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It isn’t every day that Thomas wakes up in a pond.
In fact, he has never done it before.
He can’t say, when it happens, that he ever wants to do it again.
When he opens his eyes, he is perched on a stone, just at the edge of the water. He feels very strange- he is in the direct glare of the Roman sun, yet he feels no desire to get to the shade. In fact, he wishes to bask in the warmth of the light, uncaring what it does to his skin. Then, he thinks, he will dive down into the water and hunt for his breakfast-
Thomas’s mind stalls at that. Why on earth would he dive into the water? He likes swimming well enough, but this pond would barely come up to his knees, and why would he be scouring the bottom of a pond for food? He has some very nice porridge oats in his apartment, which he will eat with steamed milk and some honey, once he gets off this rock.
He tries to stand up and finds out that he apparently already is. His legs barely move; he gains no height. He is still mostly flat against the rock.
A quiet sense of panic is beginning to flood his body- how did he come to be in a pond? Why can’t he see the rest of his body? Where are his pyjamas?
He cranes his neck upwards and finds that his vision is alarmingly limited; he thinks he knows where in the Vatican Gardens he is, from the amount of light being reflected from the marble columns, but he can see nothing beyond a bright glare of white in the distance.
The panic is no longer quiet, a horrible and utterly ridiculous conclusion hurtling towards him at pace. He shuffles forward- all four of his limbs are needed for this process, feeling his belly scrape against the rock as he moves, and looks down into the dark pool of water below him.
A turtle stares back at him, and he thinks he can see a little bit of shock in the creature’s eyes. Or perhaps that is just wishful thinking, and he looks exactly like any other of the dozens of red eared sliders in the Vatican Gardens.
He doesn’t know how long he remains there, just staring at the turtle he apparently now inhabits, trying to think of something, anything, to do about this situation, when he hears a familiar voice.
“Good morning, my friends!” Vincent calls, cheerfully.
From the angle Thomas is at, the pope is just a tall column of white, until he crouches down and his friendly face comes into view. He is holding a plastic box, which he opens with a flourish.
“Today I have apple slices, some watercress and I think this is cantaloupe- I will not try it to check, of course, you will have to tell me which type of melon it is.” he says.
Several turtles amble slowly over to where Vincent is beginning to spread the food on the rocks, near Thomas. The pope smiles at him and, because he thinks Thomas is a normal turtle, tries to coax him over with a bit of apple.
“Come along, little one.” Vincent says, amiably.
Oh, Christ, Thomas thinks, is this going to be the rest of my life? The highlight of my day being offered sliced fruit by the pope?
The pope cocks his head to one side, his eyes going wide as he stares, stunned.
“Thomas?” he asks.
***
He ends up in the papal apartments, sitting on a rock taken from the gardens, which has been half submerged in a toddler sized paddling pool. It is not the most edifying experience of his life, but it is considerably better than being outside alone.
“How did this happen?” Vincent asks, once Thomas is settled under the heat lamp Vincent has procured from somewhere, a little bowl of chopped fruits and vegetables for his elevenses within shuffling distance.
I don’t know Thomas thinks, I woke up like this, more or less where you found me.
Vincent sits down, cross legged next to Thomas’s lair, and frowns.
“And before that?”
Thomas casts his mind back, an oddly difficult experience.
I had dinner with Aldo and then I returned to my flat and went to bed.
“Did anything unusual happen?” Vincent prompts.
Thomas strains to think, and then he remembers.
Aldo looking upset, Thomas feeling hopeless and frustrated, Aldo asking him not to go, Thomas insisting he needed to-
We quarrelled.
Vincent gives him a sympathetic look.
“I am sorry to hear that.”
I can’t recall what it was about, Thomas thinks, feeling alarmed.
“Don’t panic, we will work this out, Thomas.” the pope says, kindly.
How is it that you can hear me? Thomas asks.
Vincent shrugs.
“Oh, ever since I became pope, I have been able to hear the thoughts of animals. They are usually thinking about food, of course- it is why I started that campaign to get all of the street cats around here fed. It is mostly unobtrusive- except for the male pigeons when they become bothersome towards the female pigeons- I could do without hearing those thoughts.” Vincent says.
But you knew that I was me, even like this? Thomas asks.
Vincent smiles.
“Well, of course! Your thoughts sound exactly like your speaking voice.”
And you didn’t think it was odd that I was a turtle?
Vincent shrugs again.
“Stranger things have happened. Anyway, I have told my staff that I will be working from my apartments this week, and that I found you- you the turtle, that is- injured and I am nursing you back to health.”
Thomas looks at the pope, and then down at his new home, the paddling pool.
Vincent, do you really think there is a way for me to return to normal? he asks.
For the first time Vincent’s cheerful expression falters.
“I truly hope that there is, my friend.” he says.
***
That afternoon Ray pays Vincent a visit. He glances at Thomas in the paddling pool and seemingly dismisses him as another one of Vincent’s charming eccentricities.
“I’m sorry to bother you, Holy Father, it is just that Eminence Lawrence didn’t mention anything about going on a spiritual retreat, and we’re in the middle of several projects-” Ray says, his voice taking on that reedy tone it gets when he’s upset.
I’m sorry, Ray, he thinks. He and Vincent had come up with the ‘emergency spiritual retreat’ as an excuse for why the Dean of the College of Cardinals had suddenly vanished from the face of the earth.
“The Dean will be back soon enough, Ray, and I know how highly he trusts your judgement.” Vincent says.
Ray seems pleased with that assessment, going a little pink in the face.
“Oh, that’s- nice to hear.” he says.
Thomas makes a mental note to give Ray more positive reinforcement.
“I’m sure if you need to make any decisions during his absence then you can count on Thomas’s implicit agreement.”
They chat for a few more moments and when Ray stands to leave, he looks considerably happier.
“You know, if I didn’t know better, I’d swear your turtle was listening to our conversation.” Ray remarks, giving Thomas a curious look.
“Perhaps he was.” Vincent says, with a smile.
***
Over the next few days and nights, they try a number of tactics to break what they hope is some kind of spell. Taking Thomas back to the pond in the dead of night to try and trigger something, Vincent scouring the depths of the internet and the Vatican libraries for any reference to animal transformation. They light candles, they pray, they follow spurious advice for the breaking of curses- chants, charms, herbal remedies.
Nothing works.
Perhaps an exorcism? Thomas suggests.
Vincent sighs.
“You are not a demon, Thomas- and what, we exorcise your spirit from this body and then where do you go, hm? I know you do not like being a turtle, but I think you would enjoy being a ghost even less.” He sounds the most frustrated Thomas has ever heard him.
I’m sorry, Vincent, Thomas thinks, I really am grateful for how much you’re helping me.
Vincent gives him a sad smile.
“We will keep going until we find a solution.”
Neither of them wishes to dwell on the fact that they are rapidly running out of options.
***
The next afternoon, when Vincent has stepped out of his rooms for a few minutes, Giulio Sabbadin wanders into his office.
“Oh, hello.” Sabbadin says, when he spots Thomas in his paddling pool, “Vincent was telling me about you.”
Thomas doesn’t have the best relationship with Sabbadin; he is one of Aldo’s closest friends, but Thomas has always found him brusque, confrontational, and rather difficult to get along with. Now though, he approaches Thomas with a smile on his face.
“Here, I have brought you some carrot sticks.” he says, dropping a small handful of bright orange carrots into Thomas’s food bowl.
Thomas obligingly leans over and takes a mouthful. They are, admittedly, very good carrot sticks.
Giulio’s smile broadens as he watches Thomas chewing.
“Ah, you like those?” he asks, reaching out to pat Thomas’s shell.
Apparently, all Thomas had to do to earn Sabbadin’s approval was turn into a turtle.
The door opens again, and Thomas registers the white shape of Vincent slipping back into the room.
“Oh! Giulio, hello.” Vincent says, sounding flustered.
“Hello, sorry- I was talking to your little friend here.” Sabbadin says.
He has his back turned to the pope, so does not see Vincent startle.
“You were?” he asks, sounding shocked.
Sabbadin turns to him then, noting the surprise in Vincent’s voice.
“Yes, he does not say much back.” Sabbadin jokes.
He doesn’t know it’s me, Vincent, Thomas thinks, he wouldn’t have brought me carrot sticks if he did.
“No, I suppose he wouldn’t.” Vincent says, answering both of them at the same time.
Sabbadin stands and walks towards the pope, whose eyes widen- he glances at Thomas in his paddling pool, and then back to Sabbadin.
“Why don’t we go for a walk, Giulio?” Vincent asks.
Sabbadin pauses.
“You are not shy of the turtle, surely?” Sabbadin asks.
Vincent’s colour rises.
“No! I just- would like to go for a walk. The rose gardens are lovely at this time of day.”
Sabbadin folds his arms, grinning, and then lets out an amused laugh.
“You are! You are shy of the turtle- what is his name?” Sabbadin asks.
“- Giancarlo.” Vincent says after a moment.
Sabbadin laughs again.
“And so, I cannot kiss you in front of Giancarlo?” Sabbadin says, thoroughly diverted, his voice full of mirth.
Well, Thomas thinks at Vincent, I knew you two had grown close.
Vincent shuts his eyes, clearly exasperated.
“Dios- Giulio, I am going out for some air. You can either accompany me or stay here with T- Giancarlo.”
Sabbadin takes Vincent’s hand and squeezes it.
“I am only teasing, Vincenzo, of course I will walk with you.” Sabbadin says, gently.
Vincent lets out a sigh.
“Although, I do think it is very funny that you will not let the poor, innocent turtle watch.” Sabbadin says, as he opens the door, and then cackles as Vincent slaps him on the arm.
***
“I do not wish to talk about it.” Vincent says, when he returns to his office, alone.
Neither do I, Thomas thinks at him, except to say that I hope he makes you happy.
A little smile comes to Vincent’s lips, then, making him look younger.
“He does.”
Please thank him for the carrots.
Vincent laughs.
“I will.”
Vincent crouches down next to Thomas’s paddling pool and produces a rose petal, richly red, from his pocket.
“Here,” he says, placing it on top of Thomas’s tiny head, “this will have to do until you can wear your zucchetto again.”
The petal does feel rather like the weight of a zucchetto, and wearing it, along with the pope quietly humming as he works, he feels his spirits lift.
***
It doesn’t last.
More experiments are met with more failure. It is disheartening, but even more disheartening is the way Thomas can feel his humanity slipping away. He finds himself spending more time underwater, when previously he would have stayed out on his rock where it was easier to converse with Vincent. Instead, he is losing whole hours trapped in his animal brain, focussed only on the need for food and warmth.
His little petal zucchetto had fallen off at some point, and he has no idea where it is- perhaps, in one of his animalistic moments, he had eaten it. He hates what is happening to him, and the lack of control he has over it.
He pushes against it, trying to get himself to remember what it was like to be human, but it’s so very hard- and painful too. What is the point trying to remember if he’ll never be able to experience it again? Perhaps it would be better if he simply let himself slip into this new life God has apparently bestowed upon him.
“I do not think that is the case at all!” Vincent declares, horrified, when Thomas airs his thoughts on the matter.
But what else can we do? Thomas asks, in one of his more lucid moments, you can’t dedicate your life to this, Vincent. At some point you will need to give up.
“I don’t agree- and you are not to give up either, Thomas!”
Their discussion is interrupted by a soft knock on the door.
Vincent sighs, softly.
“Come in.” he calls.
The door opens and a figure Thomas recognises heartbreakingly well walks in.
Aldo, he thinks. Aldo, Aldo, Aldo his mind chants.
How on earth has he forgotten about Aldo?
Perhaps his turtle brain is simply too small for the concept of Aldo Bellini.
“Sorry, Holy Father, I didn’t mean to interrupt.” Aldo says.
“You are not interrupting- please, take a seat.” Vincent says.
Aldo does so and sits quietly for a moment.
Thomas cranes his neck to get a better view of him, and his mouth falls open when he sees him.
There are dark circles, deep as bruises, under Aldo’s eyes and he looks thin- much thinner than he had just over a week ago. Thomas wants desperately to get to him, but Aldo hasn’t spared him a second glance, and when he looks up from his lap, he is looking at Vincent.
“I just wondered if you had heard anything from Thomas?” he asks, his voice wavering a little when he says Thomas’s name.
“Um- not really?” Vincent says.
“But- you have heard from him, haven’t you? He’s alright? It’s just-” Aldo’s voice doesn’t so much as break as it collapses into a rasp, a tear sliding down his cheek, “I haven’t heard from him for nine days, and I know he hasn’t read my messages, or emails, and he doesn’t pick up the phone-”
Aldo puts his head in his hands and Vincent throws Thomas an alarmed look, before reaching out and patting Aldo on the shoulder.
“He is on the spiritual retreat, and I know that they do not permit outside communication-” Vincent begins, but Aldo cuts him off.
“And that’s another thing- he didn’t mention a word of it to me! We had dinner the night before he left and- I can only think he didn’t say anything on purpose.” Aldo says, fishing a handkerchief from his pocket, taking off his glasses, and dabbing at his eyes.
“It was a very last-minute decision, perhaps he felt he could not turn it down?” Vincent hazards.
Aldo’s shoulders slump further.
“I’m sorry, Holy Father, I didn’t mean to come here and do this- it’s just we had an argument before he left and I just- I feel like he’s punishing me-”
“I am certain that he is not.” Vincent says, putting his hand on Aldo’s shoulder, before his expression becomes thoughtful. “Though perhaps if you told me what the argument was about, it might shed some light onto his current, um, mental state.”
Aldo’s mouth twitches, miserably, before he takes a deep breath and nods.
“He- I don’t think it is a great secret that he wants to leave Vatican life behind and we had discussed doing it together.” he flicks the pope a glance, and when the pope’s expression reminds kindly bland, Aldo continues. “The other night he brought it up and I- I don’t know. I got frightened by the concept- not of him, more of the idea, I think.”
“I don’t quite understand.” Vincent says.
Aldo sighs.
“We’re both so used to having the church as the background of our lives, our duties, our responsibilities, the very structure of our days. And if we left- we’d only have each other.” Aldo’s composure breaks again, more tears springing to his eyes. “And what if I’m not enough? What if he gets tired of me?”
Thomas wants nothing more than to pull Aldo into his arms- which are now not arms, but flippers, useful only for splashing around in a paddling pool. The thought of Aldo- who has been everything to Thomas for decades- not being enough, is ridiculous. Especially when Thomas is currently stuck in the form of a turtle, unable to offer him any kind of comfort.
Vincent can, though, and he takes Aldo’s hand- the one not clutching the handkerchief- in both of his.
“My friend, I know how highly Thomas thinks of you.”
Aldo shakes his head.
“I expressed it badly- I think he thought that I was having second thoughts about leaving with him- and I wasn’t, I just wanted him to understand that I was worried.”
“Well, you don’t have to come with me if you’d rather stay and carry on working.” Thomas says, trying to hide his hurt behind what he thought could be taken as a reasonable comment.
Aldo sighs.
“I’m not saying that, I just- I’m just apprehensive-”
“Well, that’s nothing new, is it?” Thomas says, and he knows that isn’t a reasonable comment, not at all, but they’ve been having this simmering discussion for nearly half an hour now, using careful therapy speech, and frankly, he’s tired of edging around the issue.
“What does that mean?” Aldo asks, sharply.
“Are we to go on being so cautious forever? It’s simply because, and I don’t know if you’ve noticed this, Aldo, but neither of us is getting any younger.” Thomas replies.
Aldo blinks at him, eyes full of hurt.
“I know that, Thomas-”
“So why wait? Unless you’ve changed your mind?” Thomas cuts in.
“You know I haven’t.” Aldo insists.
“Do I?”
“Of course I haven’t changed my mind, I’m just trying to tell you that I’m concerned.”
“About what, exactly?” Thomas asks.
Aldo’s mouth opens but nothing comes out.
Thomas sighs and gets to his feet.
“I think I’m going to go back to my flat.”
“Thomas, there’s no need to leave, we’re in the middle of a discussion.” Aldo says.
“Are we? Because it feels like we’re just going round in circles and I’m getting rather tired of it.” Thomas replies.
Aldo twitches, as if Thomas has slapped him, but then his expression smooths out, as if nothing has happened, and Thomas doesn’t question the strange moment.
“Alright- goodnight then.” Aldo says, standing up and busying himself with taking the dishes to the kitchen.
Thomas had let himself out before Aldo had come back.
He hadn’t even kissed Aldo goodbye, Thomas realises, as the stupid argument rushes back to him. If he had any inkling that it might have been the last time he would be able to hold Aldo in his arms, he wouldn’t have spent his time picking a petty fight.
“I’m sure that Thomas has had time to process what you meant.” Vincent says, carefully.
“I hope so.” Aldo replies.
He puts his glasses back on, and his attention is finally drawn to the paddling pool.
“Oh, is that Giancarlo? Giulio was telling me you were looking after a turtle.” Aldo says, getting up.
He is obviously changing the subject, but Vincent allows him to do it.
“Yes, this is- him.” Vincent says.
Aldo crouches down in front of Thomas in his paddling pool and Thomas is struck by the desperate need to get as close to him as possible. He slides off his rock into the water, and swims up to the edge of the pool, his flippers batting at the sides.
“He’s inquisitive, isn’t he? I don’t think I’ve ever seen any of the ones outside take an interest in anything other than food- apart from getting themselves run over, of course.” Aldo says.
He strokes a finger down Thomas’s shell and Thomas’s entire world lights up- his memories have been relegated to a sort of monotone sludge, difficult to pull anything out of, for the last nine days. Now though, thoughts rush back to him like a dam has burst.
Aldo at all the ages Thomas has known him, beautiful in every mood. Pressing a kiss to Aldo’s cold cheek on a windswept beach, holding him as he sobbed after getting the phone call about his brother’s death, hours spent in bed together, Aldo’s skin against his own, his breath in Thomas’s mouth, the noises he’d make when he-
Vincent makes a noise a bit like a squawk and claps a hand over his eyes.
“Are you alright?” Aldo asks, alarmed, moving to Vincent’s side, away from Thomas.
“Yes- I- just had a sudden- pain- in my head.” Vincent says, making eye contact with Thomas.
Oh, Vincent, I’m sorry, Thomas says, realising that his thoughts had clearly invaded Vincent’s mind.
“Do you need painkillers? To lie down?” Aldo asks.
“No, I am fine now.” Vincent replies.
Aldo pats his shoulder.
“Sorry- I can make myself scarce. Thank you for listening to me.” he says.
Please don’t go, Thomas thinks, but of course, Aldo can’t hear him.
The pope sees Aldo out, reassuring him that he had not caused any trouble, and that he’s sure Thomas will be back before he knows it.
“Well,” Vincent says, once the door is closed, “I assume you don’t want to give up, now you know what is waiting for you.”
No, you’re right, Thomas thinks, as he makes his way back to his rock, I am sorry that you- saw all of that.
Vincent raises an eyebrow.
“I certainly didn’t ever expect to see the Secretary of State- like that.” Vincent replies, archly. “And to think, I thought kissing Giulio in front of you would be scandalous.”
***
“Your apartment!” Vincent says, about an hour later, sitting up.
He has been lying on the floor, next to Thomas’s paddling pool, ‘meditating on the issue’. Thomas had honestly thought he was just having a nap, and he hardly begrudged him it- the situation has been rather stressful, and Thomas suspects the pope hasn’t been sleeping well. Apparently though, he hasn’t been napping, he has been thinking.
“We haven’t gone to your apartment- perhaps there is some sort of clue there?” Vincent says, getting to his feet.
It’s worth a try, Thomas says.
“That’s the spirit- where can I get a key?”
They decide that asking Aldo for his might arouse too much suspicion, so Vincent heads off to Thomas’s office for the spare Thomas keeps in his desk. They also decide that it will be easier to get to Thomas’s apartment under the cover of darkness- and it is certainly much easier for the pope to conceal a turtle on his person at night.
They eat dinner- pasta for Vincent, leafy greens and a few crickets for Thomas. Thomas rather hates the fact that he is beginning to enjoy the satisfying crunch elicited from biting into a cricket. Vincent dresses as plainly as possible, and slips Thomas into a tote bag, and they head out.
Vincent is rather inconspicuous when he is wearing normal clothes and moving quickly, no one seems to pay him much mind, and they make it to Thomas’s apartment unscathed, Thomas watching their progress by peeking out of the top of the bag.
Vincent unlocks the door and switches on the lights, and Thomas feels a wave homesickness hit him- he would love to be here as a human and not a turtle. He wants to sit on his settee and read his books and make a cup of tea and kiss Aldo-
“Your thoughts are getting louder, Thomas.” Vincent says, warningly.
Sorry, Thomas thinks.
Vincent lifts him out of the bag and holds him in his hands.
“Where do you think we should start?”
The bedroom, probably, it’s where I was last human.
Vincent pushes open Thomas’s bedroom door and turns on the light.
There’s nothing- just Thomas’s unmade bed, his empty pyjamas eerily tucked under the covers. But there’s no fairy dust, or magic potion or cursed item on the bedside table- just Thomas’s ordinary bedroom, nothing out of place- except for Thomas himself.
The rest of the flat is the same story- no suspicious packet of herbs in the kitchen, no one has left a poppet on his armchair. The reason for his metamorphosis remains an utter mystery.
The pope is obviously frustrated.
“I am sorry, Thomas,” he says, lifting him up to make eye contact, “I really thought that this might be the answer.”
It’s alright- Thomas begins to think, but he is interrupted by a key turning in the door.
Vincent freezes as the door opens, and Aldo enters, followed by Sabbadin.
“Thomas?” Aldo calls, his voice agonisingly hopeful.
The bright smile on his face fades as he takes in the scene before him- the pope, wearing civilian clothing, standing in Thomas’s living room, holding a turtle.
“Sorry, we saw the light on, and we thought Thomas might be back- he isn’t, is he?” Aldo asks.
“Um. No.” Vincent says, apparently still unable to move.
“Vincent, why do you have the turtle with you?” Sabbadin asks, a thread of worry weaving through his words.
Vincent lets out a sigh.
“Thomas, I am sorry- I had not suggested this to you, but I really think we need to accept we are out of options,” Vincent says, and then turns to Aldo. “I need you to kiss this turtle, please.”
He holds Thomas out to Aldo who blinks at him and then moves past Thomas held in Vincent’s outstretched hands, to press a palm to Vincent’s forehead.
“He doesn’t have a fever, Giulio, but he complained of a pain in his head earlier- I think we should take him to the infirmary.” Aldo says.
“I am not ill! I just need you to kiss this turtle!” Vincent insists.
“Why do you want Aldo to kiss the turtle, Vincent?” Sabbadin asks, his voice very gentle.
“Because this is his Eminence, Cardinal Thomas Lawrence, the Dean of the College of Cardinals!” Vincent all but yells.
It occurs to Thomas that this situation might be getting to Vincent, a little bit.
For Aldo and Sabbadin’s parts they do not react with obvious alarm, but they exchange wide eyed looks.
“And why do you think that?” Sabbadin asks, in the same careful tone.
“I am not mad, Giulio! He transformed into a turtle over a week ago- which is why he hasn’t been replying to you, Aldo, he hasn’t been able to- and I found him in one of the ponds and we have been trying to work out how to turn him back ever since.” Vincent explains.
Both Aldo and Sabbadin are maintaining their carefully neutral expressions, but it is clear the pair of them think Vincent has gone completely barmy.
An idea suddenly occurs to Thomas.
Vincent, tell Aldo that I knew I loved him on December 4th, 1985, and waited six months to tell him, he thinks.
Vincent frowns down at him.
“Why would you wait six months to tell him?” he asks.
“What?” Aldo asks.
“Thomas says that he knew he loved you on December 4th, 1985, but he didn’t tell you for six months, I wanted to know why.” Vincent says.
Aldo’s eyes widen even further.
“He- didn’t want to frighten me, so instead he got all strange and distant, I thought I’d upset him until I got it out of him- how did you know that, Vincent?” Aldo asks, his voice a little breathless.
“He told me, just now.” Vincent says, proffering Thomas again.
Thomas is starting to feel a little bit like a tray of canapes, the way Vincent keeps shoving him under Aldo’s nose.
Aldo looks at Thomas, and then back at Vincent.
“You really think that’s Thomas?” Aldo asks, and his tone is almost hopeful.
“Jesus Christ, Aldo.” Sabbadin mutters.
“It is him! Ask him something only he would know.” Vincent says.
Aldo thinks for a moment, his eyes never straying from Thomas.
“OK- what happened the first time I ate Marmite on toast?” Aldo asks
Vincent listens to Thomas’s response.
“You spat it out all over Sister Annunciata whilst she was refilling your coffee.” he parrots.
Aldo claps a hand over his mouth, his eyes brimming with tears.
“Thomas?” he asks.
Thomas waggles all of his limbs in response. Aldo reaches out and takes him from the pope.
“You- you’ve been a turtle this whole time? You didn’t run off because you’re sick of me?” he asks, staring into Thomas’s eyes. It feels absolutely wonderful to have Aldo acknowledge him again.
“He says of course he didn’t.” Vincent says, “And he loves you very much.”
Aldo gazes at Thomas, and then he looks back to Vincent.
“You really think kissing him will help?” he asks.
Vincent shrugs.
“At this point we’ll try anything, I think- it works in fairytales.”
Aldo smiles at Thomas.
“Well, you’re worth risking salmonella for.” he says, quietly, and then presses a kiss to Thomas’s head. And then several more for good measure.
Nothing happens.
“Oh, no.” Vincent says, leaning against Sabbadin, his shoulders drooping in defeat. Sabbadin puts his arm around him, but he still looks thoroughly bemused.
Thomas hangs his head, miserably.
“No- no it’s OK- I mean, it’s not ideal but nothing about our lives has ever been totally ideal, has it?” Aldo says, gently, lifting Thomas up, so he can make eye contact once again. Aldo gives him a watery smile.
“My great nephew was showing me TikToks of a dog who can communicate using buttons which say words, we can get you those, and we can build you a bigger enclosure and I’ll read to you- God, Thomas, I’ll even watch the cricket with you. This kind of turtle lives what, twenty years? I’ll try and hold on that long- I love you, and I just want you with me and for you to be as happy as possible. I don’t care about anything else, alright?” Aldo says, his eyes brimming over as he speaks, but his voice is firm.
Thomas suddenly feels very odd- strangely cold all over, and a little like he’s being stretched. Aldo’s face is suddenly obscured by a cloud of white smoke. And then the smoke begins to dissipate, and all that is left is Aldo, gazing up at him, a look of wonder on his face.
“Thomas?” he asks, again, his smile wide.
“Aldo.” Thomas says, the first word he has said in over a week, his voice scratching out of his throat. “Aldo, I love you, I’m so sorry-”
Aldo pulls him down into a kiss as the last of the smoke vanishes.
Vincent makes another squawk at the same time as Sabbadin lets out a string of curses.
“Oh, grow up, you two.” Aldo says, disengaging from the kiss for a moment.
“It is not the kissing, Aldo,” Sabbadin says, his fingers in front of his eyes, “it is the fact that Lawrence is naked.”
Aldo glances down, as Thomas freezes, totally mortified. The only way this could be more embarrassing, he supposes, is if he was standing in his paddling pool.
“Yes, he is, isn’t he?” Aldo says, grinning unashamedly.
***
Once Thomas is dressed, Vincent hugs him.
“It is good that you are taller than me again!” he says, cheerfully.
“I can’t begin to thank you enough, Vincent.” Thomas replies.
Vincent waves him off.
“You can thank me by taking at least a few weeks off. I love you dearly, Thomas, but I have heard- and seen- quite enough of you of late.”
Thomas nods, still embarrassed.
Sabbadin gives him a hard look.
“You owe me for those carrot sticks, Giancarlo.” he says.
Thomas nods.
“Thank you for looking after Aldo.” Thomas replies. He doesn’t need anyone to tell him that is what has happened in Thomas’s absence- Sabbadin has always been a reliable friend.
Sabbadin nods at him, sharply, but Thomas sees his smile as he turns away.
Aldo and Vincent hug warmly, and then Sabbadin claps Aldo warmly on the shoulder.
“We are going, now.” Sabbadin declares, taking Vincent by the hand. “We apparently have much to talk about.”
After they have left Thomas draws Aldo into his arms.
“You were a turtle, then?” Aldo asks, as he starts pulling at the clothes Thomas has just put on.
“Yes.” Thomas replies, as he tries to touch as much of Aldo’s blood warm skin as he can, the feel of it infinitely better than a sun lamp, “I lived in a paddling pool for days.”
“We’ll talk about it in the morning.” Aldo says, dropping to his knees.
***
When the morning does roll around, Thomas wakes up in a bed, wrapped around Aldo, and he is so happy he feels like he could weep.
When Aldo wakes up, he sits bolt upright, fixing Thomas with a stare.
“Wait, can the pope talk to animals?” he asks.
“Apparently.” Thomas replies.
“Well, what do you think we should do about that?” Aldo asks.
Thomas thinks about that for a moment.
“Not worry about it?”
And so, they don’t.