Chapter 1
Notes:
tw rape
i got the idea after i read that the Vatican deadass admit that some clergy members fathered children so...
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
Once Vincent settles to the peace and protection of being Innocent XIV, a certain nightmare came back—a nightmare that is darker than negotiation on gunpoint and witnessing war sweeping into his life.
*)*
He was probably her age, she thought, upon seeing the fresh faced priest trying to negotiate the safety of his flock in stilted local language. She was a fighter, though woman didn’t usually fight or do anything in this part of the world. With her weapons in hand, she was suddenly filled with the urge to devour him.
So she did.
She ordered him to robe off but she didn’t hurt him the way he thought he would be hurt. It was worse. She could see the way he choked in prayers as she violated him.
And he was so pretty.
She wanted him to enjoy it.
But the violence outside the door was done and so was he. She quickly put on her clothes again and retrieved her weapons.
She glanced at his slouched form. The deed left both of them physically satisfied, she knew, but he was far from relief. She supposed it was sinful for him, but she didn’t have time to ponder about his feelings. She had to go. There were more places to raid, to destroy and burn, because that was all she knew.
She had no idea about contraceptive either. How could she? When she realised that she was pregnant—and not from the men of her group because no one would dare to touch her, the fearsome leader’s daughter—she knew it was his.
It was his.
And there was a sad, messed up sort of happiness she felt.
She knew he’s a good man. She knew of people’s talk and whispers. She hoped the child would be as beautiful as him—inside and out. So when she finally gave birth to a healthy baby girl, it only took her several months before she slipped into the airport where she knew a humanitarian people batch would be leaving.
“Please take her,” she had begged, “She deserves better. Please.”
And a soft faced woman, a young volunteer, took the baby from her. The young woman argued with her peers. She could see the fire of wanting to do rights from this volunteer. She slipped away after she kissed the baby goodbye on the forehead.
Be well, she wept on the way home, It’s too late for me but you can still have a different life if you leave now. Please don’t look back, please don’t…
For what it’s worth, your father is dear to me. This is a blessing—though I never believe in God. Please live a life of love and peace. Please—
*)*
It never really stops being cringe to have your mom being on AO3 and Tumblr, but you love her nevertheless.
It’s always a bit challenging to explain to people that, no, your mom isn’t a single biological mom, that she had took you from a place of war on the one time she volunteered as a college student. It was a rather naive move and whatnot and she never thought of herself as parental material.
But she loves you.
And you know she tries her best.
Including digging into her inheritance to send you to Rome so you can ‘find yourself’.
Before your flight, the two of you share dinner and couch. There is a conclave in Vatican. Your mom never really teaches you about religion, just urging you to live well. You know of her witch phase and respect her religious journey.
The TV shows rows of red-clad old men walking into conclave and your mom talk about how religion can do so much good and bad. But you, not wanting to think about politics and religion, just mumble, “Is there any hot cardinal?”
“That’s… lowkey blasphemous, no?” your mom frowns at you but not really.
You chuckle, “We are allowed to appreciate God’s creation, mom.”
“You—“
“Oh he’s cute,” you point out to a back of head full of dark hair.
You mom laughs, “What? I mean, cute fluffy hair, but you don’t even know how he looks like—oh.”
A calm, brown eyed face turns a little to look at the camera. He seems rather out of place for looking so oddly youthful. He also looks tired. Another cardinal approaches him—a sad looking white man with blue eyes—and they walk away together.
“Damn, what’s his name?” your mom reaches for her phone.
“Mom!”
“I mean—“
You laugh and works faster with your phone, “His name is Cardinal Vincent Benítez. Apparently he’s, like, a secret cardinal.”
“There’s such a thing?”
“It appears so…” you look at the shot the media managed to get on Cardinal Benítez.
He looks so… warm and familiar.
Maybe he looks like the father of your dream. Even though you’re sure that your biological father might be a terrible person if your biological mother was the only person who tried to get you out of the country of war. Or maybe he was dead. Maybe your biological parents loved each other. You often hope so.
“Hey, you can fangirl up close since you’re moving to Rome,” your mom grins.
You laugh, “Wouldn’t he go home after the conclave, though?”
“You’re right. Pity.”
But then Pope Innocent XIV is announced on the balcony and you shriek and call your mom from the airport, “I think operation fangirl is taking off.”
Your mom snorts, “Are you going to start attending mass in the Vatican?!”
“Well, it’s a part of Roman culture, isn’t it?” you giggle.
You tell her you love her and get ready to enter the plane.
When you’re about to turn on your flight mode, you look at the image of the new pope that you opened pre-mom call.
He simply wears a simple white clothing and a cute small white hat. He smiles softly to the mass. You stare until an elderly man sits next to you and you continue with your flight preparation.
Maybe there’s a merit to attend the mass the way a K-pop fan attends a concert.
After all, beauty is beauty—you suppose? You hope it’s not sacrilegious.
Notes:
i wrote this because my bloody cat sat on my chair and i had to perch somewhere else and then i wrote this??? everyone, thank my Angoran cat Mr Sheep.
Chapter 2
Notes:
for Prince_Slytherin who is a real G (lol).
Chapter Text
“My dear Vincent, there is no shame in seeking mental health services,” Thomas assures Vincent softly.
A fortnight into his papacy, Vincent invites Thomas to his residence. The simple apartment has yet to experience visible personal decoration—except maybe the mug Vincent uses for his tea. Thomas bought it, assured that it’s very cute by his niece, and it has an adorable depiction of Vincent’s face in cartoon, on top of “Pope Innocent ❤️” text.
Thomas smiles at the mug before he returns to Vincent’s troubled expression. His dear friend and Holiness has been experiencing nightmares.
About a woman—and not any woman Vincent has helped before.
“I assure you it will be perfectly discreet, Vincent,” Thomas lays a hand on Vincent’s.
Vincent seemingly steels himself, “Yes. Well, I must deal with this in order to do my duty as the pope.”
Thomas smiles at him and squeezes his hand, “Then I shall arrange it immediately.”
*)*
That afternoon, Thomas is made to go outside and supervise some things himself. As he waits for Ray to finish his part of the errand, he stands by a small deli, then sees you crouching just outside its window.
You are kneeling to pet small animals.
Thomas, catching the sight of you, smiles, "Adorable, aren't they?"
You lift your head. Thomas experiences deja vu as you straighten your legs and smile, "They are."
You look at the geriatric pale face before you. You could've sworn you saw his face before.
Thomas blinks. He could've sworn he both experienced this before and saw your face as well.
He blinks again.
Your smile pops out on top of your already well-sculpted face; high cheekbones, large brown eyes under generous, lush hair so dark it's almost dark blue. Your medium olive skin almost flawless and you happen to wear a red t-shirt and white pants that make Thomas' sense of deja vu heightened.
You squint, too. Surely you have seen this man... "Oh!"
Even your voice makes Thomas go a little dizzy; the warm, rich assured voice he feels incredibly familiar with.
You smile, "Do you happen to be one of the people recorded in the livestream?"
"... Livestream?" Thomas raises his eyebrows.
"I meant the media coverage of conclave. Not livestream! Silly me. Vatican gamer would be lit, though. I assume there's already some mass livestream on YouTube and such," you're unaware that you speak to a man who cannot even operate photocopy machine.
Thomas merely smiles, "Yes, I am the Dean of the Cardinals."
"Ah! I'm new to town."
"Ah. Welcome to Rome, my child."
"Thank you, Your... Eminence?"
You're still smiling. Thomas cannot look away as he nods in approval.
Thomas isn't even aware that Ray has reappear on his side. You watch the younger man hovers a bit before greeting the dean.
But, then the other man with rosario merely follows his superior's gaze to you and your bewildered face.
Ray stops himself from staring too much and stare at Thomas after a bit.
Thomas returns his stare and the pair seems to be in some sort of trance before Ray clears his throat and inform, "We better go back, Your Eminence. We still have some things to do."
Thomas nods and returns his gaze to you, "Have a good day, my child. Welcome to Rome once again."
You wave at them and return to your little friends.
Ray says nothing until they're back into the office's car, drive for five minutes, and his dam breaks. "She... looks like His Holiness' clone."
Thomas laughs at the description before he squints, "Well... well yes she is. Are we this deluded that we think all beautiful hispanic people look alike?"
Ray shakes his head, "I don't think so, Your Eminence. We serve people of all races regularly in the Vatican, after all."
Then the pair goes silent in fear of something akin to Adayemi's act.
But Thomas supposes Vincent wouldn't do something like that. He can't. Vincent is too firm, too pure, too steadfast. Yet, Thomas can be wrong. He knows very little of the man, after all, much like everyone else in his Curia life. But what if...
No. His priority should be helping the Holy Father gets his counselling now.
After assuring himself of his priority, Thomas thinks of your smile.
It's nice to see that at least some has a reason to keep smiling in spite of this world, in spite of Thomas' general turmoil of existence.
*)*
You finally wrap up your grocery shopping and glance at some sort of small altar with candles and photo of the new pope not far from the cashier. You blink and the young man who serves you, who has insisted on picking the best pasta for your grocery, follows your eye.
"Ah, yes, we're very speedy at getting the new pope's picture, si. No one has ever heard of him before, but it's His will that he's the supreme pontiff, no?" the man smiles.
You nod, thank him, and leave.
God's will, you think, as you walk back home. Maybe there's a reason you're here?
Sometimes, there are just amazing facts you recall in your head. That afternoon, you remember of turtle, animal with an uncanny ability to return to the beach they came from after traversing the wide blue ocean. They get to return. They always do. How? Why? Do they have biological GPS?
You pass another small shop of candles, prayer stands, and, of course, Papa Inocentio's pictures.
You're not entirely surprised at the abundance of them; Vincent Benítez is, after all, someone who is incredibly easy in the eyes.
Ha! Maybe you should get some of them and send some to your mom.
Chapter Text
Thomas believes Vincent have had enough trials; poverty, warzone, discovering he's an intersex priest - and now pope - but apparently there is more.
The mild looking pscyhologist speaks to Thomas about 'something His Holiness buries deep within - I suspect a massive trauma' and Thomas prays almost immediately.
Oh God, please lift his burden...
Thomas currently sits with Vincent in his current living space; the exact room he stayed when the conclave was held. The Englishman looks at Vincent and feels himself blushing.
Vincent is such a beautiful person. Thomas didn't get to think about the Holy Father's appearance much until the dust of conclave settled, but now that he sits with him, he blushes, almost like a schoolboy unable to look at the face of his crush.
"Thank you, Thomas," Vincent says softly and Thomas smiles rather sheepishly.
He cannot just sit there and looks at the pope. He's so pretty it's another blessing altogether to have his picture spread all over Rome, all over the globe...
"I shall let you rest, my dear Vincent," Thomas says with difficulty as he slowly stands up.
Vincent smiles, "Of course, Thomas. Gracias."
*)*
Thomas left Vincent to his solitude.
Or perhaps lonesome.
He doesn't think about it too much since he believes God is always with him, but surely there's a level of loneliness experienced by people with title such as the pope.
But Vincent shall do what he shall do. He wants to. He finally has the capability to help more, though some parts of the Curia and further seem to battle him in his quest for more compassion and productivity in the world.
He closes his eyes before he kneels and prays.
He could almost touch the edge of his dark memory; of a woman with daring, wild eyes like female lions. Of the woman with weapons, who laid her hands on him...
Vincent prays and prays, grasping his rosary tightly it almost bruises.
It doesn't define him, he was told and he knows.
Still, a part of him feels incredibly dirty, weak, and sinful.
It's not your fault, he hears a gentle voice. Is it the late pope? Is it God? It sounds a lot like Thomas...
He finishes his prayer and goes to bed.
*)*
In his own bed, Thomas thinks of the progress of Vincent's counselling... and the young lady he met kneeling by the deli. He has dealt with enough people to read what the mental health professional said about Vincent.
He might have been violated, Your Eminence, the words told to him clanging around Thomas' head as he swallows.
What are the chances that the result of the violence - if it was true - recently moved to Rome?
Thomas is about to kneel to pray but he gets too tired, too worn he can only pray blearily on the edge of his consciousness.
He must seeks you, Thomas decides. It might be nothing, but if anyone ever got the wind that the pope has a daughter...
If Vincent had a daughter...
Thomas' dream creeps in; he's having a picnic. For some reason, God is there, in a way that Thomas cannot really see and describe, but He sits with him, among the picnic blanket and sandwiches in plastic boxes.
"God, why...?" Thomas almost sobs.
He cannot do this anymore, he feels. If it ever came out that Vincent has uterus... and on top of that a daughter...
But you are innocent, Thomas thinks, trying not to cry into his glass of cold tea in plastic cup in his hand. You have no idea who your father is.
He feels God gently touches his shoulder.
"You can go through whatever challenge I have ever laid upon you," He says.
Thomas shakes his head. He just wants to weep in the embrace of God.
He sniffles a little, "Can I take it that it is Your test too that some people will succeed in seeing past the things Vincent cannot control? Of... of his organs and violation?"
Yet, Thomas opens his eyes and sees his bedroom's ceiling.
He wipes tears from his eyes, but he could've sworn that in the picnic dream, Vincent is there. Not anywhere near the picnic blanket, but he's there, too.
He's there somewhere playing with his daughter.
And when Vincent is ready, he will come back to have his tea and sandwich.
Chapter Text
Thomas has requested a weekend off and Vincent lets him.
When Vincent lightly inquire of his weekend's plan, Thomas looks as if he was a puppy waiting for Vincent anger. Vincent quickly says that Thomas doesn't have to explain anything and Thomas looks like he's about to cry out of relief.
It's a bit strange, but Vincent believes Thomas.
*)*
Thomas returns to the deli where he met you... and he feels a little foolish. He could ask Ray for help, but he doesn't want to send him on a wild good chase of "find that tan young woman who recently moved to Rome; one who looks like the Holy Father".
But God makes you appear, disheveled and looking around like a lost lamb.
“Your Eminence!” you look at Thomas in relief, “Oh thank god, may I ask for help?!”
Five minutes later, Thomas holds a rolled up Vogue Italia and successfully ushered away two cockroaches from your Roman studio apartment.
“Thank you,” you huff and slowly sits in a lesser chair by the stove, “Please sit down, Your Eminence. Would you like a mug of tea?”
God has surely arranged this, Thomas thinks, as he nods and thanks you. Today you wear some sort of white cotton short dress. Once again, the resemblance to Vincent in his white papal cassock is uncanny.
“I suppose I might see you more often,” you smile as you pours water into your new kettle.
“I beg your pardon?”
“I will start working part time as a graphic designer in the Vatican’s PR department,” you smile and the way your eyes droop and soften is too much like Vincent’s.
“Oh.” My god. You are getting closer to Vincent. Should Thomas do something about it? Or not?
”Ah… am I too… un-Catholic for your liking, Your Eminence?” you misread Thomas’ expression. “I can assure you the office hired me properly…”
”No, no my child. I’m just… a little tired,” it isn’t a lie. “Well. I hope it goes smoothly.”
How is Thomas going to tell Ray about this?
*)*
But Thomas doesn’t need to.
You came on Friday to check your workplace and Ray is already there, gaping at your presence. You’re standing on your Converse, with a messenger bag filled with a laptop.
The next Monday, Vincent comes for a visit to the Vatican PR office, but you are in the bathroom.
“Oh my gosh, he’s so pretty,” the interns giggle, while Thomas and Ray, who are present and ghosting Vincent, don't know whether it's a cursed or a blessing that you're not around.
*)*
Lunchbreak arrives on a Tuesday afternoon.
You hold your paper bag filled with your homemade focaccia sandwich. You wander around and stop at a small stony pond of…
“Turtles!”
So you sit there and watch your little new friends bob up and down, seemingly unsure of what to do with this newly smelling human.
“¡Hola!”
You jolt and lift your face up to see…
“Holy Father!”
You scramble to stand up, but Pope Innocent XIV merely chuckles and gestures with his palms for you to stay where you are, “There is no need, señorita.”
You just gape. You have heard about how the late pope likes to walk around Rome and how the new pope is even more chill.
But who expected to see the pope in their lunch break?
“Do you like them?” he smiles.
You nod eagerly, feeling how familiar he is already—probably because you keep seeing his pictures all over Rome—and reply, “Yes! They’re adorable. And I’ve heard they’re very smart…”
Vincent laughs.
Thomas descends downstairs, looking for the Holy Father and making sure he has his lunch, but to his horror, he hears your voice talking about the turtles’ intelligence and Vincent laughing.
Déjà vu.
“Vincent—“ Thomas walks closer before he realises that he should probably addresses him as ‘Your Holiness’, as you are a stranger, but you don’t seem to mind.
Then, Thomas remembers that he learned during the battle of Vogue Italy versus cockroaches that you’re not exactly a devout catholic.
“Hello, Thomas,” says Vincent with a smile because of… well, Vincent.
“Ah! Cardinal Lawrence,” you wave happily with the hand not holding focaccia sandwich.
Seeing the two smiles up close, Thomas is about to faint.
He swears he hears God snickers as Thomas thinks that there is no way the two of you are not related.
You cut the rest of your very big focaccia sandwich, give them to Thomas and Vincent, saying, "It's okay if you don't want to eat it, but I promise I don't poison it", rams the sandwich into your mouth, and jogs back to the PR office.
Thomas cannot help but to smile. Your imagery makes him think of younger, perhaps freer Vincent. Vincent will be the holy father until the end of his time, Thomas supposes, but at least you can still do whatever you want, in a sense.
Next to Thomas, Vincent’s heart constricts.
Looking at you smiling at the turtles almost feels like looking at a mirror, though surely he simply cannot be that pretty (he is, pretty much everyone but Vincent himself agrees). You have told him about your new job in the Vatican PR, your recent move to Rome, and your love for animals you've encountered so far. You smile, beam, and only gets a little sad when you told him you were adopted.
("Oh, that's alright," you still smile, "My mom is amazing. She took me in when she was very young, but she got a lot of help, financially and also in more ways than one."
"She does sound amazing," Vincent agrees and smiles too. "Have you... forgive me if this is too personal, my child, but have you ever missed your biological parents?"
Vincent doesn't know why he asks you that. He simply had to, he supposes, because he had asked the similar questions to the displaced children where he used to work. Some children never know their parents, usually their dads. And knowing some men in the war, Vincent thinks it's for the best.
But the yearn for parental figure... Vincent supposes it will never stop.
Perhaps thinking of God as his ultimate father figure is why catholicism has been so appealing to him.
The light in your eyes dim a little, but you smile again, "Sometimes. But I have mom. And my friends. And now the people of Rome and Vatican. Mom volunteered in a war zone anyway... the chance of them surviving is very slim. But at least my biological mother gave me to my mom, you know? So I suppose that's... some sort of God's blessing."
And Vincen had smiled at that.
You are, in more than one way, a blessing.
A friend in turtle watching, Vincent already thinks.)
As you jogs on your Converse back to your work in the light fume of vanilla scented body product and swaying dark hair, Vincent feels a slight stab in his chest.
In another life, he would have loved to have you as his daughter.
Chapter Text
Even she gets to know that a new pope was elected in Rome. She lifts her head from his silent prayer for her daughter again—God, let her live and live happy—to see the face of the very father of her daughter. She swallows, thankful that her expression is well obscured behind her hoody head cover.
It’s him.
It’s the beautiful, soft voiced priest she forced herself into.
Tears prickle her eyes. Will she ever be forgiven for that? That was decades ago but she can never erase the distressed expression from her head; his large, frightened brown eyes, the thick dark curls curtaining his beautiful face…
The same curls stay around his face as he raises his hand rather shyly to the mass in the square. She swallows. Oh, surely God loves him so for he is still so beautiful. And his daughter… his and hers…
She has to leave the room where the television is. She has to pray whether she believes in God or not, at least for their daughter.
But, that day, God is seemingly—though understandably—deeply disappointed in her. She prays harder, this time for their daughter.
Love, I hope you are well. I hope you are loved and happy.
*)*
You sneeze.
Summer has yet to leave Rome. Roman summer is no longer makes you wish your apartment is newer and has better cooling system and for once you get to enjoy the warm night, the night that finds you step outside the PR office as the last employee in the building.
You look up. The stars are very faint in the city.
(Sometimes, you feel like someone is praying for you. Maybe it’s your biological mother. Sometimes, you can almost feel it. This led you to various worship places growing up and even now as an adult. You wondered whether God truly exists, whether He would show His face to you, to whispers you kindly about the secret of your past.)
But you have your mom, you once again remind yourself.
A shriek, followed by more noises, drag your attention to a group of nuns in the distance. One of them collapsed and you ran into them. “Is she okay?” you curse your immediate English but they respond about her declining health as of late. Ambulance is called, you shakily performed a first aid, and a tiring fifty minutes later you find yourself inside a kitchen in one of the Casa, drinking from a small bottle of San Pellegrino given by the eldest nun around.
“Thank you,” you say weakly as she supplies you with the second bottle once you finish your first one. You sweat a lot during the emergency. You hope you are not too stinky.
The elderly woman has a rather tough face and expression, but she is very beautiful anyway. You stare at her in your state of exhaustion until you clear your throat and she lets out a surprising gentle laugh, “That is alright, my child.” Her accent is Italian.
She glances at your employee ID, tucked into your short sleeved dress shirt’s breast pocket, the pastel pink lanyard still around your neck. “Ah, so you are one of us,” she says rather kindly.
You chuckle and tug the card out, showing her your name, “Yes. A very new member, though, I must inform you, Sister…?”
“Agnes.”
“Sister Agnes.” you repeat, before slumping again.
“Have you had any dinner?” she asks.
You shake your head, “No, but I have meal prepped some pasta dishes back in my apartment. I better be off.” You finish your bottle of water and have to insist to Sister Agnes that you are fine, you don’t need to eat that exact moment, and finally she lets you go after insisting that you bring home a small box of tiramisu from one of the massive fridges.
As you leave, your tired state doesn’t register that you pass some men in black and that one of them is Thomas, who comes to get something that might satisfy Vincent’s need for spicier food—though Vincent has begged Thomas that he will live without the spicy food for the night—and Thomas watches your back vanishes outside the Casa’s gate.
“Is that [Your Name]?” he asks Sister Agnes.
“Oh, you know her, Your Eminence?”
“I met her several times.”
Sister Agnes unknowingly repeats Ray’s words, “She looks exactly like him.” (She was staring too but she was so much better at hiding it than you.)
Thomas laughs an awkward, polite English laugh, “Well, she is a beautiful young lady. Now, Sister Agnes, if you can help me with some spices…”
Chapter Text
Giancomo, your new colleague at the Vatican PR office, is your mass partner this weekend. With fluffy curly hair and boyish brown eyed face, he appears on your door.
Before the next mass you decided to attend in the basilica—you genuinely like Pope Innocent—Giancomo is suddenly stopped by someone in red. The elderly Italian man wears dark rimmed glasses, has a head full of thick curly salt-and-pepper hair, and gestures extremely spiritedly about how Giancomo’s lack of church attendance is embarrassing for someone who lives in Rome (you have learned enough Italian to tell bits at this point). You try to stand politely while Giancomo mutters, “Ma ho sempre detto che non sono religioso…” about how he has never been religious, yet the slightly curly haired cardinal plows on anyway.
“Sorry, [Your Name],” he eventually sighs to you, red in the face—whether from embarrassment, anger, or both, “That was my uncle.”
“Eh?!” even you cannot escape the Tedesco Stan’s posts on social media.
Giancomo sighs longer, “I know, I know. At least he is the Patriarch of Venice and wasn’t elected Bishop of Rome, no?”
You follow Giancomo, who is so much more knowledgeable on best seating area, and try your politest to whisper, “You’re Giancomo Tedesco?”
Giancomo nods sheepishly, then grins and scoffs as he gestures at himself, “At least we’re Tedescos are all cute.”
You chuckle politely into your hand, “That’s true.”
“We are certainly not on your level of beauty, though,” Giancomo titters.
“Stop that, Giancomo.”
Not unlike many Romans and the city’s visitors, Giancomo has pointed out your similarity to the pope, which has its element of eeriness, now you have slowly learned, as the pope is indeed the closest thing to God many Catholics have.
Before the mass starts, you see more familiar clergy faces, but it’s a little comical to see Cardinal Lawrence finds your face with the widening of his eyes, a gesture duplicated by Monsignor O’Malley, before a tremble in Pope Innocent’s expression when he finally takes his place.
*)*
After the mass and before lunchtime, Giancomo is caught by his uncle once again, one hand on his vape and the other hand grabbing your colleague’s hand.
In the lunch table, you instinctively sits beside Giancomo, but his dear Uncle Goffredo confidently joins in and starts asking whether you are a good Catholic. While they bicker again, as Giancomo tells Tedesco to stop bothering you, you chuckle lightly into your napkin, and then Cardinal Tedesco stops arguing with his nephew to squint at you.
“You, signora… you…”
Tedesco visibly brakes.
This is not usual, because the rest of the people realise that Tedesco usually bulldozes his words into most if not all conversation.
(Goffredo squints at you, fixing the position of his glasses as he stares. Oh, he stares. Surely he cannot be the only person who thinks that you are the spitting image of His Holiness. Oh, if this was the scandal—oh! Goffredo would rejoice in it. This is the kind of crap that the liberals would pull, surely…? But he must navigates this carefully…)
“Cardinal?” you tilt your head a little, feeling hot in the face from his stare.
“Si,” Tedesco says, more to himself, “And you are Giancomo’s colleague in the office, no?”
“Yes, Your Eminence.”
Tedesco doesn’t try to bombard you with question again for the rest of the lunch.
You brush with Cardinal Lawrence, who smiles at the sight of you.
“And how have you been doing, my child?” he still smiles as he asks.
You observe his elderly face. He does look visibly happier and lighter post-Conclave, which makes you smile, too, “I’ve been doing well, Your Eminence. Thank you.”
Thomas gestures at the general Tedesco direction, “I see you’ve met with the Patriarch of Venice and a friend to his nephew.”
You chuckle but reply kindly, “Cardinal Tedesco is a very spirited man.”
Thomas laughs a little at that, “Please let me know if he bothered you too much.”
Unable to just looking at Thomas talking to you, Vincent joins, to everyone’s slight surprise as people in the dining room are—understandably—always quite aware of the pope’s movement.
“Your Holiness,” you say, ready to curtsy or kiss his ring—oh no, you don’t really know what to do when there’s no turtles as buffer between you—but Vincent just laughs and waves it off.
“You have met our friend Goffredo,” says Vincent lightly and you kind of want to laugh at the way he says Cardinal Tedesco’s name. You suppose even Tedesco’s type of bulldozer energy is not comparable to the pope.
“Yes, I have,” you chuckle again, but in good nature, before you have some light talks with Pope Innocent about the weather in Rome as both of you are currently adapting to it, Thomas smiling in the background.
When the pope is finally summoned to attend his next task, you wave at both of him and Cardinal Lawrence, who seems to be tied at his hips, and return to an astonished Giacomo.
“You know the pope?” he whispers, leaning down on your side.
“We met once before.”
“And the dean?”
“One time I asked him for help with bug issue in my apartment—“
Giacomo laughs, “Well, considering how well you handle my uncle, maybe you have a knack for dealing with Vatican’s old men.”
You laugh, too, and shrug as the pair of you leaves the building, “I do work for them, so I suppose it’s good to have a good rapport with your superiors…”
Vincent and Thomas are, at that point, on an office on the next floor, where they can see the figure of Giancomo and you.
Thomas watches as Vincent’s brown eyes narrow, “You said that the young man is Tedesco’s nephew, Thomas?”
“Yes, Your Holi—Vincent.” It’s only the two of them anyway.
To Thomas’ surprise, Vincent frowns a little, “Is he a good young man?”
Thomas is about to laugh and he does, but he bites back the What are you, her dad?
“I suppose he is, my dear Vincent,” Thomas smiles, “Now, let’s start reviewing this document…”