Chapter Text
Thomas, barely conscious, rolled over as his mind slowly crept towards waking. Or, he tried to. It seemed he was rather tangled in his bedding. He grunted, attempting to squirm out of his predicament, but he was really quite constrained.
Opening his eyes, it became apparent that he had somehow ended up entirely under the bedsheet. All he could see was fabric. He writhed again with more urgency. He couldn’t seem to use his hands properly - he pushed at his restraints feeling as if his fingers were bound up in mittens.
Was this some sort of nightmare? Trapped in infinite bedding, lost forever in something that ought to be comfortable? The sound of his panicked, panting breath was far too loud and harsh in the confined space.
He considered the stupidity of suffocating in his own bed, the embarrassment of a demise that ought to be so easily avoided, and squirmed and rolled more frantically.
He yelped as his body thudded onto the floor and daylight flooded his vision, making him squeeze his eyes closed. He was out of the bed, but still caught up in fabric. He fought against it, hearing seams tear and buttons skitter across the floor, but he didn’t care. Thomas just wanted to get out.
Finally, he could lift himself up on his arms. He shook his head, feeling something lightly slap against the sides of his face as he did so. He frowned and looked down at his-
At his…
Paws.
He lifted one, then the other. They were definitely his. Short, white fur, scattered with pale tan speckles. Short, blunt claws.
This had to be a nightmare. He shook his head again, the slapping sensation against the sides of his face making him jump. He stumbled his way out of the remnants of his pajamas, as if he could get away from himself and the strange body he found himself in.
There was motion in the corner of his eye. He startled, barked, and spun around to face it.
A dog looked back at him in the mirror. Lean, mid-sized, short-haired, white with pale tan patches, floppy tan ears, and a somber, jowly face. A very dog looking dog.
Thomas crept closer to his reflection, tilting his head this way and that. Despite the absurdity of the situation, the first thing he thought was:
Why do I have to keep my liver spots as a dog?
He huffed a gruff exhale. He’d never dreamt of being a dog before. It felt so real. He could feel his small heart racing in his chest, the twitching itchiness of his skin and fur where it had been rubbing against his pajamas. Automatically, Thomas sat and scratched his shoulder with his hind paw and oh, that felt good.
There was a soft thump behind him as his… ah, his tail. Right. His tail. His tail started to respond to the satisfying sensation of scratching an itch.
He looked around the room, wondering what he ought to do. Everything seemed so much bigger now.
Thomas returned to the bed and attempted to tidy up after himself, picking up his torn pajamas in his mouth and putting them on the bed. He tried to pull the bedsheet over the mattress as neatly as possible, but he couldn’t achieve much without actual hands and had to settle for the sheet being completely on the bed as a victory. He climbed up (a little awkwardly), laid down on his side, and closed his eyes.
If I fall asleep, maybe I’ll wake up from this and be myself again.
But sleep didn’t come to him. Thomas’ mind was too busy. He could hear birds outside, scratching, footsteps, distant murmurs… Then there were the smells. Fabric detergent, the warm musky scent of what he supposed had been his human body, the fruit on the kitchen counter (some of it was starting to turn - he could tell), even the scent of the shower products from the bathroom.
He grunted, rolling onto his front. It wasn’t going to work.
The muscles at the base of his ears tensed, pivoting them slightly in the direction of the front door. Approaching footsteps. Humming. Rustling. Coming to his door.
He stood up and looked around. It would be one of the Sisters that came to clean once a week. He always tried to keep the place as tidy as possible, but having someone that helped vacuum, mop and dust was nice. He allowed himself the help when he had his cancer diagnosis, but he hadn’t changed the routine since his recovery. He was never around when the Sisters visited, but he was always sure to thank them and gift a big luxury hamper to them at Christmas.
He needed to find a suitable one for this year. He needed to remember when he woke up.
But right now, Thomas didn’t want to startle the poor woman. He jumped down off the bed and hid himself against the wall by the doorway to the bedroom.
Thankfully, his bedroom door was left slightly open, so when the Sister let herself into Thomas’ apartment, propping the door open as she went to the kitchen, Thomas could easily creep down the hall and out of his home. His next trial was the stairs. It did not feel safe going down head-first, but he took his time and made his way, slowly and gradually, to the bottom.
He was tall enough to hit the door release button if he got on his hind legs to press it, and he was able to push the door open with a bit of effort - being the main door to the building, it was rather heavy.
Thomas’ face was immediately hit by a rush of cool air, sounds and scents. He stood, overwhelmed, in front of the door as it clunked closed and locked behind him.
Singing of birds and people: the former sharp and bright and numerous, the latter distant and echoey. Clattering, scraping, scurrying, rustling everywhere - inside buildings, outside, beneath his paws - the different kinds of footwear clacking on cobbles, tiles, marble and gravel, different kinds of animals hidden from view in the undergrowth or in tunnels. Thomas could smell some of them - musty-sweet with a fruity ammonia note that was almost an aftertaste on the back of his tongue.
Then there was the smell of the soil, the plants, people’s perfumes and sickness, the bitter petrol fumes from beyond the Vatican walls…
He turned around and scrabbled at the door in a vain attempt to go back inside, to hide from such a big world. It was no use, he couldn’t get in without his key.
“Hey!” someone shouted. A deep voice, an angry voice. “What are you doing here?”
Thomas cowered against the door, but when the man started to rush towards him, Thomas fled, driven by fear and confusion. He ran, four legs under him, propelling him faster than he’d ever been able to run before. The shouting chased him, then there was more noise, more commotion as people jumped out of his way and Sisters screamed.
He had no idea where he was going, he just wanted to get away, to hide, to be in the quiet. He dived through an open door, skittering across the polished marble floor. He leapt up the stairs, panting. He reached the top and collided with someone’s legs. He yelped, and looked up to see one of the Swiss Guard.
A gruff curse, and large hands reached for him. Thomas turned to flee back the way he came, but his paws went out from under him and he tumbled all the way down the hard marble staircase. He scrabbled up on shaky legs, dashing back outside and under the nearest hedge.
Thomas trembled all over, fear and adrenaline coursing through him. His body ached from the fall, and crawling under the hedge had scraped sharp twigs across his back, but he stayed there, shaking, as flat as he could make himself.
He wasn’t sure how long he hid there, but eventually the shouts and hurried, stomping footsteps died away. Thomas’ breathing and body gradually relaxed, and he cautiously sniffed to try and detect if there was anyone nearby. He didn’t think so - he wasn’t used to using this sense, but smells were so strong that Thomas was sure he would know if someone was close.
He crawled out from his hiding place, but kept close to things he could hide behind. He limped along - the fall had resulted in a deep ache in his hip, but he didn’t think it was anything serious. Not a serious injury, at least, but feeling pain made the entire situation a lot more serious.
One shouldn’t be able to feel pain in a dream.
Thomas tried to remain calm and kept his focus on staying out of sight, away from people, as he made his way into the gardens.
It was so much quieter there. Not silent - Thomas didn’t think his dog-ears would ever experience silence - but it was still a relief. His thirst drew him to the sound of a fountain, and he didn’t even think about the cleanliness of the water before he began to lap at it. He sighed, feeling a little better, but then caught sight of his reflection.
He was a dog. Really and truly.
Thomas sat down heavily.
God had turned him into a dog, into a lesser beast, for what purpose? As a punishment, surely, but what had he done wrong? Thomas had regained his sense of purpose under Pope Innocent XIV, he thought he was doing good work, thought he was where he was meant to be.
Perhaps he was interfering too much, rising above his station? Maybe he was being too overbearing with his guidance, controlling the direction he thought Innocent should take.
Thomas shuddered. He didn’t think so - it certainly hadn’t been his intention to control anything. He just wanted to give all the help he could, be as useful as possible, and ensure Innocent had everything he needed and was prepared for anything that he would have to deal with.
Thinking of it like that, it did seem a little overbearing.
Perhaps his only purpose had been to manage the conclave, and he was meant to have retained his desire to retire after. He’d outstayed his welcome, Thomas was no longer wanted or needed here, and he was maybe even being a hindrance to good work… was that it?
But now? At the busiest time of the year? Was he really that much of a problem?
But where could Thomas go? He could hardly find his way to a remote monastery like this, and being out on the streets of Rome was an unpleasant and frightening idea. He was bigger than a turtle but he wouldn’t want to try his luck in traffic.
Something bumping against his leg brought Thomas out of his thoughts. He looked down to see one of the turtles trying to push past him. He lifted his paw to allow it to move in front of him.
You’re a long way from the turtle pond, he thought.
Thomas might not belong in the Vatican anymore, but the turtles certainly did. The Holy Father loved them, and if any of them were to become lost, or worse, Thomas knew he’d be terribly upset, even if he wouldn’t show it.
He tried to nudge the amphibian in the right direction, but it was a stubborn thing, and just pushed against him. Thomas tried using his nose instead of his paw to push it and had a little more success - until he was given a sharp nip on the nose. He yelped, jumping back.
Right. That’s it. You’re going back to the pond.
He stared down the small creature, who looked back up at him with a squinted eye as if to say: what are you gonna do about it?
Thomas stepped around it, putting his nose against its side instead to lift it up just enough to get his lower jaw underneath. Turtle carefully in his mouth, tasting and smelling of stagnant water, Thomas raised his head and trotted to the turtle pond.
The surprise of being lifted, and maybe the fear of being between the jaws of a larger animal, had made the turtle pull itself inside its shell. But after a few steps of still being alive, it became boisterous again, starting to wriggle its limbs. Thomas growled, but it didn’t have any effect. He really didn’t want to hold on any tighter for fear of puncturing the shell. All he could do was pick up the pace to reach the pond before the turtle could free itself.
He spat it out into the water with a splash as soon as he reached the pond's edge, and pushed it further into the water with his nose for good measure. The turtle squinted at him again, but turned and swam to its friends.
“Ruff,” Thomas huffed.
“Oh…”
Thomas startled, turning to see the Holy Father sitting right there by the pond.
“Oh, it’s alright. Shh-shh,” he spread his hands, palms up. “You’re a very good boy, aren’t you? Keeping the turtles nice and safe. A very clever dog, hm?”
He spoke in Spanish, and Thomas realised he hadn't ever heard him speak in his mother tongue. Latin, English, Italian, but never Spanish. It seemed woefully remiss of him now that he hadn't made the Holy Father feel at home by conversing in Spanish. He spoke all of these languages beautifully, of course, in the same calm and mild manner. Thomas tried to ignore the sensation of his tail wagging, it was dreadfully embarrassing.
“You like that? Clever boy? Because you are. So clever and so good, aren’t you?”
Embarrassing. Horrifically so, but the Holy Father was so nice. And his smile was so lovely… Thomas felt compelled to approach.
Innocent lowered himself from the stone bench to kneel on the ground, and Thomas wanted to protest, to warn against dirtying his vestments, but Innocent must have seen him hesitate or flinch as he moved away too.
“It’s alright, I’m not going to hurt you, or catch you. You caused quite a stir this morning,” he smiled. “I was hoping I’d get to meet you. It must have been so frightening to be chased around by all these strange people, but you’re safe here, Perrito - I promise.”
Thomas crept closer and Innocent offered his outstretched hand. Thomas sniffed it, and he smelled wonderful - earthy and lightly scented with incense, warm and safe. Innocent’s other hand brushed gently over his neck and oh-
Scratching an itch was nothing compared to being petted.
He whimpered and both hands began to stroke more firmly, down his neck, his shoulders, his back. Thomas flopped onto the ground, not even in control of his body, tail beating against the flagstones.
“Ohhh you want belly rubs? Hm? You’re such a lovely boy. What a lovely, special boy the Lord has sent to me and the turtles, hm?”
Oh God, I have no idea, just don’t sto-oooohhh…
Yes, Thomas very much wanted belly rubs now that Innocent’s perfect hands were on his stomach.
Innocent laughed at Thomas’ writhing, and Thomas blinked his eyes open to see his beautiful smile. The Holy Father had never looked at him like that before. Thomas didn’t want him to stop looking at him that way.
“Where did you come from?” Innocent murmured. “You’re such a sweet thing, surely someone must be missing you?”
No. Thomas rolled back into a sitting position. No one is missing me, besides the work I ought to be doing. Sorry about that. I would if I could, I hope you can forgive me.
Innocent petted his head, stroked the soft fur of his ears, and Thomas leaned into his hand.
“Hehe,” a hand cupped over the crown on Thomas’ head. “You even have your own zuchetto - a patch just there, just as if you belong here.”
I want to, oh Holy Father, I want to belong here, by your side. Even- even if it’s just as a dog, I’d still like to be here. Oh, please don’t send me away.
Thomas whined, pressing his head to the Holy Father’s chest.
“Oh, you poor thing. It’s alright, I’ve got you.”
Vincent petted him and murmured soft reassurances and sweet praises. Thomas had never been treated so softly, so kindly, shown such intimate and tender affection. He whimpered, curling as close as he could, selfishly soaking up whatever the Holy Father bestowed upon him. His surroundings weren’t so large and overwhelming in the Holy Father’s arms, and his bizarre predicament didn’t seem so bad. It didn’t feel like a punishment at all, to be held with such care.
“Come on, Perrito,” Innocent murmured against his head. “Let’s try and sneak into my room. I’ll find you something to eat, how does that sound?”
Thomas made a soft noise in his throat and wagged his tail (deliberately this time).
“Come on then,” he patted Thomas firmly on the shoulder as he stood. “We have to be quiet.”
The Holy Father sneaked with him through the gardens, but when he noticed that Thomas was hiding behind things himself and sticking to the bushes and hedgerows, he straightened up.
“Good boy,” he whispered. “Just like that. I think I’ll be less conspicuous if I walk normally inside… less fun though,” he shot Thomas a smile.
That smile made Thomas wish so desperately that Innocent could have fun. It was full of boyish mischief Thomas didn’t know that he possessed. It made him realise how very overwhelmed and tired the Holy Father must have been since his sudden ascension into the papacy. It made him realise how little he knew the man who was the Pope.
Of course Thomas knew all about him: his missions, every country he’d worked in, who his living family members were and where they resided. He knew of his strength, perseverance and kindness first-hand. He knew he liked turtles, and how he took his tea - but what made him laugh? What brought him joy? What was his favourite food? Favourite colour? What were the best parts of all those places he’d visited? The bright spots that had kept him going?
Innocent clicked his fingers and pointed behind a statue. Thomas followed the command and dashed ahead to hide himself there, before people passed in front of them further down the corridor.
“Your Holiness.”
Thomas hunkered down, listening. It was Aldo.
“Cardinal Bellini.”
“I don’t suppose you’ve seen Thomas today?”
“Ah, no. I haven’t. Neither of you have heard from him?”
“No, Holy Father, we haven’t.” Ray.
“Hm. Well, he has been doing a lot. Overworking himself, I fear. If he overslept, or has a headache that has kept him in bed, we ought to let him rest. He’s been getting into quite a fuss over the Christmas preparations…”
“I’m sure he just wants everything to go smoothly for you,” Ray reassured him.
“I’m sure I can manage,” Innocent protested. “Not that I’m ungrateful, of course, I only wish…” he sighed. “That he could relax a little, that’s all.”
“Well, it seems like he’s been forced to,” Aldo said. “That’s how it usually happens for him. You’re right - probably worked himself into a migraine. We’ll give him some space today so he doesn’t stress out, and I’ll check on him tomorrow if he still hasn't appeared.”
“Thank you, Cardinal Bellini. I’d appreciate it if you could update me on his condition tomorrow, and if he’s not at his best, please tell him to remain at home. Direct orders from me.”
“Of course, Your Holiness.”
Thomas waited until the footsteps became distant, but Innocent quietly clicked his tongue to signal him too. He crept back out to walk by the Holy Father’s side.
“Good boy,” he murmured with a gentle pat to Thomas’ head.
They repeated this procedure whenever they encountered other people, and Thomas often hid himself before Innocent was aware of anyone approaching. He always praised Thomas for returning to his side, and Thomas knew he shouldn't read too much into it, that he was only being treated like a dog, but… The Holy Father wanted him by his side. Wanted to sneak him into his room to keep him close.
If Innocent wanted canine companionship more than what Thomas could offer as a human, he’d provide it. He was beginning to realise he would do almost anything for the new Holy Father, not only to keep him in his position, but to keep him happy. To provide him with whatever he might want or need.
If petting a dog made him happy, and having one in his room made him feel more at home, then Thomas would do it. He would be that dog.
Maybe this change wasn’t about Thomas at all, but about what the new Holy Father needed. Maybe Thomas had been chosen (blessed?) to assume this role, being the most dispensable member of the Curia. Maybe he was being granted a different kind of retirement, away from his duties, to focus all of his attention on Innocent.
Innocent couldn’t avoid the guards outside his room.
“Don’t tell anyone,” he pleaded. “I’m just keeping him here for a little while - he’s been given quite a fright.”
It took much coaxing from Innocent to get Thomas to reveal himself, but under the Holy Father’s protection, the guards merely nodded (with poorly disguised smiles) and Thomas was led into the Holy Father’s rooms.
“Oh, you are so smart, aren’t you?” he gushed, rubbing the sides of Thomas’ face, making his ears flap. “A sneaking expert. No wonder you got inside the Vatican. Come on, let’s get you some water.”
Thomas followed him into the small kitchen and sat patiently as a bowl was filled for him. He politely lapped the water when it was set down, even though he’d quenched his thirst at the fountain. He felt a pat on his shoulder.
Innocent walked back to the door, and Thomas followed at his heels. He opened the door just enough to poke his head out.
“Would one of you be able to find him something to eat from the kitchen?”
“Of course,” one of the guards said with the utmost seriousness.
“With absolute discretion! This mission is top secret.”
“Yes, Your Holiness.”
“Thank you.”
Innocent closed the door again and looked down at Thomas.
“Go on then, Perrito. Make yourself at home.”
He encouraged Thomas inside, leading him around all the rooms.
“You can sit on the couch, I don’t mind. I feel like you’re too polite though. Too well-trained, hm?”
Thomas got a pat on the head.
Then they went into the bedroom and Innocent sat on the edge of his bed, patting the space beside him.
“Come on. You can get on the bed too.”
Thomas sat at his feet instead. The Pope’s bed was no place for him - certainly no place for a dog.
Innocent sighed with a smile. “What did I say. You know I like what a good boy you are, but you don’t have to be so good. Up, up.”
He leaned forward and wrapped his arms around Thomas’ body to lift him. Thomas whined rather pathetically, and Vincent cooed and petted him as he set him down on the mattress.
“There we go. It’s not bad, is it?” Innocent said, stroking Thomas’ face. “It’s comfy. And too big for me on my own. There’s plenty of room for you too.”
He pushed firmly against Thomas’ body.
“Go on, lie down. You can be here.”
Thomas did as he was told, only because it was what the Holy Father wanted. Despite his fears of the Sisters finding dog hair on the Pope’s bedding, he couldn’t bear to disappoint the Holy Father when he looked at him so hopefully.
“Good boy.”
Thomas did get belly rubs though, and his tail thumped against the mattress.
A knock at the door made Innocent jump up and Thomas grunt at the sudden halt to the petting.
“Ohh, Perrito, Sandro got you a treat.”
Thomas could smell it already and was off the bed before Innocent had finished speaking.
Back in the kitchen, Innocent showed him a large chunk of ham. Thomas raised a paw. It smelled incredible and he was so very hungry. He whined.
“The Sisters are definitely going to know that this is missing…” Innocent murmured. “But I think you deserve it, for being such a wonderful boy, hm?”
“Wuf!”
“Hehe,” Innocent turned to the counter to cut the meat into chunks, and Thomas sat as close as he could to his feet, nose in the air. “Here,” he was offered a rough cube of meat in front of his nose, and Thomas opened his mouth very, very carefully to take it.
“So gentle…” Innocent murmured, petting his head.
The ham was put into a bowl and set on the floor beside the water, and Thomas eagerly put his muzzle into it when Innocent stepped back.
“There you go. I’ll see you later. Be good, okay?”
Thomas immediately took his head out of the bowl and fussed around the Holy Father’s legs with a whine.
“I’ll be back, and I promise no one will come and get you here. You’re nice and safe and cozy here, hm?”
But what am I meant to do? What’s my purpose? How can I help you if you’re not here?
All Thomas could do was do as he was told, and wait so that the Holy Father knew where to find him when he needed him.
If Thomas was needed.
-----
Thomas snorted, the sound of a door closing waking him up.
He was still a dog, on the rug by the sofa, exactly where he remembered laying down.
“Oh, Perrito,” Innocent sighed, dropping to his knees before Thomas could get up. “Am I glad to see you.”
He stroked Thomas’ shoulder, but there was something strained and sad in his smile this time. Thomas didn't like it. He whined, pushing himself up to paw at the Holy Father’s arm.
“Hello,” his smile eased a little, but not completely. He took hold of Thomas’ paw and gave it a shake. “My name is Vincent. I wonder what yours is… I know I shouldn't give you one, shouldn't get attached to you… I won't be allowed to keep you…”
His hands gripped Thomas tighter, and there was such an overwhelming wave of sadness that emanated from him, Thomas pressed closer, desperate to fix it somehow. He attempted to climb onto his lap.
“What are you- I think you're a little too big for that,” Vincent sniffed, but he smiled.
Thomas huffed, trying to arrange his limbs in a way that was compact and comfortable.
“Come here, you silly thing.”
Vincent wrapped his arms around Thomas' shoulders and held him close, face pressed against his fur.
“You're not making this any easier,” he mumbled. “You're so sweet…”
Thomas grumbled.
God wants you to have a dog, and you are the Pope - you shouldn't be denied this. They'll have to drag me away.
Vincent inhaled deeply before pulling away.
“Alright. You get the last of the ham for dinner and then it's bedtime, okay?”
“Wuff.”
Vincent chuckled and gave him a pat.
Thomas ate his dinner, distantly dreading a time when he might be served dog food, and returned to the rug to settle back down for the night.
“Perrito?” Vincent called softly, something fragile and nervous in his tone that made Thomas rush to the bedroom door where he was standing. “Would you like to sleep in here? I'd appreciate the company.”
Thomas followed him inside, but hesitated when Vincent patted the bed. He still looked sad, and so very lonely. So much smaller out of his vestments, in ordinary pajamas, in the vastness of the room.
That compelled Thomas to jump up onto the bed, his hind leg collapsing under him as he landed.
“Oh no, careful!” Vincent's gentle hands immediately cradled and supported him. “You've hurt yourself haven't you? I saw you limping earlier, and someone said you fell down the stairs… You must have been so scared… I'm sorry, I should've helped you up.”
Thomas grunted, pawing at him in an attempt to disagree. Vincent petted his side rhythmically, his hand gradually sliding further and further down.
“Can I touch your leg? See if it hurts? I'll be gentle, I promise.”
I know. You always are.
Careful hands stroked over his hind leg, and when Thomas didn't flinch or protest, Vincent began to gently move and test the joints. There was a continuous cycle of praise overlaying the attention but Thomas whined when the leg was lifted and the joint moved in the hip socket.
“Oh dear, is that where it hurts, up there?” he pressed his fingers at Thomas' hip and Thomas whimpered his confirmation. “Okay, good boy. You're so brave, thank you. We'll just have to be careful. I'll help you up from now on, alright?”
From now on - as if Thomas’ place was by his side, in his bed.
Vincent slipped under the covers and patted the space beside him. “Come on, lie down with me.”
Thomas gingerly laid on his side, on top of the covers, facing Vincent. He couldn't remember ever being this physically close to anyone. A hand came to rest on Thomas’ shoulder like something of an embrace.
“There,” he smiled. Then, the corner of his mouth twitched as if he wanted to laugh. “I'm sure he'd hate for me to say it but… you remind me of Dean Lawrence.”
Thomas huffed. I could never hate you, even if your observation wasn't so awfully true.
“You have the same eyes,” Vincent murmured. “Blue and kind and sad… that worried, sorrowful expression…”
Oh dear, Thomas felt his muzzle scrunch in a grimace. Did he really look so terribly depressed so often?
“And your age spots,” Vincent’s smile flickered back as he playfully drummed his fingers across the scattering of speckles on Thomas’ snout.
Yes, I'm beginning to think the Lord has quite a terrible sense of humour. Don't mention that my brown ears and white head gives the impression of a receding hairline - believe me, I've already noticed.
“And your zuchetto, of course,” Vincent scratched the top of his head. “My Cardinal, hm?”
Always, Thomas thought sincerely. Even if my duties are a little different now.
Vincent sighed, that aura of sadness starting to creep from him again.
“I like Cardinal Lawrence. Very much. He's so kind and patient, and has so much knowledge. Not only of the Curia, but his own insight to the world. He's smart, but in a way that never makes me feel stupid.”
Thomas’ tail began to wag.
“He's very approachable, and has always made me feel welcome… I'd only hoped…”
Oh no, this was it. The grievous error Thomas must have made to be in his current situation. He froze, muscles tense, waiting for his sins to be tallied.
“Ah, it's silly. I'm just tired, that's all. It's making me too emotional.”
Thomas whined and pawed at him. No, please unburden yourself. Feel your emotions freely, in the safety of your own room. My purpose is to comfort you, please allow me that. To mend whatever sorrows I have caused.
“Oh-” Vincent choked. “Sweet Perrito. I had just- just hoped we could have been friends. Silly, isn't it?”
He sniffed and wiped his eyes as cold realisation set hard, low in Thomas’ stomach.
“The Pope can't have friends, I suppose. My life is no longer my own. It never really was - I've always worked in the service of the Lord but-”
Thomas could feel him tremble and pressed his head against his chest.
“It shouldn't be any different,” he whispered. “And I have faced many dangerous and difficult trials, but this-” a sob broke from him. “To be held apart from my fellow man… to have to be more than a man, more than human- Sometimes I think- I feel- I just can't-”
Oh no, oh no…
Thomas had dreaded attaining the papacy himself - he knew how difficult fulfilling such a role would be, and yet, somehow, he hadn't thought of Vincent facing the same problems. He just seemed so perfect. Pope Innocent XIV. The light in his eyes, his worldly experience, his sincerity and kindness…
But he was a man too. Vincent Benítez, Mexican, what Thomas had since learnt was called intersex, who'd travelled from a warzone due to his firm sense of moral duty with every expectation of being killed on his return, then shoved out onto a balcony to to greet a mass of strangers in a foreign land as the head of the Catholic Church… It was so much worse for poor, dear Vincent, who had already been through so much in his life - who'd experienced so much in just the past year, before he’d even set foot in Rome.
He'd confided his deepest secret to Thomas in the Room of Tears. He had trusted Thomas from the very beginning - regarded him highly enough that Thomas had received his vote at every ballot - and yet Thomas hadn't extended the same hand of friendship in return.
He thought of all those moments when Innocent had asked Thomas to join him for tea or a meal, or accompany him on a walk. Thomas had always agreed, happy to be of service in any way he could, and made sure the Holy Father was up-to-date with his schedule, that he was prepared for his next mass, his next public statement, kept him informed of all the Christmas preparations…
Thomas cringed as it all came back to him. Vincent had sought him out in friendship, and all Thomas provided him with was managerial advice. It was all he was used to being expected of him, and he so desperately wanted to be of assistance to Innocent and try to ensure that everything ran as smoothly as possible for him, that he hadn't considered it might have just been his companionship that had been desired.
Vincent was not the Late Holy Father. He didn't see Thomas solely as a manager - he saw him as a friend. And Thomas had been so blind to it, so ignorant, that God had intervened to put him in the body of man's best friend to make him incapable of messing it up.
Thomas slipped out of Vincent's hold, and although he reached for him, desperate to keep Thomas close, he let him go. Thomas didn't go far, just wormed his way under the duvet so Vincent could hold him close to his body.
Vincent sighed shakily as he clung to Thomas, burying his face into his fur to hide his tears. He told Thomas in quiet, snuffled murmurs that he was a good dog, a sweet dog, a lovely dog, a blessing. Thomas didn't feel like any of those things, but he vowed that he would be. He'd be anything Vincent needed.
-----
Thomas woke up to Vincent’s smile and the heavenly sensation of being petted. He was still in a canine body, but it didn't seem so bad in that moment. The bed was warm, Vincent was warm… it felt like he could drift right back into sleep again…
Vincent laughed, and that was wonderful too.
“You snore, you know.”
Ugh. Terrible.
“It's cute. You're cute.”
Vincent ruffled his ear, and Thomas was very glad that he was no longer capable of blushing.
“I have to get ready, and I suppose you need to go outside? You can spend the day in the gardens, maybe I'll get the time to visit you before lunch. I'll get one of the guards to bring you some food.”
Thomas whined. He felt awful that Vincent would have to face the day alone. He received a coo and a pat in an attempt to soothe him, but it was Vincent that should be receiving comfort, not providing it. He grumbled and got off the bed with Vincent’s promised assistance, resolving to brighten the Holy Father’s morning as much as he could before he had to depart.
He stuck to Vincent's side all through the apartment, except for the bathroom, where he waited outside with his back turned. Vincent laughed at that too, telling him how polite and what a gentleman.
Thomas resisted the horror of his dog-body daring to touch Innocent’s vestments, and tried not to think too much about it at all as he picked up the zuchetto in his mouth. Getting up on his hind legs, bracing his forepaws against Vincent’s hip, he offered it to him.
This time, the laughter was bright with genuine delight. Thomas’ tail wagged at his success, and Vincent took his zuchetto, but didn't let Thomas slip back down to the ground. He held his forelegs above the ankles, moving them up and down in an absurd approximation of a dance as Thomas tried to keep his balance.
“Thank you, Cardinal Perro.” He bowed to press his nose to the top of Thomas’ head. “So helpful and loyal, whatever would I do without you?”
He allowed Thomas to slip to the ground, and set the zuchetto on his own head.
“Hmm, what am I missing…” Vincent drummed his fingers on his chin in playful exaggeration.
Your pectoral cross! Thomas actually barked, unable to stop himself attempting to answer vocally. He knew Vincent was teasing, but Thomas took his state of dress very seriously.
“Hm? Oh I am missing something?”
Thomas huffed, padding his paws in frustration.
“Somethiiing… here?” he pressed a hand against his body where his cross would rest.
“Ruff,” Thomas reached up to paw at his arm. Yes. This ridiculous, you're going to make yourself late-
No. That was a Human Thomas way of thinking. Too managerial. Even though Vincent was in his vestments, he was not yet Innocent - not when he was still in the private sanctuary of his rooms.
If Vincent wanted to play with his dog and be himself before he had to face the world, Thomas would play with him. He just needed to learn how. He needed to be more carefree, less rigid, less concerned about shame. He was a dog now, he wouldn't be judged for acting how a dog would. Vincent didn't mock him for his enjoyment of belly rubs - he delighted in providing them.
Thomas needed to learn to be a better dog, and he hoped his body possessed some instincts he could lean into to help him in this endeavour.
“Is it that? Over there?” Vincent pointed to the chest of drawers his pectoral cross rested on.
Thomas obediently went over to it, putting his front paws against the wood to raise himself onto his hind legs. He looked at the crucifix, but he couldn't bring himself to put something so holy and precious in his mouth. He nosed at it, looked over his shoulder at Vincent, and nosed at it again with a whine.
Vincent came over to him, resting a hand on the back of his neck as he lifted the chain. He showed the pendant to Thomas, who wagged his tail in response. He'd always liked the design of it - simple and unassuming from a distance, but it had lovely intricate details that still celebrated simplicity: woodgrain and vines. Thomas had never dared to ask to study it, to touch it. It was too personal, too precious, and now far too holy.
“My pectoral cross,” Vincent murmured, patting him. “Good boy.”
He slipped it over his head and Thomas dropped back to the floor, sat down, and just looked at him. He was lovely, he was remarkable. Thomas didn't worship him but… oh, he adored him.
Thomas tilted his head. There was something… different. He couldn't place it. Vincent was in good spirits, his dark eyes smiled down at Thomas, his hair was as dark and glossy as usual, his vestments unblemished, brilliant white…
Thomas jumped back up to stand when it hit him. Vincent's skin was grey.
Was he sick? Thomas whined, nosing at Vincent's hand. He was still warm, still smelled healthy, and he wasn't acting as if anything was wrong…
“What's the matter, hm? Come on, let's get going. You're probably impatient to get outside, aren't you?”
Thomas followed at his heels, paying close attention. When they exited the room, he immediately looked to the guards, certain that they would share his concern over the Holy Father’s health, but they didn't appear to notice anything unusual.
Vincent was speaking with them, but Thomas couldn't pay attention to what he was saying - he was too focused on trying to read their expressions. But when he stopped looking for small behavioural changes, he noticed something far more obvious: the colours of the guards’ uniforms were far less vivid. Thomas paced around them, studying. The blue and yellow were interspersed with grey, not red. The plumes on their helmets: grey. On closer inspection, their skin was also grey, although it hadn't been as obvious to him as Vincent’s darker, warmer complexion.
He ran over to the closest window to look out. The sky was still blue, but a different kind of blue. The grass was no longer verdant green, but dull and yellowish.
Vincent wasn't sick, Thomas’ vision had changed. How odd, that it hadn't been that way from the start. He looked at his paws on the window ledge. The speckles just seemed grey to him now, but he'd definitely been able to tell that they had been brown the previous day.
What did it mean?
“I know, Perrito. You've been so patient, we can go now.”
Thomas followed by the Holy Father’s side, lost in thought. He didn't think he was going blind - he could still see quite clearly, he'd just gone… colourblind. It must have happened gradually, for him not to have noticed.
Vincent crouched down to him when they were in the gardens, and held Thomas’ face in both hands. “I have to go now, be good, okay?”
“Wuff.”
“Good boy,” Vincent ruffled the top of his head and stood up.
Thomas remained sitting where he was, but the urge to follow at the Holy Father’s heels was so strong, it took Thomas considerable attention to resist it. Especially when Vincent looked back over his shoulder at him not once but twice. Thomas waited until he was out of sight, then waited some more in case he decided to come back, but when the last of his scent was lost to the breeze, Thomas got up and moved on.
He went to monitor the turtles, but it seemed they hadn't warmed up enough yet to cause much mischief. A guard had left food and water for him, which Thomas didn't approach until he was sure he was alone.
He slipped into a doze while trying to decide whether the change in his vision was part of his punishment. It seemed quite pointed that he could no longer see the red of the Cardinal vestments.
Had he failed in his first trial of being a dog and had something else taken from him? What was he supposed to do as a dog? Was he supposed to have sought out the Holy Father immediately? To have recognised his sorrows and struggles more readily with his new senses?
Something scurrying close by woke him, and when he discovered it was a rat, he had a new mission: to keep vermin away from all of the buildings.
This was exhausting work. When he identified which scents and sounds were from rodents, he could pick up on them everywhere. He found a burrow, but wasn't sure what he could do about it. He wasn't hunting them, he didn't think he could hurt them, let alone kill them. He barked at it and hoped that would be a deterrent.
He took up a patrol, and gave chase to any mouse that he saw too close to human pathways. Thomas’ hip ached from the exertion, but he had to be useful, had to find his new purpose, his new role. People definitely noticed him, but no one tried to chase or catch him. Thomas could only assume that word had got out that the Pope approved of a dog on the Vatican grounds.
There was only one person that he knew the individual scent of, and as soon as he caught a trace of it, the mice got a reprieve. He followed it, nose in the air, until it was strong enough to follow without thought.
He was infused with such joy the moment he caught sight of Vincent, who was doing a rather poor job of trying to appear as if he wasn’t looking for something, that Thomas’ tail immediately started to wag as he ran. He barked, and Vincent’s head snapped towards him, and he beamed.
It was as if the excitement Thomas felt could not be contained in his small body. He continued to bark, all the way up until they met and Vincent knelt down to embrace him. Thomas fidgeted and snuffled and whined, wanting to be close, close, close, still overcome with the intensity of his emotions. He’d never experienced such elation.
“Oh, my special boy. My little angel, heaven-sent. Did you miss me?”
Yes, yesyesyes-
Thomas pawed at him, despite still being in Vincent’s arms, as close as they could be to one another.
“You’d improve all of my meetings if I could have you there.”
Vincent pushed him back just enough to look at him, and his gaze held such adoration, Thomas was on the verge of physically squirming again.
“Good grief. Don’t tell me you’ve been hiding the dog all this time,” Aldo grumbled.
Thomas barked in surprise, turning his head to wrinkle his nose at his friend’s approach, but not moving away from Vincent. Ray was two steps behind Aldo.
“Then I don’t know what to tell you, Cardinal Bellini,” Innocent said calmly. Even though there was no way to tell from looking at him, Thomas could sense a tension building in him.
“We can’t have a dog in the Vatican. What if it has fleas or mange or something? We have no idea where it’s come from, where it’s been-”
Thomas snorted his displeasure. Vincent tried to hide his smile and petted him.
“And what if someone’s allergic? Can you imagine the PR disaster of someone going into anaphylactic shock after meeting you? We’d never hear the end of it.”
“He’s very clean, and perfectly trained. As for allergies, I’d hope we’d be informed if anyone had any kind of severe health concern before their arrival. There are plenty of people who have pets in their homes and may carry the fur on their clothes.”
“But- Your Holiness,” Ray spoke up. “You said he’s well-trained?”
“Yes,” Vincent smiled like he was proud of Thomas, and that was enough to start his tail wagging again. “The most polite dog I’ve had the pleasure of meeting.”
“Then don’t you think he might belong to someone?”
“... yes. I had thought that. He was just so frightened yesterday…”
His fingers dug into Thomas’ fur.
Don’t worry, Thomas wanted to reassure him, but could only butt him with his head. I only belong to you.
“I could take him to a vet, see if he’s chipped?” Ray offered.
Thomas slipped behind Vincent as he sighed and stood up, making a half-hearted attempt to wipe the damp from the grass off his knees. Thomas cowered there, hiding from his colleagues. If he was taken out of the Vatican, he might never get to return. Now he’d seen how happy he could make Vincent, and how desperately Vincent needed happiness in this life, Thomas was certain he was meant to stay.
“That’s um… Could we get a vet to come here? You can see he’s still so nervous and it’d be a good opportunity to have the turtles checked.”
“I think we have enough to worry about without the turtles, Your Holiness,” Aldo said. “They’ve been fine left to their own devices until now-”
“They have not been fine - Cardinal Lawrence told me some had been run over.”
“Well that’s not anything a vet can help…”
“The turtles are under my care now, Cardinal Bellini, and I take all of my responsibilities here seriously, even if some may seem frivolous. I would like to know that they’re in good health and that we are caring for them correctly.”
“I’ll see what I can do, Your Holiness,” Ray reassured him.
“Thank you, Ray.”
“But we weren’t looking for you to talk about the dog,” Aldo said. Thomas really didn’t like his tone, or the frustrated agitation in him. “Thomas still isn’t answering his phone. I’m worried.”
“Do you think it’s serious?”
“Yes. I do. I know it’s only been a day but he’s never done this before, not in all the years I’ve known him.”
All three people shared the same curdling worry that made Thomas feel ill. He whined, nosing at Vincent’s hand.
I’m here. Forget about Cardinal Lawrence, he isn’t worth your worry or your sadness. I could be so much happier like this. With you.
“Have you been to his apartment?”
“I just came back from there. No answer. Sister Clara said he wasn’t home when she cleaned yesterday morning.”
“Ask her to let you into his apartment. Hopefully he’s there, but if not, see if you can find anything. You have my permission. Update me as soon as you can.”
Aldo nodded and set off immediately.
“I'll see about the vet, Your Holiness,” Ray said kindly.
“... thank you,” Vincent murmured, but Thomas couldn't sense any gratitude in him, only worry and sorrow.
Then they were alone again, but the atmosphere couldn't have been more different to how Thomas had met him only minutes before. Vincent walked over to a stone planter and sat down heavily on the edge, running his hands through his hair, head bowed.
“God forgive me. I have been so selfish, indulging in playful whims when there is far more serious work to be done. Aldo is right. And Cardinal Lawrence…” he took a deep breath and looked up at the sky. “What has happened to him? What if he collapsed in the street somewhere? What if he's in pain, or suffering, or-”
No, no. I'm fine, truly. Thomas pawed gently at his leg, and Vincent absently put a hand on Thomas’ head, but he wasn't paying attention. God doesn't need to forgive you, he wants you to have this.
“I will pray for him,” Vincent murmured, clasping his hands and closing his eyes. “Pray that the Lord grants him His protection.”
Thomas whined, resting his chin on Vincent’s knee. He watched his brow crease into a frown and he looked so tortured that Thomas pawed at him more urgently.
Don't worry about me. Don't waste your prayers. I don't deserve them, this is entirely my own fault. I don't need them because… because…
He thought about waking up as a man again, in his apartment where his only companions were shelves of old books. Of the strength of his stress and anxiety each day, of the minutiae of Vatican life which seemed so very insignificant now.
Because maybe I want to be a dog-
He thought of Vincent’s smiles and his laughter, just in the past day. Of Vincent being consoled by Thomas’ warmth, drying his tears in his fur.
If I could be yours, like this. Don't waste your sorrows on him-
“No,” Vincent scolded, sudden and firm, pushing him away.
Thomas stumbled back but immediately tried to approach again.
“No. Down. Bad dog.”
His tone, his words, hit Thomas as if he'd been slapped. He stepped back, head down, tail between his legs and whimpered in apology.
“Oh- no- Perrito, I'm sorry. I just- I was doing something important, but you were only trying to make me feel better, weren't you? That's what you're always doing. Oh, my angel, forgive me.” He sounded on the verge of tears. “Come here, don't be- don't be afraid of me-”
Thomas was on him immediately, paws on his lap, nose in his hair.
Never. Never. I will always forgive you.
“Oh, thank you, thank you.”
Vincent hugged him, and Thomas snuffled at his hair, soothed by his scent, his warmth, and the easing of his mood. When his nose touched the skin of his neck, Vincent flinched.
“Ehh, your nose is wet-”
But there was laughter brewing behind those words, so instead of moving away, Thomas snuffled his neck instead. The scent of him was so good there, heady and concentrated in a spot just below his ear.
Vincent giggled, and Thomas’ tail began to wag so hard it was difficult for him to stay balanced.
“Stooop, it tickles-”
Reluctantly, Thomas did stop, but Vincent looked so much better when he saw his face. He scratched behind Thomas’ ear in a way that made Thomas sigh, lean into it, and close his eyes.
“Such a lovely boy. My angel.”
-----
Thomas didn't see him again until some hours later, and he was distressed to see his work in improving Vincent’s mood had come entirely undone. Thomas could feel his stress and anxiety long before he was close enough to touch.
“Come on, boy,” he murmured, clicking his fingers. “Come with me.”
Thomas followed at his heels, but hesitated when Vincent tried to lead him into a building. Thomas couldn't tell, couldn't remember, which building it was, but knew that he probably shouldn't be inside.
“It's alright, come on,” Vincent coaxed.
Thomas never required much convincing where Vincent was concerned.
They entered a meeting room occupied by Ray and a stranger, with equipment on the desk, and the turtles all in plastic tubs. Thomas could smell them before he saw them, but the stranger held one in his hands.
“Oh… Your Holiness-” he bowed his head with a hurried awkwardness. His eyes darted to Ray. “I wasn't expecting-”
Vincent held up a pacifying hand. “It's alright. I'd like to know that everyone we have here is healthy, and that we're doing everything we can for them. I'm very interested in their welfare, so long as my presence won't disturb you in your work.”
“Of course not! I'm happy to report that all the turtles I've checked so far are in perfect health. Although I'd expect them to have started brumation by now, but the weather has been fairly mild…”
They spoke in Italian, and although Thomas was fluent in the language, he had difficulty understanding. It took a lot of concentration, far more than it should have done, so when it was clear they were discussing the turtles and nothing was wrong, Thomas stopped listening and just enjoyed the rhythm of Vincent's voice as he made sure none of the turtles tried to escape their tubs.
How Ray had found a vet to come to them the very same day, Thomas had no idea. The novelty of being the Vatican veterinarian held a degree of motivation, he supposed.
“Vieni qui!”
Thomas’ ears perked up at Vincent's call, but he didn't understand the words.
“¡Ven aquí!”
Thomas’ tail wagged in recognition, even if he still couldn't directly translate the words, he knew the meaning of the intonation. He returned to Vincent’s side.
The stranger couched down and tried to get his arms around him, but Thomas cringed away, sticking as close as possible to Vincent. The man cooed and spoke soothingly to him, but Thomas didn’t understand him, and he wasn’t as calming as Vincent was.
Vincent crouched down too, a steady hand on Thomas’ shoulders. “El hombre amable-”
Thomas looked at him, watched the movement of his mouth and focused.
“-just wants to help. We’ve just got to get you up on the table, and I don’t want you straining your hip.”
“Ha un problema all'anca?”
“Sì, penso che sia solo uno strappo muscolare.”
“Diamo un'occhiata.”
Vincent lifted Thomas onto the table, and the stranger placed a hand under his waist to encourage him to stand straight. Then his large hands cupped Thomas’ head as he studied his eyes, lifted and looked in his ears, and pushed up his jowls to check his teeth. Thomas kept glancing to Vincent, trying to remind himself that he was safe, but it felt so very invasive and he felt so powerless.
He just focused on Vincent. On hearing his praises and reassurances when Thomas was unable to suppress a whine.
He was checked all over, nose to tail. His legs gently pushed and pulled, fingers kneading into his muscles. It was all terribly uncomfortable, and his tail had remained between his legs until the vet raised it.
He said something which neither Vincent nor Thomas understood.
“Ah, hm. Intact?” he rephrased, in English. Which Thomas understood more readily than Italian or Spanish. “You know…” he gestured between Thomas’ legs and Thomas promptly sat down to avoid such scrutiny.
“Is that… a problem?”
“Perhaps not, at his age. He’s an unusual breed to see here, he might have been kept for his pedigree. Used as a stud.”
Thomas grumbled low in his throat. Certainly not.
“What breed is he?” Vincent asked with interest.
“An English Pointer. Very noble and elegant, aren’t they? They were subjects in a lot of old paintings.”
“Oh yes, noble and elegant, that’s him.” Vincent scratched behind Thomas’ ear and looked at him with such sincere fondness.
The vet held something over him, but Vincent kept him still so he couldn’t turn to look at it.
“He’s not chipped though. Strange, for a senior pedigree in good condition like this.”
The less Thomas had to hear about his ‘pedigree’, the better, as far as he was concerned. The relief that flowed off of Vincent was a suitable distraction.
“No chip? But oh, I suppose such an interesting and well-behaved dog would have lots of people wanting to give him a home…”
“Hmm, usually I’d agree with you, but… he’s old. It’s very difficult to find homes for old animals, even if they’re friendly and well-trained. People don’t want to risk falling in love with something they’ll have to lose so soon.”
“Then I will keep him,” Vincent murmured with determination that sent a shiver running up Thomas’ spine. “I loved him from the moment I saw him, and I was already prepared to lose him this afternoon when you scanned for a chip.”
Even if it was in English, Thomas didn’t hear the vet’s reply. He was too busy pressing his side to Vincent’s chest and nosing at that spot beneath his ear.
Vincent loved him. Vincent would keep him.
Vincent laughed.
Vincent was his person.
“Deja de hacer eso-”
Vincent gathered him back up in his arms, despite Thomas’ size and lowered him back to the floor.
“Grazie mille per essere venuti, Tomasso.”
Thomas snapped to attention, grunting in surprise at the sound of his name as Vincent shook the vet’s hand.
The vet laughed, nodding towards Thomas. “Penso che possa aver sentito il suo nome.”
“Oh?” Vincent looked at Thomas, sat at his feet. “Tomasso?”
Thomas whined.
“Tom?”
No. Never that.
“English Pointer…” he murmured. “...Tomás?”
Thomas barked, jumping to his feet.
“No way… Tomás?”
“Arf! Arf, arf!” Thomas pranced in front of him, tail wagging.
“Your name is really Tomás?”
Thomas jumped up to him, yipping excitedly.
“And do you speak English?” Vincent laughed. “Tomás, sit.”
Thomas sat.
“Tomás, roll over.”
Thomas rolled over and Vincent clapped his hands in delight. His demeanour suddenly flipped into something unsettled and sorrowful when he looked above Thomas' head. Thomas looked down his body to follow his line of sight to see Ray. He didn’t seem sad or annoyed though, but he was looking at Thomas very intently.
“The other Tomás is a worry…” Vincent murmured.
Right. Thomas remembered Aldo was going to go to his apartment and wouldn't have found anything. He whined, nosing at Vincent's hand.
“Good boy,” Vincent sighed, giving him a pat. “Let's get these turtles back so they can hibernate.”
Thomas followed them out at a happy trot. He had a person and a home and a name. And a job: once the turtles were released, made sure that all of them stayed in the pond.
Ray left with the vet, and Vincent said goodbye to him and left him too. Thomas remained vigilant over the turtles, watching them swim to the bottom where no one could bother them.
It wasn't long before someone returned to him. It wasn't his person, but Thomas liked him. He was a friend. He smelled like paper and tea and mint. The one whose voice sounded most familiar and was easiest to understand. The one with the blue-grey stripe across his middle that used to be a different colour, but Thomas couldn't recall what.
“Hello,” he said, crouching to Thomas’ level.
Thomas tried to focus. Ray. His name was Ray.
“... Eminence?”
Thomas stood to attention at the word. That was him, wasn't it?
“... Cardinal Lawrence?”
That was… also him.
“Ruff!”
Ray shook his head in disbelief, a smile twitching at the corner of his mouth. “How did this happen…”
Thomas’ tail started to slowly wag. He liked making people smile. Ray gently put a hand either side of Thomas’ head, keeping Thomas’ focus on his face.
“Pipiru dufoje se vi komprenas.”
Thomas tilted his head. Ray sighed and gave him a pat.
“Almenaŭ vi povas ripozi… Sed mi scivolas, kiel oni povas ripari tion.”
He stood up and Thomas waited for instruction. He hoped his friend would ask him to follow wherever he might be going. Thomas thought he might quite like person-company, even if it wasn't his person, and so long as it wasn't a touchy stranger.
“Mi revidos vin poste.” Thomas got another pat on the head. “Bye.”
Oh… Thomas sat down with a sigh and watched his friend walk away, into places Thomas wasn't allowed to follow.
-----
When he heard the echoing music on the evening breeze, Thomas was curled up tightly under a bush. There was a chill in the evening air, and he longed to be with his person in his person’s bed. More food had been left for him in the day, but he was hungry again.
He just wanted to be inside. With warmth and food, comfort and pets.
The singing brought him out and he followed the sound until he was right outside the door it flowed from. It had stopped, but he could hear one voice murmuring. Thomas sat and waited, and when the singing began again it sent a shiver up his spine.
He threw his head back and howled, joining in. He only stopped when an angry man came out, throwing his arms up.
“Shut up!” he hissed. “Shoo!”
He kicked a stone in Thomas’ direction, causing him to slink away from the joy and activity. He crept back to his bush to curl up again and put a paw over his nose to comfort himself.
It wasn't too long before he heard quick, stumbling footsteps. Thomas poked his nose out and immediately caught his scent. He dived out of his hiding place and barked.
“Perrito!” His person's hands were all over him, setting Thomas’ tail off as fast as it could go. “Tomás.”
He smiled with his eyes and his mouth.
“Mi aŭdis vin kanti!”
Thomas whined at the jumble of words. He wanted to know what he was saying.
Focus. Just focus…
Thomas wondered if he was becoming more dog the longer he was one. Even setting aside the loss of his language understanding, he realised he hadn't even had thoughts like these all afternoon.
Complex thoughts. Human thoughts.
“Do you like to sing, Tomás? I wouldn’t stop you. I thought it was lovely.”
Thomas wondered if he should be more concerned about the loss of his humanity. There was a sadness in the realisation that he would ultimately lose all understanding of any human language. That maybe one day in his near future, he'd forget he was ever a person at all.
This fate felt inevitable but it didn’t feel like a punishment. Maybe he hadn’t done something he was supposed to, or he’d missed a clue or a sign, but it didn’t feel so much like failing a test - it felt more akin to being steered onto a different path. Yes, he wished he’d have been able to see the vibrancy and variety of colours that he did before, to be able to speak and listen, to actually sing, to taste subtle and complex flavours. To know what Vincent’s hand would feel like in his, what Vincent’s hair felt like against the thousands of nerve endings in human fingertips.
But there was a kindness in being a dog, being allowed to lead a life of the utmost simplicity. To feel joy fully and completely, to feel the joy of others and to help sustain it.
“What’s the matter, Perrito?”
“Wuff!” Thomas made himself appear lighthearted, skipping ahead a few paces and looking back.
Don’t worry about me, I just want to be able to understand you for as long as I can.
“Ohh, I bet you’re hungry, huh? Come on then, let’s go home.”
Home.
For all Thomas had lost, he felt very lucky indeed.
Thomas took himself around all of the rooms in the apartment when they arrived, sniffing constantly and ensuring everything was in order. The smell of this place - Home - deeply soothed him. Only once he was satisfied that everything was as it should be, did he allow himself to go to his food bowl.
His person opened a can and the smell that immediately flowed from it was so strong, but so good to Thomas’ nose, that he began to salivate. As soon as it was in his bowl, he started eating. It was rich and meaty, that was the extent of flavour that his tongue could now discern.
Thomas listened to his person moving between rooms, the running of water, soft murmurs. Those sounds were Home too. He never made much noise, and Thomas appreciated that. He was calm and gentle and kind. Those were the things that Thomas loved about him, that made him Thomas’ person.
“Dormotempo?”
Thomas listened more attentively.
“Bedtime?”
He eagerly went to the bedroom, and would have jumped onto the bed if he hadn’t been held back.
“Ah-ah, I’m going to help you, remember? Because of your hip.”
Thomas was more than happy to be hefted up in the warmth of his embrace. As soon as they were on the bed together, Thomas cuddled close.
“Ay, ay, let’s get in the bed first, hm?”
He wrangled the covers out from under them so that they could settle themselves underneath. Vincent sighed as he put an arm around Thomas and he seemed so terribly weary. He stroked Thomas’ ear.
“Tomás…” his eyes filled with tears and Thomas whined, distressed, nosing under his jaw. “Cardinal Lawrence, he’s a Tomás too. But something has happened…”
He sniffed and Thomas felt his body tremble.
“Aldo said his phone, his wallet, his keys… everything was still in his home. As if he’d just… disappeared. And- and I know this is Rome but… I’ve seen people get ‘disappeared’. Snatched off the street or held by knifepoint or just shot or- or-”
Thomas was having trouble keeping up the faster the words tumbled out. He so desperately wanted to listen. He wanted to hold him in his arms. Wanted to tell him everything was alright.
“I think- I think Aldo is worried he’s suicidal. That he might’ve-” he was cut off by a sob. “But he was happy. I thought he was happy. But I don’t- I don’t know him-”
I was happy. I am happy. You do know me. Vincent.
Thomas held onto the name like a lifeline.
Vincent, Vincent, Vincent.
Because he was Vincent, his own wonderful, beautiful, incredible person, not Thomas’ person. A person Thomas was so very blessed to have met and to know. So incredibly lucky to have as a friend.
He snuggled as close to Vincent as it was possible for him to and licked his cheek with the tip of his tongue, washing away the salt of his tears.
“Oh,” Vincent sniffed. “Angel. I love you. I don’t know what I’d do without you here.”
Thomas felt it for the first time - or, more accurately, understood for the first time - that his contentment, joy and happiness were rooted in something far more profound.
I love you too. I love you so very much.
Vincent pressed a kiss to his forehead, and when Thomas opened his eyes, everything was so much more vibrant.
His everything consisted of Vincent. He couldn’t take his eyes off him. His complexion was so warm in the candlelight. Vincent blinked at him.
“...Tomás?”
Beautiful. You’re so beautiful. And I love you.
“Tomás!” his face broke into a beaming smile that made Thomas scramble for a more suitable adjective. Perhaps stunning-
This thought was cut short by Vincent pulling him in and pressing his lips to Thomas’. All thought abruptly stopped.
“Oh…” Thomas sighed when Vincent pulled back after only a fleeting moment of connection.
Then it dawned on him that he had lips to kiss and a mouth that spoke. He held up a hand. His human hand. Still speckled with liverspots, but he didn’t mind so much anymore.
“I’m… I’ve changed back… Vincent!” He grabbed hold of Vincent’s shoulder. “Vincent, I can speak!”
Vincent laughed, bewildered and overcome, tears still in his eyes and shining on the tawny skin of his cheeks.
“Yes, and I am so very happy to hear your voice again.”
His hand cupped the side of Thomas’ face with the warm gentleness that Thomas was now familiar with. Leaning into the touch was second-nature.
“And to see your lovely face.”
With his ability to speak regained, Thomas was at a loss for words to say. He wondered if his brain wasn't fully human yet. All he could think was you're beautiful and I love you, over and over.
“You're beautiful. And I love you,” he said anyway, yearning to speak with Vincent, to make him happy, to listen and understand him with ease.
“Oh, Tomás…” he sighed, fingertips scratching the hair behind Thomas’ ear. “I believe I love you too. Quite differently to how I loved my perrito.”
“Really?” Thomas breathed softly.
“Yes. You are a miracle.”
“Oh. I- A miracle happened to me, but I don't think that I am miraculous-”
“No. You are. Before you became a dog, it was as if you were a guardian angel, sent to my side.”
Thomas was glad he no longer possessed a tail for how fiercely it would have wagged at those words.
“And I think… I think it's still true. That I loved you from the moment I saw you. I just hadn't realised.”
Thomas remembered the first time he saw the exhausted mystery cardinal, asleep on a terrible plastic chair. The immediate admiration he felt for him and his dedication. And when he'd opened his eyes and looked up at Thomas…
“Yes. Yes, I think I did too.”
They laid there for a moment, side by side, gazing into each other's eyes.
“But Tomás… you were a dog,” Vincent laughed helplessly. “A lovely one, but… why would God do that to you?”
Thomas knew now, exactly why.
“To show me that I could, and should, be a friend to you. To make me realise I can make you happy.” He sighed, feeling the warmth of the bed and Vincent. His scent was faint now, but Thomas could still identify it. All of it was still home. “For me to understand that I belong here, with you. That I belong to Vincent Benítez, not the Pope. Because I love you, Vincent.”
Vincent’s lips were on his again, and Thomas whined softly, allowing himself to melt into the touch.
“How I missed your voice and your way with words…”
“It's only been a couple of days…’
“But it feels like forever.”
“Yes.”
“Tomás, if I find you some clothes, will you stay here with me tonight?”
Thomas yelped, pushing away from Vincent’s hold, only just realising his state of complete undress. His face burned - he had not missed that sensation. He wrapped the covers more tightly around himself.
Vincent chuckled, fond, which only served to retain the heat in Thomas' face.
“I don't mind how you are right now,” Vincent murmured with a bashfulness Thomas had never seen in him before. It made Thomas want to hold him and kiss him and- “I just thought you might be more comfortable. And warmer. If I found you something to wear.”
“Yes. That's- Correct. Thank you.”
“Okay,” he murmured, soft smile still in place, but he hesitated before slipping out of bed. As if he didn't want to leave.
He began rummaging through a drawer as Thomas was subjected to feeling all of the awkwardness in a human body.
“Keep talking to me, please. I'm afraid of turning my back in case you disappear.”
“I'm not going anywhere. Not if I can help it.”
“I don't believe it was your choice to become a dog.”
“But even then, I was still here, wasn't I?”
“Yes,” Vincent smiled over his shoulder. “Here, these should fit well enough but they might still be a bit short…”
“I can't complain.” Thomas sat up and reached his hand out, using the other to keep the bedsheet held to his chest.
He took the grey sweatpants and white t-shirt that were offered. Vincent walked to the door, hesitated, and closed it with himself still in the room.
“I'll just, um, stay like this,” he said, still facing the door. “If I have trouble with you not being in my line of sight, the idea of being in a different room is a little difficult to stomach.”
“I know the feeling,” Thomas said, pulling the shirt over his head.
He stood to finish dressing and immediately fell back onto the bed with a grunt.
“Tomás?”
“I'm fine. And still a person. Standing on two legs is harder than it looks.”
“Hehe.”
“It is.”
Thomas pulled on the sweatpants from a sitting position.
“Alright, I'm going to come over to you and you should probably be ready to catch me.”
Vincent immediately spun around and took two steps forward before Thomas even got up. He stood still for a moment, hands slightly raised, trying not to sway.
“I feel ridiculous. This whole situation is ridiculous.”
“Yes,” Vincent happily agreed. “But it's far better than what I perceived the situation to be.”
“Of course,” Thomas said, immediately somber and serious, recalling Vincent's fear for his life only minutes early. “I'm so terribly sor-”
He pitched forward with his first step and might have fallen flat on his face, if Vincent hadn't caught him. So much for going over to him.
“You have nothing to be sorry for. You were here the whole time, trying to reassure me.”
The hold he had on Thomas’ elbow and hip slid around his body into an embrace.
“Mmm…” he hummed in satisfaction, head on Thomas’ shoulder. “You are so much better to hug like this.”
Thomas held him firmly, earning a sigh of relief.
“I ought to tell Aldo I'm alright, if he was so concerned about my safety…”
“You can use my phone. I'll hide my caller ID so you don't need to explain why you're here.”
Thomas hadn't even considered this, and hadn't been aware that one could hide their caller ID.
“Okay. Thank you.”
He wasn't even sure what he'd say if Aldo questioned where he'd been. Thomas didn't want to lie, but he didn't think Aldo would believe him if he told the truth. Maybe he could say he felt strange, went to the doctor and had been unexpectedly held at the hospital for further tests?
Vincent handed him the phone. “Here. He'll just be happy to hear you're okay.”
There was no answer (possibly due to being an unrecognised number), and Thomas was taken to voicemail.
“Hello Aldo, it's Thomas. I'm so sorry I've not been able to contact anyone, but I just wanted to let you know that I'm fine. I will see you tomorrow. You can count on it. Rest well, my friend.”
He hung up, passing the phone back to Vincent who took it and offered his other hand. Thomas slipped his own into it and Vincent threaded their fingers together with a soft smile.
“Now I think you need to rest,” Vincent sat on the bed, pulling Thomas along.
They got back under the covers, laying on their backs, an awkward tension in the air. It dissipated the moment Thomas held his hand again. Vincent turned to face him, that bashfulness in his smile and the dip of his head.
“Can I… hold you? Like before?”
“Please,” Thomas whispered.
“Okay,” he squeezed Thomas’ hand. “Good.”
There was some awkward shifting now that Thomas was in a much larger body.
“Come here,” Vincent finally said, pulling Thomas against him. “There. Is that better?”
Thomas felt hot all over from the manhandling, let alone the amount of contact - Vincent pressed flush against his back, their legs tangled together.
“Hm, lovely.”
“Goodnight, Tomás.”
Thomas lifted Vincent’s hand to press a kiss against his knuckles.
“Goodnight, my most dearest Vincent.”