Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

"So there's the homily and Angelus/Regina Caeli address on Sundays, General Audience on Wednesdays, and what are these smaller audiences called?" asked Vincent.

Thomas frowned. "I don't think we have a specific term for them. You just meet with visiting groups, say some words -- they get called different things, depending mostly on the nature of the group or occasion."

"I've never given so many speeches!" Vincent sighed. "Most of my ministry has been just doing things -- even my Sunday homilies were usually focused on asking help with specific projects."

"You could continue to do that," Thomas said. "There's plenty of projects going on in the Vatican, and around the world. You can find ones to highlight in your homilies and General Audiences. That could be your style."

"Yes, thank you. That could work," Vincent nodded. "Now these small group audiences -- do I have to give speeches? Can't I just talk to the people?"

"You do greet each person individually --"

"You mean shake hands with them in a line, right? No, they're coming all the way to the Vatican. I want to hear what they have to say."

"Do you mean like ask a few of them to prepare remarks --"

"No, not remarks! I want to talk to them!"

"Well, the number of participants is --"

"Argh, can I just show you? Take me to the room -- there's a room where these group audiences take place, right?"

"Yes, Clementine Hall."

"Right. Take me there."

Vincent got up and walked to the door. Thomas followed, stepped out into the hallway, and led the way to Clementine. Once in the hall, Vincent looked around, taking in the size of the room, the seats lined up in neat rows.

"Okay," he said. He turned to the line of assistants that had materialized behind him and Thomas as people realized the Pope was on the move. "Can we get some people here? I want enough to fill about half these seats."

"What people?" asked Raymond O'Malley, the most senior among the gaggle of assistants.

"Anyone. There are thousands of people working at the Vatican, right? Surely we can find two or three dozen who can spare a half hour to help me out."

"So, anyone?"

"Yes, I just want enough bodies here to make it feel like a real audience."

Ray nodded, and he and the other assistants left the room, scattering in various directions. Soon, people began filtering into the room. The word of the Pope's eccentric request must have spurred curiosity, because more than enough people poured in. All the seats were full, and there were even some people standing in the back, by the time Ray thought to close the door and post someone outside to turn away any more comers.

The group that had assembled was a motley collection of people. A few cardinals and bishops. Priests and seminarians. Sisters. Lay office workers, and maintenance staff. Even a few security personnel.

Vincent stood directly in front of the first row of the seats, eschewing the podium. "Thank you for agreeing to help me out on such short notice," he began, his voice resonating through the hall despite its apparent softness. "As you all know, I'm still learning how to be Pope." That provoked sympathetic chuckles from the audience.

"I asked you here," Vincent continued, "because I wanted to try out a different format for these group audiences we have. What the good Dean explained to me, is that the Pope gives a speech, he talks to the people who have come to visit. Sometimes one or two representatives of the visiting group give a speech also. But I'd rather talk with people. So," Vincent focused on a maintenance worker seated in the third row. "Signore. May I ask your name?"

The man was taken aback at being singled out, but promptly relaxed under Vincent's encouraging smile.

"Luigi Filoni," he replied.

"And Signore Filoni, what do you do for us?"

"I clean the hallways. Collect the garbage. Things like that."

"Ah. You are the reason we are not all standing in filthy hallways full of piles of garbage!" Genial laughter filled the room. "Do you like your job? Are you treated well? No problems with your benefits, or anything like that?"

"Si, si, and no."

The succinct reply prompted more laughter.

"Is there anything we can do to make your job easier, or more pleasant?"

Filoni tilted his head, considering. "Actually," he said, "there's an elevator that's been broken and out of service for a while. If you could fix that --"

"Uh, that's my department," one of the people in the back spoke up. Vincent waved his hand, inviting the man to step forward so he could be heard more clearly. The man complied, stepping into the end of the aisle between the chairs.

"The thing is," he explained. "We need to buy some parts to fix the elevator, and we've been waiting on the finance department to authorize the funds."

Vincent looked at Ray.

"I'll look into that, Your Holiness," Ray said, scribbling a note on his pad.

"Thank you, Ray," Vincent smiled. He then turned back to the man who had just spoken. "And is there any other issue you'd like to bring up?"

And so it went. By the time Thomas decided to call the meeting off, begging the approach of dinner time, a whole host of inter-departmental snafus had been uncovered, and Ray's to-do list was several pages long.

Vincent thanked everyone for their time, and said he'll shake the hands of the attendees as with a real group audience, but please don't feel you have to stick around waiting in line if you had other places to be -- and of course everyone wanted to shake hands with the Pope.

Thomas rubbed his head as he stood next to Vincent as he shook hands, listening to variations of "That was a good meeting! Can we make it a regular thing?" from the attendees. It had indeed been a productive session, but how to pick people to attend, and find time for it on the schedule? And if Vincent repeated this approach with every group that visited...

Thomas closed his eyes and prayed for strength. With this Pope, they'd be so busy doing things, there would be little time left for speeches.

But that, of course, was what the Pope wanted.

Chapter Text

The last of the participants finally left Clementine Hall, leaving Vincent alone with Thomas and Ray, other than for Signore Filoni and a few other maintenance workers who remained behind to straighten out the chairs and see that the Hall was in order.

"Well," Vincent smiled at Thomas. "Dinner?"

Thomas nodded.

"I think we should go back to the residence," said Vincent. "Ray, would you mind getting us food from Santa Marta? And bring your to-do list, I think there are some items on there we should discuss further."

"You mean he should get food for all three of us, right?" Thomas interjected. "You want him to eat with us?"

"Oh, right. Yes, of course. That's what I mean."

"Er... do you have any dietary restrictions, or..."

"Oh, no, nothing like that. Just get me the same thing you are having. Thomas?"

"Same here," Thomas smiled at Ray with what he hoped was a reassuring look. He couldn't remember if Ray had ever shared a meal with the previous Holy Father. Perhaps at Santa Marta, where the Holy Father had regularly dined with a full table of staff members, Ray could have sat in as one of many. But for a meal like this, with just three people, including the Holy Father? Thomas was fairly certain that was a new experience for Ray.

Ray looked back with half-resignation, steeling himself for a long night ahead, bowed, and left.

Vincent turned to Filoni and the other workers, asking the names of the ones he didn't know yet, apologizing for having created extra work for them.

"No, not at all, Your Holiness," Filoni assured him. "Wait 'til I tell the grandkids I met the Pope!"

One of the younger workers dared ask for a selfie, and Vincent happily obliged, pulling Thomas in too. Then they took their leave of the workers, and headed toward the Papal apartments.

"So how much extra work did I create for you and Ray?" Vincent asked as they walked through the hallways.

"It's good work, and it's needed work."

"But still more work!" Vincent laughed.

"I didn't realize the departments had gotten so insular," Thomas noted. "Most of the issues we found wouldn't be a problem if people just talked to other departments."

"So how can we encourage that?" asked Vincent. "The elevator, for instance. If the people in the finance department had actually met the people who depend on that elevator, they would have been incentivized to approve the spending much earlier."

"Inter-departmental sport meets?" Thomas deadpanned.

"And what are they going to play," Vincent laughed, "homily-a-thons?"

Thomas collapsed against a nearby wall, unable to keep walking. He briefly wondered what kind of sight they were making, the Pope and the Dean of Cardinals laughing uncontrollably in the hallway.

They finally pulled themselves together enough to make it to the Apostolic Palace and into the elevator to the Papal apartments. Vincent pushed the button, then said, "What do you think of having Ray do these inter-departmental meetings? He saw what I did, he should be able to replicate it, right?"

Then Vincent saw Thomas' face and started laughing so hard again, he almost failed to get off the elevator when it reached the Papal apartments.

"Oh, god," said Vincent once they made it off the elevator and down the hall into the apartments. "You thought I was going to insist on holding these meetings myself every week, didn't you!"

"Er, well..."

Vincent stumbled across the room without turning on the lights and collapsed onto the sofa. "No, leave it off," he said, when Thomas turned toward the light switch. "Come here." He patted the space on the sofa beside himself.

Thomas crossed the room and allowed himself to sink down into the sofa beside Vincent. His entire head was thudding dully now -- the laughter seemed to have exacerbated the headache that had started during the impromptu town hall.

Vincent regarded him silently for a few seconds, then said, "Wait here," and walked into the bedroom. He promptly walked back out with a glass of water and a bottle of aspirin, which he propped down in front of Thomas.

"Am I that obvious?" Thomas asked, even as he reached for the aspirin.

"Only to those who pay attention," Vincent said, watching Thomas down the aspirin with water. "Will it help if you lie down?"

"Not sure."

"Try. I'll get a pillow."

So Thomas found himself stretched out on the sofa, Vincent sitting in the armchair by his head, as the light gradually faded from dusk to night.

Como una promesa, eres tú, eres tú Vincent softly sang. Como una mañana de verano

"Hey, I know that!"

"Yes," Vincent nodded. "It was such a big hit. My mother loved it. She used to play it all the time."

"What was she like?"

"I'll tell you some other time. Close your eyes and relax."

Como una sonrisa, eres tú, eres tú
Así, así, eres tú
Eres tú como el agua de mi fuente
Eres tú el fuego de mi hogar

Thomas woke up to a fully dark room, with Aldo sitting in the small armchair, reading something on his iPad.

"I'm declaring a miracle," Aldo said when he saw Thomas was awake. "He actually got you to sleep!"

"Wha-- How--"

"I was having dinner at Santa Marta," Aldo explained, "when people started coming in and talking about the impromptu town hall the Holy Father just held. And then I saw Ray picking up food, so I walked here with him while he filled me in. When we got here, Vincent was waiting by the elevator, and told us you were asleep and we should go downstairs to the Papal offices so we don't disturb you. I said since I'd already eaten, I'd stay here with you while they ate. Vincent made me pinky swear not to wake you until you did so naturally --"

"Wait," Thomas scrambled up to a sitting position. "You left Ray alone with Vincent?"

"Er, yes? Is that a problem?"

"Either Vincent will give Ray a heart attack, or they'll be planning world domination by now."

"Hm, when you put it like that... Well, let's go find out, shall we?"

Chapter Text

Vincent and Ray walked into the formal dining room. There was a grand dining table with ornate chairs surrounding it, and a side table that looked like it could serve as a drink station, or be used to temporarily hold plates and other implements while a meal was being served. An elegant wooden flatware chest sat on one end of the side table.

"Oh, dear," Vincent said. "Doesn't anyone keep any plates or silverware in here?"

Ray set the bag of food down on the dining table and walked up to the flatware chest. He flipped the top open. "Well," he said. "There's silverware here."

Vincent turned toward him, expectantly.

"But," Ray said, "they are actual silver."

Vincent walked over and looked into the flatware chest. He gingerly picked out a fork and turned it in his hand, feeling the weight and how it reflected the light. "I suppose it is," he finally said. "You know, I don't think I've ever eaten with real silver silverware."

"My grandmother had a set," Ray said. "The adults ate with it at Christmas, but the kids just got regular utensils."

"I understand they are very difficult to clean?"

"That's what I hear. I never saw them being cleaned. I do remember there was this jar of silver polish..."

"Hmmm. Well, we shouldn't risk making more work for someone." Vincent put the fork back into the chest. He looked around the room and sighed. 'I've never been in a workplace where there wasn't at least some paper plates and plastic utensils!"

"I think they keep everything down in the kitchen in the basement," Ray said. "And since you said you'd just get your meals from Santa Marta..."

"The basement is closed up. Yes, I know."

"I could go see if..."

"What, are you going to wander around all over the Vatican looking for utensils?" Vincent considered the food in the bag. "Well, you have plenty of napkins here," he said. "What do you think about just eating with our hands?"

Thomas and Aldo stared at the scene in front of them. Vincent and Ray were sitting in one corner of the grand dining table, take-out containers of food spread out before them, and picking up and eating the food... with their bare hands? They were also using bread to soak up some of the pasta sauce, but mostly just scooping up the food with their fingers, pausing to lick their fingers between each bite. In between bites, Vincent seemed to be animatedly recounting the cuisines and culinary habits of various countries he had served in, while Ray listened attentively.

"I knew," said Thomas, "leaving them alone would be a bad idea."