Chapter Text
Katherine is the one who brings it up first. She’s always been more observant than Lawrence. (She’s also smarter than him, and cooler than him, if “cool” is even a metric Lawrence is capable of measuring.)
He invited Katherine and her children to come visit the Vatican around the first anniversary of Vincent’s election, and the twentieth anniversary of their father’s death. She came with little Ilsa and Dominic in tow, and the three of them got the full tour of the Vatican, even areas where tourists aren’t normally allowed to go. (There are perks to being Dean of the College of Cardinals.) The whole family even got the opportunity to meet the Holy Father, though Lawrence didn’t plan it that way. Always brilliant with children, Vincent had greeted Lawrence’s niblings with hugs and questions, and had embraced Katherine warmly.
“Your brother is a wonderful man,” he said, making Lawrence turn as red as his zucchetto. “I voted for him, you know, during the conclave.”
“No doubt he was under some sort of delusion at the time,” Lawrence had muttered, but Katherine beamed anyway.
“It’s good to see someone recognize Thomas for who he is,” she said.
Lawrence cringed at that. Surely there were better things to discuss with the Holy Father than Thomas Lawrence’s character!
Vincent moved some appointments out of the way to have lunch with Katherine and her children, much to Lawrence’s embarrassment. The five of them sat outside in the sunshine, sipping iced tea and eating chicken with salad and fruit, while Katherine regaled Vincent with stories from Lawrence’s youth, including (to his mortification) the time in secondary school when Lawrence refused to come out of the ocean on a school trip because he had lost his swim trunks in the tide.
Vincent hid his smile behind his napkin, but Lawrence could see his eyes twinkling; the image made him feel as though he was filled with champagne bubbles.
Lawrence’s apartment isn’t nearly big enough to host an entire family’s worth of people for dinner, but Katherine makes do, settling her children around the small dining room table and ladling steaming pastina and broth into bowls.
“I liked him,” Katherine says. “He’s so much more… human than when I see him on television.”
Lawrence dips some of his bread into his soup. “He’s very multifaceted. Sometimes it feels like he’s above all of us, that he has some sort of insider knowledge - and then he trips over his cassock and he’s an equal again.”
Katherine grins. “He likes you, too.”
“I know. I’m extremely grateful for it. I feel like I’m a completely new person around him. The work feels good again.”
“No, I mean, he really likes you.”
Lawrence takes a sip of his wine. “Hm?”
“I just… you get that, right?”
Lawrence brings his spoon to his lips and swallows, letting the soup warm him. “No, I don’t get what you mean.”
“I just mean that I’ve never heard anyone talk that way about you.”
“I’m not that bad, Katherine.”
“That’s not what I mean! I mean that… if I didn’t know better…” Katherine leans over and wipes some soup off of her son’s cheek.
It takes Lawrence a full fifteen seconds to realize what she’s saying. When he finally gets there, the absurdity of it shocks him. “Katherine!”
Katherine rolls her eyes. “Oh, like it’s
so
ridiculous -”
“Katherine, he’s the
Pope
. Or did you think he was wearing the white cassock for fun?”
Katherine raises an eyebrow. “There are gay priests,” she points out. “Your friend Aldo -”
“Aldo has nothing to do with this. And you don’t -” Lawrence shakes his head. “You don’t even know he’s gay!”
“Everyone with eyes knows he’s gay, Thomas.” Katherine gathers up pasta on her spoon and drains it by tilting her spoon against the side of the bowl. Then she eats.
“What’s gay?” Ilsa pipes up from where she’s delicately perched on a stool.
“You know what gay is, honey, it’s like Freddy and Alice’s mums,” Katherine says.
Lawrence is still trying to get over the giant blockage in his brain saying Vincent is gay and could have feelings for you. “Katherine, Vincent holds the keys of St. Peter. He doesn’t have feelings for anyone.”
“Last time I checked, he was still a person. People have feelings for people. Take it from me.”
Lawrence blushes. Katherine’s occupation as a therapist has always lent her a certain amount of insight that even the sacrament of confession has not given to him.
“I know that, but… it’s preposterous. Even if he did have… romantic inclinations, they wouldn’t be towards me. ”
“Why not?” Katherine asks.
Lawrence takes a deep breath. “Kat, do you think that the Church is secretly a safe haven for repressed homosexuals? Is that what you think the Church is?”
Katherine scratches her nose. “It would be really neat if it were.”
Lawrence rolls his eyes. “We’re ending the conversation here.”
“Listen, I’m on a first-name basis with two priests. One of them is Aldo, and the other one is my brother, who, unless something has
really
changed since I caught him in a compromising position with his year eight lab partner -”
“Katherine!”
“All I’m saying is, the way he looked at you today…”
“Okay, okay!” Lawrence holds up his hands in surrender. “Let’s change the subject.”
He’s eager to move on. But, much to his chagrin, the thought of Vincent having romantic feelings for him doesn’t leave his mind, not even as he falls asleep that night.
It doesn’t go away the next day, either. Or the day after that.
—
After three weeks of gathering data, Lawrence is forced to admit it: Katherine… might be onto something.
It’s impossible to look at things objectively, of course. Lawrence is extremely fond of Vincent, and thinks of him as the answer to his prayers during the conclave. Everything Vincent does is a result of hard work and a return from the dark moments when Lawrence could not reach the voice of God. It’s natural for him to see a… strengthening of their relationship where only a strong friendship exists.
There is also the considerable closeness of their friendship. Lawrence can acknowledge that Vincent is far closer to him than the previous Holy Father was. They meet often to pray together, to discuss business, or to edit each other’s homilies. They sometimes take walks through the gardens, and eat lunch together. Were they in another position, Lawrence suspects they still would be friends. (He tries to imagine the two of them together in seminary; they likely would have gotten into far less trouble than he and Aldo did, but he figures they would have been close.) They care for each other, and take note when the other person is in a bad mood or is tired from the effort of carrying the Curia.
Lawrence admires the Holy Father, of course. He’s admired him since the night he said grace in beautiful, elegant Spanish before the conclave began. That sense of admiration only grew upon his election, and still motivates Lawrence to do his best work. Vincent isn’t just his friend; he’s his teacher, his leader, and his guide. Of course Lawrence is going to appreciate that Vincent spares him a certain amount of attention; it’s nice to think that the Pope would notice him out of the dozens of people he interacts with every day. The Catholic Church is a giant, heaving crowd that lurches in one direction or the other - it would be deeply flattering to anyone to be noticed by its head of state.
But that doesn’t mean Lawrence wants that attention to become anything more than a simple blessing. And that certainly doesn’t mean Vincent’s actions imply anything… inappropriate.
Still, the thought lingers. Vincent touches Lawrence more than anyone else on his staff. A hand on his shoulder, his elbow, sometimes the small of his back. Lawrence could measure his days by how many touches Vincent gives him, just like he can measure Ray’s mood by how many chocolates he takes from the bowl on Lawrence’s desk.
Vincent smiles at him. Brilliant, beaming smiles that sometimes make Lawrence feel like he’s looking directly at the sun. But that means very little. Vincent has a special smile for everyone, including turtles, tiramisu, and small children. Lawrence can’t count that as anything more than a display of Vincent’s natural kindness.
His words are another matter. Tesoro is a word that Vincent has used in place of his name once or twice. Lawrence had to look it up to find the meaning; he blushed when he found it. Treasure . Not something one usually calls a colleague. Perhaps in Veracruz it has a more casual meaning.
Sometimes Vincent’s eyes drift over Lawrence’s chest or shoulders. Lawrence would pass this off as a simple manifestation of Vincent’s tendency towards distraction, but given that he has occasionally seen a few young Sisters look at him with the same motions but more blatant appreciation, he’s forced to file the action in the “suspicious” column in his mind.
All of these things can be passed off as expressions of friendship or camaraderie. But there’s something - something - in the way Vincent interacts with him that makes Lawrence feel as though he should be keeping Katherine’s words in mind.
Yes, the idea is preposterous. A Pope with a crush. It’s nonsense. But the illogic of it comes from Vincent’s position, not his character. Were he a layman that Lawrence had met some other way - a theologian at a college or an actor in a theatre troupe - Lawrence would probably think it probable, even likely that Vincent would have feelings for somebody . Vincent is a romantic through and through; he charms and is charmed by nearly everyone around him. The most sour of men have melted like butter around Vincent’s calm and easy charisma, and Vincent has never been left unaffected by someone in his presence. Cardinal Tedesco could not bring himself to truly hate the man once they spoke in private; Vincent had walked away proclaiming the Venetian was “terribly unhappy, but very intelligent.” He had even planned to dine with him in the upcoming months.
None of this is to say that Lawrence is hoping for any romantic feelings to arise. Far from it; the idea of Vincent having romantic feelings for anyone at all fills Lawrence with a strong sense of dread and anxiety. The Holy Father, like all priests, made a vow upon becoming a member of the clergy to resist temptation in all of its forms. That includes lust and the desire for a “normal” life, one with a wife and children. Christ was celibate; so too are his avatars. Vincent is married to the Church, the same way Lawrence is, the same way Aldo is, and so on and so forth.
Such a policy isn’t set in stone, though. Even Lawrence has to acknowledge that priestly celibacy is a matter of discipline, not of faith. Were the Curia to get together and decide that priests could marry, the entire tradition of celibacy could be dismissed with a flick of a pen. (That’s unlikely to happen. Lawrence can barely get the Curia to agree on what to have for supper during their gatherings; he doubts celibacy will ever be on the chopping block.)
There are, of course, priests and nuns who simply ignore the expectation of celibacy. Lawrence is aware of those people, too. They sneak around in chapels and cathedrals all across the country and the world and they have affairs, both torrid and relatively chaste. Lawrence finds fault in those people, but cannot bring himself to shame them when asked about it. He tries, he pretends to act as though he’s above it all, but in the end he feels the same way Katherine does - that members of the clergy are human beings, and have hopes and desires the same way everyone else does. The result is a sort of ambivalence in Lawrence’s actions; He does not condemn those who have romances within the Church, nor does he encourage them.
Vincent is another matter. Vincent is not a priest in a tiny chapel in the countryside. Vincent’s actions are inscribed into a ledger that goes back millenia. It would be unbelievably risky for him to even have such feelings, much less act on them.
Even if he did have those feelings… could they be for a man?
Lawrence genuinely has no idea. He’s never discussed Vincent’s sexuality before. He’s discussed sexuality with Vincent , but that had been in the context of theology, and how the Church should treat homosexuals and other members of the “queer” community. (Lawrence still isn’t used to using such a word - it was such a terrible slur when he was young.) Vincent had professed a desire for the Church to be open and welcoming towards homosexuals, even considering a movement towards an expansion of the definition of marriage, but that hardly meant he had any homosexual inclinations. Lawrence is a big fan of earl grey tea; that doesn’t make him the Earl Grey himself.
Lawrence has no evidence in that area to sway him one way or another. In fact it makes him a little uncomfortable to think about it. He doesn’t like thinking of gender in such a strict way. Men who like women go here. Men who like men go there. Yes, he’s a man, but he’s never felt like he fits into the category the way others do. He also can’t say he’s a man who likes only men or only women. He has desired, and been desired by both. Perhaps it is this discomfort that made him especially sympathetic to Vincent upon learning of his condition.
There is one final element that makes the entire idea completely absurd. Even if, by some wild combination of the odds, it turned out that Vincent did have romantic feelings, and had romantic feelings for a man, there is simply no way on Earth that Vincent would have feelings for Thomas Lawrence.
Lawrence feels no need to go into the details of why. It is self explanatory.
Still, the thought cannot leave him. By the end of the first month since Katherine visited Lawrence has not been able to go a day without thinking about Vincent’s hypothetical feelings for him at least once.
It becomes a little maddening. Especially when Vincent smiles at him. Which is often.
For Lawrence’s birthday, Vincent gives him some extremely generous words about Lawrence’s kindness and capacity for love in a handwritten letter, and includes a receipt for a donation towards a hospital being built in Sierra Leone. It seems that Vincent’s first book - chronicling the work he did in Kabul and the Congo - had gained a moderate amount of success. The proceeds, apparently, are going towards the building of a cancer ward in this hospital. Somewhere in Sierra Leone, Vincent writes, there is to be a plaque with Thomas Lawrence’s name on it, in front of a space dedicated towards treating the same disease that took the life of Lawrence’s father.
Lawrence can’t ignore it, after that. Despite the risk of ruining their friendship, despite the risk that he will be dismissed from his post, despite the risk that Vincent will simply think he has taken leave of his senses, he has to ask.
They pray together in the evenings. Afterwards, they have tea. Vincent notes with excitement that when the weather gets warmer after Easter, they can have tea over ice. (Evidently ice was a luxury in Kabul; Vincent gets unusually excited about having it in a drink.)
Lawrence watches Vincent pad around the small kitchen adjacent to his living room. Vincent had initially refused to live in the luxury and comfort of the papal apartments, but had been convinced upon learning how much easier of a job the Swiss guards would have keeping him safe if he lived within the already secure walls of the apostolic palace. In the end it seems to have worked out; Vincent enjoys having the ability to cook his own meals and live in relative solitude after years of making do in close quarters.
“My… my sister brought something up to me, when she visited,” Lawrence begins clumsily.
Vincent stirs a frankly obnoxious amount of sugar into his tea. “Hm?” He replies.
“It’s just - I can’t stop thinking about it. She - you’ll have to forgive her, she’s not very… devout, and she lives in California, these days, so sometimes she gets these ideas, and -”
“I’d say most people are less devout than we are,” Vincent cuts in. “I don’t necessarily think that’s a bad thing.”
Lawrence smiles weakly. “I suppose that’s true. Um, anyway, it’s funny, she was - when she visited, she sort of looked between the two of us, and how you treated me, and…”
Vincent waits patiently, his eyebrows raised in interest.
Lawrence swallows. “You know, never mind, it’s fine.”
“No,” Vincent insists, “tell me. I promise I won’t be upset.”
There’s no way for Vincent to guarantee that, but Lawrence clings onto the promise anyway. “It’s just…” He forces a half laugh. “She said that, the way we interacted, it looked like you had a crush on me.”
Vincent is silent.
Lawrence thinks he might be going insane. “Isn’t that - isn’t that ridiculous? I think so - that’s - that’s - that’s what I told her.”
Vincent is still quiet. He remains silent for another agonizing moment.
Lawrence is considering the benefits of leaving the room to go throw up somewhere when Vincent finally speaks.
“I wouldn’t call it a crush,” he says, his voice even and calm, brown eyes sparkling.
Lawrence nods, slightly hysterical. “You wouldn’t?” He asks hopefully. Good, okay. Vincent agrees. All that’s here is friendship. Simple, easy, proper. Appropriate. Friendship.
“No.” Vincent shakes his head and sets his teacup down. “I would say that I am in love with you.”
Lawrence’s heart actually skips a beat. Not in a metaphorical sense, not like he’s imagined it when he’s read it in books or poems. For a second, he feels like he’s a little bit not alive. Like something has yanked him out of his body, and has forced him to watch this entire ordeal from the perspective of the ceiling.
Then he’s shoved back into his corporeal form, roughly, with all of his limbs in the approximately correct place but without his wits about him.
“ What? ” He says loudly.
Vincent’s calm expression doesn’t change. “I’m in love with you. I’m sorry you had to find out this way.” He offers a small smile and rubs the back of his neck. “This is a bit awkward, isn’t it?”
Lawrence feels like he’s been dunked underwater. “I don’t - what ?”
“I really didn’t mean for you to find out this way,” Vincent says apologetically. “Actually, I didn’t mean for you to find out at all. But I’d rather be honest with you than pretend. You’ve clearly…” Vincent swallows. “Picked up on things.”
Lawrence sits there with his mouth open. “...
No
,” he says.
Vincent winces. “I imagine this causes a certain amount of distress for you.”
It’s on the words
for you
that Lawrence’s ability to manage kicks in. God bless him or condemn him, he’s unable to simply absorb this information passively. “Vincent,” he says seriously, “you’re the
Pope
.”
“I am aware of that.”
“You can’t have feelings for me.”
Vincent takes a deep breath. “And yet, I do. Very strong feelings, in fact. But we don’t need to discuss that at this moment.”
Lawrence’s whole body feels like it’s been set alight. “ Why ?”
“Why am I in love with you?” Vincent tilts his head. “Why does anybody fall in love?”
If Vincent says the word
love
one more time, Lawrence is going to lose it. “I don’t understand. You’ve made a vow of chastity.”
Vincent’s face sags a little. Evidently he’s expected most of the questions Lawrence is asking. “I know. And my vows are very important to me. But… not as important as what God has been telling me.”
This entire conversation is becoming transcendental. “You think
God
is telling you to fall in love with me?”
“No, no, nothing like that.” Vincent chuckles. “You make me sound crazy. I merely think that… perhaps the structures of my life, of my function as a priest, should not get in the way of my ability to feel things freely. To express parts of my identity.”
It’s lovely language. It’s too bad Lawrence can only hear half of it over the roaring in his ears. “Vincent, are you telling me you’re a homosexual?”
Vincent shakes his head. “No. I don’t think of it like that.”
“How do you think of it?”
“I like people.” Vincent’s voice turns shy. “I like you.”
They’re dancing around the topic but Lawrence really needs to acknowledge the core problem here. “Why me? ”
Vincent looks bewildered at the question. “Do we need to go into specifics? I don’t want to cause you any more distress. I know how embarrassed you get when you are… showered with…”
Lawrence blinks uncomprehendingly. “Vincent, we can’t be in a relationship.”
Vincent swallows. “I - I know. I just…”
“I’m flattered, but…” Lawrence has to stretch back far in his memory to remember how to do this. He hasn’t turned someone down since university, and even then it was sufficient to tell the woman he was thinking of becoming a priest. “I don’t feel the same way about you.”
It’s true. Vincent is wonderful, is a brilliant friend and teacher, but Lawrence cannot see himself in a romantic relationship with him. Kissing, touching - sneaking around the halls of the Vatican, looking for stolen moments - no. It wouldn’t happen. It couldn’t happen. Lawrence doesn’t want it to happen.
Vincent just blinks at him. “I know.”
“I’m flattered, but, I - I can’t encourage this. I can’t be involved.” Lawrence worries his language is becoming too harsh. He really is flattered, but only so far as he can comprehend what’s happening. Vincent is a skyscraper of a man; there’s just no reason he would experience desire towards him.
Vincent inclines his head solemnly. “I know. The last thing I want is for you to feel any discomfort.” He leans in, the table a wide expanse between them. “I will endeavor to make sure our friendship remains as it has been, as long as you feel safe with that.”
“So you will cease your infatuation with me?” Lawrence is growing increasingly desperate for this entire ordeal to conclude.
Vincent chuckles nervously. “I don’t think I’ve treated you any differently, Tomás. Have I made you uncomfortable?”
“No - you haven’t.” Lawrence has to admit that. Vincent has never once made him uncomfortable. He’s never seemed forward, or done anything that has explicitly revealed his desires. To anyone who doesn’t have as paranoid of a mind as Lawrence evidently has, Vincent is simply a good friend. “It’s just - I can’t - the pope can’t be in love with anyone, especially not a man.” Especially not with me.
Vincent considers this for a moment. He frowns. “I am sorry, my friend. I have no desire to hurt you. I promise to make no advance towards you - but I cannot simply turn my feelings off like a switch.”
Lawrence swallows. “You must. It’s part of your duty to the church.”
“Are you speaking to me as my friend or as my advisor?”
“Vincent -“
A spark of defiance has entered Vincent’s eye. “I highly doubt God would want me to deny my own feelings. Especially my feelings for you, as they are more true to me than -“
“Vincent!”
Vincent sighs. “Tomás, I will endeavor to mind your comfort around me. I will follow your lead whenever possible. I will treat you as a friend, as a colleague - whatever you prefer. But no one can ask me to deny my feelings - not even you. I would like to be with you, but I do not need the feeling to be mutual. We can simply continue as though nothing has changed. Nothing has changed, really.”
Vincent’s calm, even tone is doing little to assuage Lawrence’s worries. “So I am to just - pretend like nothing’s taken place?”
Vincent looks sympathetic. “I imagine it will be a bit difficult at first. But we will learn together, won’t we?”
Lawrence isn’t sure he can do that.
—
Lawrence manages two weeks without incident. Every moment he’s in a room with Vincent the same refrain rolls through his mind: he wants me. He wants me. He wants me.
The problem of before has ballooned into something maddening. Every touch, every look, every kind word from his friend is colored in vibrant hues, creating a picture Lawrence could not ignore even if he tried.
He has to admit that objectively, nothing has changed. Vincent does not flirt with him. Vincent does not touch him more than usual. Vincent has not even brought up their conversation once. But Lawrence has changed. Lawrence is hyper aware now, and it’s driving him crazy.
For a week he tries to keep his distance from Vincent. But that proves difficult as well. Vincent is his boss, technically, so there is the matter of his profession tying himself to him, but more important than that is the matter of their friendship. Vincent is still Vincent. Vincent is still kind and clever and funny and Lawrence enjoys spending time with him. He enjoys spending time with other people, too - he shares wine with Aldo, and cups of coffee with Ray, and occasionally walks alongside Sister Agnes as she goes about her daily tasks - but Vincent makes him feel warm and safe in a way that is entirely unique amongst all of Lawrence’s interactions. Lawrence can’t give that up, even now that he knows Vincent’s affections towards him are not entirely platonic. They’re still friends. They’re still colleagues. They still care deeply for each other.
So they slip back into their old routine. Sharing meals together, praying together, working together. If anyone on the outside noticed a brief break in their closeness, they likely would pass it off as a blip. No one would suspect that anything of note had happened.
Lawrence’s knowledge traps him in a small spiral of curiosity. He wants me. He wants me. He wants me. And Lawrence, in turn, wants to know more.
He can’t help it. He brings it up again over breakfast, while Vincent is sleepily sipping his tea.
“Are you still in love with me?”
Vincent smiles sadly. “I’m afraid so. Have I made you uncomfortable?”
“No.” I just can’t stop thinking about it. “I just don’t understand it.”
“You don’t understand how someone could be in love with you?”
Yes. “No. I just - I assumed maybe your feelings would have changed since our talk.”
“You mean since you rejected me.” Vincent bites his lip and sets his teacup down. “I’m afraid it doesn’t work that way. I’m sorry. You simply haven’t done anything to change my point of view.”
Lawrence raises his eyebrows. “Perhaps I should start acting badly, then.”
That earns him a laugh. “Please, feel free to make yourself less desirable.” Vincent holds out his hands. “I will tell you you’ll get nowhere by being yourself.”
Lawrence feels dizzy. He changes the subject.
—
“You’re supposed to like it,” Aldo says. “It shows you everything you like and nothing you don’t.”
Lawrence raises his hand and tilts it back and forth in the air. “I
suppose
it does, I just don’t think…”
“I’m so sorry I’m late,” Vincent says, stepping into the room. Lawrence briefly sees Ray behind him, before Ray closes the door with a short nod. “My other meeting ran long.”
His other meeting was with the president of Ukraine, Lawrence recalls. Probably a good thing it ran a bit long.
“What was it that Thomas is supposed to like?” Vincent asks.
“Oh, you don’t want to know,” Aldo dismisses. “We’re just talking about nothing.”
“Please, tell me. I have had far too many serious discussions for one morning.”
Aldo grins and looks over at Lawrence. “Thomas has recently acquired a Netflix subscription,” he explains.
“At your insistence,” Lawrence says.
“I want you to be cultured. You can’t talk about the future of the Church if the only books you read are detective novels from thirty years ago.”
“I read contemporary authors.”
“Nothing in English,” Aldo points out.
Vincent’s eyes glitter in amusement. Lawrence rolls his eyes.
“The point is, I don’t like that the - the - whatever it is that decides what to show me.”
“The algorithm.” Aldo meets Vincent’s eyes and stifles a grin. “You don’t like it?”
“It assumes I only like one thing. I watch a television show that’s about a - a legal drama, and then it thinks all I want are legal dramas. I have other interests. I watched a documentary on our Holy Father, here, and -”
“You watched a documentary on the Holy Father?” Aldo teases. “What could it possibly have taught you that you don’t already know?”
Lawrence looks away, willing his cheeks to remain their usual color. “I was only watching it to see what the press is saying about him.” He looks at Vincent for help, only to find more mirth in his eyes. “But now all I get are television shows and films about the Vatican! Which I have… more than enough of in my daily life.”
“They make a show about the Vatican, you know,” Aldo muses. “They have the Pope doing all sorts of things on that show. Complete blasphemy.”
But not as far-fetched as I once thought. Apparently our Pope is full of surprises.
“So you’re a fan?” Lawrence jokes.
“Ah, if I only had the time to watch television,” Aldo replies.
Vincent leans back in his chair. “I find it interesting that this… algorithm claims to know your interests, yet you’re so unsatisfied with it.”
“I just think if they’re going to be surveilling me all the time, they should know I like more than one genre of film.”
“You don’t have a problem with the fact that they’re surveilling you all the time?” Aldo asks.
Lawrence shifts in his seat. “Of course not, I’m Catholic. I’m very used to being watched all the time.”
That earns him a big grin from Vincent and a sensible chuckle from Aldo.
“Perhaps there is a kind of beauty in it, no?” Vincent asks. “That a computer can only see one side of you at a time. You’re too multifaceted for it.”
Lawrence averts his gaze shyly. “I suppose we’re all quite multifaceted.”
“But you especially.”
Lawrence looks up and catches a brief flash of fear on Vincent’s face.
Oh, no. Lawrence doesn’t want it to be like that.
“Thank you,” he says, trying to convey as much sincerity in his tone as possible. You haven’t overstepped. It’s nice to know you see so much of me.
“You’re like an origami ball,” Aldo quips.
Both men stare at him.
“Many sides?” Aldo says, as though it should be obvious.
“Perhaps we shall turn to the matters of the day,” Vincent offers.
The meeting continues, but the warmth from the compliment stays somewhere safe in Lawrence’s chest for the rest of the day.
—
Vincent takes Lawrence’s confession in the second booth towards the back of the chapel in the casa Santa Marta, while a moth flutters around near an air vent.
“I get - angry at my friends sometimes, when they disagree with me.” Lawrence rubs a hand over his face. It’s been ages since his last confession; he had ignored the sacrament until he felt he could hear God’s voice again. “I ignored my own ambition during the conclave, and it nearly caused a rift between Aldo and myself. I tend to get stubborn about politics, though I hide it. I pretend I like people when I really don’t.”
Vincent nods, listening. “Anything else?”
Lawrence swallows. He doesn’t really want to talk about it, but the anniversary of his father’s death has made him re-examine his relationship with his parents. “I was cold to my mother for many years, before she died. I don’t think I honored her. I think I dismissed her.”
Vincent makes a sympathetic noise. “Was it hard, when she passed?”
“No - that’s what bothers me now. I don’t think I ever really grieved her.”
Vincent’s expression is sad, but understanding. Lawrence wonders if he’s ever been cold to anybody. He can’t really envision it. “Maybe you can do a little of that now. You can pray for her, when you say the rosary.”
Lawrence feels his cheeks get warm. Vincent is a disturbingly easy person to confess to.
“Still in love with me?” He asks. He doesn’t know why he says it. Maybe he’s just being cruel. It’s become a sort of game in his head. If there’s no real reason why Vincent is in love with me, there’s no real reason why he can’t fall out of love with me.
Vincent sits up in his chair. “In this room I am your priest, Cardinal. Unless - you wish that I weren’t?”
Lawrence shakes his head, regretting his words. “No, I’m - I’m sorry.” Vincent would never take the bait like that - and Lawrence shouldn’t have taunted him with it. His feelings, as much as Lawrence is confused and discomfited by them, are his own.
Vincent leans over and squeezes Lawrence’s hand lightly. “It’s okay,” he says. “For the record, my feelings for you would not change upon the knowledge that you are a human being with flaws and insecurities. We are all sinners, my friend.”
Lawrence wonders how Vincent always seems to know what to say.
A part of him wishes Vincent held his hand longer.