Work Text:
The kitten, strictly speaking, did not belong to anyone. One of the gardeners had found the little thing under a bush, yelling his lungs out but entirely unwilling to be caught. The staff had left him alone, hoping his mother would eventually return, but after a day with no sight of mom, they had lured the kitten out with bits of chicken. Secrets never stay long in the Vatican, and soon there were several sisters and lay staff crowding the greenhouse and cooing over the kitten.
It was at that precise moment, by what could perhaps only be described as divine intervention, that the Camerlengo walked in in search of fresh chamomile.
“Nataniel, is there any way–” Giulio stops short in the doorway, taking in the gaggle of sisters and gardening staff cooing over the kitten.
“Ah, Your Eminence!” Nataniel grins, holding out the orange kitten in his arms. The kitten wriggles out of his grasp and bounces to the floor, entirely unfazed by the drop, and launches himself straight at Giulio’s cincture.
One of the sisters cries out and makes a move to grab him, but Giulio holds out a hand and watches with mild amusement as the kitten clumsily launches himself at the rope.
“A stowaway?” He bends down and gently pries the kitten off of the cincture before straightening and holding him up to look at him fully.
“We found him in the gardens.” Nataniel starts. “We couldn’t find any others, so we were going to see if the sisters at the Mater Ecclesiae wanted him—they’re always looking for mousers.”
Sabbadin frowns, cradling the kitten in his arms. “He’s too young to just be turned loose in the monastery. He’s likely only…” He turns the kitten, tilting his head slightly. “Around five weeks. Are the Sisters prepared for weaning and socializing a kitten?”
3One of the sisters—Giulio thinks she may work in the Papal household—opens her mouth, but Nataniel cuts her off. “Surely there are rescues in Rome we could contact–”
Giulio waves a hand, unfazed as the kitten climbs out of his arms and up to his shoulder. “That’s not necessary, I can handle it. I do need chamomile, however.” He pauses, misreading their baffled expressions to be about his choice in tea and not the fact that the roughest member of the Curia was currently cuddling a kitten. “For tea.” He clarifies, raising an eyebrow.
Nataniel regains his composure faster than the assembled group, disappearing into the rows of plants for a minute before coming back with a bundle of chamomile wrapped in paper.
“Thank you, all. I’ll talk to the Abbess when he is ready for a home.” Sabbadin turns on his heel and walks away, the kitten bouncing along with each step.
“Miracles happen every day here.” Sister Angelina murmurs under her breath, wincing in pain as another nun elbows her in the ribs.
Giulio makes his way back out through the gardens, examining the bundle of chamomile. “Were you hiding under this one, eh?” He holds the flowers up for the kitten to sniff. He starts a mental list of things he’ll send his staff for at Cani e Gatti—kitten formula, canned food, bottles, litter, a bed, some toys, and several lint rollers.
“Giulio!” A familiar voice pulls him out of his strategic planning, and his heart leaps.
“Vincent.” He greets in reply, sure that the guards are trailing far enough behind that they won’t catch the affection in his voice.
“I was getting some air before the next meet— what is that?” Vincent stops, caught off guard in a rare moment.
“Chamomile. I was going to ask Sister Lilith to make it into tea for you.” He holds out the flowers, belatedly aware that the paper made it look something of a bouquet. “You seemed stressed this morning.” He lowers the chamomile, not mentioning that he remembers Vincent mentioning how the smell of chamomile reminds him of his childhood in Mexico. My mother thought manzanilla could fix anything, he had said in one of those rare moments he spoke about his life before priesthood. The plants overran our garden and she would blame my sisters and I on not drinking enough té to keep up.
Something in Vincent’s expression shifts and Giulio hopes the nostalgia is happy and not another reminder of what he’s lost. It’s gone in a moment, replaced by equal parts confusion and amusement.
“I meant that.” He points to the orange cat on his shoulder, now watching the floor with great interest as Giulio’s cincture swung.
“It’s a cat.” Giulio replies, as though Vincent had merely asked him what time lunch would be.
“And where did you acquire this cat?” Vincent’s voice is patient, but Giulio can hear the touch of amusement in it.
“The gardens.” The kitten glances up as if just realizing Vincent was here. He blinks once before meowing loud and long at the Successor of the Prince of the Apostles.
“Ah, well then.” Vincent demures, his lips twitching up at the corner. “A little gift for Saint Francis, perhaps. Is she old enough to be away from her mother?”
“He. Probably.” Giulio corrects, scratching behind the kitten’s ears. “And no, he’s not old enough to be alone. That’s why he is with me.” He states it like it should be obvious, and whatever façade of seriousness he has been trying to maintain disappears as his face cracks open in delight. He marvels each day that he somehow manages to fall deeper in love with Giulio. It must be a taste of what God feels for His creation, this well without a bottom.
“Hello, little one.” Vincent says softly as he leans in towards the kitten. He makes the sign of the cross over his small forehead before laying his fingertips on his head to murmur a blessing. After a moment he steps back, catching the glint of devotion in Giulio’s eyes before his walls go back up, ever-aware of eyes on them.
“I believe this is the first cat blessing of your Pontificate.”
“One of many, I anticipate.” Vincent says around a wry smile. “The Blessing of the Animals is only six months away, after all. What will you name him?”
Sabbadin glances over at the kitten, who has begun to purr as though he can sense he is the center of attention yet again. “Maravilla?” The kitten slowly blinks at Giulio, and he takes it as enough of a yes. “Since he’s orange.. And, well–”
“He’s a marvel indeed.” Vincent finishes, though when Sabbadin looks back at him, he’s not looking at the kitten. His heart leaps in his throat and he slides his eyes back to the kitten to avoid blushing in broad daylight.
“Yes.” He says stiffly instead, and Vincent laughs a little at his squirming.
“Well, I hope you two enjoy the rest of your smoke break.” He leans down to press his lips against the kitten’s head and hopes it will act as a proxy.
He frowns at Vincent, insulted. “I would never smoke around a baby.”
Vincent presses his lips together hard to keep from smiling and nods. “Thank you for the chamomile.” He says, sincere to his marrow as he lets his hand linger a second too long over Giulio’s to take the bundle of flowers. “And, Your Eminence, I am perfectly capable of making my own tea.” He pulls back and sweeps past Giulio, the Swiss Guard moving around him like water to follow.
He glances over at the kitten, blowing out a slow breath. “Saint Monica lend me strength.” He scratches under Maravilla’s chin and turns to watch Vincent disappear around the corner. “I hope you can keep a secret, piccolo.”