'd decided to actually act on these feelings.

The combination of Thomas’ legitimate fumbling with his phone, exaggerated by deliberately not wearing his glasses, paired with making his breathing laboured and leaning his weight against his arm on the desk to make it tremor, seemed to be the winning solution.

“Go, go!” The man snapped, thrusting a ticket at him and impatiently tapping the card reader. “Catch up!”

Thomas thanked him profusely (to the man’s further annoyance) and trotted towards the first room of the gallery.

He stood still once he entered and took a deep breath to force himself to slow down, to take everything in. He first gave his attention to the floor, and then the ceiling, before approaching any of the frames on the walls.

All of it was stunning. Every piece delicate and masterful. When he considered the paintings, he was still in awe of them, despite being so close to, and familiar with, the magnificent works housed within the Vatican every day. This collection still took his breath away.

The luminous quality in some of the paintings, particularly captured in the rendering of certain fabrics - shimmering silks and rich robes - fascinated him. How soft and real the flesh looked, how so much motion and emotion could be contained within such a static medium.

Thomas thought he could probably spend an entire day in each room. The gallery wasn’t a large one, but there was so much to absorb. Each time he dragged himself to the next room it was with some reluctance even when he’d viewed every piece, but that feeling was immediately erased when his senses were flooded with yet more astounding art.

He found himself wishing he could lie on the floor and spend the afternoon just taking in the ceiling murals, somehow, impossibly, each more stunning and intricate than the one he’d just left. The depth and dimensionality of them! The scope! Rossi’s trompe-l'oeil fresco was, in Thomas’ opinion, the crowning jewel of the entire gallery. He was sure that he could gaze at it forever. It really did feel like looking up into heaven.

Perhaps he should come to the gallery on a regular basis - just to have two hours to look at this particular fresco would be worth it. He grunted, looking away to click his neck. Perhaps it wouldn’t be physically possible to look at it so long. He really would love to lie down, but he supposed if they allowed such a thing, no one would ever leave.

When Thomas had come here before, as a younger man, he’d avoided much of the work. He hadn’t been able to face the nudity, however artistically rendered - particularly the female form and especially crafted in three-dimensions. He had taught himself not to even think of women, considering his chastity as a valiant and constant battle to be fought within himself, so how could he have been able to look upon them? Especially when rendered by the precise, delicate and sensual eye of an artist. Such things were surely Temptation which he avoided at all costs.

Thomas was older now, and while that had its definite drawbacks, he certainly no longer had the fear of his own body suddenly succumbing to temptation. That somehow, as a man, a lustful beast slumbered inside him that if he did not keep tethered, a raging libido would cloud his mind and lead him into sin. Thomas was relatively sure now that he would never have been such a person, vow of celibacy or not.

Now Thomas could look upon these works and not feel embarrassment or guilt. They were created to be looked at. Doing so caused harm to no one.

Human bodies, Thomas realised, were quite lovely. They were God’s creation and much of the artwork helped Thomas to see the holiness in the earthy vessel of the body. The nudity that was captured was natural and often peaceful, even comfortable.

What would it be like, to have such comfort in one’s self?

The idea that nude models had most certainly posed for great lengths of time for this art to take shape was bewildering. That no matter what the art represented, there had been a real person content to sit around and have someone study them so closely, capturing them to be looked upon for centuries. Thomas was in awe of such self confidence, almost as much as he was of the art.

There was a softness to the female form that artists sought to preserve and highlight. The dip at Venus’ waist in Sacred and Profane Love and the skin folded at the armpit. The folds of Susanna’s stomach, the crease of her thigh in Rubens’ work. Thomas wanted to cover Susanna’s nudity, not because he was appalled by it, but to protect her from the elders who loomed over her in the picture.

That softness was even more evident in the sculptures. Such rigid, immovable marble crafted to look plush! The skill, the artistry, the beauty Thomas had been so wilfully blind of!

He was smart enough to know that Bernini was a master of his craft, even if he hadn’t allowed himself to look too closely at most of his works before now. Pluto’s grip on Proserpina, firm but not wanting to damage the object of his affections, his strong fingers digging into her soft thigh and waist, was nothing short of incredible. Pluto’s unbothered, even humoured, expression at Proserpina’s futile yet heartfelt struggle made Thomas’ skin crawl.

But there was a sculpture that gave him pause over all others. A woman asleep on her front, relaxed and at peace, the sheet beneath her tangled around her legs. Thomas couldn’t say what drew him to it, anyone who didn’t know him would assume that it was the sensual twist of her spine that displayed her rear to the viewer, but that wasn’t it. Maybe it was having that sense of peace and total absence of shame towards one’s body that had struck him when he’d entered the first room. She was entirely ignorant of the observer and their feelings, yet safe even at her most vulnerable.

Sleeping Hermaphroditus the plaque read.

Thomas’ breath caught in the back of his throat as his heart stuttered. He took one cautious side-step to hesitantly peer at the other side of the figure. From that angle, the swell of a breast pressed against the bed was obvious and there, between the legs in the shadow of the thigh - male genitals, as soft and delicate as the rest of the figure. Thomas’ exhale was shaky when his lungs decided to work again.

What struck Thomas more than anything else was how natural it seemed. It didn’t feel salacious - here was a natural body in the universal, mundane and necessary act of sleep.

As God made her.

Even though this was a natural body that ought to be treated like any other, the knowledge that this was Hermaphroditus made her vulnerability, confidence and peace even more astounding to him. It made him feel fiercely protective. It made him think of Vincent.

For the first time, Thomas wasn’t afraid of Vincent’s truth being discovered. He knew his opinion on this matter was the correct one, and that God himself had made his decision with complete knowledge and purpose. In this moment, the potential consequences of others’ ignorance mattered less than nothing. Were it to come out in two months or in ten years, Thomas was now prepared for it. He knew how he would face it - calm, honest, just, and by the Holy Father’s side.

And if it was miraculously kept secret until after Thomas’ death, he’d leave a sealed statement, entrusted to Vincent himself, to make his position and support unequivocally clear.

Vincent was a miracle of a man, in a myriad of different ways, and the world was blessed to have him as their Pope. Thomas hoped they would realise it, even without knowing everything about Vincent. It was plain in his patience, his grace and his fierce moral grounding.

Thomas was blessed to know him, additionally so to be granted his truth to protect, and even further to be granted a place by his side.

Miracles upon miracles, blessings upon blessings. It made Thomas dizzy to consider it fully. He went through his life like a shark, that to stop was to die, to crumble. That if he did not keep the momentum of his work flowing, his tired old body would finally seize up but more than that, his own thoughts would hound him to an early grave. The principal downside of this method, Thomas realised, was that everything passed him by. He didn’t allow himself to dwell, as more often than not this only led to further headaches, second-guesses and strife. It was how he survived in the Curia, following the current and not allowing anything to stick. But that meant the compliments and praises slipped from him too. Not dwelling on the bad meant he also didn’t dwell on all of the good that was granted him.

You are so good at what you do, Tomás.

He felt the ghost of Vincent’s touch at his collar. The warmth of his gentle palm against Thomas’ cheek.

Upon returning to the hotel, he would visit the chapel again right away to appropriately give his thanks. But for now…

“Thank you,” he murmured to the statue, raising his hand toward it as if to bless it from a distance.

-----

When Thomas left the gallery, it was only because he had to. He had already made his plan: he would find somewhere to sit, book a ticket online as he was meant to, and read for the hour he would have to wait before he could reenter.

He’d found a spot away from the comings and goings of tourists on a shaded bench, retrieving his glasses and phone from his pockets. Using technology might have been a regular battle for him, but Thomas did, at least, know how to use Google (even if it had taken him a few moments to remember to switch on his mobile data).

Second ticket of the day eventually purchased, Thomas then reviewed the photos he had taken to decide which to send to Vincent. Although Thomas might say that he was close to comfortable with (chaste) nudity in art now, he had not been able to take pictures of those works. Keeping such images on his phone still felt sordid to him, no matter how much he revered the art. Besides, a photograph didn’t adequately capture the vibrancy, depth and texture of any art.

And he certainly wasn’t going to send images of those works to the Holy Father.

The surprising strength and depth of feeling he had felt standing in front of the marble was between Thomas and Hermaphroditus. That moment felt so delicate and precious to him in a way that he couldn’t fully describe but wanted to keep close to his chest.

Instead, Thomas sent multiple pictures of Rossi’s fresco, and a few other works, deciding that anything more than ten images would be far too much. He certainly didn’t want Vincent to regret asking for this communication.

He pulled Carnacki from his pocket and took a breath to ready himself for whatever he might be faced with. He’d give it a fair chance. Something that came into being in 1910 couldn’t contain anything that offensive to him, after all. Thomas felt the worst thing a book could be was boring, and if it could not hold his attention or make him care for it, the book would be a lost cause to him. Thomas Lawrence was not a man to leave things unfinished, but since his cancer diagnosis and treatment, he’d decided life was too short to force himself to spend his time poorly for no reason. The book would be donated somewhere at the first opportunity if necessary.

He was only able to read the title of the first story: The Thing Invisible, when his phone screen illuminated with a notification. Immediately, this took priority.

Thomas! Where are you NOW

How are you finding such wonderful places?

Rome has a plethora of wonders, it is not difficult to find them.

In fact, I’m back in Villa Borghese. There’s more than enough for me here, including this gallery.

Thomas smiled at Vincent’s enthusiasm and waited for a response.

Ah! It’s the shape of a heart! Did you know that?

[osm-intl,12,a,a,[email protected]]

The picture was a map of Rome, with the Villa Borghese area marked out in grey with red marking its borders, exactly making the shape of a cartoon heart.

I can’t say I’ve ever seen the area marked out in that way before. Interesting.

There are SIX museums?

a cinema…

a theatre..

a zoo?!

Truly, there is more than enough for anyone!

Yes, incredibly convenient

Thank you for sharing, Thomas. I will be scrutinising these pictures later. You have much to keep you busy I wont keep you!

I’m not kept from anything, Thomas wanted to say. I have the better part of an hour and I’d let my gallery ticket go to waste if you wanted to speak longer. You don’t need to consult Wikipedia for more information on where I am, I’d gladly tell you as much or as little as you'd like to know.

But Vincent was a busy man, tactful and polite. He had many things to do and Thomas wouldn’t keep him from his duties.

Alright. I wish you luck and strength to see you through the rest of your day without difficulty.

Thank you Thomas. I may need it! Whatever the day may bring it makes me happy to think of my dear friend in the literal heart of Rome 😊

Thomas was at a loss of how to respond. Vincent had the capacity for a sweetness that Thomas hadn’t had much experience of. It was a trait that lent itself to the name Innocent, but it didn’t appear very often. It was most on display when meeting with the public, and children especially. It went hand in hand with his compassion and patience, but what affected Thomas the most about it was the honesty. That Vincent could be sweet, entirely genuine and unselfconscious with it. Not cloying politeness at all.

For that sentiment to be directed solely at Thomas? It made him feel… some kind of way. He tried to avoid unworthy to the best of his ability and settle on the simple fact it made him feel good.

Speak tomorrow!

Of course.

Always, Thomas thought. Every tomorrow I have to give.

Chapter Text

Third Day Of Vacation

Carnacki would get a pass, Thomas had decided. For now. The strange, formulaic choice of the narrative being a first person account of someone listening to Carnacki telling a story did have something going for it on closer inspection. Primarily, this meant any of the accounts were not witnessed first hand, and the reader could choose to believe this was merely an eccentric man weaving fictional tales for his own entertainment.

But the point of intrigue for Thomas was Carnacki’s frank honesty and humility that grounded the fantastical tales in reality. This protagonist readily admitted his fears often, and laughed at his own ridiculousness when they turned out to be unfounded.

Thomas had been reassured in the first few pages by the line: I view all reported “hauntings” as unproven until I have examined into them, and I am bound to admit that ninety-nine cases in a hundred turn out to be sheer bosh and fancy. Which three pages later was quashed by a supposed cursed dagger in a chapel, in a sheath which resembled a crucifix adorned with an engraving of Christ and the words: Vengeance is Mine, I will Repay in Latin.

It was very tempting to toss the book across the room, but Thomas persevered. He had told himself that he would, at the very least, finish the first story, and it only took another couple of pages for Carnacki to endear himself to Thomas.

He dressed himself in a mismatch of plate armour and threw his dressing gown over the top to leave his room to begin his investigation. Eccentric? Absolutely. And then there was the fear, sometimes bordering on cowardice, which was so readily relayed.

Suddenly my courage went. I put my mailed arms over my face. I wanted to protect it. I had got a sudden sickening feeling that something was hovering above me in the dark. Talk about fright! I could have shouted if I had not been afraid of the noise…

Then when he did believe he’d been attacked, Carnacki fled the room in quick and clumsy fashion, knocking his camera equipment over.

Ultimately, there is nothing supernatural about the case, just an elaborate booby trap set up by a senile member of the family. This made Thomas resolve not to give up on it quite yet and took the book down with him to breakfast.

The second story seemed to be undoubtedly a supernatural one, but compelling all the same, especially without any trappings of Christianity involved. To Thomas’ surprise, his phone chimed just as he finished his tea. Vincent had never messaged him without the prompt of a photo before.

Good morning Thomas!

I was studying those paintings for a long time last night. The ceiling piece is wonderful. I see something new every time I look.

It made me remember something

In the conclave. In one of the votes I remember seeing you looking at the ceiling for a long time.

I thought you might be praying but were you looking at the mural?

and you looked at The Last Judgement each time you voted

Do you have a great love of art Thomas?

Thomas was beginning to wonder if bewilderment was going to be his go-to response to Vincent’s friendly messages. He was so unable to predict what Vincent might say in friendship and what topics he might wish to raise, that he always felt ill-prepared. After another moment of reflection, he decided he did not mind it. There was something refreshing about being kept on one’s toes and Thomas found that he quite welcomed pleasant surprises - at least where Vincent was concerned. His arrival in Rome had been one great surprise, after all, so it seemed only right for him to continue to surprise Thomas.

Good morning, Vincent.

I had no idea I was being so closely observed.

But indeed, I have a great appreciation of art and find myself very fortunate to be surrounded by such iconic works here in Rome.

Do you have a favorite?

Sleeping Hermaphroditus immediately came to mind and Thomas shook his head. Certainly it had become a favourite but what art resonated most very much depended on the day and one’s mood.

That is like asking to choose a favourite child. How can one compare Bernini to Michelangelo, or Boehm to Monet?

oh you LOVE it! Thomas Lawerence is an art scholar! 😀

Thomas was unsure as to whether he was being teased or not.

Does that mean you have a favourite?

I fear my knowledge is far more limited than yours. I know the big famous names but I have great affection for street art

I see it in the most fraught places. People are driven to create in the harshest of conditions to display their anger, fear, hope and freedom. I’ve always found that beautiful. And hopeful

To pick a name, I’ve never seen any in person but I have great respect for Doris Salcedo’s work

Of course. Vincent was a man of the real world who witnessed art on crumbling walls and city streets, not in curated galleries with round the clock guards protecting old masterpieces. Thomas wracked his brain for a connection to the name.

I remember the Tate installation happening.

Shibboleth?

I preferred the one with the chairs

And later work

Thomas had to consult Google for a moment. Vincent was referring to Istanbul, representing mass graves, the human cost and confusion of war. It matched Vincent’s morals and must resonate deeply with his experiences, but Thomas found himself somewhat sad about it. He would like something joyful and frivolous to capture Vincent’s heart and raise his spirits, rather than remind him of all the pain and loss in the world. Surely he of all people needed reminding the least.

Ah but I suppose its modern art

Not to everyone’s taste!

No, no. The purpose of art is to make one feel something. Salcedo certainly does that and I can only imagine seeing just a photograph much diminishes the message. The physical scope of this type of work requires being in the same space for the full effect.

Thomas was so quick to reassure Vincent that he wasn’t a terrible art snob, that he didn’t realise the lack of sensitivity in his reply until he’d sent it. Vincent had never seen these works in person, and now, as Pope, may never have the opportunity. Thomas’ reply felt an awful lot like rubbing his nose in it.

In fact, Thomas had been swanning around for two days, struggling to be free, not sparing a thought for Vincent who would never be granted such simple freedoms again. Thomas couldn’t take him to the gallery or even a different turtle pond.

Forgive me, Vincent. I’ve been a terrible boor. I do not wish to sour your mood.

You haven’t. Please don’t worry

This is why I WANT you to send me photos. So I can feel like I’m there with you for a little while

And because I’m interested in what you are doing. I’m not entirely selfish

I know. I think it might be impossible for you to be selfish, but I fear I have been.

No. I believe that’s an impossibility too

I am glad you have been focusing on yourself. Your happiness makes me happy

Are you happy, Thomas?

Yes. My experiences are all the better for being shared. Thank you for your guidance and your friendship.

That was probably too much but it was too late to backtrack now.

😊😊😊

It’s so very easy to give to you Thomas, my dear friend

Thomas stared at his screen for a minute or two, the message taking some time to absorb into his brain.

Ugh duty calls

A surprised bark of laughter was torn from Thomas at that.

I will assure you that I’m not being dismissive of my duty with that statement

Ignore it

I will absolutely not.

World leaders vying to meet you?

How did you know 😂

I am unused to these kind of politics. There is more important work to be done than appeasing people’s egos

I agree and that is how I know. As Ray always likes to remind me: there is important and there is necessary. These do not always intersect, but neither can be ignored.

I know you will argue that I am on vacation, but if you need my help, I’m more than happy to give it.

No! I won’t let you!

It’s not important. Just the matter of what order we allow them to visit in to not cause offense. I say just do it in the order they sent their congratulations to me and everyone looked at me like I was mad!

Anyway. No advice from you. I’m going

Help me by sending photos

-----

Thomas’ only plans for the day were to cultivate a better understanding and awareness of God’s creations, and to read. For once, it did not seem like a daunting expanse of time stretching before him.

He returned to Villa Borghese, walking the route that already felt comfortable to him. He tried to maintain his focus, as with the previous two days, to prevent the journey becoming ordinary or, heaven forbid, mundane.

When Thomas was well within the gardens, he kept an eye out for a perfect spot to sit but he kept moving. He moved towards birdsong, towards rustling in the undergrowth and the shivering of the leaves above his head. He let the Earth guide him, and eventually it led him to the gentle splashing of a fountain - Fontana dei Cavalli Marini.

Four hippocampi held the lower basin aloft on their heads as their fish tails coiled around the central plinth and draped over one another. A single water jet rose from between each creature's rearing front hooves.

Thomas stood there, allowing the sound of running water to wash his thoughts through his mind. There he remained for some minutes, still enough for a bird to land on the middle tier of the fountain. It was a striking creature: orange with a long, thin beak and dramatic black and white striped wings. It dipped and raised its head to drink a few times, ever so precise and delicate.

Less delicate when it proceeded to bathe itself, splashing in the basin, but certainly not clumsy. Then it lifted its marvelous head crest - a delightful plume of a mohawk with little black tips to each rusty feather.

When the bird decided to have another rinse, Thomas delved into his pocket with as little movement as possible as not to spook it. He took as many photos as he could while the bird remained there, hoping that by quantity he’d get at least one that was usable and not motion-blurred or out of focus. It had seemed too much of a risk to retrieve his glasses as well as his phone - more movement and more time wasted - so he had to trust in technology to do what he wanted for once.

The bird flew off once it was satisfied with its cleanliness and Thomas watched it until it was out of sight. An incredible bird that he’d have thought belonged to a rainforest rather than Rome. He must have seen them before, living in Italy for so long. How could he have not taken notice of such an exquisite creature? Too hung up and bogged down in human creation - paperwork, intrigue and pretty disputes in old echoey halls and dusty offices.

Yes, Thomas had important work in the Vatican, but some perspective every now and then couldn’t hurt. Life became so much simpler and more beautiful if he did so.

He did find a quiet bench a little further on from the fountain, where he sat and reviewed his photos. As expected, many could be immediately deleted, but there were some surprisingly good ones - the spray of tiny water droplets even visible in a few. Thomas couldn’t have asked for a better subject.

He sent Vincent the two best ones and delved back into Carnacki. It was such a slight thing, he expected that he’d finish it that afternoon. And while it wasn’t going to be remembered as a firm favourite, Thomas was sure he would recall it with fondness just by the association it had with this little vacation.

He’d started The Searcher of the End House when he heard rustling. Thomas had been regularly glancing up and taking fresh stock of his surroundings with every break in the narrative action when he remembered to but hadn’t yet seen anything of note. He prepared his phone regardless, even if he suspected it was likely to be something unremarkable like a pigeon.

He was pleasantly surprised to see a squirrel hop into his field of view to sniff around in the grass. A red one, which wasn’t particularly remarkable in Europe but to an Englishman, and red squirrel was something special to be celebrated. Its tail twitched and flicked as it pawed in the dirt, and photographing this subject was much easier now that Thomas already had his glasses on from reading.

Thomas had certainly seen red squirrels here, and elsewhere in Europe, before but once again he didn’t feel like he’d paid adequate attention. He’d seen it as a cute native animal and hadn’t spared much thought to its extinction in his home country. Thomas imagined that his mother would have been as excited as it would have been possible for her to be to see one.

He wasn’t in touch with anyone in England any more - the little personal life he had was in the orbit of his work. He hadn’t missed it, Thomas had travelled much in his life and met many people, but in this moment he couldn’t think of a single person he could share this squirrel with who would understand.

Ray, perhaps? But even then, the reds had always been safe in Ireland.

Well, no matter. Thomas could appreciate it, enjoy its company and its sweet little tufted ears. Another squirrel arrived, giving chase, and they both fluidly scampered around the trunk of a nearby tree, up into the canopy, out of sight.

Thomas tilted his head back and sat for a moment, that drop of melancholy settling low in his chest. He let it be, allowed himself to feel it. The loss of those from his childhood and his family, through distance or death. It had never particularly affected him - he was an only child, his father worked more than he was home, his mother distant. He was saddened when they passed, but it hadn’t been an emotional loss to him. School friendships parted when different educational routes were chosen, as was the way of these things.

It was only now that Thomas realised that loneliness accrued. It may not have bothered him at the time, but six decades of loose connections slipping away… it did have an effect. Thomas was a sheltered, lonely old man and he suddenly feared that he’d been that way all his life - even at twelve years old.

His phone saved him from spiralling and he grasped it like a lifeline.

😯

Handsome!

I saw these in Afghanistan. This is a lovely one

Vincent, of course, suitably excited about the bird and Thomas felt an unnecessary surge of pride that he had caused this feeling. And that, however unwittingly, Thomas had been able to bring him a little piece of his past too. Hopefully a comforting one.

I’m afraid I have no idea what it is. I’m not an ornithologist by any means, but I have the desire to learn.

Perhaps I’ll get a guide later.

Apparently its called a Hoopoe in English

A fun name 😊

You should still get a bird guide though! I got lucky this time I’m not an ornithologist either

I will.

That squirrel-sadness was still sticking to him, frustrating in how such a trivial thing had uncovered so much unclaimed baggage. The urge to explain, to share the stupid squirrel and hope for something, was too overwhelming to ignore.

He sent the picture.

Cute! 😍

I’m used to seeing the grey ones. Those were in Mexico

Ah look at his little elf ears!

Thomas sighed in relief and felt more than a little ridiculous at the sudden watering of his eyes. He quickly blinked it away.

It only just occurred to me how special they are.

Oh?

I feel they are terribly ordinary to everyone else here but in England the red squirrel is something of a flagship of mammal conservation.

They are endangered there?

Entirely wiped out of England with the introduction of the grey squirrel. Most of them are in Scotland with conservation efforts.

Oh, that’s sad but I’m so happy they are still here for you at least!

Thank you. Me too.

Are you free of planning dignitary visits? At least for now?

For now. I’ve decided its best to leave such diplomacy in the hands of those who understand it.

My lunch meeting overran. I thought ‘lunch meeting’ would mean it would end with the lunch! But it’s 3pm!

At least you had lunch for it?

Yes, thank goodness

Tell me Thomas, what have you been eating?

The sisters do wonderful work of course! And sometimes I hassle them to let me use the kitchen myself but it might be nice to have something different

Ah, nothing terribly exciting, I’m afraid. I’ve been having the breakfast provided by the hotel.

Thomas nearly dropped the phone when it started to ring. He waited a second, certain that Vincent had pressed dial by accident, but it continued to ring.

“...Vincent?”

“Please tell me that you don’t mean you’ve only been eating breakfast!”

“Ah. The first night I did have dinner-”

“The first night!? ¡Dios mío, Tomás!”

Even though he was being scolded, Thomas felt elated.

Tomás, Tomás, Tomás, Tomás…

“You’re on this vacation to heal your mind, body and spirit! Your body, Tomás! You must care for it.”

Thomas did feel suitably ashamed, roughly grounding his foolish stupidity at the sound of Vincent’s voice.

“Sorry. You’re quite right. It was a simple enough instruction to follow, I’ll be sure to remedy it.”

Vincent sighed and Thomas felt even worse for somehow failing at having a vacation.

“Tomás,” he spoke gently now. “I’m not… ordering you. I want you to do things that help your health and happiness. You’ve been doing that, I think, right? But I do really think you need to eat more than one meal a day. I worry for you.”

“You really shouldn’t,” Thomas said with a smile. “You have more than enough to worry about.”

“I can’t help it.”

Right. The price of friendship. Was Vincent now to be cursed by the minutiae of troubles in Thomas’ life?

“Oh! I have an idea! Maybe you can test things for me.”

“Test?”

“Yes! I can look for restaurants I want to try, you can eat there and tell me if it’s any good!”

“You really don’t need to go to so much trouble. I promise I am capable of feeding myself.” Even if I haven’t shown any evidence of this, Thomas thought glumly. “And your tastes might be quite different to mine.”

“What’s the nearest landmark or place you can get to with an address?”

“I suppose I’m not too far from the gallery… May I ask why?”

“I’ll see if that works.”

Thomas could hear the sound of typing on the other end of the line. “Vincent, what are you doing?”

“Ordering you lunch.”

“You don’t have to do that!” Thomas spluttered. “There’s plenty of places around, I’m sure. You don’t need to have someone deliver something!”

“Too late! You’re getting Poke House. It’s Hawaiian inspired, apparently. I want to know if its good.”

Thomas sighed, getting up and making sure everything was back in his pockets. “So I need to meet someone at the gallery?”

“It’s Deliveroo.”

“I don’t know what that means.”

“Delivery by bicycle, one of the turquoise ones. I can track it from here. Ah, one moment!” Vincent called to someone else trying to get his attention.

“I can manage, Vincent. You’ve spent more than enough time fussing over me. I promise I’ll let you know what I think of it.”

“Alright. Okay. I hope you enjoy it. Bye, Tomás.”

“Bye,” Thomas murmured back and the line cut out immediately after.

-----

The food, Thomas had to admit, was good. He only realised his hunger when he began eating and it was possible that his body’s need for it made it taste better, but he tried to focus to be able to give Vincent an honest review.

Thomas’ immediate thought was that there was a lot. He’d been given a chicken poke bowl, sweet potatoes and Hawaiian mochi, as well as bottles of kombucha, coke and water. He wasn’t sure if the multiple beverages was to ensure Thomas would have something to his taste or that Vincent knew he was as dehydrated as he was hungry.

He cautiously sipped at the kombucha and couldn’t decide how he felt about it. A unique taste, certainly. Part of him recoiled at the initial flood of flavours but the aftertaste wasn’t too bad.

As he ate, his peace was disturbed by the wailing of a very distressed child. He heard them long before he saw them, but when they appeared, it seemed like a very harried mother trying to tug her young daughter along. Thomas didn’t have much experience with children, but he would guess she was around five. A younger child would be easier in a stroller, and an older one would be easier to reason with.

“Please, Sofia. We’re going to be so late!”

“But Konnie!” the child wailed, quite red in the face now.

“We’ll come back and look for her later, okay? She doesn’t need to go to the doctor.”

Thomas returned the kombucha and mochi to his paper bag for later and cleared up after himself to give the poor woman some space. The last thing she needed was the judgemental eyes of strangers on her when she was having a bad day.

The commotion faded behind him as he walked away, but the wildlife was still disturbed enough to remain quiet. If it hadn’t been Thomas might not have noticed the little lump at the base of a tree with a scrap of floral patterning.

He approached to pick it up, discovering a soft, floppy toy rabbit. The elusive Konnie? (short for Coniglietta?) She was a soft, dove grey with a white muzzle and long and droopy ears, down to her waist, with pale pink insides that matched her little hard (and well-worn) plastic nose. She wore a simple lilac dress printed with white flowers which Thomas did his best to pat free of dirt from the dry, dusty ground.

He looked back to where he’d come from. Would he even be able to catch up? He didn’t have much faith in his ability to run, and it’d be terribly embarrassing for a stuffed bunny to be the cause of his heart giving out on him.

But he had to try. This rabbit was likely the solution to someone’s very real problem right now.

Hopefully the little girl’s protests had continued to hinder their progress, but Thomas walked quickly to see if he could at least still spot them. Or hear them - that might be easier.

Sure enough, he caught the distinct sound of child-upset, although now beyond the point of language. He started to jog. Thomas could see them now, the mother had resorted to carrying her daughter.

“Scusi!” Thomas called, embarrassingly out of breath already. “Scusi!”

The child looked up at him from over her mother’s shoulder and he waved the rabbit like a mad man. He didn’t stop running.

If this isn’t her rabbit, I’m an absolute fool.

The thought was immediately dispelled by a squeal of delight.

“KONNIEEEE!”

Her mother finally stopped and turned, the child launching herself from her arms towards Thomas. All three of them were equally red in the face now, only Konnie maintained her composure throughout the ordeal.

Thomas leaned down and carefully held the beloved toy out as neatly as possible for her owner’s perusal.

“Signorina Konnie is terribly sorry for the delay,” he panted, glancing up at the mother who looked like she was about to cry. He quickly looked back to her daughter. “She got a bit carried away on her adventure, but I’m sure she can tell you all about it.”

The girl grasped the bunny, immediately hugging it to her chest, hitting him with a bright, beaming smile. He felt a hand on his arm. The mother. He winced as he straightened himself out again.

“Thank you so much,” she said. “You have no idea- thank you-”

“Mama! Konnie says we need to go Doctor!”

The poor woman put her hands in her hair and laughed quite hysterically.

“Yup! You’re gonna have to start running ‘cos I’m gonna get ya!”

Then they were off, both far faster than Thomas could ever hope to move nowadays. He was still willing his heartrate to slow and he feared if he sat down, he might not get up again. But it was worth it. So worth it, to make such a difference to somebody in whatever small way.

Chapter Text

Fourth Day Of Vacation

The final Carnacki story affected Thomas more than expected. It seemed far more dire than the rest and all the more vivid for it. He had finished it on the third afternoon, as he had predicted, but by the evening he still couldn’t shake it.

It was a horrible concept: that a poor innocent man’s soul could be condemned through no fault of his own. That every time he slept, his soul was trapped in some hell-maze that he had to fight his way back to the conscious world from. Endless sickly yellow corridors, pursued by the squealing of demonic pigs, growing closer each night, knowing that if he was caught, he was damned and would never wake again. Each day waking more exhausted, knowing that his ability to fight was diminishing.

Even the divine intervention that came to the rescue did not soothe Thomas’ subconscious, it seemed. He slept fitfully. His legs ached. He was running.

The only sound was his harsh, ragged breaths echoing back at him from cold, cracked marble walls. The width of the corridor wasn’t tight for one person, but claustrophobic all the same. Two people would have to squeeze past one another, yet there was no ceiling, no end to the height of the walls.

No escape.

The end of the corridor appeared to be a dead-end but he heard a click-clacking behind him and knew there was nowhere else to go. Looking over his shoulder, Thomas only saw a repeat of what was in front of him, yet the tapping was getting closer.

He ran on, putting his hands out against the end wall to steady himself. Everything was dusty, like the aftermath of an explosion. Empty. Desolate. Abandoned.

Godless.

It was only by reaching the wall that the ninety-degree turn in the corridor became visible. Down there looked exactly the same - a long stretch of gloomy grey, with a solid wall at the end or another hidden turn.

There was a sudden sharp wail - a scream, a screech, a cry - perhaps all of those layered atop one another to create a sound that turned Thomas’ stomach. A reverberation of agony, pain, rage and hate. He didn’t look back. He ran.

Another turn, in the opposite direction, and he stumbled over the broken stone at his feet. He still didn’t turn around but he knew the thing was gaining on him, the tapping getting faster, the squealing sometimes sounding like a pig and at other times a child, or a victim of some awful disaster. The noises were loud enough - close enough - now that he couldn’t hear his own breathing but he could feel his pulse thudding in his head.

Another turn, and it occurred to him that with each one, the corridor grew darker and colder. He knew that ultimately he would be chased into complete and utter darkness. An abyss. And he would be lost.

But perhaps not damned. There was heat at his back now, sweat making his shirt stick to his spine, and he knew it to be hellfire.

If he was caught, his soul would be devoured. If he escaped, his soul would be lost.

He grabbed for the crucifix around his neck for strength, for hope, for something but it wasn’t there.

God had abandoned him. Thomas was alone. So terribly alone. A sob cracked its way from his throat. The barren, broken corridor reflected itself within him, like a repeating mirror.

He was already lost.

Thomas could feel the breath at the back of his neck and the following screech was near deafening, sending a flurry of goosebumps across his body. The end of the corridor was approaching, and Thomas knew that this time there would be no turn for him to take.

“Help-” he gasped, barely able to hear himself over the thunderous clacks that he could feel in his bones. “Help. Help me, please!”

He collided with the dead-end, scrabbling at the wall in desperation.

“Help! Please- God, anyone. I’m here! Help me!”

His fingers hurt. His lungs burned. The dust and heat choked him. He squeezed his eyes closed.

“I don’t want to die!”

The instant silence was more disturbing than the screaming had been. As complete and absolute as it was sudden. Thomas was too afraid to look.

Then there was light. Thomas could sense it behind his eyelids. Not fiery orange, but a cool, golden yellow. He opened his eyes and turned.

There, between Thomas and the awful pallid pig-beast, was Innocent. He faced the creature, dressed in his luminous papal white, arms outstretched, as if he were creating a defensive wall before Thomas.

Thomas felt his fear renewed tenfold rather than any hint of relief. Vincent - The Holy Father - should not be in such a place. His soul was sacred.

Yet Thomas couldn’t speak, couldn’t move. He could only watch helplessly as Innocent took a soundless step forward, then another.

Thomas reached out to him at the same moment Innocent put his arms towards the beast. Innocent’s position obscured most of the creature from Thomas’ view - he couldn’t see its face, but it was large enough that he could see its hulking shoulders above Innocent’s head.

But then it wasn’t that large at all. It appeared to be shrinking or disappearing as Innocent enveloped it.

Eventually, it just seemed to be Innocent left, crouching over the ground, but even with his holy light, Thomas was still too afraid to approach.

He opened his mouth - to ask him if he was okay, to tell him to leave - but instead:

“Help me. Please,” he repeated. “I am so afraid. I am so lost.”

Vincent looked over his shoulder at him and oh, his smile was divine. Relief flooded Thomas’ body, overflowing in his tears as he pitched forward to his friend. Thomas fell into him, leaning against his side. Then he realised that Vincent cradled something in his arms.

A piglet stared up at him with blue eyes. It wriggled a little, grunting softly.

Vincent passed it to him and Thomas fumbled to hold it, no longer afraid but fearful of damage that might be done by his own clumsiness. A precious life now cradled in his arms.

He gently petted its side, over the scatter of grey speckles, as it snuffled into the folds of his sleeve. Thomas could feel the flurry of its tiny heart beating against his palm.

Vincent's hand covered his own and Thomas looked up to meet his gaze.

“Your mind, body and spirit - you must look after all three. Be kind to them, Tomás.”

-----

Thomas awoke on his side, his arms hugged against his chest. He startled, his mind still half in dreams, certain he was in danger of squishing the piglet too tightly.

He sighed but did not change position. The dream had left him feeling empty. Not hollow but scoured clean. A fresh space inside of him, tender and delicate.

Tears burned his eyes for reasons he couldn't quite explain. The dream had certainly felt profound but on reflection, it was all rather silly, wasn't it? Still, he allowed the tears to fall with his second, far shakier, exhale.

Then they flowed easily, dampening his pillow, but it was fine. That was fine. Thomas was on his own. No, he was with God. God was most definitely in this fragile space with him. Not guiding, just holding.

Be kind. Be kind, Vincent's voice soothed him.

Thomas cried until there was nothing left. If he had felt empty before, now he was entirely drained. Scrubbed from delicate to raw, a carcass instead of a neat husk.

It didn’t feel like a kindness. He felt frail, his whole body trembling despite not moving at all. But it felt necessary. Vital, even, in that liminal space between the conscious and unconscious mind in the confusion of waking.

Thomas coughed, his throat dry yet the inside of his face feeling like an oversaturated sponge. He grimaced, snuffled and coughed again. Now that he was fully conscious he was very much aware of his physical self and how gross he felt. He grunted as he hefted himself up into sitting.

Time to shower and eat and be human again.

(Be kind).

Thomas would try and take his time about it, and go as slowly as his body needed to.

-----

It was a beautiful, cloudless morning and Thomas was back in Villa Borghesse once again. This time he had his satchel with him, carrying a water bottle, Holmes and the bird guide he’d acquired on his walk to the gardens. He’d purchased it from an actual book shop, not a haphazard arrangement of volumes in the street, and it had been pleasant to peruse the quiet space.

Thomas was out of touch with modern literature - he had no clue who the up-and-coming new authors were, or what novels would be at the top of holiday reading lists - so he spent some time reading the backs of the books in the Staff Picks, Bestseller and Book Of The Month displays. He hadn’t purchased any but it was nice to know what kinds of stories were grabbing people’s attention, from poignant life journeys to disturbing thrillers to light holiday romances.

He had walked out with what he went in for though, and once he found a shady spot beneath a tree to sit, he pulled the bird guide out to flip through. Thomas needed a few moments of shifting first, to get comfortable. The ground was hard but the grass was soft and after a second of hesitation he decided to toe off his shoes and socks. It seemed appropriate if one wanted to connect with nature.

Glasses on, and back to the book - it wouldn’t help much for him to identify calls but at least he’d know what to look out for. The small birds were the tricky ones, the finches and flycatcher types. Thomas very much appreciated that such field guides were still filled with beautiful, precise illustrations of each bird and difference of plumage and hadn’t resorted to filling the pages with photographs. There was a clarity and immediacy of the information one needed to know looking at such illustrations opposed to a photograph somehow.

There wasn’t any noticeable wildlife activity for the moment though, so Thomas swapped his reading material to return to Holmes. As he got lost in the story, his body unconsciously began to relax against the bark, his toes idly curling and uncurling in the cool grass.

As a child, Thomas had never been sure if he’d wanted to be Holmes or Watson. Generally being of a humble disposition, the role of Dr Watson felt like a better fit. To act as someone’s support, cheerleader and confidant. Young Thomas had wished for such a firm friendship, for someone incredible and talented to dazzle him and whisk him away on adventures. That perhaps Thomas wouldn’t have to be remarkable himself, that as long as he offered support and friendship, his companionship would be worthwhile.

Sometimes he’d indulge in the alternative - that someone else would find him incredible somehow. That he’d develop a talent that would leave someone trailing starry-eyed in his wake, allowing him to indulge in vanity before he was old enough to worry too much over the sin of pride. How wonderful it would have been, he’d thought, to cultivate such loyalty and be forgiven all of your eccentricities just by being oneself.

Thomas had become so absorbed in the story and being taken back to a more youthful, innocent headspace, that he had been completely unaware of the movement of the sun. It was only when he felt a bead of sweat roll down his temple did he take notice of his body’s discomfort.

He was no longer in the shade, but full sun and he couldn’t say how long he’d been so, but he was feeling uncomfortably hot. He placed his book face down, letting the ground hold his page for him and he retrieved his water. That too was warm, but better than nothing, and his throat eagerly gulped it down. He sighed and wiped his brow with the heel of his hand.

The area was busier now with pedestrians and cyclists, and those like Thomas making a space for themselves. He really ought to at least move back to the shade but when he tried to pull himself together, Thomas realised his mistake. He hadn’t thought ahead when he’d got down on the ground and now he felt rather stuck. His stiff knees did not want to cooperate.

Okay. Upwards wasn’t happening, that much was evident. He’d let gravity help him.

Thomas rolled onto his side, then onto his back and laughed breathlessly at himself. Ridiculous. He felt like a turtle.

He took a few breaths to fortify himself before rolling onto his front and pushing up onto his hands and knees.

“Hey, are you okay?”

Ah, great. As if this moment hadn’t humbled him enough, Thomas now had to have witnesses.

He squinted up at the young man leaning over him.

“Yes. Just a foolish old man forgetting the age of his body,” Thomas said lightly, taking the offered hand. It’d be far more embarrassing to insist he was fine and continue to flail around rather than just accept the help that was offered and move on as quickly as possible.

He grunted as he got to his feet and the kind stranger kept hold of him until he was steady. Now the sun wasn’t in his eyes, Thomas could see him better. He was probably in his mid to late thirties, neat beard, short brunette curls visible beneath his cap and fitter than Thomas had ever been in his life.

“Alright?” he checked again, looking at Thomas with caution as he let go of his arm, as if he might immediately keel over and faint.

“Yes,” Thomas smiled with a nod. “Thank you.”

He cast his eyes down to his things still scattered on the grass. Ah. He should have really taken them up with him. And probably put his shoes on again before he got up.

The young man followed his gaze. “I got it,” he declared without hesitation, quickly scooping up Thomas’ belongings for him and helping put them in the bag.

Thomas couldn’t help the small sigh of relief. “You’re too kind. Thank you, really.” He tucked his socks into his shoes and shoved them in the bag too.

“It’s no problem, man.” He still seemed to regard Thomas with suspicion. Good grief, did he really look so frail and old? “Here.”

The man took off his cap and patted it onto Thomas’ head.

“You’ve gotta be careful out here.”

“Oh, that’s really not- you don’t have to-”

He just waved Thomas’ protests away. “I have more, and I’m going back to work now anyway. I think you need it more than me.”

Thomas swallowed his irritation and what was left of his pride at the sight of his benefactor’s full head of curls. Instead, he grasped the young man’s hands in both of his own.

“God bless you,” he said with feeling before releasing his now rather bewildered looking companion.

“Uh, yeah. As I said, no problem. Stay safe, Signore.”

“I shall,” Thomas tapped the peak of the hat. “Have a blessed day, my son.”

“Yeah! You- you too?”

He raised his hand in a final farewell as he jogged away and Thomas returned to the shade. He was not going to get back on the ground. He was contemplating the available benches when his phone rang.

He did not need to look at the screen to know who it was.

“Hello?”

“Hello Tomás! How are you on this lovely day?”

“Well, thank you. I’m afraid there’s not much for me to report yet.”

“That’s good, in a way. Hopefully that means you are resting.”

“I am. I’ve just been reading in the gardens.”

“What are you reading?”

“Ah, some nostalgia. Sherlock Holmes. I’ve not read it since I was a child. I happened to see a copy on my first day and felt compelled to get it.”

“That’s nice,” Thomas could hear the smile in Vincent’s voice. “You’re quite the detective yourself - I should have known you’d have an affinity for such stories!”

“I’m sure I have no idea what you mean,” Thomas said playfully, knowing full well that Vincent must be referring to his antics during the conclave.

“Hmm. Finding secret documents and uncovering hidden motives? Maybe that’s your true calling…” Vincent dropped his voice to a whisper. “Thomas Lawerence, are you an undercover spy?”

Thomas laughed. “I’m some kind of international man of mystery now, not just a detective?”

“Well you are an international man, who has some degree of natural mystery. And you have that certain… poise. Your bearing, you know? It’s… refined. Dignified. Professional.”

Thomas caught himself straightening up with the compliment and attempted to cough away his blush.

“I see. Perhaps I would investigate an alternative career path if my small taste of intrigue hadn’t been more than stressful enough.”

“I would say it was a very large dose of intrigue, I believe most other cases wouldn’t be quite so… intense. Probably wouldn’t be a focus of global media attention nor require you to be sequestered.”

“Are you certain you’re not trying to get me to leave the Vatican?”

“No! No, no, no. Absolutely not!”

“Weeeell, it does sound awfully tempting now that I think about it…” Thomas teased. “Do you think I have a good chance if I went back to England and applied to be part of MI5?”

“What and apply to be James Bond?”

“That’s not an actual position and please tell me you’re not imagining me in a field agent scenario.”

“Why not? That’s what a spy is.”

“You should know that I’m a creature of an office environment.”

“I don’t think that’s true. Besides, I can see you going undercover to all the fancy galas and high-society things.”

“There you go making it sound appealing again…”

“No, I mean obviously it’ll be a lot of action. People shooting at you all the time and jumping over tables and things. All kinds of risks. Far too dangerous.”

“Vincent, Vincent, you give me far too much credit. My hip would probably give out at the first hint of adrenaline.”

“Tomás!” Vincent laughed. “It would not!”

“You don’t know my joints,” Thomas grumbled, winning another peal of delight from the other end of the line.

“Anyway,” Vincent said, his voice under control once more. “My lunch is my own today.”

Thomas checked the time. 2pm. He hummed. “Plans?”

“I thought I’d spend it with you.”

Calculations of how long it would take to get to the Vatican immediately ran through Thomas’ mind.

“Just, ah, like this. Listening to you. Being out there with you in spirit.”

Oh, how Thomas’ heart went out to him. He couldn’t help but imagine Vincent looking forlornly out of the window in that very moment at the beautiful sunshine and all of the people enjoying it.

“That sounds lovely. Just let me find somewhere to go and I’ll call you back? I shan’t be long.”

There was a soft sound on the line to which Thomas enquired with a questioning hum.

“I just have never heard someone say shan’t before,” the smile was back in Vincent’s voice.

“Shall not-”

“I know what it means. It's very charming.”

Thomas was starting to feel rather hot under the collar again - he really ought to find somewhere to get out of the sun at the very least. Then rehydrate and eat - things he’d once again forgotten to do.

“Well then, as I said: shan’t be long.”

It felt like such a sweet victory to have Vincent’s laugh be the last thing Thomas heard on the call.

He had entirely forgotten he wasn’t wearing his shoes until his bare feet hit the pavement, but thankfully the paving was smooth enough to not be painful. As if he wasn’t sufficiently motivated to stop at the earliest opportunity anyway, this made him take a seat at a table outside of a little bakery.

Only once his socks and shoes were back on did Thomas enter the building and he just about remembered to remove his hat as he went through the door (although he didn’t suppose anyone got particularly offended about hat etiquette on the highstreet in this day and age). His spirits were high enough, and his mind distracted with the necessity of returning Vincent’s call as soon as he could, that he didn’t overthink his options. He ordered everything his body decided it wanted in that moment: pizza, pastry, coffee and returned to the table outside beneath the parasol.

Vincent picked up before the first ring was even finished.

“You were right. Not long at all.”

Thomas put the hat on the table and actually saw it for the first time.

“You’ve got to be kidding me.”

“Hm?”

“It’s ah,” Thomas laughed, shaking his head to himself. “Silly really. Someone gave me a hat a short while ago. A baseball cap. Because I suppose I looked too frail and English for this level of sunshine… but I’ve only just seen what’s printed on the front.”

“Oh no.” Thomas could practically see the smirk stealing over Vincent’s face. “What is it?”

“Hold on, I’m sending you a picture.”

The hat was fine as hats went. Navy blue with off-white stitching, but the patch on the front had True Religion emblazoned above a line drawing of a buddha with an acoustic guitar.

Vincent actually wheezed when the image went through to him.

“Did he know your profession?”

“Ah, no. I don’t suppose he did. I’m not wearing my clerical collar,” Thomas admitted.

“You must keep it.”

“I’m not so ungrateful for a stranger's kindness that I’ll do anything else with it.”

Thomas moved the phone speaker away from his face to murmur his thanks to the staff member who brought out his food to him, but as she turned away, a thought struck him.

“One moment, Vincent- Scusi, could I trouble you for a moment?”

“Of course!” she said brightly. “What can I help you with?”

“Could you take a photo for me? I’m certain my friend wants to see proof of me in this ridiculous hat but he’s too polite to ask.”

“Oh sure! No problem at all!”

She took his phone from him, Thomas put the hat back on his head and smiled for the camera. Because any small fragment of happiness he could provide to Vincent was worth far, far more than Thomas’ pride.

“There you go,” she passed the phone back. “For the record, I think it's a good hat. Anyway, buon appetito!”

It turned out she’d taken five photos that Thomas couldn’t bear to consider too closely, so he just sent one at random.

“Hehe. Oh, Tomás.” Thomas frowned a little that his voice sounded more wistful than mirthful. “I love this. Thank you. It sounds silly, but it's good to see your face.”

“Not silly.” Thomas held his phone to his ear with his shoulder to cut into his pizza. “In fact, I’d say I feel the same about hearing your voice.”

“That too!”

“No, I mean-” Thomas brought himself time by eating, wondering if he should divulge this information. Unfortunately by starting his sentence he had ultimately committed himself. “Communicating with you via written medium felt like there was something… absent. Your accent. Even though you speak like yourself with your choice of language, your grasp of English is so good that my mind finds it difficult to summon the words how I might actually hear them.”

There was a soft noise in response and Thomas wondered if he could save himself further embarrassment by hanging up and making the excuse that his battery had died.

“You like my accent?”

Thomas frowned at the unexpected question. “Well of course! You have a beautiful voice - you must know this. There was much praise on that subject in your first weeks.”

“I know. But having a native speaker of the language praise it - especially someone as- as eloquent as yourself… Coming from you, Tomás, it means something different.”

“Hm. Yes, I see. But rest assured, Vincent, that I would not have you speak any other way.”

“Muchas gracias.”

Although he said it with feeling, Thomas did think that Vincent was perhaps thickening his accent there. It didn’t feel like he was being made fun of, but Thomas couldn’t think of any other reason why Vincent would do such a thing.

“Your food looks very good by the way. Maybe we could order from there one day when you’re back?”

“Yes, it is very good actually. I’ll make a note.”

“On that note, I’m afraid I must be getting back to my duties. Thank you for this time, Tomás.”

“It's my pleasure. Truly.”

“Alri-”

“Wait. Um, we could do this again. Whenever you have the time, and want the company. Even dinner if you wanted to pick a place for me - you could get a live report, I suppose. If that was… something-”

“Yes. Dinner. Tonight? If I’m not held up. I’ll let you know.”

“Don’t worry if you can’t. Have a good day, Vincent.”

“I will.”

When Thomas had finished his meal, he had a text come through:

Speak later, Tomás!

His heart stuttered. Tomás, Tomás, Tomás.

He walked directly up to the counter to get an entire box of pastries delivered to the Vatican and sent a message to Ray for the first time in four days. He just managed to correct Vincent’s name before he sent it.

Incoming delivery to you for The Holy Father. Please accept and pass on at your first convenience.

Hope all is well, Thomas.

Chapter Text

Fifth Day Of Vacation

If Thomas had considered it, he would have assumed that speaking over the phone would make the distance keenly felt. That any shared moments would leave a bittersweet aftertaste of what-ifs.

Not with Vincent.

Vincent’s happiness was evident in his voice and he’d been sounding so relaxed. Thomas hoped that when he returned to the Vatican, and work was back on the subject list of their discussions, that this would still hold true. He hoped that he would be able to continue to keep Vincent at ease and his spirits high.

Talking with Vincent, Thomas didn’t think about them physically sharing the room together or other impossible scenarios, because Vincent was with him. Being in the present moment with Vincent took priority over any other thoughts and left no space for melancholy.

Vincent messaged him a few hours later with his choice of restaurant.

Not a proper restaurant, no reservation needed. I should be free at 9pm. I hope that's not too late?

That's fine, thank you.

They do delivery. Would it be rude of me to forgo dinner with the others tonight? And I wouldn't want to offend the sisters by not eating what they've put effort into making…

I'm certain it will get eaten with or without you. It's quite normal for the Pope to not be at every meal. It's a taxing profession, everyone knows this. No one will begrudge you some time to yourself, especially now you're more settled.

Thank you Tomás. You always know just what to say to put me at ease

If Thomas was warmed by a glow of pride at that, surely there was no harm in it.

Because Vincent was always full of surprises, of all the cuisine in Rome, his food of choice was a vegan burger place. Thomas understood better when he entered the establishment at 9pm and was greeted by colourful walls emblazoned with flowers, elephants and The Beatles yellow submarine motif. He called Vincent as he looked at the menu.

“Vincent, these burgers look radioactive.”

Bright laughter rang through his ear. “Sí, I was not brave enough for the green one.”

“Surely they've altered the colours in the photos?” A burger bun should not be that vibrantly green, Thomas thought.

“Are you going to order one and find out?”

“Absolutely not.”

“Hehe. Oh! Un momento-”

Thomas could only assume Vincent’s delivery had arrived, so made his own order, swayed by colour over content.

“Hi.” There was a rustling of paper packaging. “I'm not sure we should be using poor Ray as a personal courier…”

“He's the best person to excuse you from dinner without question. He respects your privacy.”

“You don't believe others would?”

“Gossip is the favoured pastime of the Vatican, I'm afraid. There are some who will take anything they can get, however benign, and before you know it you'll be branded a vegan liberal - which is obviously worse than any other - and accused of a bias towards the US on account of the burger.”

“Oh dear,” Thomas could hear the smile in Vincent’s voice. “I assume you are exaggerating, but given your dry humour and the nature of the Vatican, it is hard to be certain.”

“I am. But only a little. Grazie,” he thanked the server as he took his food and made his way to an empty table.

“Are you ready?”

“What for? Food poisoning?”

“For me to say Grace, Tomás.” Vincent laughed. “And you told me you weren't getting the green one.”

“Well, this one is purple, and despite the assurance of all-natural ingredients, it still feels unnatural. I suppose I should be glad it's not coloured like its rainbow name.”

“Mine is quite wonderfully yellow,” Vincent sounded delighted by this. “Alright. Bless us, O Lord-”

Thomas dutifully closed his eyes and clasped his hands.

“-and these, Your gifts, which we are about to receive. Bless too, the dedicated service workers, who ensure comfort, care and provide for others every day.”

Thomas thought of Elio, Carla, and the rest of the staff at the hotel. Of the irritable fellow at the gallery, of the people behind the counter in this very restaurant. He sent his thanks for them, and prayed that their days might be easy and free from belligerent and entitled customers.

“Help us to remember those who must go without the comforts we are blessed to enjoy tonight. Food that warms the body, and friendship that warms the soul. We pray that they be granted physical and spiritual warmth to aid them through their difficulties. Through Christ our Lord, Amen.”

Thomas crossed himself. “Amen.”

He dipped a potato wedgie in hummus, not quite ready to tackle his burger. Vincent did not have the same hesitation.

“Oh, that's good! Try it, Tomás!”

Evidently, he knew Thomas well enough to predict his procrastination. Thomas did as he was told. The softness of the bread, the crisp crunch of the lettuce, the smokiness of the sauce…

“Yes. It really is.”

“Don't sound so surprised! I did read the reviews!”

“Of course you did. I do trust your judgement.”

“You just have a naturally cautious nature.”

“You make me sound like a nervous dog.”

Vincent coughed, spluttering an excuse me between hacking breaths.

“Vincent?”

There was the distinctive rattle of ice in a take-out cup and the sound of the beverage being drunk through a straw.

“I'm alright,” Vincent gasped.

“Are you sure?”

“Yes.”

“Not poison?”

“No. Tomás, don't make me laugh.”

It's all I want to do, Thomas thought, taking another bite.

“You're not a nervous dog, you're too well socialised.”

“Is that a compliment?” Thomas frowned.

“Yes. Just cautious, like I said. Caution is a survival instinct.”

Thomas was a little lost in the metaphor, but he could conclude that Vincent was calling him sensible opposed to high-strung, and he'd take a compliment where he could.

“Thank you, I suppose.”

Vincent hummed around his food in response.

They passed their meal easily, with Vincent telling Thomas that he was spending time with the art of the Vatican where he could, trying to see it as Thomas did. Thomas was deeply touched by this, and admitted how the depiction of God's fury had frightened him during the conclave. How judged he had felt by St. Peter.

“Oh, Tomás, you were under so much strain. It is even more remarkable to me now, knowing how you felt, that you were so…”

Thomas waited, completely clueless as to what adjective Vincent was reaching for.

“You seemed so steady. So assured. How you guided us gave me faith in the process. Even when you confessed your struggles to me… at first I could not believe it, that a man who spoke and moved with such purpose and grace as you could be so unmoored. It makes you even more incredible to me.”

Thomas was very glad that Vincent could not see him blush.

“I have merely learned to act my part.”

“No, it is more than acting. It would be very simple to do the things that came easiest to us, it is something remarkable to persevere through difficulty and make it appear easy.”

Said by a man who had served in war zones and faced unimaginable hardships, Thomas felt undeserving of such high praise.

“Where others might see a manager, I can see the brilliance of your humanity.”

“Oh-” Thomas choked, his voice thick.

“Tomás? Have I said something wrong?”

“No, no. You are very kind. Too kind.”

“Never. Especially not to you. What is it?”

“The late Holy Father only saw me as a manager,” Thomas confessed softly, carefully removed of emotion.

“That can't be true.”

“He told me so. It was the last conversation we had.”

“I'm so sorry, Tomás.”

“It's fine,” Thomas muttered, jamming the last scrap of potato into his hummus.

“It's not. Clearly, for whatever reason, he was not blessed to know you as I do. And so I feel even more privileged than before for that most precious gift of your friendship.”

“Vincent-” he protested weakly, feeling far too much to make sense of any clear emotion.

“You are valued for so much more, Tomás. You are so much more-”

“Vincent! Please- I can't- I can't talk about this right now.”

“Of course. I'm sorry. I just- well. I suppose I've made my point clear enough.”

“Yes,” Thomas laughed, feeling a touch hysterical. “Oh, I think they are preparing to close soon here, I best let them clean the table.”

“Are you going back to the hotel?”

“Mm. It's a nice night, perhaps I'll walk by the river.”

“Take me with you?”

“Of course.”

-----

Thomas slept soundly that night with a stomach full of good food, a head full of fresh air and a heart full of affection. He'd dreamt of Vincent being with him at the burger place in Thomas’ stupid hat, laughing as he stole pieces of Thomas’ food, yet offered his own as immediate replacement.

The burgers were vibrant green. They ate them anyway.

Thomas was asleep for so long that he almost missed breakfast. He considered intentionally skipping it as he lay there in bed, comfortable and at peace, with no other reason to rush. But he could imagine Vincent’s disappointment, and knew he wouldn't be able to lie if Vincent asked about his eating habits, so he forced himself to sit up and begin his day.

He went down to the restaurant, book and phone in hand, intending to return to the park after his daily visit to the chapel. He bid a good morning to the hotel staff, and to Vincent via text, finding himself relaxing into a comfortable routine.

He wondered if he would miss it when he returned to the Vatican.

-----

It was another beautiful day in the park, and Thomas was wearing the hat fate decided to assign him, once again quite lost in his reading.

“Hiiii!”

Thomas wouldn't have thought the greeting was aimed at him, especially when it carried all the joyous enthusiasm of a young child, but a grey piece of fabric splatting onto his open page made him reconsider. Looking up, he was met by a little girl immediately losing her confidence with the addition of eye contact. She shrank back slightly, raising her toy bunny (whose ear had interrupted his page) in front of her face to wave its arms at him.

Konnie.

Thomas’ smile was immediate. He wouldn’t have recognised the child if not for the rabbit, particularly with her mood so different. He closed the book.

“Hello. It’s good to see that your loyal companion hasn’t strayed from your side again.”

A shy smile peeked out from beside Konnie’s dress.

“Sofia! You can't just interrupt people-” The mother caught up and Thomas saw the recognition cross her face with a smile. How nice it was to be recalled with fondness despite such a brief first encounter. “Oh! Hi!”

“Hello, I hope everyone is better now?” Thomas asked, looking between them, remembering that the panic had been to attend a doctor's appointment.

“Yeah,” she said with palpable relief, placing a hand on her daughter's head and ruffling her hair. “This one's made of rubber, always ready to bounce back aren't you?”

Sofia giggled and bounced on the spot.

“I'm very glad to hear it.”

“Hey- come and get gelato with us-”

“Gelato!” Sofia crowed, raising Konnie in celebration.

“My treat. As a thank you for the other day.”

“Oh, that's really not necessary,” Thomas demurred. “But a very lovely gesture. Thank you.”

Sofia's expression grew concerningly grave. “Gelato is always necess.” She leaned in, putting her little hand on his knee. “Always get the gelato you can.”

Thomas desperately fought back his laugh and raised his hands in surrender.

“Don't feel obliged if you really don't want to,” the mother insisted.

“No, I believe your daughter is very wise and I ought to follow her advice.”

“Yay!” Konnie was flung into the air.

Thomas stood and offered his hand to the mother. “I'm Thomas, and it's lovely to properly meet you both. You three, sorry,” he nodded towards the rabbit.

“Chiara,” she said, giving his hand a firm shake. “I know it probably didn't feel like much to you but you really were a life saver the other day. Things have been… ugh,” she waved her hands. “A lot to say the least.”

Sofia offered her hand up to him too, which Thomas dutifully shook.

“Sofia.”

“Thomas,” he repeated. “A pleasure to make your acquaintance, Sofia.” He took the rabbit's floppy paw next. “And Signorina Konnie,” his other hand rested over his heart as he bowed. “An honour.”

Sofia giggled in utter delight.

“Uh-oh,” Chiara warned with a smile. “You'll get a new best friend if you're not careful, Thomas.”

“One can never have too many friends, I should think. I might have been a bit late learning that lesson.”

They walked together, Sofia between the two of them, holding her mother's hand. Thomas could sense her looking at him often with childish fascination. But something melancholy had passed across Chiara's expression at his words.

“Sometimes they can be a bit tricky to find,” she said softly with a small, resigned smile.

“You can make them!” Sofia declared. “Mama made me and mama is my best friend. And I have Konnie.”

“Ohmygod,” Chiara laughed, putting a hand over her face. “I'm not gonna have more kids to have more friends, you maniac. Or have a house full of stuffed animals.”

“Well!” Sofia huffed. “Maybe you're too picky.”

“Wow. Thanks.”

“Konnie found Thomas! She didn't even have to do anything.”

“That's true,” he agreed, pleased that a lightness had so quickly returned to this weary young woman. The loving bond between mother and daughter was so dazzlingly clear, so pure, Thomas feared looking too closely would make his eyes water.

“She told me all about it.”

“Did she?”

“Mmhm! She was on an adventure and got lost in a maze.”

“Oh dear.”

“She wasn't lost ‘cos she did it and she wasn't scared. Konnie never gets scared.”

“No, that was the first thing that struck me about her. Fearless. I thought: this is the bravest bunny I've ever met.”

Sofia nodded eagerly up at him. “Yeah! But then- then we were too far away and she couldn't see us and- and- she climbed a tree! And got stuck!”

“It is much higher for her, being so much smaller,” Thomas said with patient understanding.

“Yeah! But then you rescued her! Like- like- she was in a princess tower!”

“Oh,” he murmured softly.

A small child’s fictional tale about her stuffed toy should not have the ability to cleave directly into the noble-knight fantasy from his own childhood that still, apparently, resided in some corner of his heart. Yet here he was, Thomas Lawrence, Dean of the College of Cardinals, skilled orator in multiple languages, rendered speechless by a little girl he’d known mere moments.

“Sir Thomas,” Chiara said, in English, with a smile, driving a hammer into the piercing blade his heart fluttered around. As if he wouldn’t have been self aware enough without being thoroughly bludgeoned. Which may have been true a month ago, but certainly not now. “It’s very fitting - are you English?”

“Yes, I am, but I’ve been living here for many years,” he said, finding his footing to maintain his composure.

“I believe it - your Italian is faultless. Did you come over here to retire?”

Thomas chuckled. “No, quite the opposite - my work brought me here.”

“Oh God, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean-”

“It’s alright. I am old and I don’t blame you for making the assumption that Brits retire to the sunnier places of Europe, because it is very true for those who can afford to.”

“So… you can’t afford to retire? Man, forget it, that’s way too personal-”

“No, no you’re quite alright. Really,” Thomas assured her. “I suppose I could, I just never considered my vocation to be one that I would ever truly retire from.”

“What’s a voco- vocay-” Sofia frowned.

“Vocation,” Thomas repeated, slow and clear. “It's another, more specific, word for job. A job you’re really drawn to. Vo-cay-tion.”

“Vo-Cay-Shun. Vo-cay-shun.”

“Perfect.”

Chiara smiled. “I feel like if she hangs out too much with you, I’m going to end up with a child fluent in Latin.”

Thomas raised an eyebrow. “And would that be a bad thing?”

“She’s five and I think there are other, not dead languages to prioritise - like English. But she’s only just getting her Italian!”

“Well, I am happy to help with any language assistance she might want - English or Latin, French or Spanish, if she decides she wants to learn something else.”

“You speak five languages. Including Latin. What are you? A professor?”

It only occurred to Thomas in that moment that Chiara didn’t know his occupation. It was always the first thing anyone knew about him, on account of his clerical collar (at the very least). Any initial opinions made about him were directly related to how the other person felt about Catholicism, and faith more generally. It didn’t bother him, because his faith and his occupation were a large part of who he was. If someone was going to take issue with those parts of him, he’d much rather they got it out of the way at the first opportunity.

Yet now Thomas was in a rare position of having formed a tentative relationship which might be changed, strained, or even irreparably damaged by his faith and how he practiced it.

“Gelatoooo!” Sofia rescued him, running ahead, pulling her mother towards the shop.

He tailed them into the shop, where Sofia had immediately put her hands on the glass to peer at the flavours on the other side.

“What do you want, Thomas? She always does this, but she knows exactly what she wants. Same every time.”

“Might not!”

“She will,” Chiara murmured conspiratorially to him. “So what about you? And don’t say vanilla - I’m getting you a flavour.”

“Vanilla is a flavour, hence why it's an option,” Thomas protested.

She raised an eyebrow and loosely crossed her arms, a pose he could only imagine had become second nature dealing with a small child. “Maybe I think you could do with a bit more excitement than vanilla can offer you.”

“Fine. I will defer to an expert opinion. Sofia, do you want to choose my flavour?”

“Yes!” Her consideration of the gelato became much more serious.

“I’ll mediate so you don’t get a mix that’s completely insane. Get us a table?”

Thomas sat at one of the small tables outside the shop and prepared himself for the potential need for an awkward departure. Chiara seemed like a lovely, sensible young woman but Thomas didn’t know her faith, if she practiced one at all, and while that didn’t bother him, talking to a priest could make people uncomfortable in all kinds of ways. Even if they were Christian. People felt they had to be on their best behaviour and while that could be a good thing, they weren’t often being themselves. It was difficult, as a Church Official, to have casual, friendly conversation. Thomas was a representative of the Catholic Church first and himself second, an arrangement he’d been happy enough with for all his adult life but this week… without his position… Thomas Lawerence, the ordinary human man, found his new freedom of self quite exhilarating.

He found he was a person after all. Not an empty shell, depleted of his use. Not a washed up old man whose personality had been worn away to non-existence. He was one of God’s creatures and should be allowed to live as any other.

Be kind.

“Thomaaas!” Sofia announced her arrival, walking out in front of her mother, Konnie squished under her arm as she carried a gelato cup in both hands. She placed it in front of him. “For you.”

“Thank you very much.” Thomas helped her up onto the seat she attempted to climb onto as Chiara still had the two other cups in her hands. “And what is it that you’ve chosen for me here?”

“Uhhh… Gianduia… caramel pear aaand coconut!”

“Hmm! That sounds exceptional.”

“I have strawberry and chocolate chip!

Thomas looked over at Chiara, who nodded to confirm that this was the expected flavour combination of choice. He smiled.

“And your mother?”

“Uhh… caramel… apple cinnamon and… honey rice!”

“Let me just…” Thomas took out his phone and Chiara chuckled.

“I didn’t take you for a guy who instagrams his meals,” she teased.

“I’m not. My friend has decided to concern himself over what I’m eating, so I’m just sending reassurance that I’m being well looked after.”

“Unless they’re concerned about you getting diabetes…”

“No, I think he’ll be very much in favour of Sofia’s choices for me here.”

Being rewarded with gelato, which I can’t say is something that has happened since I was a child. And I’m not sure it even happened then.

Phone back in his pocket, Thomas returned his attention to his companions, although Sofia was already diving into her strawberry and chocolate-chip. “To answer your question: I’m a priest.”

“Oh.” Thomas could see it dawn on Chiara, even though she kept her expression carefully neutral, he knew she would be replaying their previous interactions through a different lens. She eyed his hat critically. “Well, I suppose that makes sense.” She took the first scoop of her gelato. “Am I meant to be calling you Father?”

Even eating to not give away her feelings on the matter didn’t entirely cover her reaction as she said it - the very slightest wrinkling of her nose. Thomas smiled and shook his head.

“Technically, it's Your Eminence.”

Chiara choked, covering her mouth as she gave her chest a firm pat.

“Are you alright? Thomas is fine, please.”

She glared at him, stabbing her little wooden spoon in his direction. “Christ. So you’re one of, like, the important ones. Sorry-” she visibly cringed. “Ignore the Christ part.”

Thomas couldn’t help it - he laughed. Freely and easily. “I wouldn’t say I was more important, but I’m one of the Cardinals that lives in the Vatican, yes.”

“Oh woah. So that means… you were at the conclave?”

“Yes. As a matter of fact I… ran it.”

“THOMAS! You’re going to kill me if you’re going to announce some insane thing about yourself every time I eat!”

“Sorry, I won’t-”

“Nope. No. I mean, I have to know. I need to know. Just drop all the lore now and then I can eat without risk of death. So. You ran the conclave. Which was bombed. And elected a Pope no one had ever heard of.”

“That sounds like a criticism.”

Chiara laughed. “Oh, shut up. I mean it sounds like a Lot.”

“Well, I admit, it was. Even before the bomb, before even Vin- Cardinal Benítez’ arrival. It’s a significant undertaking, and it all began from a loss.”

“Oh God, of course,” She reached over to cover his hand with her own. “I’m so sorry. He must have been so important to you, being the Pope and all, but you must have been pretty close too, right?”

“Mm,” he looked at their hands. “It was… difficult.”

“Have you… been able to grieve?”

“A little, I think. That’s partly why I’m here- not to grieve, but to recover. I have a week outside of the Vatican for something of a vacation.”

“That’s good. I’m glad you’re doing that. But this exact place could be a prime grieving location - ice cream is the depression dinner, after all.”

“You want me to sob into my gelato? Is that the full experience?”

She shrugged with a smile. “If you needed to.”

Thomas’ mirth simmered down into warm affection. “You’re very kind, Chiara. Thank you.”

“No problem. Don’t make me cry into mine, the salted caramel is already salty enough.”

“It’s good to cry though,” Sofia joined the conversation now that she had dutifully scraped her cup completely clean already having been singularly focused on it. “Mama says that’s how you get the sads out of your body.

“Yes, that sounds very sensible.”

“So: the new Pope. Did you vote for him?” Chiara waggled her eyebrows as if encouraging juicy gossip. Thomas chuckled.

“Yes. It was the clearest choice, in the end.”

“He’s as nice as everyone says then? It must be a tough job, especially if you weren’t prepared to get it.”

“He’s perfect. More than I could've dared hope for. And that’s why I- we need to ensure he is well supported and has all the guidance he needs. He’s going to do such wonderful work, I just know it, it’s just going to take a lot of… diplomacy.”

“It’s… actually really nice to hear that. You sound excited about it.” Thomas felt a blush burn across his cheeks. “It’s nice to be given the hope that something is going to work out. I’m not Catholic- I mean, I am but-”

“You’re non-practicing? You’re secular? It’s fine. I promise you that I’m not going to turn this conversation into a conversion. I am well aware that one’s faith can be incredibly complex and deeply personal. You don’t need to feel you have to justify it to me, but if you do wish to share something, know that I will not judge you for it.”

“Oh, you’re good at that.” Chiara physically shook off her immediate humour-to-diffuse-emotional-tension strategy with a quick shake of her head, then her expression softened and she squeezed his hand again. “Thank you. It is. Complicated.”

Thomas nodded, waited, and ate his gelato.

“My mum’s family are very Catholic. But my dad was a Moroccan immigrant. They didn’t exactly… approve, and my parents hadn’t exactly planned to have me. He was a good man. A quiet man. Peaceful. I loved him very much but I know they weren’t particularly pleasant towards him. We didn’t have to see the rest of the family that often, but my grandparents were very insistent on my being raised Catholic, going to a Good Catholic School and all that. I didn’t think much of it at the time, didn’t realise I might have had a choice, obviously I didn’t understand they wanted to steer me away from my dad’s ‘influence’.”

“A lack of agency in our own lives can very easily and understandably breed feelings of resentment.”

“Yeah. At least my mum didn’t agree to name me Romina like they wanted, ugh, can you imagine? When I was old enough to understand, I stopped going to Church because I could and what was the point of going if it was just going to be a chore?” She took a deep breath. “He passed away when I was nineteen. He was pretty young, but was a heavy, heavy smoker. But when he was gone… I was so mad. About how I could have connected with him, his culture, the childhood I might have had.”

“I’m very sorry.”

“Thank you. I’ve had a lot of time to deal with it. But I did not go back to church.”

“Your faith is your own, and you’re quite right: there’s no use in forcing something you cannot feel and making it into another burden to carry.”

Oh. Thomas had always been good at saying the right things, it was how he’d reached his position in the Vatican, but he felt the truth of his words as he spoke them. If only he had been granted such insight prior to the loss of the previous Pope…

But perhaps such clarity only came through his struggle, that the renewal of his faith allowed him to see so clearly. Perhaps it was merely the frustrating power of hindsight.

He noticed Sofia swinging her legs and although she was happily pretending to feed Konnie from her empty pot, Thomas expected she was growing restless.

“Thank you for your excellent flavour choices, Sofia. I knew I could count on your expertise in this field.”

She beamed at him. “Okay!” Her hands came down flat on the table, spoon skittering across the surface, as Thomas saw an idea occur to her. “Mama! Can Thomas come to the tea party?”

“Oh, no, honey, I’m sure Thomas has lots of things he wants to do. He’s on vacation!”

“What’s the occasion for this tea party?” he asked.

“It's a me and mama day! Mama didn’t go to work and I didn’t go to preschool!”

“Ahaha, okay honey. I’m not sure Thomas needed to know that part…”

“Maybe your mother wants to spend that time with just you if she’s off work specially for it?”

Sofia chewed her lip in thought. “But when Mama isn’t working, she still is always mama. If another grownup can be mama, Mama can be my friend.”

“Oh, sweetheart.” Chiara pressed a kiss to her daughter's hair. “You’re so clever and so kind, you know that?”

“Incredibly thoughtful,” Thomas agreed. “I would be honoured to attend if your mother is comfortable having me in your home.”

“You’re a priest- Cardinal- whatever. A good one. And… tragically, probably one of my closest friends at this point. So yes, I’m happy to have you in my home. But I’ll warn you it’s not much. And probably a mess. Also, no offense, but I think I could probably overpower you so I feel pretty safe,” Chiara grinned.

“I believe your assumption is likely a correct one and I have no intention of testing it. And if you’re concerned about my qualifications: my Britishness gives me an innate affinity with the customs of a tea party and I did manage a conclave recently.”

He would not admit that prior to this week, he would have been terrified of the idea of not only spending time with a young woman, but the notion of being alone in her house would have been unfathomable to him.

Vincent had spent a large chunk of his life dedicated to helping women in the worst circumstances, and there Thomas had been too afraid to even speak to them as if they were a different species. If Thomas wanted to exist, and help, in the real world and not only within the walls of the Vatican, he needed this. Human connection. Women were people, not a personal trial for him to overcome.

“Well then, that’s sorted. Thomas, you are officially invited to our tea party. Occurring as soon as we get home.”

“Guest of honour! For rescuing Konnie!” Sofia cheered.

“I must say, I’ve been rather handsomely rewarded for that already.”

“C’mon then, let’s get you up bug and clean up our trash.”

As Chiara got Sofia back on the ground, Thomas dutifully cleared their table. He was surprised to have been invited to their home, but he felt a kindred spirit in Chiara. He could see that she was lonely, and that she had been struggling more than she would admit to. There was a deep exhaustion in her eyes sometimes when Sofia was occupied, the poor woman sliding out of the orbit of what she’d made the center of her universe.

It had been easy to accept the invitation. Chiara needed help and she needed a friend. However unlikely it might seem on the outside, he’d been positioned to fulfil that role in this moment and Thomas couldn't ignore the invisible push he seemed to have been given.

Five minutes into their walk, Sofia’s hand wrapped around three of his fingers, Konnie’s ear smooshed between them. Thomas smiled down at her.

“Can you hold Konnie?”

“Ahem,” Chiara prompted.

“Can you hold Konnie, please?”

“Of course I can,” Thomas gently took the rabbit and Sofia’s hand slipped into his.

Chiara smiled at him over her daughter’s head, her eyes shimmering with unshed emotion.

“Everything alright?” he asked gently.

“You remind me of my dad a little bit. Your gentleness. I often wish… he could’ve been in Sofia’s life.”

“Of course you do.” Thomas didn’t think he qualified as a grandfather, but he would try his best to be a friend.

“Sofia doesn’t really have any men in her life. And I want her to have good men in her life. It’s just the two of us, you know,” she said, as if it had just occurred to her the notion of a single mother might be a problem for him. “Sofia’s dad was… is, I guess-”

“A child,” Sofia cut in.

“Immature,” Chiara corrected. “I was young but I didn’t think I was naive until Sofia was actually born. It became apparent quite quickly that he wasn’t rising to meet the challenge but Sofia was absolutely everything to me. I knew it’d be easier raising her on my own rather than trying to raise a baby and a man-child. I learnt what love was holding my baby in my arms and I realised that wasn’t what I felt for him.”

“That sounds incredibly level-headed of you as a new mother.”

“Everyone else told me I was crazy,” she laughed. “Blamed the hormones, said I should wait until things calmed down before I broke things off.”

“But you didn’t.”

“No. I knew how I wanted my life to be, even if it wasn’t going to be easy. My mum helped. A lot. Still does, but I try not to rely on her too much now. She’s getting problems in her knee and hip.”

“Sometimes… and this is advice I am also giving to myself in this moment: we need to trust that the people around us know the limits of what they’re offering. If they are offering to help, we ought to remember they wouldn’t extend the hand if they hadn’t already been prepared to reach.”

“You’re right. But I was expecting you to credit the relevant Bible verse at the end there.”

“I could directly quote numerous relevant Bible verses to you, but I did not think it would have the same effect.”

“Her dad isn’t a bad guy. He sees her every two weeks but he’s more like the fun uncle than her dad, y’know? They don’t have that bond.”

Thomas couldn’t help but think he must be kind of a bad guy to not want to see a child as bright and wonderful as Sofia more often than every fortnight. To be a father was a gift, but Thomas was aware that came with its unique challenges for every circumstance. To be the father of such a kind and sensitive soul was surely a blessing that Thomas couldn’t imagine turning away from.

It didn't take long for them to arrive at the small apartment. Sofia immediately disappeared inside as soon as her mother opened the door.

“Sorry for the mess,” Chiara said as she invited him in.

“You live with a small child. I think I'd be more concerned if your home was completely spotless,” he reassured her as he braced his arm against the wall to remove his shoes and add them to the cascade of footwear by the door.

As he was led through into the kitchen, Thomas could see that their home wasn't any messier than one would expect for the circumstances. Colouring pencils scattered across the table, a hamper of clean laundry waiting to be put away, a few dirty dishes in the sink. Lived in, but clean - certainly nothing he would take offense to, in fact, he felt rather at home.

Chiara re-tied her thick, dark curls into a ponytail before washing her hands. “Okay. So the tea party is supplied with sandwiches, cake, biscuits and fruit to make me feel like a good mother. Anything else we're missing?”

“No, that sounds like all the necessities accounted for,” Thomas took her place at the sink.

“And the tea is fruit juice, but I should have the real thing for you, if you like.”

“I would, if you have it, thank you.”

They set up quite naturally beside one another, Thomas grating cheese and chopping cherry tomatoes as Chiara buttered the bread. When the sandwiches were put together, Thomas cut them into fingers like a proper afternoon tea arrangement. He drummed his fingers on the counter in thought.

“Do you have any shot glasses?”

Chiara raised her eyebrows but didn't question him. She opened the cupboard above her head, closed it and moved to the next one.

“Here,” she handed him the small glass.

Thomas took it from her, turned it upside-down, put it in the center of the plate and balanced another plate on top of it.

“Another one?”

She passed him another and he repeated the process, adding a smaller plate on top to have a semblance of the appropriate tiered display.

“Oh my god, you're really going full British on us.”

“Of course. A tea party is all about ceremony.”

“She's gonna expect me to do this every time now, you know. You're showing me up,” she lightly elbowed him as he dismantled the plate tower to neatly arrange the sandwiches on the bottom layer. “Or you'll be forced to cater for every tea party.”

“That doesn't seem like much of a hardship,” Thomas admitted, finding fussing with small foods quite therapeutic.

“The party hasn't started yet.”

She opened packets of small store-brought cakes and biscuits for Thomas to add to his arrangement. She leaned back against the counter to watch him.

“I worry about Sofia sometimes,” she admitted. “She's so close to me - we are best friends - but I worry it keeps her from making friends her own age. She always just wants to spend time with me. She gets along alright at preschool but she doesn't have many play dates.”

“She's certainly not lacking in confidence. I'm sure she'll be fine - it's early days yet, isn't it? Perhaps she just finds adults more interesting to interact with, she seems to have a curious mind - eager to learn. She might just want to seek out people who can teach her things. I think I might have been similar as a child.”

“Yeah… I suppose I'm worried about her becoming too sheltered, or that I'm holding her back.”

“No,” Thomas shook his head. “I don't have a tremendous amount of experience with children, but to me it seems like she is thriving.”

“Thank you,” she sighed with relief. “Sorry to dump all this on you when we've only just met, but as you've probably guessed, I don't have many people my own age either.”

“I'm more than used to people coming to me with their troubles and confessions,” Thomas smiled. “But I do struggle to imagine why your social circle is lacking when you are such a personable and intelligent young woman.”

“Oh, stop,” she lightly smacked his arm.

“I'm serious!”

She shrugged. “My priorities changed, I suppose. My focus was Sofia and managing my work. I get along fine with my colleagues but they're not more than that to me, I don't have the time to socialise with them anymore. I would much rather come home to Sofia anyway. I did go to the mothering groups when I was pregnant and she was new-born but I didn't really… connect with them.”

“Well, I feel very privileged to be your friend, Chiara. I think I was very much in need of an outside perspective. The Vatican can be rather… self-absorbed at times.”

“Oh boy, I bet.”

He took charge of making his tea as Chiara poured juice into a small pink, plastic tea pot and set the matching tea cups and saucers on a tray.

“This is my unofficial vacation day - I actually took it off sick. I'd been juggling so much, trying so hard to keep up with my work when Sofia got sick with her ear infection. It just came to me the other day after all that rushing around, and Sofia being so brave about it, I was just like why am I breaking my back over this? What's the point? I know what my priorities are, so fuck work - sorry - and yeah, took the day.”

“Good.”

“Aren't you meant to tell me not to lie?” she grinned.

“Would they have granted you a vacation day at short notice?” Thomas asked, knowing the answer.

“No.”

“Well then it doesn't seem like you had much choice. Besides, you're entitled to sick leave for your mental health, and the health of your child.”

“I suppose that's true. They don't like you to remember that though. C'mon, let's have tea.”

Walking into the living room with the stack of plates, Thomas was met with a small table surrounded by stuffed animals and Sofia looking at him with open-mouthed wonder.

“Well! This party is far more well-attended than I was expecting.”

He set the plates down with great care, given the table was much lower than what he expected. Immediately, Sofia examined all around his arrangement.

“Wow!”

She pulled out a chair for him, which was child-sized and practically on the floor, and he sat down with as much grace as he could muster.

“Thank you.”

Chiara passed him his plastic cup and saucer. “Milk and sugar is on the tray. Honey, be careful of Thomas’ cup, it has hot tea, okay?”

“Okay!” Sofia was already occupied pouring her own ‘tea’ and pretending to serve her toy companions.

Thomas had a small dalmatian to his left and a fluffy yellow bear on his right. On the opposite side of the table, Konnie was beside Sofia, a rainbow leopard with large eyes next to them and at the end, a yellow turtle with a purple shell. He smiled to himself and stirred the milk into his tea.

Chiara took her own seat as Sofia politely served them all equal portions of everything.

“Oof, are you okay down here, Thomas?”

“Well. I'm down here now. Getting up might be another story.”

“You should have said something! We could have done this at a proper table!”

He waved off her concern. “I'll be fine.”

“Thomas! Here!” Sofia leaned across the table, holding a plastic tiara up to him.

“Oh. I thought I was a knight.”

“A knight can have a crown,” she said as if it were obvious. “It's the guest of honour crown.”

“Thank you,” he took it from her, setting it atop his head and he knew Chiara was grinning at him. “Buon appetito.”

“Buon appetito!”

Thomas said Grace to himself, in his head, to not make Chiara uncomfortable but she made no comment when he crossed himself and didn’t seem to mind. Around eating, Sofia introduced him to the other guests. Biscotti the bear, Rocco the dog, Arco the leopard and Bella the turtle. He didn't miss Chiara taking a photo out of the corner of his eye as he listened. He glanced over at her when her phone was back on the table.

“It's a cute picture, I promise. I'll send it to you if you give me your number. Maybe you're bestie the Pope or whoever it is would want to see it,” she laughed.

The laughter quickly halted in the wake of Thomas’ damning silence.

“Thomas?? Thomas, your bestie is not the actual Pope?”

“Well… I wouldn't personally phrase it in such a way…”

“You were texting the Pope about gelato?”

Thomas frowned. “I can text him about whatever I like, thank you. He is a regular person too, I'm trying to keep his spirits up.”

“Who is the Pope?” Sofia asked, clearly having reached her limit of being out of the loop in their more adult focused conversations throughout the afternoon.

“You've seen the Pope, honey. He's on the TV and on the front pages. You remember all those pictures of him in white, standing on the balcony?”

“Ohhh, yeah. He's pretty.”

Thomas nearly choked on a biscuit crumb.

“Why is he so important?”

Thomas coughed, regaining his composure. “There can only be one Pope in the world at a time, so he's chosen very carefully. He guides all of the Church, across the whole world. He's the Holy Father to everyone who shares the Faith.”

Sofia wrinkled her nose. “That's too many people to be daddy to.”

This time, it was Chiara who spluttered into her drink, but Thomas only smiled.

“He has a big heart, and lots of people to help him.”

“That’s good. Maybe he should have a tea party too. That would help.”

“Maybe he should. We have turtles in the Vatican too,” he nodded towards Bella.

“Really?” Sophia’s eyes shone with excitement. “What are their names?”

“Hm. I'm not sure they have any. I'll have to ask V- The Holy Father.”

“They have to have names! You're just not friends with them yet!”

“You're quite right. I'll make sure it's the first thing on my agenda when I'm back.”

When they'd finished eating, Thomas snuck off to the kitchen to do the dishes to relieve just a little of Chiara's burden. After the embarrassment of having them both help him up off his chair, Sofia had engaged her mother in playing with her toys, and the domestic soundtrack of high-speed chatter and delighted laughter was soothing to his soul.

It was too easy to imagine himself living another life, one where he'd left the Church or never attended the seminary in the first place. A life where he'd have still probably been a manager of some dry company or another, but a life where he could have had a daughter. A grandchild.

After his cancer diagnosis, Thomas had mourned what his body had never felt. He didn’t blame himself for falling into a little self-pity in a dark time of his life, he moved past it. Ultimately he’d decided, just as he had always done, that his celibacy was no great loss for him and what he might have sometimes considered a struggle in his youth would be even easier now. Yet even then, Thomas had been too focused on what directly related to himself and his own body. He hadn’t considered the loss of what may have resulted from such intimacy: a family.

Thomas had no family of his own any longer besides distant cousins he only knew of in theory. How would it have felt? To be a father? To hold a new born child in his hands and for them to look back at him with his own eyes? To be connected to someone, through tears and tantrums, laughter and love, by his own blood?

“Oh, Thomas, you didn’t have to do that,” Chiara said from the doorway.

“It’s no trouble, I wanted to.”

“Thank you.”

“I’ll leave you to the rest of your day with your daughter. But I’ve had a wonderful afternoon, truly.”

“Here, gimme your phone, I’ll give you my number. Let me know if you need someone to listen, okay? Or if you need to escape the Vatican again. I’d be happy to help. You’re good company, Thomas. A good friend.”

“Thank you,” Thomas passed her his phone after unlocking it, and it seemed to only take her the same amount of time to enter a new contact, send herself a message and pass it back to him.

Hi this is your incredible new friend. Not the pope. The pretty one. The pretty one who isn’t the Pope

“Ha-ha,” Thomas said drily, tucking his phone back into his pocket. The unread message notifications hadn’t escaped his attention. It took a surprising amount of restraint to ignore the itch in his fingers to read them. How long ago had Vincent replied? Had he been waiting for a response?

“Sofia! Thomas is leaving now!”

“Nooo! Thomas!” Sofia dashed into the room, but she wasn’t upset. “Thank you for coming to the party.”

“You’re very welcome. I had a lovely time.”

“Mama,” Sofia tugged on Chiara’s trouser leg. It was the first time Thomas had seen her so shy.

Chiara leaned down to her for Sofia to murmur something in her ear.

“Well I don’t know, bug,” Chiara hefted her daughter up into her arms to set her on her hip. “Let’s ask him. Thomas, how do you feel about hugs?”

“Oh… that sounds… wonderful actually.”

They both put their arms around his shoulders and he sighed at the contact, feeling a knot in his heart unravel. He didn’t return the embrace, unsure of how to do so appropriately, but when they separated, he rested his hands on their shoulders.

“I’m very glad to have met you both. And feel very blessed to name you my friends.”

Something yellow was thrust at his chest. He looked down to see Bella the turtle looking back at him.

“Bella can keep you company until you go home to your turtles. And you’ll have to come to the next tea party to bring her back.”

“Oh, thank you. I’ll take very good care of her. I only have one full vacation day left, do you think she’d like to join me or would she prefer to stay at the hotel?”

“She doesn’t get to go on adventures like Konnie, but you’re brave so she’ll feel safe with you.”

“Alright then. I’ll make sure she tells you what she’s been up to tomorrow, so you can see she’s alright.”

“Yeah! Bye, Thomas!”

She jumped down from her mother and returned to the other room. Thomas went out to the hall, turtle in hand to put his shoes on.

“I suppose you’ll be hearing from me tomorrow, then?” He said.

“Don’t feel obliged.”

“No. I think it might be fun.”

“Do you have plans for tomorrow?”

“I was thinking of going to the zoo.”

Chiara grinned. “You should definitely go to the zoo. We went last week, so Sofia shouldn’t be too jealous.”

“Okay, that’s my plan then. Goodbye, Chiara. God bless.”

The first thing Thomas did when he walked out of the door was unlock his phone again.

Apologies, Vincent. I will catch up on your messages momentarily. You see, I was occupied planning a very important event…

[img]

Chapter Text

Sixth Day Of Vacation

There were seven messages from Vincent awaiting Thomas:

!!!

Whatever you did to be rewarded with ice-cream was surely well deserved

But I have so many questions

What was it that you did?

Who is it that is treating you?

Whoever it is, I am very thankful for them!

Is the ice-cream as good as it looks?

Thomas took note of the timestamps. The first two messages had been immediately after one another, within a minute of the gelato photo being sent. The third an hour later, the next two between 20-30 minutes, and the last about the same gap again.

It seemed bizarre to Thomas that something so mundane could have occupied Vincent's thoughts for such a length of time. He was touched though, that Vincent was always genuinely curious in his activities and by the evidence that he featured in Vincent's thoughts at all, let alone with such frequency.

Don't let any of the Italians hear you call it ice-cream. I’m sure you’re aware how particular they are about their culinary achievements.

To answer your first question: I found a child’s lost stuffed rabbit in the park the other day. They recognised me today and wanted to express their gratitude.

Half way through writing his next message (the gelato was, perhaps, even better than it looks) that his phone rang.

“Tomás!”

“Vincent,” Thomas’ smile was immediate.

“I don’t know how you expect me to have the patience to wait for you to type. As I said - I have so many questions! Even more now I’ve seen that photo!”

Thomas cringed a little at the reality of Vincent looking at the tea party photo. He hadn’t really looked at it himself but he was certain it was both unflattering and ridiculous.

“Tell me. From the beginning.”

Despite the softness of Vincent’s voice, it was still a demand that Thomas was helpless to refuse. He relayed the rabbit rescue, Sofia approaching him in the park that morning, and told him all he had learnt about the two wonderful young women who he could now name amongst his friends. How bright and vibrant and clever they both were, sensible and sensitive. He admitted to feeling a kinship towards Chiara’s lonely soul, of his desire and relief to be able to help as a person, rather than as a priest.

“Oh, Tomás, I’m certain you help so many people in more ways than you know.”

Thomas hummed, doubtful.

“I am so very glad to hear of you being appreciated outside of your work though. Appreciated for the wonderful man that you are.”

Heat suffused Thomas’ face as his insides curled rather uncomfortably.

“Well. At least a man proficient at tea parties,” he said, diverting the conversation.

“More than proficient! Highly skilled, I would say. I love the tiara, by the way.”

Thomas groaned. “It’s customary for the guest of honour, apparently.”

“As it should be. Sofia looks so happy - you both do. I can only imagine the rest of the guests are too - they are less outwardly expressive. I can see Konnie there. A very well-loved rabbit. Who are the others?”

“Rocco, Biscotti, Bella and Arco,” Thomas listed easily. He had to remember the names of hundreds of different colleagues and dignitaries for his work; four stuffed animals important to Sofia were no problem to recall. It helped that those toys had significantly more personality than some people he had to deal with in his career.

“Arco is the colourful cat, no? Arcobaleno - rainbow.”

“Correct.”

“Rocco is the dog.”

“Yes.”

“Aaand I’m going to say Biscotti is the bear and Bella is the lovely turtle.”

“Four out of four, my dear Vincent. Quite remarkable.”

“Their names suit them, don’t you think?”

“Yes, I suppose they do.”

“For the record I’ve not yet had proper gelato. Is it really so very different from ice-cream? I feel I can trust you with my ignorance here, one non-Italian to another.”

“I will admit it does have a certain texture. You should try it.”

Vincent’s sigh signalled to Thomas that their time was at an end.

“I’m afraid I must leave you, Tomás. But thank you, for your company, as always.”

“Of course. My company is yours whenever you need it.”

“Hah.”

Thomas frowned. Was it his imagination or was there some bitterness there? Before he could inquire, Vincent continued:

“I’m afraid I won’t be able to join you for dinner tonight, I have quite the list of obligations and won’t be able to spare the time I’d like to.”

“That’s alright, Vincent. Just make sure that you do eat something.”

“Only if you do.”

“I will.”

“Send me photo evidence.”

“Really?”

“Yes. I… I had a really nice time last night, Tomás.”

Thomas softened immediately. “I’m glad. I promise I will photograph my food for you and give you a review.”

“Thank you. Bye Tomás. God bless.”

“Goodbye, Vincent. May God give you strength.”

-----

Thomas had some reservations about visiting the zoo. He’d only considered it because he was certain Vincent’s love of the turtles extended throughout the animal kingdom, and that any creature would bring him joy. But would caged animals tarnish the intended effect? And would it emphasise how caged Vincent might feel, stuck in the Vatican while Thomas wandered Rome?

But Thomas was committed now that he had Bella, who was in need of a chaperoned adventure. He just hoped he could take photos of the animals in such a way that they didn’t appear confined.

He hadn’t received any messages from Vincent the previous evening, not even after Thomas sent in his promised restaurant review. Thomas didn’t mind in the slightest in regards to himself, but it did make him worry about his friend, who he’d grown accustomed to being so responsive, eager and bright to flip to complete radio silence.

The heart emoji reaction left on Thomas’ last message after he’d been to the chapel in the morning did provide him slight reassurance. A positive acknowledgement was vastly better than nothing.

Thomas set out to the zoo, Bella and a water bottle in his bag. He received a message just as he got out onto the street. He tried to banish the disappointment that it was from Chiara - it was wonderful that she thought of him! He’d just grown too used to only being contacted by one person.

I hope you have fun today Thomas :)

I’m sure I will. What is Sofia’s favourite animal?

Oh, that’s a tough one… changes often. I think it might be tigers?

Noted. Back at work today?

Yes :(

Best of luck. May it pass quickly and uneventfully.

thanks <3 may yours be the opposite

How lovely it was, to be thought of, to be kept in someone’s heart and mind. To not just be considered when someone needed something from him.

But no, that was disingenuous of him, wasn’t it? There were people in the Vatican who cared about him, other than Vincent. Aldo was his oldest, closest friend; Ray was remarkably astute in all things, of course, but that ability also apparently extended to reading Thomas’ moods; Agnes had spoken with him more since the conclave and seemed to even seek him out on occasion. The fault of Thomas’ isolation lay with himself - he’d been so focused on the minutiae of Vatican life and political bickering, that not only had he lost sight of the wider world, but those around him too. How would people be able to reach out to him if he wasn’t receptive? Forever brushing aside questions about his health, desperately hoping that to not acknowledge something would lessen its effect, leading him to turn every conversation back to whichever task was at hand.

If he considered it with the attention it deserved, his friendship with Aldo had been growing distant for some time. Thomas could count on one hand the number of times they had met socially that year. Why, when they lived and worked in the same place?

Thomas feared Aldo was just as tired as he had been, each day becoming a chore rather than a blessing. He wondered what Aldo’s reaction to this vacation would have been and when it had become normal to not expect to get a message from him with his opinion on the matter. Aldo always told Thomas what he thought, and Thomas had always valued his honesty, even when it was hard to hear.

He expected (and hoped) Aldo had not messaged him so that Thomas’ mind would be free of the Vatican. That perhaps Vincent had told him and Ray that Thomas was not to be disturbed with anything associated with his work.

The conclave had certainly strained their relationship further though, and Thomas could still recall how sharp and sudden the wound of Aldo’s accusation of Thomas seeking the papacy had felt. The betrayal of looking into the eyes of a close friend and realising he might not know Thomas at all. Reaching for guidance and being met by a stranger had been alienating and had left Thomas feeling more unmoored than anything else that had happened in the days prior to that moment.

There had been some repair, when Thomas had confided his papal name to the only person who would ever know it. Yet it had still taken Thomas to believe Aldo’s assessment of him over the knowledge of his own self for that bridge to be crossed. Thomas only considered the possibility of himself being granted the papacy when he was forced to, and always regarded it with dread and absolute reluctance. Aldo had apologised for his behaviour, but there was still much to me mended.

In that moment, Thomas was free of any remaining bitterness or hurt. He just wanted, quite desperately, to repair their friendship.

There was little he could do about it now though. Thomas would try and keep hold of the sense of determination that had come over him and try his best not to veer into melancholy. The zoo would surely be a good distraction to settle his mind.

-----

After consulting the map, Thomas took what he believed would be the most efficient route through the zoo, taking a left upon entry with the aim of following the enclosures in a clockwise direction. The first animal he encountered was a green parrot with a red forehead, appropriately named a red-fronted macaw according to the sign. It squawked as Thomas got closer, bobbing its head at him.

The sign had also told him there were armadillos here, so he peered at the ground to try and spot one. He managed eventually, even with two more parrots coming to yell at him to try and divert his attention. The armoured critter was about the length of his forearm and appeared quite content rooting around in the dirt.

What a unique and wonderful creature an armadillo was. It was quite different seeing something with one’s own eyes, no matter how familiar one might be with the subject. The armadillo in that instant acquired a reality to Thomas that had not existed before. He was far more charmed by them than the flashy (and loud) birds, yet of course those birds were worthy of the attention they sought too.

He dug Bella out of his bag and held her up to them for a photo before taking a few of the armadillos and moving on. Next was the giraffes, where he could go up to the observation point to get unobstructed pictures of them. Large, docile animals were going to be his easiest subjects but he could already assume the giraffes would be the easiest out of everything in the zoo. He carefully sat Bella on the railing for her photo, capturing the giraffes flanking her in the background.

Then there was the owl area, the rhinos and a small farmyard petting zoo. Here, Thomas nearly lost Bella to a pygmy goat who tried to chew on her leg while he was distracted petting another. It was determined enough that it held on for Thomas to get a photo but while he was doing so, the goat he had been petting tugged at the hem of his jacket. Another goat was making its way over to see what was so interesting about an old man in their enclosure and Thomas decided to flee before he became surrounded.

He gave Bella a thorough check once he was safely on the other side of the gate, and was relieved to see she was unharmed. Her leg was just a little damp. He grimaced, wiping her on his trouser leg.

Small monkeys were next, followed by more exotic goats and eager African wild dogs who followed him along the edge of their enclosure, taking great interest in Bella. At first glance he thought them to be hyenas due to their colouring and round ears, but he could certainly see they were dogs now. To Thomas (who, admittedly, had never owned a dog and knew nothing of their wild African cousins) they behaved just the same. They seemed curious and playful, sticking together as a pack as they eagerly tried to figure out what Bella might be. They clearly had correctly identified her as a toy somehow.

He waggled her in the air and the dogs skittered back in surprise, but still at full attention, ears forward. One of them yipped, and Thomas felt slightly cruel that he couldn’t play with them.

He approached the glass slowly, but even so, the dogs skittered away, looping around to the back of the enclosure, making constant glances over their shoulders at him. Thomas set Bella down on a rock in front of the glass and stepped back to his previous position, readying his phone to film them. The dogs immediately circled back around, still maintaining distance, leaning as far forwards as they could in an attempt to sniff the toy.

Gradually, they came up to the glass, sniffing intensely, until Bella was surrounded by curious noses. One pawed gently at the barrier, leading another to rear up on its hind legs and scrabble with both forepaws.

Thomas stopped recording and took some photos before he went back up to collect the turtle. The dogs scampered off at his approach, but their eyes and ears remained on him as he walked away. Every time he looked over his shoulder, ten pairs of eyes looked back.

Seeing the pigs in the paddock across the path brought Thomas’ forgotten nightmare vaguely back into his mind. These were much more beautiful animals than the beast that had pursued his subconscious - ginger fur, elegant long tufts on the ears, and rather fetching facial markings. Their tails were constantly swishing back and forth as they searched the ground. They were beautiful animals, and Thomas was quite content to lean against the railing and watch them for some time.

His patience was rewarded when a stripy little piglet trotted out from behind its sleeping mother. Thomas took plenty of photos and moved on as more people noticed and a crowd began to gather.

The gazelles were the river hogs’ neighbours, and opposite those were the macaque enclosures. After these, Thomas went inside to the bird of prey area, then back out to the paddocks for the zebras and emus. It was only after this that he realised he needed to monitor the usage of his phone, which had never been so active in its life. He hoped its lack of use prior to this week would mean the battery would hold out, but he couldn’t be sure how long it would last. From this point on he endeavoured to be more discerning and not take any more videos.

He was a little lost in thought at the lemur enclosure, trying to calculate if his battery was at 65% now, how much more of the zoo he had left to see. Thomas was watching three of them huddled together grooming but not truly focused on his surroundings. He was vaguely aware of some young people snickering nearby but not paying enough attention to wonder what the source of their amusement might be.

Until there was a sudden tug on the peak of his hat.

Thomas’ reactions were thankfully quick enough that his hand came down on the top of his head to prevent the hat from coming off. Looking up, he was met with the golden gaze of a lemur reaching across from a branch, who was boisterous enough to give another firm tug. Thomas laughed in disbelief and the lemur chittered at him, bouncing back to the others.

“Hey, man.”

Thomas turned to the three friends who he realised must have been laughing at him. They were in their late teens and the girl that approached him had a pastel green camera around her neck that she was looking at the back of. She clicked a button and a small rectangle of paper began to emerge from the top.

“Here, I think you’ll want this.”

She tore it free from her camera and held it out to him with a smile.

“Oh! Thank you.”

He leaned towards her to watch the photo fade into existence. He could not remember the last time he had seen a polaroid camera, or a photograph from one for that matter. Thomas was pleased that they’d apparently come back into fashion - there was something about the photographs themselves with the white border which was quite charming. He wondered if it might be a sensible solution for him to have a separate camera to not be reliant on his phone battery for everything, providing photography would still be a necessary hobby for his relationship with Vincent after this vacation came to an end.

It was a lovely photograph, when it came into view: Thomas and the lemur in profile, looking at one another in surprise, the lemur’s fingers clutching onto his hat. He took it from her reverently.

“That’s lovely. And very kind of you. Thank you very much.”

“You’re welcome!” she smiled as she ran back to her friends.

Thomas made sure it was dry before tucking the photo safely into the front pocket of his bag.

He was beginning to feel rather tired, but according to his map he wasn’t far from a picnic area - he just needed to pass through the aquatic exhibits. He watched the seals, sea lions and penguins until hunger began to gnaw at him and made him admit defeat before he got too shaky.

The offerings at the Oasis were pure junk food, but Thomas was too hungry to be picky. Pizza, popcorn, waffles and ice-cream, but he went with a hotdog which apparently was only offered in XXL size. Was there a point in advertising a size if there was only one? Thomas wondered.

The Vincent in his mind insisted on a waffle too, and Thomas reasoned that he did need to survive the other half of the park. The sugar might do him some good.

He took the food with his coffee and another bottle of water to some benches by the lake. Here he could sit and watch the ducks, flamingos and other water birds. He resisted the urge to look at his phone - he wanted to conserve the battery as much as possible, but he wished that he could send Vincent at least one update.

Upon reflection, Thomas thought it was best to not send anything at all. If Vincent was able to look at a message, he would surely want to know more and Thomas wouldn’t be able to sate his curiosity for some hours yet. So Thomas had his lunch in the presence of Bella and the flamingos, and hoped that his many, many photographs would make up for the absence of his company in Vincent’s lunch break.

Revived and re-energised, Thomas set off again, visiting hippos, bears, wolves and animals he noted the names of to ensure he relayed them correctly to Vincent (guanaco and banteng, which Thomas might have ordinarily settled on naming a llama and a cow). After this, he went inside the La Grande Voliera where various African birds roamed, cohabiting as they would in their native continent. The crowned crane was Thomas’ favourite, with its delicate halo of golden feathers when viewed head-on, which resembled an extravagant pom-pom at any other angle.

Then it was the apes - orangutans and chimpanzees that Thomas felt rather sorry for and didn’t hang around. The reptile house was an unexpected relief, entering a dark, quiet space after the brightness and noise of the outside. The amount of other people had definitely increased since Thomas had arrived in the morning, and while he was efficient at blocking out unnecessary distractions, walking into a dark room immediately put it into perspective. His body naturally relaxed, despite the slightly uncomfortable humidity.

He dutifully read the notices on conservation and illegal animal trade before heading through to the animals. There were a variety of tortoises in open air enclosures along the walkway, so Thomas was able to get very good photos of Bella with them. Tropical birds flitted overhead as Thomas tried to spot all of the various reptiles that were signposted.

He gladly proceeded into the darkness again where large, well-lit, glass display cases lined the walls. Throughout this section were numerous different reptiles, insects and amphibians - the poison dart frogs being particularly spectacular and satisfying to photograph.

The moment he stepped back out into daylight, the squeals of the children running around outside assaulted his senses. He squinted as he acclimatised, his fingers digging into Bella’s soft body a little more firmly. Checking the map again, he was a little relieved that there wasn’t too much left to see. His phone was at 23%, which was slightly worrying. He hadn’t got to the tigers yet.

On to the desert animals without delay, then. Meerkats and fennec foxes - everyone was familiar with meerkats these days, he thought, so he didn’t spend too much time with them. The maned wolves on the other hand, he found to have a captivating elegance despite their awkward proportions.

Then he passed through the cassowaries, camels, elephants and wallabies in quite quick succession before reaching the big cats. Leopards and lynx first - the former were sleeping, the latter were shy - then there was the distraction of the otters and binturong. That was another name Thomas noted down, especially as this one he couldn’t have hoped to accurately describe other than perhaps calling it a long bear with an equally long tail.

Both the Binturong and the otters were incredibly photogenic, and Thomas would have spent more time watching them if his phone hadn’t given him a 12% battery alert. He quickly moved onto the tiger enclosure to get a photo for Sofia.

The tigers were also asleep but quite close to the glass, so Thomas propped Bella on the windowsill to take some pictures. One of the tigers was white and Thomas tried to capture their faces as best as he could.

His very final animal to see were the lions (also sleeping). Thomas couldn’t blame any of the big cats for their laziness. After a day on his feet, he quite envied them.

He sat down before he tackled the journey back to the hotel, and took a long, much needed drink from his second water bottle. He checked his phone again: 5% and no messages. Thomas tried not to be disheartened and dug the polaroid out of his bag.

He took a photo of it, even though he intended to give the physical thing to Vincent anyway - Thomas didn’t see any use in keeping photographs of himself.

I’ve been to the zoo. I probably have far too many photos to send to you, but here is one someone else took that I thought you would appreciate.

He packed everything, including Bella, back into his bag and made his way to the exit. Of course he had to walk through the gift shop to leave, and while he hadn’t considered buying anything, a plush lemur on the top shelf caught his eye. He picked it up, trying his best not to second-guess his decision, and found tigers on the lowest shelf on the same wall. He carried one of those to the counter too and paid for both.

Ten minutes away from the zoo, Thomas felt his phone vibrate, but when he pulled it from his pocket, the screen was black. The poor thing had finally, completely died.

The entire way back to the hotel he wondered if Vincent had messaged him or had been trying to call.

-----

Thomas’ charger was immediately jammed into his phone as soon as he arrived back in his room. He decided to shower to remove the heat of the day and the smell of animals from himself, and to avoid sitting and watching his phone battery refill. The warmth of the water soothed his body but brought the aches in his legs and feet to his attention like the blooming of a bruise. He sighed, allowing himself to feel weary, and tilted his head under the spray.

When he was done, Thomas wrapped himself in the hotel robe and set about packing everything he could for his departure the next day. Although it was technically his last day of vacation tomorrow, he needed to be checked out of the hotel by 10am, so there was no use in him hanging around here after then. He would get as much sleep as he could, check out and have a leisurely breakfast.

Only after he packed, did Thomas give into the urge to switch his phone back on. He could only suffer a minute of the agonising wait of the startup screen before he went to switch the room kettle on to prepare himself a cup of tea.

The kettle was nearly finished boiling by the time his phone had finally restarted and connected to the Wi-Fi, announcing its success with a series of notification vibrations and pings. Thomas lifted the kettle from its base before it clicked, filling his mug and bothering the teabag with a spoon rather than letting it brew to expedite the process. He dumped a complimentary sachet of UHT milk in and took this far-weaker-than-he’d-like tea to the bed with him.

He sat back against the headboard and Thomas finally, finally unlocked his phone.

One missed call. Five messages.

The ZOO!! 🤩

Tomás that is adorable I love it!

This is a balm to my soul

And there’s no such thing as too many photos from you. I’d like to see all of them

if its not too much trouble

Of course it's no trouble. You’ll just be receiving a torrent of notifications.

The response was immediate.

Good!!!

Thomas smiled.

Alright. You have been warned.

He began to send over the pictures, starting with the parrots and armadillos. A call came through.

“Hold on,” Thomas answered as he figured out how to switch to speaker to not disconnect the phone from the charger. “There. Can you hear me alright?”

“Sí, sí, yes. It’s Bella!”

“It is,” Thomas chuckled. “She is the main feature of today, I’m afraid. I promised Sofia I’d take her on an adventure and thought I ought to supply evidence.”

“Oh, she is going to love it. I love it! Keep them coming.”

“I’m trying to navigate without accidentally hanging up on you.”

“I’ll call you back if you do. You’re not getting out of this that easily.”

“I wouldn’t dream of it.” I’ve wanted to hear your voice and to bring you joy all day. “Here we go.”

As Thomas had hoped, Vincent enthused about each and every animal. He saw the beauty in all creatures and he freely shared any knowledge of those he was familiar with.

When Thomas had at last reached the end of his camera roll, he gently asked his own question:

“Vincent. Are you alright?”

A sigh. “Just busy. I am alright. Even better now, thanks to you, as usual.”

“I’m glad. I only wish I could be of more help.”

“I’m not sure how that would be possible. You are a lifeline to me.”

I am never doing as much as I could be for you, unless I am by your side, Thomas thought. He looked to the window and unplugged his phone as he stood and walked over to it. His room overlooked the river, so he was able to look to the south-west and make out Saint Peter’s Basilica in the distance. The sun was low in the sky - how long had they been talking?

He took a photo and sent it.

“Tomás? You’re not meant to be thinking of this place yet! Especially not after such a wonderful day.”

“Perhaps I am not thinking of the place. You told me to send you things that bring me happiness. Perhaps I am thinking of the person inside the Vatican right now who brings me such great joy.”

The deafening silence on the other end of the line made Thomas bite his tongue far too late.

Fuck. That was a bit much, wasn’t it?

He cleared his throat gruffly and Vincent came to life with a shaky exhale.

“Tomás…” His voice had a frailty to it Thomas had never heard in him before, bringing to mind a spiderweb of cracks racing across the thinnest sheet of glass. It immediately put him on high-alert, his own awkwardness and embarrassment forgotten.

“What is it?” Thomas tried his best to quell the urgent demand in his own tone.

There was a shaky laugh which did little to calm Thomas down. “I just… Me haces falta. I miss you terribly. Forgive my selfishness.”

“Vincent,” Thomas breathed. “My, dear, dear Vincent. There is absolutely nothing for me to forgive.”

“I wanted you to get away.”

“I know, Vincent. I know. You are not denying me anything in wishing to be a part of it. And…”

“And?”

“Well. To be missed is to be wanted. Which, despite the circumstances, can still feel quite pleasant.”

“Never doubt that you are wanted, Tomás,” that undercurrent of unshakable determination had returned to Vincent’s voice quite suddenly, and the combination of words and tone made Thomas blush. It was near impossible to doubt him when Vincent spoke in such a way.

“Would you join me for dinner, Vincent?”

“Oh, yes. Please. I would love to.”

Thomas smiled. “Pick a place and let me know? I’m going to get changed.”

“Yes. I will excuse myself from dinner with the others. Talk soon!”

Thomas hung up knowing that he would be at the Vatican tomorrow with no intention of working.

Back by your side.

Back where I belong.

Chapter Text

Final Day Of Vacation

The next morning, Thomas gave his profuse and sincere thanks to every member of the hotel staff he encountered. Most of them seemed a little bewildered by it, but appreciative of his feedback and encouragement nonetheless.

At breakfast, he finally chose the crostata along with what had become his regular order. He did not regret it. Just as he took his first bite, his phone lit up with a message. This time there was no trace of disappointment that it was from Chiara rather than Vincent. He’d sent her a couple of the photos featuring Bella the previous evening, hoping it wouldn’t be too late once Vincent had finally had to end their call.

She’d assured him that it was fine to send more if he had them, but that she would show Sofia in the morning as she had already been put to bed. Thomas felt a little guilty that he hadn’t prioritised sending Sofia at least one prompt update, but he hadn’t expected Vincent to have so much of his evening to spend talking with him.

So his first message of the day being from Chiara was expected but the content was not.

Are you in a good place for a video call?

Thomas glanced around himself. There were only a couple of other tables occupied, so he supposed he was in as good a place as any.

Yes?

The call came through almost immediately.

“Thomaaaaas!” Sofia’s enthusiastic greeting made him hurriedly dial down his phone volume, looking around apologetically.

“Well good morning to you too, Miss Sofa. One moment.”

He propped his phone against his cup, achieving an angle where it wouldn’t immediately slide down. He leaned his elbows on the table to be in view of the camera.

“There we are. Hello.”

“Hi!!” She was very close to Chiara’s phone - Thomas could only see her nose and chin.

“Hi Thomas,” Chiara’s voice came from somewhere behind her daughter. “Here, give me the phone, honey - you wanted to see Thomas, didn’t you?”

There was some shuffling as Chiara took the phone and held it at a suitable distance and height that Thomas could see them both, Sofia on her mother’s lap.

“Thank you for the pictures!” she bounced where she sat.

“You’re very welcome. Bella was wonderful company.”

Thomas disappeared from their view to get his suitcase from under the table and retrieve the turtle. He held her up for Sofia to see.

“Still in one piece. I think she might have developed a taste for adventure.”

“‘Cos she felt so safe with you!”

“She’s braver than she realises - she fought off a goat and lived to tell the tale!”

Sofia giggled. “Did you see allll the animals?”

“I believe I did, yes. They were all quite wonderful. Do let me know if you notice I missed any though.”

She nodded, her expression serious, and turned to her mother. “Mama, can we look at the pictures again?”

“Not right now, bug. We’ll be late for preschool.”

Sofia pouted at this.

“We’ll look again when we get home, okay?”

“Okaayy,” Sofia sighed and Thomas did not laugh.

“Have a good day at school, Sofia. Thank you for calling me.”

“Okay!” she chirruped. She jumped down off of Chiara who rolled her eyes.

“You have a good day too. I hope work wasn’t too difficult yesterday?” Thomas had learnt that Chiara was in what she termed ‘marketing bullshit’, and although remote working was now a widely accepted practice, she liked to keep work and home as separate as she could.

“Ah, yeah. It was fine. The usual.”

Thomas hadn’t worked a job just to get a paycheck since he was a teenager. Back then he just went into a local grocery store, asked for a job and got one. No CV, no contract, just cash in hand at the end of each week. He couldn’t imagine working such a job in this day and age, let alone finding one.

He had every respect for Chiara’s perseverance, but wished she could have earned enough to live comfortably doing something she was passionate about, or felt was truly worthwhile. Thomas knew most people weren’t lucky enough to find that equilibrium and priorities certainly changed when one was responsible for raising a child. Chiara needed the job security her existing position gave her and the leverage of being a longer-term employee to gain more flexibility.

“You have a good day too, Thomas. You’ll be checking out soon, right? Any plans?”

“Yes. Just a social call.”

“Good. I think you need to relax after yesterday. Make the most of it before you’re back in the robes, yeah?”

“I will.”

“Sofia! You need to put your shoes on first! Sorry, I-”

Thomas waved her off. “Go, go. I wouldn’t want either of you to be late.”

“Bye, Thomas.”

“BYE!!!”

Thomas laughed. “Goodbye and God bless you both.”

-----

Once he’d finished the last of his tea, Thomas went to the chapel one last time. The wheels of his suitcase clattered rather obnoxiously in the silent and sacred space, so he carried it down the pews by the handle instead. He took a position at the front, knelt, bowed his head and clasped his hands.

Thomas reflected on his week; the people he’d met, the things he’d seen and everything he’d felt. Vincent had been absolutely correct in his verdict of Thomas needing a vacation. He felt settled, at peace, with an inner sense of calm he couldn’t recall feeling for a very long time. Thomas was so very grateful to have been given this space and time to recover and reflect. Life’s priorities were clearer to him than perhaps they’d ever been.

Thomas would return to the Vatican with a level head and renewed purpose. He would not allow himself to be dragged into stresses that were ultimately inconsequential and set himself back. He needed to be reminded of his own advice: accept the help that was offered and he ought to keep in mind that he had people to reach to. Vincent, Aldo, Chiara, Ray… God.

God was there for him, Thomas knew that now. He was the peace and patience of the natural world, the kindness and care of his fellow man. Thomas prayed for forgiveness for his blindness and frustration in recent months, and gave his thanks for being given the grace to find his way in the end. He vowed to serve better, with a more open and responsive heart.

Allow me to aid the Holy Father in any way that I can. I wish to ease any burdens he must carry - I hope that we may shoulder them together throughout his papacy. I know now that to achieve this, I must pace myself to retain this clarity and to not allow the focus of my goal to be shifted. I see your plan that Innocent’s papacy will be a long one that can bear the fruit of much good and progress. I understand my place is beside him, harvesting the crop of all the good we will do.

Still, as much as Thomas understood now, he still lamented that Vincent could not be awarded the same space that Thomas had, even though (in Thomas’ opinion) he surely needed it more. He’d gone from a warzone to the papacy with hardly a breath in between

I pray that my companionship may soothe him, my experience may console him, and that my affection may protect him from breaking under the weight of his mission. He is a good man, the best of men, the right man, and I will endeavour for him to remain in his position for as long as you require.

“Amen.”

He rose stiffly to his feet and directed a final bow towards the altar.

He winced as the suitcase wheels rattled against the flagstones again and snatched it up by the handle. Thomas left the chapel with one mission in mind: to find the closest gelato place to the Vatican.

-----

Thomas took a taxi back to his apartment. He didn’t want to be carting his suitcase around and he didn’t particularly want to encounter any of his colleagues around the Vatican just yet. It felt rather silly and petty to be annoyed at the thought of someone unwittingly seeing him before Vincent did, but he couldn’t deny the truth of the feeling.

He did have the perfectly valid reason of not being back in a working capacity yet and wouldn’t want to be dragged into work conversation before he was back on the clock. But Thomas knew that ordinarily he would’ve suffered such an encounter and helped where he could. Now carrying the knowledge that Vincent had been seeking his company so ardently for a week, Thomas couldn’t bear for anyone else to take his time away from Vincent and make him wait a moment longer.

Walking across the threshold into his home, Thomas was not flooded with relief as he had experienced before upon his return from various work trips. The place seemed drab - not welcoming at all. Maybe even a little soulless.

There was nothing for him here. Anyone could move in tomorrow, take his place, and they wouldn’t feel cloyed by his belongings - which were mostly books. Even though the late Holy Father had apparently been surprised by Thomas’ above-frugal way of living and that he was a man who enjoyed comforts, Thomas still didn’t allow himself to take up that space. Make it his.

The rooms Vincent had taken were as modest as they could be, given his position, and this had been easy to argue for as he was following in his predecessor's footsteps in this choice. Even so, Vincent’s space was already his own, decorated with enough of his vibrant personality to make it homey. Modest gifts he’d been given by the faithful cluttered his shelves, every surface had a candle in holders that did not match but were appreciated as objects to be enjoyable to look at. There was an Afghan rug by the couch that didn’t match any of the existing pale decor but Thomas found himself hoping everything else would be replaced to better suit the rug.

There might be outcry at any serious makeover work to a Vatican property but Thomas wondered if they could get away with painting the tiles in Vincent’s small kitchen in a Mexican style. Regardless, Thomas endeavoured to follow Vincent’s example. At the very least he should acquire a houseplant. Thomas was certain he would be capable of keeping one alive now that he was a bit more present in himself and to his surroundings.

Suitcase left sealed at the foot of his bed, Thomas surveyed the room, hands on his hips. He really ought to have more art on the walls. Perhaps the whites and greys of the walls, tiles and furnishings would actually serve to enhance whichever works he chose to display and draw the eye to them. Something for him to consider, but for now Thomas turned on his heel and left, his bag still across his shoulder.

Fortunately, finding gelato nearby was not a difficult task. In Rome there was always one a stone’s throw away from wherever one happened to be. Thomas looked at the bewildering array of flavours behind the glass as he entered and made no decision at all with absolute confidence.

“One scoop of everything, please. As many cups as that takes.”

Thomas could feel everyone else in the establishment was making the exact same expression as the man behind the counter - eyebrows raised in surprise and disbelief as a grin spread across his face.

“One everything, coming right up!” he laughed.

It took four cups in the end, and more euros than Thomas would have ever had thought he’d spend on gelato in a year, let alone a day. He did not regret one cent of it.

He was given two little paper bags, holding two cups each. He wouldn’t have known how he’d have carried them otherwise - the everything flavour decision had exactly zero forethought behind it.

Now adequately armed for his mission, Thomas thought that some planning was required next. He set the bags on a table outside the shop to text Vincent.

Are you free to take a break soon?

The planning should have come before the time-sensitive frozen food, Thomas grimaced.

Yes!

Yes. I can take a break right now

Wonderful timing Tomás!

Thank you, God, Thomas thought, picking up his bags and started walking back to the Vatican.

God continued to grant Thomas his favour, as he was able to pass through without encountering anyone who might accost him. It was either fortune from God or Thomas’ limited espionage skills coming into play, but all Thomas received were some curious looks from the nuns and fellow brothers he passed.

He felt more than a little guilty for ignoring the phone vibrating in his pocket and hoped Vincent didn’t think Thomas was wasting his precious time. He took a breath and rapped sharply on the door to Vincent’s office.

“Ah, sorry, I’m going to be otherwise engaged in a moment - can it wait?”

Thomas smiled and turned the door handle. “I am aware that your time is very limited, my dear Vincent, but I believe I might be the person penned into this slot of your schedule?”

Vincent was already on his feet and on the other side of the desk by the time Thomas had finished speaking and the door clicked closed behind him. His eyes were wide but so full of delighted amazement and oh, how Thomas had missed his fine face and how he felt like something special when under his regard.

“Tomás!”

There was barely time to blink before Thomas was physically hit with an embrace forceful enough to punch a soft oof from him. Vincent’s arms circled his waist firmly and Thomas couldn’t help but wonder at how perfectly their bodies seemed to fit together. His nose was against the soft waves of Vincent’s hair and was filled with the scent of vanilla and something warm and woody. Not church incense from a ceremony but a personal scent embedded into Vincent from his rooms.

Thomas automatically took a deep breath in, lining his lungs with Vincent’s home. He did very much regret the gelato now, his arms awkwardly frozen half-raised, unable to return - or keep - the embrace.

Vincent pulled away (much too soon), and raised a hand to Thomas’ cheek.

“You look wonderful.”

If, by some miracle, the pinkening of Thomas’ face wasn’t glaringly obvious, Vincent would surely be able to feel the warmth of his burning cheek against his tender palm. Before Thomas could summon something that might resemble a half-decent response, Vincent raised himself up slightly on his toes to press his lips, ever so gently, like a whisper, against Thomas’ other cheek.

Then his hand slid away, its absence leaving a notable chill as Vincent’s heels touched the floor again. He seemed to regard Thomas thoroughly, searching for something. Then his heels raised again and his lips brushed a kiss on the opposite side where his fingertips had been resting.

It shouldn’t be remarkable. Such a greeting should not leave Thomas speechless. This was Italy. He’d been kissed on both cheeks in greeting by many and had done so himself.

Vincent had never greeted him in this way before.

Thomas could still smell vanilla and… patchouli? A lingering embrace.

Vincent was still looking at him in the same way. Waiting for something, yet still ever-patient and kind. His smile was soft, as soft as those lips had felt against Thomas’ worn skin.

He raised himself up again and-

pressed

those

lips

to

Thomas’

own.

“Tomás?” Vincent’s voice parted the silence with gentle care.

Thomas blinked his eyes open, not realising he had closed them or that he had, at some point, leaned towards Vincent.

“Mm?” Thomas said, very eloquently.

“Are you alright?”

His heart was beating rather fast considering he wasn’t doing anything at all. Thomas faintly wondered if he was having a heart attack, but the rest of his body seemed much too calm for that. A stroke maybe? But Vincent didn’t appear distressed at all and his smile remained. Thomas trusted him more than he trusted his own body, which hadn’t been at all helpful to him in the last few minutes.

He nodded.

“Come on, I think maybe we should sit.”

He took Thomas by the arm to guide him to the couch and for the first time Vincent realised that Thomas’ hands were occupied.

“Oh! You brought something for us?”

Thomas dutifully sat where he was placed and allowed Vincent to release him from his burdens.

“Gelato,” Vincent murmured, lifting one cup from the bag and looking at Thomas with an expression softer than any whipped dairy produce. “... A lot of gelato.”

“It was the only sure way for you to determine your favourite.”

“You are very thoughtful,” Vincent murmured, taking a chunk out of the first scoop with the little wooden spoon. “I worry that you’ve spent too much time thinking of me rather than considering yourself. You’re not even meant to be here until tomorrow!”

“I don’t intend to do any work today, if that’s what you’re afraid of.”

“Oh, that is good,” Vincent mumbled around the gelato. “I see what you mean about the texture. Here.”

Vincent took up more of the same flavour and pointed the spoon at Thomas.

“Try it. You didn’t think I’d be able to eat this all myself, did you?”

“To be honest, I didn't think of much beyond the initial idea.”

It was easy to admit any kind of folly to Vincent. It was easy for Thomas to be himself. And so, he also didn't think when he leant forward to eat the gelato from the spoon. Creamy sweetness flooded his mouth with the hint of smooth richness from the rough chocolate chips.

Vincent continued to feed him every other spoon, as if it was the most natural thing in the world. With just the two of them in the sanctuary of the quiet office, it really felt that it was normal and expected - like taking communion from him, yet more personal and therefore more precious.

Thomas very quickly lost track of what he was actually tasting and what the different flavours were, lulled into a meditative state where all he had to do was receive what was bestowed upon him. Until Vincent hit the first flavour that he was less than enthusiastic about. Thomas was granted the gift of seeing his opinion play out across his face before he verbalised it: the immediate wrinkle of his nose, the slight downturn grimace of his mouth, the frown at the offending object.

“Bleh,” he stuck his tongue out to emphasise this sentiment. “That is bitter. Are you sure they didn't start mixing up flavours to make as many as possible to give you? I don't know why anyone would want to eat this. Especially not when you want ice-cream!”

Thomas took up the spoon and carved a bite for himself.

“Tomás!” Vincent exclaimed in horror. “I just told you it was bad!”

“Yes,” Thomas grimaced. “It's certainly not the most pleasant.”

As well as an overwhelming bitterness, it was also somehow dry, leaving a sensation of the taste being stuck to the roof of his mouth.

“I think I ought to share in your suffering as well as your joy. That's what friendship is for - pain shared is pain halved, no?”

It looked as if this statement had washed any of the remaining bitterness from Vincent’s palette. His expression eased into pleased contentment again, the touch of a smile curling the corner of his mouth. He stared at Thomas for longer than Thomas felt was warranted, making no move to resume eating even when Thomas dropped the spoon back into the cup.

“Tomás. I should very much like to kiss you again but you still haven’t responded to the first one.”

Thomas’ face warmed again. “Ah.”

For the first time, Vincent’s calm, understanding confidence seemed to begin to fray at the edges. Concerned crow’s feet pinched at the corners of his eyes as he set aside the gelato and took Thomas’ hands in his own.

“I fear we are perhaps we are not on the same wave like I’d thought.”

“Wavelength,” Thomas gently and instinctively corrected, immediately chastising himself that this was not the moment for a language lesson.

“Wavelength, thank you,” Vincent smiled.

The smile fell away when Thomas remained unresponsive. He didn’t know what to say, what the situation at hand even was. He didn’t know how he should feel, or how he ought to behave. He squeezed Vincent’s fingers to give him something that wasn’t a rejection.

“Shall I tell you what I feel?”

“Please.”

“You are very dear to me Tomás, and although I’m so pleased that you left, I felt your absence deeply every day that you weren’t here. I hadn’t realised how much I seek you out for your company until you were gone. In this time, I’ve thought much about what you mean to me - the respect and admiration I have for you, as well as affection - and I have prayed on it.” His grip tightened ever so slightly. “Do not misunderstand, it is not something that requires the confessional, just a clarity of mind. Perhaps I was seeking some reassurance too, that you felt as I do.”

His gaze dropped to their joined hands for a moment before he looked back up - that hard determination in his eyes.

“What I know is this: God brought us together in a time of great strife and difficulty for us both. He gave you to me, knowing that I would not be able to navigate my papacy alone.” He held up one hand, anticipating the protest at the back of Thomas’ tongue. “It is the truth. I don’t want to do it alone either. I want you to be here, for my papacy and for my life.

“The very first time we met, despite your mounting stresses, you treated me with such patience and kindness. Tomás. Under your guidance through my first day here - ensuring I was clothed, refusing to allow me to shy away from my fellow brothers, insisting I had as much of a place as anyone else there - I felt safe. Do you know the last time I felt so completely safe? I’m not sure that I do. From that moment I was connected to you, Tomás. I loved you instantly as my brother, and I loved you as a child of my flock when you came to me in the Room of Tears, but that love grows always - sometimes so much I’m not sure how it can fit in my heart. I love you, Tomás. More than a brother cardinal, an excellent advisor, and certainly more than your Pope. I love you as a partner. As a man loves a wife.”

Vincent took a deep breath as Thomas tried to wrangle the morals that The Pope apparently loved him more than anyone else. Surely he should feel guilty, being so singularly adored by not only the Pope but a person as wonderful as Vincent.

“So. Tomás. What are your thoughts?”

Thomas decided to throw all attempted thought out of the window and let his mouth run on the instinct that had brought him the gelato.

“That I would like for you to kiss me again,” he murmured.

His wish was instantly granted and Thomas felt heaven-blessed by the touch of Vincent’s lips. It was as brief and chaste as before but Thomas could relish it this time, allowing the warmth of it to flow into his body, as if lighting him from within. When Vincent pulled back, Thomas moved right into his space again to take another kiss himself. When they did part, the pleased, surprised and slightly flustered smile he left behind on Vincent was surely the most gorgeous thing Thomas had ever seen.

“I adore you,” he breathed. “You are everything to me. Not because you’re the Pope, because you are you.”

He basked in Vincent’s smile and love for as long as he could before his doubts clamoured too loudly, leaving Thomas unable to enjoy the moment into forever.

“But… you are the Pope…”

Vincent’s smile didn’t diminish. “Yes. I am aware.”

“How does it- can it work, for you to love in such a way, and to love such a person?”

Vincent tilted his head slightly. “What do you mean by such a person? A man? A cardinal?”

Thomas could only offer a feeble shrug. A man, a cardinal, far beyond his prime, troubled - the list was much too long. “A me, I suppose.”

“Tomás.” Vincent held Thomas’ face in his hands. “I love you because you are also you. And although I am not naive enough to go around kissing you all through the Vatican, this feeling, this purity of love, it feels like a blessing. What I feel is divine and it is holy, of that I have no doubt. God gave us to each other. God gave us this.”

Thomas had to bite his lip at the mere idea of more kisses, and the idea of them being so public was almost more than he could handle. Even so, he was compelled to suffer one further discomfort by raising the elephant in the room that had grown impossible for him to ignore.

“What of our vows… ?” he murmured, shakier than he would’ve liked.

“What I feel for you, despite the strength of it, does not give me any desire to break my vows.” He took up Thomas’ hands again. “But I have never been troubled by carnal desires. I am unsure if this is because of how my body is, or something else.”

Of course, Thomas thought with great affection. He is perfect. Chosen by God.

“But if it is something that is a worry for you, please, please talk to me about it, Tomás. I want to help you, however I can, and I don’t believe it’s something you can only seek atonement for in the confessional. If- if we are to do this, be this way - united in heart and soul - I should like for us to talk to each other of our troubles. I want to be able to work through them. Together.”

Thomas raised their hands to press a kiss to Vincent’s knuckles.

“I am old enough, and have been ill enough, that I don’t imagine that will be too much of a problem for me now, either.” Thomas fervently hoped this would be true - it felt like it should be. He wasn’t sure if he could forgive himself if the weakness of his body ruined the unimaginable blessing of Vincent’s love.

“But if it is… ?” Vincent coaxed.

Thomas swallowed and managed to give his word. “I will tell you, yes.”

Vincent ran his fingers through the hair at Thomas’ temple. “That is all I ask. That you not suffer alone.” He pressed a kiss to Thomas’ forehead. If he punctuated all of his wishes and desires this way from now on, how was Thomas ever going to be able to refuse him anything?

“The gelato is melting. Help me - I do not want it to go to waste.”

“It seems rather insignificant now,” Thomas admitted, feeling as if he had been reset, born anew, and had a future he never expected or thought he deserved unrolling in front of him faster than he could consider it.

“No. It has gained significance. Every scoop is your care, consideration and love for me.”

“Even the awful one?” Thomas asked with raised eyebrows.

“Even that, because you were so charming in suffering it with me.”

“Ah,” Thomas felt a pleased flush warm him as he watched Vincent eat. “Charming?”

Vincent rolled his eyes. “Of course you’re charming. You know this. You are charming all the time.”

The next spoonful was offered up to Thomas, who took it without protest. Coconut. “Well, it’s not my intent to charm.”

“Naturally gifted. More deadly,” Vincent winked (winked!) at him.

There was a knock at the door, bringing them back to Earth rather than existing solely in each other’s eyes.

“Your Holi- forgive me, I did not realise you had company,” Ray immediately halted as he entered, fingers still on the door handle.

At least he had knocked first so that Thomas wasn’t caught being fed by the Holy Father. He felt an incriminating blush burn his cheeks anyway and did not want to know what the good Monsignor thought of Thomas lounging on Vincent’s office couch in casual dress.

“Am I being summoned back to my duties?” Vincent asked, not a trace of disappointment in his tone.

“I’m afraid so, Your Holiness. There are just a few things to go through before the meeting.”

“As long as I can finish this gelato Thomas so kindly brought me on his day off.”

Ray’s eyes flicked between them. “Of course.” There was a pause as he considered the multiple pots. “Although, if I might suggest taking some to the freezer?”

Vincent sighed. “I suppose you are right. That is sensible now it’s less frozen.”

Ray walked into the room, efficiently putting the untouched cups back in the bags. “I’ll see to it, I’m sure you can finish the rest of that one while we talk. I’ll be back in a moment.”

Thomas wondered if he was being too paranoid in thinking Ray’s glance towards him with that final statement felt a little pointed.

“I suppose that is my cue to leave.”

Vincent sighed again. “Yes. I do not want you to get even a hint of any of the happenings here until tomorrow. I want you to relax and continue to enjoy yourself.”

“I think I’m going to look for home furnishings, which might be enjoyable if I go about it in the right way.”

“Hah!” Vincent laughed in surprise. “Well, okay, I hope that it is.”

“But,” Thomas raised his finger and he pulled his bag onto his lap. “I have one last thing for you.” He pulled out the stuffed lemur and handed it over. “To keep you company.”

Vincent laughed again, cradling the fluffy face in his hands and looking into its eyes.

“I love her, thank you.”

“Ah. And this,” he held the polaroid out between his index and middle fingers and Vincent took it from him as if it was a precious and ancient artifact.

“Thank you,” this time was softer yet carried far more weight.

“Hm. Perhaps I should drop them off at your rooms?” Thomas suggested, as although the image of Vincent carrying a plush lemur around the Vatican with him was terribly sweet, it wasn’t ideal in a practical sense.

“No. She shall be right here for me to come back to after my meeting. And you,” he held up the photo before tucking it so very gently into a front pocket of his phone case. “Shall be right here, with me.”

“Now who’s charming,” Thomas muttered.

“Come here,” Vincent stood and offered his hand to help Thomas up. He didn’t release him afterwards, when they were standing almost chest-to-chest.

Vincent kissed him again.

“Come and see me tonight? I don’t think I can wait until tomorrow to see you again.”

“Of course, my most dearest Vincent. Tell me when you get in and I shall join you, no matter the hour.”

Thomas would have been brave enough to return a kiss, if Ray hadn’t decided to knock again at that precise moment. At least he had the sense not to open it this time before he was called. Thomas cleared his throat and went to open the door himself.

“Hello, Ray. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

“Tomorrow, Your Eminence,” Ray nodded and Thomas breezed past him before he could be scrutinised too closely.

If Thomas’ unusually (some might term ‘worryingly’) chipper mood was noticed by the nuns as he walked back through the Vatican, he would not know about that until tomorrow either.