Chapter Text
prudence
The thing is there is usually some semblance of a plan when a new Pope is named. He will have allies, people he trusts, ideas, agendas. There will be a shape to the new ministry, perhaps a radically different one from the last papacy.
Aldo knows Tedesco almost certainly had a job in mind for each of his sympathisers and would perhaps have been obliged to shove Adeyemi in somewhere after their late in the day alliance was forged. Perhaps Tedesco can comfort himself with the fact that he need not pretend he wishes to honour any of his eleventh hour promises. The point is, every one of the candidates would have had some semblance of how the Vatican would look under their papacy.
Innocent XVI does not. He has no plan, other than to love all people, bestow grace, absolve sins and serve God, and whilst that is laudable, being pope means he wields massive global political power. He will be asked his opinion on everything, from terrorism to veganism, and all else in between.
“It’s a very big job at hand: you’re head of a country as well as the entire Catholic world, your holiness.” Thomas says, in his gentle voice.
These words would hit a normal man like a sledgehammer.
Innocent merely tips his head to one side slightly, like a bird, or like he is listening to something no one else can hear. Then he smiles at Thomas, like the sun at daybreak.
“Well, we must get to work, then.”
***
In the quiet of his private office chambers, the pope pauses to digest what Aldo has just said to him.
“It is my understanding that the previous Holy Father loved and trusted his appointees. I believe it would make sense for you to carry on in your role.” Innocent has a slight frown on his face, an expression which does not sit comfortably on him.
Aldo inclines his head.
“I would be happy to remain as Secretary of State during this period of uncertainty, your holiness, but I believe the conclave brought to light certain truths about my popularity amongst the curia.” Aldo tries to deliver these words with detachment, but he can’t deny the reality still stings him.
“Perhaps they all just thought you make an excellent Secretary of State. I certainly do.” Innocent replies, his customary warm smile returning to his face.
Ah, Aldo thinks, he believes I’m looking for reassurance.
In the weeks since the papal inauguration there has been a certain amount of jostling for position, some of it quite unseemly given the age and rank of some of the men trying to get themselves noticed by Innocent. When the pope had initially suggested everyone simply carry on as before, at least until he was settled, it didn’t have quite the effect Innocent had probably intended- rather than putting people’s minds at rest, in the permanently rumbling rumour mill of the Vatican, most were taking it to mean that that no-one’s position was truly secure.
Well, Aldo thinks, one position was truly secure.
Then he chides himself for his unworthy thoughts. Just because it disquiets him that the Dean of the College of Cardinals has scarcely been more than an arm’s length away from the pope since the end of the conclave means nothing untoward, it shows no favouritism, just that Thomas is exceptionally good at his job.
And because of that he has been exceptionally busy, and Aldo should not begrudge having moved further down the list of his friend’s priorities.
He tells himself that, but he doesn’t believe it.
Aldo drags himself back to the conversation at hand.
“That’s very kind of you to say, your holiness.”
“I have asked you to call me Vincent, Aldo.” The pope says, with another of his bright smiles. He knows exactly how to wrongfoot Aldo without really trying, if that is even what he’s trying to do. For all that Aldo likes the new holy father, he doesn’t quite understand him yet.
Aldo forces himself to smile back.
“Yes, well. I suppose I’m old fashioned and set in my ways- another reason why it might be advisable for you to bring fresh blood to the role of Secretary of State.”
The pope regards Aldo with his warm, dark, inscrutable stare for a moment. Aldo forces himself not to fidget.
“If there is one thing you cannot be accused of it is being old fashioned. You have worked tirelessly to modernise the Church. I have been reading some of your articles, Thomas recommended them to me, they are excellent. The principles and changes you outline are what the Church needs.”
The praise warms him, as it is meant to, but Aldo knows how his vanity has brought him very low of late.
“Thank you, your- Vincent. And I don’t wish to argue with you, I simply- I feel I’m not the correct person to see these changes through.” Aldo admits.
The pope frowns. “Why not?”
Aldo almost smiles at the bluntness of this question. This Holy Father says what he means and asks what he wishes to know, and Aldo loves him for it. In many ways, it makes it easier to get the words out. Innocent isn’t expecting him to be a silver-tongued politician at this moment, just a man, being honest.
“I have failed to live up to my own values. I cannot hold others to a moral standard which I simply cannot achieve. I stand by what I have written, I’m just not the right person to implement any of it.” Aldo says.
“Perhaps you have lost confidence in yourself.” Innocent says, meeting Aldo’s gaze levelly. “But maybe it is more than that?”
Aldo takes a moment, wonders just how honest he should be. There is the self-doubt, that chasm between the man he is and who he wants to be, which seems to get wider every day he sits paralysed, unsure how to improve, or if the only way to make anything right is to remove himself from a position of influence altogether. His awful judgement in backing Tremblay during the conclave, his inability to shed the barbs he still carries to his pride, his shame over how he lashed out in anger towards those around him.
And yet, that isn’t what he wishes to confess to the pope.
‘I am desperately in love with Thomas Lawrence’ he thinks about saying, out loud, for the first time in his life.
But he doesn’t want Innocent to get the wrong idea, he wouldn’t be leaving his role because of his love for Thomas- he has loved Thomas since he met Thomas, he has desired Thomas for just as long, he is the fixed point in Aldo’s life as all else changes. He is not ashamed of this love, he has never expected reciprocity, he has never spoken a word of it to Thomas. He has done everything in his power to shield Thomas from the truth of it.
Only one person on earth had ever known of Aldo’s feelings for Thomas and he is dead and deep below St Peter’s Basilica, keeping his many secrets in the silence of his tomb.
‘I am desperately in love with Thomas Lawrence, and I will never deserve him’ is an utterly stupid thing to say out loud, worthy of a soap opera, but it is true. They have both devoted themselves to a life where shared romantic love is denied to them, and even if they hadn’t Aldo is certain he would not be Thomas’s choice. But now he barely feels worthy of being Thomas’s friend, because he cannot stand by and watch as Thomas falls for someone else.
It is very easy to miss, if you aren’t looking for it, and Aldo wasn’t, except that he always pays attention to everything Thomas does. A habit of over forty years doesn’t go away overnight, so over the past few weeks Aldo has noticed Thomas’s steadily growing ardour for the pope.
It can’t be anything else-when they aren’t talking, softly, intimately, Thomas is watching Innocent like he’s worried he might disappear if he looks away. Innocent only has to tap Thomas lightly on the arm and Thomas’s full attention is on him. They grow ever closer, and Aldo really wishes he could warn Thomas to be more cautious, to be less open with his smiles and his joy. But they aren’t young men in the seminary anymore, where Aldo’s ridiculous one-sided passion for Thomas was misinterpreted as something dangerous blossoming between the two of them. Aldo’s interference would not be appreciated in the slightest.
‘I am desperately in love with Thomas Lawrence, and he is in love with you’- well, he can’t say that aloud. Far too many secrets in one sentence- or perhaps not. Who knows what Innocent knows about him, what he sees when he watches Aldo interact with Thomas.
And perhaps it is not a secret between them that Thomas loves the pope. Perhaps when they retire for the evening Thomas follows the pope to his apartment where they can lock the door, be truly alone, where Vincent can kiss Thomas’s smile-
This is why Aldo has to escape his home of nearly two decades. He is thinking blasphemous thoughts almost every minute of the day- yes, he can write all the articles he wants on how homosexuality is not sinful, how priests should be allowed to love and to marry- it still isn’t the doctrine of the church, and to imagine the pope abandoning his vow of chastity is shameful at best. Just because Aldo would does not mean that Thomas or Vincent would be as weak.
“I am tired.” Aldo admits, because that is true. He is tired-of himself and his unworthy thoughts.
The pope’s eyebrows rise in surprise, before his face is clouded with concern.
“You are not ill?”
Aldo shakes his head. “No, it isn’t that. I just- I fear my drive has deserted me.”
The pope nods.
“I understand, when a battle is won, and the adrenaline has worn off you can find yourself very weary.”
Aldo can’t bring himself to agree with that, knowing that the pope has been in actual war zones, and he is just having a teenaged crisis fifty years too late. ‘The boy I like likes another boy and I can’t handle it’ does not exactly match up to fleeing whilst your church is being mortar bombed, in the grand scheme of things.
“You mentioned your desire to leave Vatican life- a short trip away might help to clarify your feelings, yes?” The pope suggests.
“I- yes.” Aldo agrees, because any reprieve from his current situation is one he will happily take.
The pope smiles.
“When you return we can discuss your future further. I do not wish you to make a hasty decision because of grief- you must miss him very much.”
For a confusing moment, Aldo thinks Innocent is speaking of Thomas, then he remembers it is scant weeks since they lost the holy father. A fresh wave of shame washes over him- he has barely spared a thought for his old friend of late.
“I have felt lost since his passing.” Aldo says.
The pope tips his head slightly, that little bird like affectation, which never fails to bring a smile to Thomas’s lips.
“I believe you are not the only one.”
***
Two days later and Aldo has drawn up a small itinerary for approval- he has suggested he will attend a special mass for the life of the previous holy father in Dublin, a reconciliation meeting in London for victims of historic abuse within the church and then on to Paris, for an interfaith discussion about collective religious responses to extremism. It isn’t as much as he would normally aim to do in a weeklong trip, but the pope had suggested he try and find time to relax a little.
He sits up a little in his desk chair, his back and neck complaining at being hunched over viewing various work calendars and airline websites on his computer screen. It is midafternoon and he is feeling fatigued- not an unusual state for him in recent months. He stands, stretches out his spine and decides that what he needs is caffeine. His mind conjures an image of the little coffee shop just outside of Vatican City, and figures that the walk will do him good.
As he leaves his office he walks almost straight into Thomas.
“Oh, hello.” Thomas says, frowning slightly as he straightens his armful of folders. He’s wearing his reading glasses, which he isn’t supposed to do when he’s walking about, as they make him misjudge where things are, such as steps, potted plants, the edge of tables and, apparently, Aldo himself.
Aldo smiles at him.
“I was just heading out for coffee.” he says.
“Oh, has your machine stopped working?” Thomas asks.
“No, I just felt like a walk. It could be a nice day outside and I want to find out. I feel like we’re still cooped up, I almost forget that we aren’t.”
Thomas smiles. “Well, perhaps I’ll join you.”
Aldo blinks in surprise. It’s not that he thinks that Thomas has been actively avoiding him, but he certainly hasn’t sought out Aldo’s company in weeks. The last time they were alone together was before the end of the conclave.
Thomas takes in Aldo’s expression.
“Sorry, that was rather presumptuous.” he says, his expression dimming.
“No, no, of course you can join me I just- you’ve been so busy.” he gestures awkwardly to the files in Thomas’s arms.
Thomas looks down at them like he is carrying a basket of snakes.
“This is all the Tremblay business, I’m to hand it over to the accountants. Fortunately, I don’t have to go through all of it with a fine toothcomb, you know my head for numbers. I can drop it off on the way?”
So, they head off together out into the city where, in their casual day to day wear, they are taken for just another pair of priests in Rome. They order cappuccino and sit outside, the weak wintry sunshine attempting to make a break for it between thick banks of white and grey clouds.
Thomas sips his drink and rubs at the place on the bridge of his nose where his glasses rest. He seems weary in a way that Aldo can heavily relate to.
“How’ve you been?” Aldo asks.
Thomas looks confused. “Fine? We saw each other yesterday.”
“Not to talk to.”
Thomas’s confusion deepens. “We talked yesterday- about the holy father’s trip to Japan.”
“That was three days ago.” Aldo says and hopes he doesn’t sound petulant.
“Was it? Heavens.” Thomas takes another sip of coffee. “Well, apparently, I’ve lost all track of time, but other than that I’ve been fine.”
“You’re sure?” Aldo presses.
Thomas pauses, his mouth slightly open, like he’s about to say something. Then he purses his lips and shakes his head, like he’s dispelling a thought.
“Yes, absolutely fine. The adjustment period is going rather well, I think, even if it is-” Thomas pauses again, his sentence stuttering out, and Aldo is a little disquieted by the fact his most eloquent friend can’t come up with a word.
“Completely exhausting?” Aldo suggests
Thomas lets out an almost laugh. “Yes. But- enlightening as well. Exhilarating, even.”
Aldo spoons foam off the top of his drink, to give himself something else to do, other than look at the beatific expression on Thomas’s face.
“I’m glad.” Aldo says, and thinks if he were a better person, it would be true.
“And how about you?” Thomas says, leaning back in his chair, long legs stretched out in front of him, crossed at the ankles. He used to sit the exact same way when they chatted together in the seminary, and it forces a sudden pain in Aldo’s chest.
“Oh, fine. I might be going away for a while.”
“Oh?”
“Yes, just a week or so- a trip to a few cities, reassuring a few of our allies that the holy father is everything we’ve prayed for.” Aldo says.
Thomas smiles into his coffee cup. “He certainly is.”
Aldo sips his coffee- the milk is burnt, and the coffee is bitterer than it should be. Or perhaps the drink is fine and it is just him, gone sour.
***
The holy father is holding one of his turtles, grinning at Aldo like he’s just told a joke.
“I thought you were dead.” Aldo says. They are standing in a small corner of what Aldo knows is the Giardini Vaticani, but it somehow looks exactly like his grandparent’s tiny vegetable garden in their backyard, back home.
“Ah, well, Aldo, if you think something then it is definitely the truth of the matter.” the holy father says. The turtle in his hands waggles its legs, and the holy father crouches to set it amongst Aldo’s grandmother’s zucchini patch.
“We put you in a tomb, it would’ve been a bit of an oversight.” Aldo points out.
“True enough, true enough.” The holy father holds out his arms and Aldo goes to him, embraces his old friend.
“I miss you.” Aldo says.
“You miss your old life.” the holy father says, but it isn’t an admonishment.
Aldo’s grandparent’s garden melts away and they are playing chess in the Sistine Chapel, the floor around them littered with turtles.
The holy father tuts, looking at the board. “Defensive as always, Aldo.”
“How am I supposed to play any other way? Inviting chaos was always your move.”
The holy father laughs. “I remember the day I asked for the turtles. I thought the vein in your forehead would burst.”
“We had to do separate paperwork for every single one of them, and vet checks, and quarantining- stop laughing!”
“But you still did it. Brought them from my home for me.” the holy father says, taking Aldo’s knight from the board. It isn’t as if Aldo can remember where his pieces are, because he has realised this is a dream.
“Of course. You asked for so little.”
“And you ask for nothing.” the holy father says, and when Aldo looks up from the swirling confusion of the chessboard, he looks sad.
“I have everything I want.” Aldo says.
The holy father gets to his feet, much too quickly for a man of his age, especially one who is dead, and swipes the board aside.
He leans over, and Aldo has never feared the holy father, but he is now seized by terror at his sudden anger, the fierce look on his face which he had never once worn in life.
“Liar.” the holy father hisses.
***
Aldo’s trip is approved, and the Vatican secretaries get to work, far better at booking things using frustratingly tiny dropdown menus and bafflingly hidden buttons than Aldo would ever be. He gets on well with his trusty laptop and the only time he has turned his mobile phone off in the last twenty-five years was for his mother’s funeral, but some things remain beyond him.
He walks with the pope, through the gardens, after all the tourists have left.
“You are sure you are not doing too much? I hope this trip will leave you time for reflection.” Innocent says.
“Valuable work will help me reflect. I feel closer to God when I am being useful.” Aldo assures him.
Innocent looks at him, one of his shrewd, penetrating gazes. “Have you felt distant from God?”
Aldo sighs. “I’ve felt distant from everything.”
His last few nights have been plagued with insomnia- he gets perhaps three hours altogether. He cannot remember the dreams he has, which is perhaps for the best as the last one he recalls was the deeply unsettling vision of the holy father, furious with him. As such, his daytime hours have passed him by in a bit of a fog, he’s unable to focus on anything. His eyes feel gritty when he tries to read, his head pounds when he looks at a screen for any period of time, and he’s irritable in meetings.
“That isn’t good.” The pope says.
Despite himself, Aldo laughs. “No, it isn’t.”
“Do you wish to talk about it?”
Aldo waves a hand. “Oh it’s- it’s self-indulgent nonsense.”
He cannot countenance saying ‘I have upsetting dreams, and my best friend doesn’t like me as much as he used to’ out loud. He is regressing, these are the concerns of a seventh grader, not a fully grown man.
“So? Indulge yourself.” Innocent says, as if it is that simple. He sits down at the edge of one of the fountains, dipping his fingers into the water.
“It- I’m not sure that I can.” Aldo admits.
Innocent smiles, shaking droplets of water off his hand. “You do not know me well enough yet to confide in me.”
“No, Holy Father, it isn’t that-” Aldo hastens to reassure him.
“But it is, and that is perfectly fine. I will not drag you to the confessional, Aldo. Perhaps it would be easier to speak with someone closer to you? Thomas, maybe?” The pope’s voice is gentle.
“Ah- no. I don’t think Thomas wants to hear my problems.” Aldo says, fatigue making him incautious with his words.
Innocent frowns a little. “No? I hear you are very old, very good friends.”
We were, Aldo thinks, until I betrayed his belief in me.
Aldo sits down next to the pope.
“Sometimes that makes it harder to talk to someone.”
The pope hums, a noise of agreement or dissent, Aldo doesn’t know. He doesn’t know this man, really, he can’t read him as he had been able to read the holy father. Or, thought he’d been able to read the holy father, at any rate.
He turns his attention to the man next to him, tries to see him as Thomas does. Yes, he’s certainly handsome- dozens of articles about ‘the hot pope’ have been circulating online and in print. His icons are in every shop window in Rome, Aldo has seen trendy schoolchildren enthusiastically buying devotional pictures of him, when only the most pious of students would’ve bothered with previous popes. And Aldo gets it, a relatively young pope with a full head of hair, soulful dark eyes and a nice figure is more appealing than the endless parade of elderly men who have gone before him.
Other than that, there is a stillness about him, a feature of holy people which Aldo has always admired and wished for himself. Try as he might, he has never been one who can consider the lilies and how they grow without worrying about climate change.
This pope is also very eager to please, in surprising ways. He is not interested in soothing ruffled feathers amongst the more conservative members of the curia, but he was nervous about meeting the choristers. Fortunately, he didn’t try to make any ingratiating jokes about Pokémon or pop music, but spoke to them as adults, thus assuring their loyalty and continued awe.
So, this pope is beautiful, thoughtful and endearing- all traits which Aldo has admired in Thomas. Perhaps that is why Thomas loves him; he has found someone who matches him.
The pope dips his hand into the water again and pauses.
“Should people be throwing coins into this fountain?” He asks.
Aldo peers into the water and sees what the pope is looking at- dozens of coins, mostly small change, have been dropped into the water.
“Not really, but you can’t stop them. We put up signs but-” Aldo shrugs. “Perhaps they couldn’t get close enough to the Trevi and thought ‘this will do’ for their wish.”
The pope smiles. “Maybe they think this is automatically holy water.”
“I think there is an argument that it is. But you could bless it now, just to be sure.” Aldo says.
The pope quirks an eyebrow at Aldo and then makes the sign of the cross in the air with his free hand.
“In the name of the father, the son and the holy spirit, please do not poison our turtles.”
"Amen." Aldo says, solemnly.
They are still laughing a little when Thomas comes across them, his brow lightly furrowed.
“I don’t mean to interrupt, but you have a call with the Archbishop of Rio de Janeiro, your holiness.”
The pope stands, wiping his hand carelessly on his trousers “Ah, yes. I had almost forgotten, thank you. I will speak with you again soon, Aldo.”
“Of course.” Aldo says, getting to his feet as well.
The pope takes Aldo’s hand in his, one of them still chill and slightly damp from the fountain.
“I hope you find the comfort you are looking for and know that you deserve it, whatever form it takes.” he says, his expression open and sincere.
Alarmingly, Aldo feels suddenly close to tears, his eyes pricking.
He swallows heavily and nods, squeezing the pope’s hands with his own.
“Yes. Thank you.” he manages to get out.
The pope squeezes back and then lets go, heading off to his meeting. Aldo turns towards the fountain, which has gone rather blurry. He wraps his arms around himself, and even through his wool coat he can feel the chill of early evening.
“Aldo?” Thomas asks.
Aldo half turns, surprised. He had assumed that Thomas would follow the pope. Instead, he is walking towards Aldo, his face a mask of concern.
“Are you alright?” Thomas asks, stopping just in front of Aldo.
“Yes.” Aldo says, much too quickly.
Thomas’s lips twitch, an expression of annoyance, quickly supressed but Aldo has seen it.
“I’m- naval gazing, at best, Thomas. Really, I’m fine. Nothing a sleeping tablet won’t fix if I get desperate.”
“You aren’t sleeping?”
Thomas’s voice is sharp and loud, the water making his words echo back to them.
“I’m fine. Just adjusting.”
Thomas regards him, his face very serious.
Aldo holds a hand up. “I probably just need to cut out caffeine in the afternoons, don’t fret.”
“You’ve seen a doctor?” Thomas presses.
“I have a check-up next month, if the problem persists, I’ll tell them.”
“You can’t not sleep for a month, Aldo!” Thomas says, volume rising again.
“I am getting some sleep, don’t catastrophise.”
Thomas won’t stop looking at him, like he’s trying to read Aldo’s thoughts. Time was he wouldn’t have needed to; they used to tell each other everything, be perfectly in sync- but that is all in the past.
“There’s something you aren’t telling me.” Thomas says, eventually.
Aldo sighs, weariness overtaking him once again.
“What is it you want to know?” He asks.
Thomas looks taken aback- he has never been good at hiding his feelings, or he’s never seen the point in it. The result is the same, hurt is all over his face.
“Sorry, that was rude-”
“Aldo, what is wrong?” Thomas reaches out, to take Aldo’s arm, possibly even his hand and Aldo can’t allow that, not now. He steps back slightly, and Thomas’s expression becomes even more aggrieved, his hand paused in midair.
“I’m just tired, Thomas.” The same thing he had told the pope earlier in the week, but he hopes Thomas might hear something more in his words.
Thomas looks at him, searchingly, and lets his arm drop.
“You do look a bit drained.” Thomas admits.
Gee, thanks, Aldo thinks.
“Is- are you sure travelling is a good idea?” Thomas asks.
“A change is as good as a rest.” Aldo says, and they both know he hates empty aphorisms, but Thomas lets it go, with just a slight frown.
“Lent will be upon us very soon, are you sure you don’t want to just take some leave? You have plenty.” Thomas says.
“Checking up on me?” Aldo asks, slightly amused.
“I don’t need to; you never take a day off.” Thomas counters.
“I’ll be fine- I’ve been trying to stick to a routine in the evenings. You can join me in prayer, if you’d like?” Aldo says. It isn’t quite a lie, he has been praying for guidance every evening, but it’s still rather early for that.
Thomas hesitates. “I should- Vincent- the Holy Father- will want to discuss the meeting with the Brazilians-”
The pope needs Thomas, Vincent needs Thomas. It’s honestly a bit of a relief to know that Thomas doesn’t call him ‘holy father’ in private.
Also waves a hand.
“Yeah, of course.”
“You could come too?” Thomas suggests.
“Oh, I think the last thing anyone wants is me lurking in the background.” Aldo says. “I’ll see you later.”
He takes off, a little quicker than he would normally walk, heading towards the basilica. Thomas could catch him if he really wants to, his stride is longer than Aldo’s and he used to slow it so they could walk at the same pace.
But he doesn’t follow.
***
His flight isn’t until midday, but he still rises early, as is his routine. After morning prayers he does his yoga poses, which ease his muscles, but not as much as a still elusive full night’s sleep would.
Praying in the vastness of St Peter’s every evening for the last week has been a nice indulgence- familiarity has meant that he has taken the building, as awe-inspiring as it is, for granted. As he has slowly come to accept his journey will take him away from the Vatican- to where he still isn’t sure- he’s looking at everything with heightened interest. He wants to remember all this beauty, created for the glory of God.
But when he turns in for the night he is either restless or plagued by his dreams. The holy father is sometimes in them, but he won’t talk to Aldo now, he just sits at his desk, eternally signing mysterious decrees. He dreams of his family, viewing him from behind panes of glass, and he realises that he is in a coffin, displayed like a holy relic, his lips sealed with wax, his limbs held in place with wire. He dreams that he is in the Garden of Gethsemane, and this time the soldiers are wearing the uniforms of the Mussolini’s army, and he cannot find the saviour to warn him.
He doesn’t dream of Thomas. It is as if his unconscious mind won’t offer him the comfort of his old dreams, as guilty as they would often make him feel. At least when he showers, he doesn’t have to deal with any lingering arousal.
He dresses simply for travel- plain black with a dog collar. He knows some cardinals like to wear full dress, complete with pellegrina whilst on planes, which is their business, but Aldo hates negotiating public bathrooms wearing any kind of cape.
He has already packed for his week away, a medium sized suitcase full of his clothes and toiletries, a spare pair of shoes, a few books from his never-ending reading list. His carry on is a black leather case which is big enough for his laptop, the book he is currently reading- a new biography of Óscar Romero which he still hasn’t decided whether or not is actually awful or if he is just too tired to give it the attention it needs- his passport and travel documents, his phone and his cigarettes.
Aldo had given up smoking the honest way in the 90s- using willpower and vast amounts of that dreadful gum- but he can’t deny that even in his head, he is still between cigarettes, still wants to smoke after a meal, or during his breaks from emails.
And yes, it is awful for his health and is a terrible habit and bad for the environment, but he still found himself asking for several packets of Marlboro Reds at the edicola when he was picking up his newspapers the day before. The man at the till hadn’t even raised an eyebrow, a priest smoking is hardly cause for interest, particularly in Italy. But Aldo had felt like a kid who was intending to smoke behind the bleachers- something he’d never done in real life, of course.
He eats breakfast, puts on his coat and then heads down to wait outside for the car which will take him to the airport. It is still hours until his flight, but he prefers to get to Fiumicino early and not be rushed.
He lights a cigarette and leans against the wall on the quiet street as he smokes, looking up at the high buildings surrounding him. The magnificent dome of St Peter’s, stark against the clear blue sky, which never fails to make him feel like an ant. It is a bright morning after a night of rain, and the streets glisten in the golden light, as the city wakes up. He can hear the traffic getting louder, people calling to each other as they head to work or school. The thought of real life cheers him. He will miss Rome.
He's halfway through his cigarette when he hears someone approaching, pulling their own suitcase. He turns his head and realises with alarm that it is Thomas who is heading down the pavement towards him.
He throws the cigarette, underarm, into the road, hoping that Thomas is far enough away not to register the movement.
“Good morning, Aldo.” Thomas calls.
Along with his suitcase he is also carrying his ancient brown satchel- which he has had at least since his seminary days, if not longer. He is also dressed simply for travel, on his feet he wears a pair of battered leather walking boots- Thomas is a big believer in walking everywhere, if he can.
“Good morning.” Aldo replies, taking Thomas in as he trundles down the street.
He looks happier than he has in a while, but Thomas likes travel. Maybe the pope is sending him somewhere on a train, Thomas’s favourite form of transport. He has always said it reminded him of his schooldays, travelling down from his family home in Northumberland to North Yorkshire and back again, navigating the vast stations of Newcastle and York by himself. When Aldo had been the same age as Thomas, his mother would barely let him play in the yard by himself, let alone get several trains.
Thomas comes to a stop in front of Aldo, parking his suitcase.
“It’s a lovely morning.” he says, and then he frowns, slightly. “Has someone been smoking?”
“We’re in Italy, Thomas, everyone has been smoking. So, where are you off to?” Aldo asks, hoping to distract him from the still smouldering cigarette in the middle of the road, which only could have been thrown by Aldo.
Thomas looks at him and pauses for a second.
“I’m coming with you, Aldo.” He says, as if Aldo is being deliberately obtuse.
“To the airport?” Aldo asks, nonsensically. He hardly needs chaperoning to the airport, and why on earth would Thomas have packed his bags just for that.
“No, Aldo- to Dublin, and London, and Paris. Why do you think I was cc’d into all of the travel emails?”
Aldo hadn’t noticed that Thomas had been cc’d into all of the travel emails. He’d barely noticed the emails, beyond the links to his flight details, passes and itinerary, his brain has been in such a sleep deprived sludge.
“I- Just thought that might be the new protocol?” He lies.
Thomas’s frown returns in full force, but Aldo is saved from having to reply by the beep of a horn. His- their – car is here.
“Well,” Aldo says, forcing himself to smile even though his heart is pounding, feeling far too full of blood and panic to be healthy, or survivable- “the more the merrier!”
The driver gets out of the car, full of apologies for being perhaps thirty seconds late, and helps them get their bags into the trunk. When they take their seats in the back Thomas leans over, and touches Aldo on the knee. It is a casual touch, and Aldo should not feel like his entire body is being pinned down by the light contact of Thomas’s hand.
“Aldo, I’m sorry if this has blindsided you, I just felt that you might want some support on this trip-”
“No, of course, you have every right to come. I’m glad you’re coming.” He makes himself smile at Thomas again. He wishes he weren’t lying.
He’ll have time later to panic about his scuppered plans to collect himself and heal his broken heart, far away from Thomas. Right now, he just has to hope Thomas does not notice his cigarettes as they go through security.