Chapter Text
When Vincent awoke, he was sitting on the floor huddled behind the couch. His heart was racing. He was disoriented. Confused.
He clutched the small crucifix around his neck and tried to regulate his breathing. He kept his eyes open.
He was safe. The room was quiet. He focused on these things.
It's safe. It's safe. It's safe.
Eventually, he sighed, allowing his eyes to fall closed as he rested the side of his head against the couch.
What's happening to me?
He couldn't recall getting out of bed, let alone leaving the bedroom. He must have been dreaming, but he had no memory of that either - only the stress responses his body had been left with.
It was disconcerting and Vincent was deeply unsettled. This was exactly what Thomas had feared, but was it the therapy that was dredging up Vincent's traumas rather than helping him, as he had feared? If Vincent had no memory of getting out of bed, or the dream - if he had an episode like this and returned to bed, how would he even know it had happened?
How often had it happened? Had he been doing this before he shouted loud enough for Sandro to hear? Had he been doing it every night Thomas wasn't there?
He didn't think he had, but there was no way to know, and that was the most worrying thing of all. To not be in control of himself and to have no memory of it was a distinctly alarming combination.
Vincent wasn't a loud person - his grief, anger and pain were all quiet, and many of the high-stress situations he'd been in required silence. Hiding members of his adopted community, escaping with them under the cover of darkness, listening for sounds of life amongst the wreckage… Vincent didn't suppose he would make noise to alert anyone if his dreams featured such memories.
Singing with Thomas was the loudest he'd been in many, many years. How lovely, that joy could be louder than sorrow.
Vincent tried to think on that instead as he tried to summon the strength to get up off the floor. It was only when he was on his feet that he realised that he was shaking. He went to the bedroom, crawled into bed, reached for his phone, and curled up on his side.
03:17 the display read.
Would either of them have a healthy pattern of sleep if they always called each other after bad dreams? Wasn't it best that only one of them be fatigued the next day? Vincent didn't feel like he should disturb Thomas if he was sleeping soundly - tomorrow he may not, and they should both get rest when they were able to.
Yet… despite his surroundings, Vincent still sought assurance that he was here. In Rome, in the present. Safe.
And nothing made him feel as safe as Thomas did.
He dialled.
It rang. And rang. Vincent told himself he wouldn't dial a second time if Thomas didn't pick up. He was either too deeply asleep or his phone was on silent. Vincent would content himself with replaying his voice note.
Just when he was about to hang up, the call connected.
“Hello?”
Oh dear, Thomas sounded very confused and muddled with sleep, but it made Vincent smile despite the guilt of waking him.
“Hello, mi vida.”
“Carissime,” Thomas sighed, apparently content and happy to hear Vincent's voice.
“Are you very sleepy?”
“Hmn. I like talking to you though.”
Tired enough that he hadn't immediately registered that a call in the early hours meant something bad, and Vincent wanted to live in that reality with him. A soft and cozy timeless space where nothing was wrong, and all that existed was the voice of his love.
“That's good, because I like talking to you too,” he pulled Chiquin to his chest and closed his eyes. “Tell me something, Tomás.”
There was a soft grunting noise, then nothing, and Vincent wondered if he'd fallen back to sleep.
“I love you.”
“Oh,” Vincent smiled. He knew that Thomas loved him, and he'd heard him say it plenty of times, but it was just so sweet. Said with the same earnestness he often carried. “That's wonderful. You'll never guess what.”
“Hm?”
“I love you too.”
Another happy sigh. “It is wonderful, isn't it? But… Vincent-”
There was some rustling and Vincent lamented Thomas fighting off his sleep.
“Good grief, it's gone three. What's the matter? Do you want me to come over?”
“No. You can't come here at this hour, Tomás. We can't keep doing this. I didn't want to wake you at all…”
“No. We won't keep doing this because from tomorrow I'll stay the night," Thomas said with firm authority. “Every night.”
“I can't ask that of you-”
“You didn't. I want to be there, you know this.”
“I know, I just… don't want to make things difficult for you.”
“And make things more difficult for yourself instead? You know that's something I can't allow.”
Vincent sighed wearily. And my recovery will make yours worse…
“Carissime. Mea vita. It is my greatest joy to be of help to you. I strive to be everything that you need.”
Vincent stroked Chiquin's belly with his thumb. “You are very sweet, mi Tomás. But that doesn't reassure me about you.”
“I can manage. Really. I… it may be slow, but I do feel I am making progress.”
“I know,” Vincent said gently.
“Can you tell me what happened?”
“I woke up behind the couch…”
“Were you dreaming?”
“I don't remember. I don't remember any of it - getting out of bed or the dream, and that's the worst thing about this.”
“Of course,” Thomas reassured, always so understanding and careful.
“And even if you are here, it won't stop it happening, will it? What if I lash out at you when you unknowingly fill the role of whoever is distressing me in my sleep?” he bit his lip. “I'd never forgive myself if I hurt you, Tomás.”
“I understand your fear, but I don't think you will.”
“Hurting myself or others was precisely what you were afraid of when you brought this to my attention. And I seem to recall you saying we couldn't know how I'd react in my sleep.”
“Yes, but I have been talking with Sandro and doing more research to better understand what's happening and how I can help. And I know you, Vincent. You are not a reactive or violent man. Yes, it's very possible you could lash out if you feel cornered or in danger - so I will endeavour not to make you feel that way. There hasn't been any evidence of you being destructive, has there?”
Vincent looked at the knuckles of his free hand, clenched it into a fist and unclenched it a few times. No evidence of abrasion and no soreness or ache in the joints.
“Not that I can tell,” he admitted.
“Good.”
“When have you been talking to Sandro?”
“I've been taking him for coffee once a week for advice. It's only been twice. He was willing to share his knowledge about PTSD with me so I took him up on it. I didn't tell you because I didn't want to bring it to mind if it hadn't been a problem.”
“You don't have to tell me everything you do,” Vincent said, more to emphasise this to himself rather than Thomas, because it had stung to realise he hadn't known Thomas had been doing this.
“But I like to,” Thomas said easily. “He's been very helpful, and I'm fairly confident I can manage anything that happens in your sleep.”
“Okay,” Vincent breathed, choosing to believe him.
He trusted Thomas. Thomas was clever and sensitive and capable. If he thought he was prepared, Vincent would believe him.
“Do you think you'll be able to go back to sleep?”
“No,” Vincent answered honestly. “But I'd like you to. I feel better, thank you.”
“... if you're sure,” Thomas said with obvious reluctance.
“Yes. I shall pray and open the window when the birds start to wake to listen to them sing as I watch the sunrise.”
“Stay in bed until then?”
“Okay. Wait. Do I have permission to get up and make tea?”
“Hm. Only if it's not caffeinated. Just in case you're able to sleep.”
“Camomile, I promise.”
“Alright then. Are you sure… ?”
“Yes. Please go back to sleep. I'll rest easier knowing that you are.”
“Enjoy the sunrise, then. I'll see you in a few hours.”
-----
Thomas had eventually been able to convince Vincent to contact Dr Medina-Mendez about his worries rather than waiting for almost a whole week for his next appointment. She had availability to see him the following evening for a shorter session, but Thomas could see that he felt guilty for changing her schedule.
“Vincent. Carissime. This is her job - to care for all of her patients, including you. She wouldn't see you if it was at the cost of someone else. You know her better than I do, surely you know this is true?”
“Yes,” Vincent sighed, running his hands through his hair.
Thomas offered his hand, palm up, on the table between them. Vincent threaded their fingers together.
Thomas had been suggesting private dinners together whenever Vincent had a rough day, and he never refused. Thomas told him to order whatever he wanted in the hope of providing comfort, but also because Thomas wasn’t confident he would be able to use the food delivery app without messing something up. It would be delivered to Thomas' apartment, and he would carry it over to Vincent.
This time, he'd ordered from Flower Burger and as sweet as that was, it only emphasised how much Vincent was seeking comfort.
“It was our first date,” he'd murmured as they set the table.
“Was it a date if neither of us knew it? Or if we weren't physically in the same place?”
“I think God may have known.”
His smile had been playful, but Thomas knew he believed it. It seemed they were recreating that date, but even so, Thomas couldn’t pretend that they weren't living with their present problems. So he'd asked if Vincent had received a response from the doctor, hoping he could at least get these topics out of the way right at the start.
“Okay. I won't pester you about it any more,” he assured.
“Thank you. You're lucky you know.”
“I know, I have so much to be thankful for now,” Thomas said earnestly. “But in what way are you thinking?”
“Oh, mi cielo,” Vincent softened, squeezing his fingers. “... I was going to order us the green ones, and you're being so sweet I feel terribly guilty for even thinking of subjecting you to it. Although I'm convinced it would have tasted good. But luckily for you, they've changed their menu. They even had one that looked normal,” he pointed to Thomas' burger with its reddish-brown bun.
“Then I am very lucky indeed, even more so than I previously thought,” Thomas smiled, taking another bite. “It tastes good too.”
“... That day was very special to me. I remember it fondly.”
“As do I,” Thomas rested his foot against Vincent’s. “But this is better, no?”
They were actually across the table from one another, Thomas could see his lovely face and hear his voice without the filter of technology. There was candlelight and true romantic feeling between them.
“Yes but… that night it felt like something changed. I think you truly captured my heart for good.”
“Oh,” Thomas felt himself flush. “I can't imagine why, I recall I was lamenting my own problems…”
“You were so funny,” Vincent smiled, tilting his head slightly. “You kept making me laugh. Very deliberately. And I thought how lucky I am, to not only have someone so knowledgeable and dependable and caring by my side, but that someone would seek to make me laugh too.”
“I love to make you laugh,” Thomas murmured, feeling strangely shy, as if Vincent would admit he’d just been humouring him and that Thomas wasn't funny at all. He didn't, of course.
“And then there was your sensitivity. Hearing how my predecessor had made you feel, and how I knew you had continued to serve to the best of your ability… how open and vulnerable you were willing to be with me…” he exhaled a breathy laugh. “It made me feel protective of you. I wanted you to feel how much I valued you. And I suppose I realised I always wanted us to value one another, and be close to one another like that.”
Thomas lifted their joined hands to press a kiss to Vincent's knuckles.
“You fell in love with me?” he murmured against his skin.
“I was only certain of it when you sent me the photo of Saint Peter's the next night.”
They stared at the candlelight flickering in each other's eyes but it wasn't long before Thomas' heart began to sink.
They should be kissing right now. Vincent would tell him to hurry up and finish eating first, smiling against his mouth. The charge in the air between them would be exciting, not worrying. Vincent would pull him to the comfort of the bedroom, forcing Thomas to abandon the empty plates on the table, and Thomas would gladly tell him and show him how much he loved him.
Thomas closed his eyes and tried to swallow down the deep, deep yearning that was climbing up into his bruised heart and made his throat tight. He wanted his collar to be fastened around his neck with loving fingers. He wanted to give his heart and soul over completely into those hands. He wanted to be Vincent's.
He wanted, he wanted, he wanted.
His breath hitched as he fought against the heat building behind his eyes.
Don't ruin such a lovely moment, he scolded himself.
“Tomás. Eat before it gets cold,” Vincent said kindly.
“Yes,” Thomas cleared his throat. “Sorry.”
Sorry for ruining the atmosphere, sorry I can't be what we both want - what we need, sorry I'm such a mess, especially when you need stability-
He directed his focus to eating, but the enjoyment of this act had vanished. He could barely taste the food. He ate to not worry Vincent, reducing it to a mechanical process to sustain his body.
There was a touch of sadness in Vincent's smile and Thomas hated himself for it.
“... You don't have to sleep in the bedroom with me,” Vincent broached when they were finished, standing side-by-side at the sink. “You can take the couch, if you prefer.”
Thomas circled the sponge around the plate he was washing. It had hardly been dirty, but he kept it in his hands, following the circumference around and around… as if he could rinse off his mood in the process.
I don't ‘prefer’, he wanted to snap but Vincent didn't deserve that. He didn't deserve any of this.
I want my collar, he wanted to sob, pathetic and needy, but Vincent didn't deserve that either.
Taking communion from Innocent was difficult now. Without using the collar between them anymore, it was the closest Thomas could get to the sensation. On his knees in front of Innocent, it felt like it would be so very easy to slide into that place of mental softness and safety. He felt the urge in his body to let it flow over him, so he didn't look at Innocent during the process, couldn’t bear to. He held his breath and bit his lip, dug his nails into his palms - he did everything he could to prevent himself slipping. He avoided Vincent for the rest of the morning and they didn't talk about it.
What was there to say? What could Thomas do? He didn't trust himself, didn't trust his body, so no matter how much he didn't want to…
“Okay,” he murmured with difficulty, feeling like the assent had to be forced from him like retching up bile. “... sorry.”
Vincent’s gentle hand rested at his elbow.
“It's okay, Tomás. I just need you here with me, that's all. It doesn't matter what room you're in, as long as you're here I'll feel much better.”
Of course it matters! The plate splashed back into the sink with a clatter, making Vincent jump.
“S-sorry,” Thomas pressed the heels of his hands over his eyes, uncaring that they were wet and soapy. “I just- I need to pray. Give- give me a moment-”
“Tomás, Tomás, please,” Vincent held his arms, held him still as he tried to stumble away. “I think you need to cry. And it's okay. I don't think you should be alone, I don't want you to be alone - just like I don't want to be when I'm feeling bad. Feeling scared. Please, mi vida.”
Thomas whined through his teeth and shook his head.
“It's not fair to you,” he choked. “Not when- you were trying so hard to be happy-”
“I'm always happy when I'm with you, Tomás. Even if there are other emotions, I'm always, always happy to have you next to me.”
Thomas took his hands away from his face and threw his arms around Vincent’s shoulders to hide his tears in his hair instead. Vincent gently returned the embrace, smoothing his hands up and down Thomas’ trembling back.
“Sorry-” Thomas sobbed. “I'm sorry-”
Stop apologising! It'll only make him feel worse!
“I know, Tomás,” Vincent murmured. “I know. You might not feel it now, but you are getting better, I promise.”
“I want to. More than anything.” Please, God. Please fix me. Please. Not even for myself, for him.
“I know.” Vincent held him tighter.
When his tears eventually subsided, Thomas felt raw and vulnerable enough for an idea to come to mind.
“Can I- ?”
“Hm? What do you want, Tomás?” Vincent encouraged gently.
“Can I sleep on the floor?”
“On the floor?” Thomas could hear the frown in Vincent's voice.
“Next- next to the bed.”
“Oh, yes. I'm sure we can do that. Let's see what we have to make you a bed.”
“I don't need one-” Thomas protested as they separated, only to be subjected to Vincent’s disbelieving stare.
“Tomás. You will not be able to move in the morning if you spend the night on the bare floor. If you're able to sleep at all. Come on, help me make you something comfortable.”
Vincent rescued the plate from the sink and dried it before taking Thomas over to the sofa. He started gathering the cushions into his arms.
“Take the seat cushions out,” he directed Thomas.
Thomas didn’t feel good about dismantling the papal sofa, but he didn’t argue and followed the instruction.
“Right!” Vincent dumped all of the cushions unceremoniously onto the floor as soon as they arrived in the bedroom. “Blankets.”
He fussed around in a cupboard, throwing the sheets and blankets he pulled out onto the floor.
“I’m sure I only need one, Vincent.”
“Nope!” Vincent closed the cupboard and bent to attempt to scoop all of the bedding up. Thomas assisted him. “To do this right we need to try and make everything a consistent height so it's not lumpy. And I don’t want you rolling off onto the floor, so we need to cover everything we use as a mattress in one sheet to hold it all in place.”
“I see,” Thomas murmured, too tired to do anything but follow Vincent’s apparent expertise.
Vincent arranged the sofa seat cushions in a row beside his bed, then began to roll up sheets and put them around the edges. Thomas copied him at the other end, and then helped to tuck a fitted sheet around the whole construction. Vincent took the pillows from Thomas’ side of the bed, fluffed them, and set them at the head of their freshly made mattress.
Thomas regarded it as he stood up. It certainly looked more comfortable than just sleeping on the sofa, and certainly better than the bare floor.
“Get ready for bed,” Vincent suggested. “If this set-up is alright for you, of course.”
“Yes. Thank you.”
Thomas got ready in the bathroom, and when he reemerged, Vincent was kneeling on Thomas’ bed, hands clasped in prayer above his own mattress. Thomas joined him, kneeling at his side, to send his own evening prayer. He was thankful to have Vincent always by his side during these times of hardship, and he asked for guidance.
Vincent only moved when Thomas had finished praying, and got into his own bed. Thomas sat back, reaching for the thick blanket Vincent had folded at the foot of the makeshift mattress to be used as a duvet. He looked up to find Vincent propped up on an elbow looking down at him.
Oh…
Thomas felt his cheeks warm and a gentle heat ease through his veins. It was that collar-feeling again.
“Tomás?”
Thomas’ breath shivered out of him. He couldn’t look away.
Maybe he didn’t need to be afraid. He was on the floor. He’d separated himself. Reduced the risk.
“Are you okay?”
Vincent reached a hand towards his face and Thomas nuzzled into it with a sigh, his eyes falling closed.
“Oh, mi vida…” Vincent’s thumb caressed his cheek. “Here.”
Thomas opened his eyes again to see Vincent press the tips of the fingers of his other hand to his lips. He offered this hand over the edge of the bed too. Thomas immediately leaned forward to press those fingers to his forehead. He held onto Vincent’s wrist to keep it there and just breathed.
In. Out. Relax... In. Out. Relax…
“That’s good,” Vincent murmured. “Better?”
Thomas hummed, continuing for a few more breaths before he released Vincent’s hand. Vincent brushed his fingers through the thinning hair at the top of Thomas’ head.
“Do you think you can sleep?”
“Yes. Thank you.”
“De nada.”
Vincent passed another kiss across his fingers before he blew out the candles. Thomas laid on his back, pulling the blanket over him, and put a hand on his rosary. He could still feel the warmth of Vincent’s fingertips on his forehead.
“Tomás,” Vincent whispered in the dark.
“Hm?”
“Hold my hand.”
Thomas reached up and immediately bumped against Vincent’s arm. Vincent clasped his hand.
“Goodnight, mi vida.”
-----
There were no incidents of any kind during the night, much to Vincent’s relief. Thomas seemed quiet, but in good spirits, and Vincent was certain he would confide in him if anything had disturbed him.
He didn’t know what he could do for Thomas, besides be there for him. Vincent understood that Thomas’ frustration with himself and the indeterminate progress of his recovery were upsetting him. It was difficult for both of them to see a part of Thomas so ready and willing to slip into subspace but have to hold it back.
It would be very, very easy to divert his attention away from his own problems and over to Thomas’. The fact he hadn’t had any nightmares or activity in the night made the urgency of needing a therapy appointment seem much more diminished. It would be so easy for him to cancel, but that wouldn’t be fair to María when he’d already made her change her schedule once.
He could at least try and keep it brief. It wasn’t going to be a regular session anyway, just whatever time she could give him to assist with the latest development. In the meantime, Vincent would busy himself with his duties as usual. There was too much for him to do to waste time worrying about what his appointment would entail.
Vincent almost forgot all about it. Between his duties, he checked on Thomas (and during, if Thomas was present) but he was in perfectly good spirits. No signs of a depressive episode - at least not outwardly.
But Vincent lost his appetite at dinner, with the appointment time growing ever-closer. He swallowed his food down anyway as he hated wasting anything, even though it refused to settle in his stomach.
It was ridiculous. He liked María. She was helping him, and he knew she wouldn't judge him - he didn't have a fear of that anyway. He just… didn't want to talk about it.
Thomas walked him to the apartment.
“You can come in,” Vincent decided.
“Are you sure?”
“Yes. Just… don't be near the office? Maybe stay in the bedroom, if you don't mind.”
“Of course I don't,” Thomas said, following him through the door.
“And ah, you could wear my headphones. To listen to something.”
Hopefully this would be enough to not be concerned about his conversation being overheard, even accidentally. Vincent wouldn't mind Thomas knowing the content of his sessions, but being aware that someone else could be listening might change how responsive Vincent was to the questions.
“I can do that.”
Vincent found his earbuds in his office drawer and connected them to Thomas’ phone for him. He tested the connection himself, slipping one earbud in and pulling up YouTube as Thomas didn't have any apps besides ones other people told him to download and those that the phone automatically had. He typed Whitney Houston, as it was the first thing that came to mind and clicked the first video. He was immediately hit with an advertisement, but the sound played into his ear, and that was all he needed to know.
He put the earbuds and phone into Thomas’ hands.
“There. All working. Remind me to sort out your phone.”
“Thank you. What's wrong with my phone?”
“You need ad blockers for a start.” There were very likely many privacy settings that needed to be changed too, and Vincent could probably streamline things and install various apps to make Thomas' phone much easier (and nicer) for him to use.
Thomas sighed. “Remember the days when a phone was just a phone?”
Vincent laughed. “I need to go.”
“Wait-”
Thomas held him by the arm to prevent him from turning away. He pressed a fleeting kiss to the top of Vincent’s forehead.
“Good luck.”
“Thank you,” Vincent said softly, feeling so loved and much better prepared to walk into his office.
He closed the door behind him, but didn't feel quite so alone knowing Thomas was within reach. He sat down, set up the computer and waited to be connected to the meeting.
“Hola, Vincent,” María greeted as soon as she appeared on his screen.
“Hola,” Vincent smiled, some of the dread slipping away.
They communicated exclusively in Spanish - in their emails as well as during the sessions - and that was a comfort to him. Although he was conversing in Spanish more with Thomas in the evenings, and Thomas was very good at the language, it was different being able to talk to a native-speaker.
But she hadn't agreed to meet him to chit-chat. She asked him to describe the morning he woke up behind the couch - not just what he didn't remember but what he felt, if he recognised where he was, how long it had taken him to feel like his normal self afterwards. If he'd been able to utilise any of the strategies they'd discussed to help him feel safe, and if they'd actually helped in practice.
“We touched on it last session as a possibility for you, but I think we should go ahead with EMDR therapy and see if it helps. We don't have the time to begin now - we need to make sure we start and finish the whole process for a particular memory, to ensure you're at a good place to leave the session. How do you feel about giving it a try in our next appointment?”
Eye Movement Desensitisation and Reprocessing therapy. María had described the concept to him before, but he was reluctant to intentionally bring to mind experiences he'd rather forget. It felt like playing with fire. It might work, but if it didn't, Vincent might feel much, much worse summoning memories that would come back to haunt him while he slept.
But what choice did he have if he wanted to regain control of himself? If he wanted to fulfil the duty the Lord had given him to the best of his ability? He had to try something and he’d read accounts of people it had helped.
“Okay. Let's try it.”
“Alright. I know you had your reservations about it, and that's completely understandable. We'll go through it, piece by piece, together, okay?”
Vincent nodded. “Yes.”
“And because of those reservations, I wouldn't suggest working on the most traumatic memory first - I would never suggest that. We'll start as small as we can and if you feel like it helps, you'll have more confidence in it when tackling something bigger.
“I'm not going to suggest you think about which memory we should tackle - we'll decide in the session. I actually don't want you to think about any of this at all until then. I know it's difficult, and I'm not saying you can't, but I wonder if having these sessions in the evenings has our discussions weighing on your mind still, even with our debrief and decompression. When you write down your thoughts and do the exercises we talked about - is this in the evenings too?”
“Ah. Yes…”
“For some people it does help to physically get thoughts out of their heads onto paper to empty their minds before they sleep, but for you it might be causing those experiences to stick. I know we can’t have our sessions any earlier in the day, but I’d recommend doing something completely different and distracting between the session and going to bed. Watching a movie or TV show - something light. And if you can find a different moment in the day to write your thoughts, that may help you sleep better.”
“Ah. That makes sense. I’ll try. Thank you, María.”
“I’m glad you contacted me and didn’t wait for our appointment. Even if I don’t have the availability to speak to you - if you’re struggling, I can still give you advice.”
“Hah, yes. I’m glad too. I’m sure you know that I hesitated to send that email…”
“Yes,” María smiled. “But I think next time there’ll be less hesitance, don’t you?”
“Yeah. I think you’re right.”
-----
Vincent entered the bedroom far more at ease than he was when he’d entered the apartment. Once again, they both had a comfortable night with Thomas set up in his bed on the floor. Vincent hadn’t wanted to talk about his meeting, and had asked Thomas what countries he hadn’t been to that he would like to see and why.
“I’ve never been to Mexico,” Thomas said immediately. “That would be at the top of my list now, I would think.”
Vincent hadn't needed him to answer the why.
“I would love to show it to you. It's at the top of my list too in where I need to go on my first papal visits. I know I have responsibilities, but…”
Thomas was told about the places most special to Vincent’s heart, heard Vincent’s excitement in the sudden idea that Thomas should stay with one of his sisters - Ana María. Thomas had got a notepad to start recording everything he mentioned, from the best shortcuts to the food he should try.
“You don't need to write it down - I'll be there with you!”
“It's important to me.”
Thomas was actively looking forward to his own future for the first time in many years, rather than not considering it at all at best, and at worst presuming he didn't have much of a life left to live. He wanted to do so much living with Vincent - to travel, to experience everything that was special to him, and to make new discoveries together.
Vincent's desire for Thomas to meet his family, followed Thomas into his dreams.
“¡Tomás! Come, come!” fussed a woman who looked a lot like Vincent, but with longer, greyer hair.
Bewildered, he was pulled inside a house, into a room which was filled with people, who all turned to look at him with excitement and expectation. He didn't recognise a single one of them and felt very much like a fish violently grabbed from the ocean, held up and examined.
“Ohh, look at him!” someone cooed.
“Very tidy. Very smart.”
“Tall! ‘Distinguished’,” someone else laughed.
“You can say handsome!”
The laughter increased and Thomas flushed. There were so many women here… he felt so out of place and so observed.
“Hello. I don't think we've met. I'm Cardinal Thomas Lawrence. I'm not sure I'm in the right place?”
More laughter.
“So polite!”
“A gentleman!”
“And funny!”
He turned to the woman still beside him. “Where is Vincent?”
She slapped him on the arm. “Don't you know its bad luck?”
“Bad luck?” he frowned. When could having Vincent with him ever be unlucky?
“For the groom to see his bride before he walks down the aisle!”
“... it's the bride that walks down the aisle…” Thomas frowned. Vincent was getting married?
“Yes,” she gave his shoulder a little shake. “You.”
“O-oh, I-”
Nervous butterflies took flight in his chest. He was getting married?
He recalled what Vincent had told him: ‘I love you as a partner. As a man loves a wife’…
A wife.
“Come on, it's the job of his sisters to get you ready!”
He was pulled through the crowd, who patted him and cheered and laughed as he passed, but not in cruelty. Although it was dizzying, there was only joy expressed in this house.
When he entered another room, there was a mirror in front of him, and he found himself already dressed in white. In a cassock very much like his usual one, besides the colour and silky, light fabric. The skirt was a little longer, and had a little more flow to it. He wore no zuchetto, but the fascia around his waist was also white. He stroked his fingers over the tail of it.
“Will he like it?” he asked, hushed.
“Of course he will. He likes you.”
Thomas looked back up at his reflection. He was still old and tired but… he was smiling and his eyes shimmered with emotion and no, actually- Thomas forced himself to really look. He was happy and at peace, loved and in love, and those things leant a certain youthful energy to him.
This… didn't feel like as much of a disconnect he usually experienced seeing himself. He looked a little more himself in a way he couldn't quantify.
“Do you like it?”
“Yes,” Thomas breathed. “Yes, I think I do.”
Thomas didn't mention the dream, but he tried looking in the mirror and wasn't blessed to have the same experience. In his older age, there was a recognition when he saw himself - he knew what he looked like, but somehow it felt like he looked different. He couldn't say what he thought he should look like. He'd always assumed it was related to aging, that he thought himself younger with a full head of hair. But he wasn't any younger in the dream. He looked very much the same, and yet…
“Tomás? Are you alright in there?”
“Yes!” Thomas splashed his face with water.
“I think you missed a call,” Vincent told him when he exited the bathroom.
“It's quite early for a phone call," Thomas mused, going over to get it from the bed.
Chiara.
He'd called her while Vincent had been in his meeting, thinking it would be a nice surprise for him to have Chiara and Sofia visit in the afternoon. A pleasant distraction from his recent troubles. Chiara had agreed, but to call this early, Thomas wondered if one of them had suddenly been struck with illness.
He called back.
“Chiara? Is everything alright?”
“No, Thomas, everything is not alright!”
“Whatever is the matter?”
She didn't sound upset, but it was worrying all the same.
“I have no idea what to wear, I can't believe I agreed to this.”
Thomas sighed, the tension leaving him as he sat on the edge of Vincent's bed.
“And why are you thinking about your wardrobe at five-thirty in the morning? You should be asleep.”
“I woke up at five, stressing out that I'm going to the Vatican and meeting the Pope!”
“That's hours away, Chiara. Almost literally twelve hours.”
Chiara groaned. “I'm not going to be able to do a single thing until then, you realise that?”
“Well, you can arrive any time you'd like. Although, not presently if you don't want to attend mass. I'll be occupied until late afternoon, but the gardens are lovely if you just wanted to spend the time there.”
“I feel like I need to be hanging onto you at all times for emotional support.”
“Chiara. If it's really as bad as all that, you don't have to come,” he kept his voice low so Vincent wouldn't overhear.
“No, I do want to. It's important to Sofia, and it's important to you. I'm just being silly.”
“Plenty of people would be nervous. But I promise he'll like you.”
“So what should I wear?”
“You're fine as you usually dress, I assure you.”
“My mother would actually kill me if I wore jeans to meet the Pope.”
“Well your mother doesn't have to know, does she? I think if you're feeling uncomfortable, you should at least be wearing something that's comfortable.”
“Says the guy who's most comfortable wearing all his… stuff.”
“All of my stuff.”
“Shut uuup. It's five-thirty in the morning. You expect me to have words to say? Oh yeah but you're Mr Get-Up-And-Do-Mass-Super-Early. While wearing all your stuff.”
“Hm yes, I am glad I changed my name. Although, Get-Up-And-Do-Mass-Super-Early did end up being very apt for the life I chose, it was rather a mouthful.”
“Oh my God, shut up,” Chiara snorted. “You're such a dad.”
“I thought I was your brother?”
“Yeah, well. You're on a thin… line.”
“Thin ice?”
“Yeah. That.”
“Trust me, Chiara. There's nothing for you to worry about. You can follow me around like a duckling if you want, but Sofia will take all attention away from you, I'm sure.”
“That's true… unless her behaviour reflects poorly on me.”
“Everyone adores her already. I'm certain she has an awful lot of leeway in what she could get away with. But don't put that into practice.”
“Oh, definitely not. I've not even told her we're going to see you yet because she would not concentrate at school. She'd be bouncing around the room all day.”
Thomas thought it best not to tell her it'd also be a surprise for Vincent.
“Okay. Thanks, Thomas. I'm not gonna bail on you, I promise. I'll let you know when we're on the way.”
“I'll see you later.”
“Who was it?” Vincent asked when Thomas left the bedroom.
“Chiara. She's just feeling a little stressed and knew I'd be awake.”
“Oh dear. I'm sure you soothed her though,” Vincent smiled, linking their arms. “You're wonderful at that.”
“Yes, I think I did. Are you ready?”
“Now I have you, sí.”
They left the apartment arm-in-arm.
-----
“Your Holiness,” Thomas announced his presence as he entered Innocent’s office.
Very professional, yet neither of them were in the company of anyone else. Vincent's eyebrows pulled down in the slightest of frowns.
“Cardinal Lawrence… ?”
“I believe you have some availability at the moment?”
“Yes, I have just finished my meeting. What is this about?”
Sometimes, Thomas could be maddeningly impossible to read.
“Nothing to be alarmed about, my apologies.” Thomas allowed a small smile onto his face. “You have visitors. Pleasant ones.”
He extended his hand, and Vincent gladly got up to take him by the arm.
“Visitors?”
“You'll see,” was all Thomas said with a touch of mischief in his smile.
“Oh, you've been plotting and planning again, I do see.”
“That makes me sound villainous! I don't plot.”
There were three figures by the turtle pond, one much smaller than the others.
There was one visitor he'd considered the most pleasant, but he'd kept his hope in check. Despite projecting optimism, Vincent was as much of a realist as Aldo. He'd seen too much of the world to be anything else, but he had witnessed much light in the darkness. Vincent prepared and expected the worst and hoped for the best in most situations. Even with the expectation of his surprise visitors. It wouldn't be fair to them if he was disappointed they weren't who he wished them to be.
Now that he had seen them, a smile bloomed easily on his face. He squeezed Thomas’ arm, his heart feeling so light, as if it might drift away like a balloon over to the little girl.
“Tío!” she squealed, running over to them.
Vincent's hand slipped from Thomas' arm as he jogged to meet her. He immediately lifted Sofia up into his arms, set her against his hip, and twirled in circles, making her giggle with delight and slap her hands against his shoulders. He slowed to a stop when he stumbled.
“Hello, pequeñita.”
“Peh… keh…”
“Peh- que- nyee- ta,” Vincent gave her a gentle poke on the nose with each syllable.
“Peh-keh-nhyeeeeee-ta!”
“Exactly,” he smiled.
He looked up to Thomas, Chiara and Ray and all three of them quickly lowered their phones.
“You're wonderful,” Thomas offered as explanation, hurrying up to them. “Together.”
“I think everything is a little more wonderful in Señorita Sofia's company, hm?”
“Seh-nyoh-reeeee-ta! Peh-keh-nhyeeeeee-ta!” Sofia chanted as Thomas helped set her back on the ground.
“Very good,” Thomas praised her first foray into the Spanish language.
“That's Mama over there!” she declared, tugging on Vincent’s hand and pointing.
Chiara’s smile looked a little forced as she waved and leaned closer to Ray.
“-ring? Bow or curtsy or- ah, hi- Hello. Your Holiness.”
Her fingers clutched at the sides of her ankle-length skirt - black, printed with green leaves and orange flowers of tropical plants - and she made a stiff, half-bow. Vincent waved away the gesture.
“Please, call me Vincent. We are meeting as friends,” he placed a gentle hand on her shoulder. “You do not have to kiss my ring, bow or curtsy.”
“Hah, right. Thank you.” Her gaze flicked across to Thomas and back. “Vincent.”
When she looked back to Thomas, Vincent caught the slight shake of her head and fond sigh. It made him look at Thomas too and saw the proud smile on his face. Vincent smiled back at Chiara.
“I must say, I love your outfit.”
She'd matched the skirt with a silky, flowing peach shirt and dark ankle boots. Her thick, black curls fell loose down to just above her elbows. Despite her hesitance and nerves, she had a kind face.
“Mama tried soooo many clothes. They’re allllll over the bed.”
Chiara grimaced. “No one needed to know that, bug.”
“But she was pretty in all of them!”
“I'm sure she was.”
“I was showing Mama the turtles but we can't find Apricot!”
“Oh dear, let's see if I can help.”
“She's off on another adventure I presume,” Thomas sighed. “Thank you for keeping them company, Ray.”
“It was my pleasure, Eminence. Before I head back, how about I take a family photo for you?”
“Photo!” Sofia raised both arms in enthusiastic agreement.
Vincent placed a gentle hand against Thomas’ back, knowing that he would be deeply moved by the lighthearted comment. That someone could recognise this collection of people as a family, and that Thomas was part of it.
“A wonderful idea, Ray,” Vincent answered for them both. “Let's sit, so we're closer together.”
“Cardinal Lawrence should be in the middle. It'll be a nicer composition, as you're the tallest.”
“If you think that's best…” Thomas said, uncertain.
“Yes! Thomas, sit!” Sofia commanded, tugging him towards the bench by his sleeve.
“Sofia,” her mother groaned. “What did we say about being bossy?”
Sofia was too busy climbing onto an overwhelmed Thomas’ lap to have registered the question.
“That's perfect, Sofia,” Ray congratulated. “You see my vision.”
“Sit, sit! Photo, photo!”
“She's excited,” Vincent reassured Chiara after hearing her sigh. “It's lovely to see. Please don't worry so much.”
“I'll try.”
She sat on Thomas' left and threw an arm around his shoulders, leaning against him. Vincent could recognise his surprise and put a hand at the small of his back when he took his place on the right. Thomas turned his head towards him, and Vincent could see the emotions he was experiencing, although all positive, were overwhelmingly so. He looked so vulnerable under the weight of affection. Vincent traced small, soothing circles against his back with his thumb.
“Tío and Zio and Mama and meeee!” Sofia sing-songed, kicking her feet.
“That's right,” Thomas smiled.
“Okay, ready?” Ray held up his phone. “Three… two… one-”
“Eeee!” Sofia made her smile audible, making everyone else’s incredibly easy.
“Perfect!” Ray said before tucking his phone away again.
“Thank you, Ray,” Thomas said with a tender earnestness.
“Thank you Ray!!” Sofia parroted with enthusiasm.
Ray nodded with a smile of his own. “I’ll see you later.”
Sofia waved goodbye to him, but seemed content to remain on Thomas’ lap.
“Mama! Gifts!”
“Signorina Sofia Russo-Leone,” Chiara said firmly and Vincent could see the little girl grimace at the use of her full name. “Can we find our manners again, please.”
“Sorry…” Sofia mumbled, kicking her feet again.
“Now, what was it that you wanted to suggest?”
“I think Tío and Zio should get their gifts now.”
“Much better.”
Sofia shuffled to sit sideways, facing Vincent. “Thomas, Tío, would you like your gifts?”
“We weren’t expecting gifts,” Thomas said, delicately bushing one of her braids over her shoulder.
“I wanted Mama to make them for you. She’s really good at making things!”
“Okay, I think we’re building the expectation too much here,” Chiara muttered, rummaging in her bag. “It’s just a small thing. Sofia wanted me to make them for you. I’m still learning.”
She handed something green to Sofia, who in turn offered one of the objects to Vincent and the other above her head to Thomas.
It was a little crochet turtle, about two inches long, with a white shell.
“Oh, this is lovely, thank you,” Vincent smiled, looking into its shiny black bead eyes.
“Sofia insisted on them having ‘your colours’.”
He looked back to Thomas to see the turtle cradled in his palm had a red shell.
“They’re perfect, Chiara,” Thomas said. “You’re very talented.”
She shrugged, bashful. “Thanks.”
“Mama made me a green one first!”
“And you loved it?” Thomas asked, but directing a knowing, ‘I told you so’ smile to Chiara.
“Yes, she loved it,” Chiara confirmed. “So much that she immediately insisted you needed ones to match.”
“I love it,” Vincent said.
“... I can’t even tease you about giving a plushie to the Pope anymore,” he heard her mutter to Thomas.
“Good. Now come on, let’s go and see where our real turtle friend has got to, hm?”
“Apricot!” Sofia remembered, sliding off Thomas’ lap.
“Where have you already looked?” Vincent asked, offering his hand to Thomas as he stood.
“The pond and allll around the pond. I looked under all the plants…”
“The best places to look,” he agreed.
“But let us go further afield, hm?” Thomas suggested, putting his hand out for Sofia to take.
They set off and Vincent fell into step with Chiara for an opportunity to speak with her before they caught up with her daughter.
“Thank you for looking after Tomás,” he said. “For being there for him.”
“Oh… he’s a great guy. I’m happy we found each other,” her smile was fond as she took in the sight of Thomas leading her daughter ahead of them. “I think it's been really good for all of us. I think… we were all quite lonely.”
“It’s difficult to reach out to others when we’re feeling isolated.”
“Thank you for being there for him too,” she smirked. She leaned closer, dropping her voice: “he’s so cute whenever he talks about you. He’s just so… happy thinking about you.” She playfully wrinkled her nose. “Gross.”
Vincent felt himself blush. “He’s very sweet…”
“And so are you, apparently. It’s a wonder Monsignor O’Malley isn’t riddled with cavities having to watch the two of you be sweet every day.”
“We’re not so obvious, I assure you. Most of the time.”
Chaira hummed, clearly unconvinced.
“I can hardly help it when he’s in Sofia’s company,” he gestured towards them.”I don’t think anyone could blame me.”
“True.”
“Apricot!” Sofia squealed, but Thomas held her back from running, and moved forward cautiously with a hand on her shoulder, keeping her against his side.
He glanced at Vincent, then back at whatever he’d seen, something uncertain and hesitant in him. Vincent hurried closer.
Someone had left soil overturned where they’d been planting new shrubs. Apricot had found one of these mounds of loose dirt and was sitting atop it.
“Tomás? What-?”
Thomas held up a hand. “Let’s be quiet and see what she does.”
The four of them stood there watching the turtle, who wasn’t doing anything besides occasionally wriggling.
Sofia became restless. “Mama, what’s happening?”
“I’m not sure, bug.”
“Let’s go around the other side. Quietly, quietly,” Thomas murmured, guiding Sofia by the shoulders.
He crouched down when he was facing the turtle’s tail, but was still about four paces away from the animal. Vincent squinted at the turtle. What was Thomas seeing?
Another movement, and Vincent saw that she had her foot in a hole she’d made. He crouched beside Thomas. Apricot’s foot came back out of the hole and her tail settled over it. A white shape quickly appeared and disappeared into the hole.
“A nest…” Vincent breathed.
“Yes. She’s laying eggs, Sofia,” Thomas explained.
“Eggs?” she gasped. “Eggs with babies inside?! Turtle babies!?”
Chiara was quick to hush her and hold her back. Getting on the floor to scoop Sofia into her lap to watch.
“Yes,” Thomas whispered, looking solely at Vincent. “It would seem this little family is growing.”