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It was highly unusual for Innocent XIV to simply not show up to a meeting and even more unusual still that no one had been informed. Thus Aldo was hurrying through the Vatican’s corridors, which today seemed even longer and more labyrinthine than ever, trying to track down the Holy Father. He hadn’t been in his office and not even the Pope’s beloved turtle pond had yielded a clue to his whereabouts. So Aldo had been forced to handle the meeting with the Italian Deputy Prime Minister alone.
Just a message— that would have sufficed. It didn’t even need to be a phone call. A brief note would’ve spared Aldo the twenty awkward minutes he had spent stalling before eventually beginning the meeting anyways and working through every point on the agenda alone.
It wasn’t that Aldo wasn’t used to managing high-level meetings by himself. But this— this had felt humiliating. To be stood up without a word, left to face that conservative clown of a minister alone, served up as easy prey, and then forced to half-reluctantly deflect every jab this entire situation had offered.
“Not as reliable as one would have hoped,” the Deputy Prime Minister had remarked, almost casually— subtly derogative and yet just minor enough of a comment to avoid a lengthy discussion. "Are you even allowed to discuss anything without Papa present?"
Aldo’s heart beat faster than his pace warranted; he could feel anger boiling in his chest, hot steam pressing against his ribs, threatening to explode. Whether that anger was aimed at the minister and his disrespect, or at the Holy Father himself, Aldo couldn’t quite tell. He wished it were the former.
Still, one thing seemed certain to Aldo: the late Holy Father would never have done such a thing. The man had possessed many virtues—more than he ever admitted with his habitual humility—and reliability had been among them. Loyalty. Comradeship. Decency. And what did Innocent have?
Aldo shook his head and quickened his pace, as though he could leave the thought behind at the fountain he was just passing. Perhaps he could. This way of thinking was neither sensible nor was it helpful, not now, not when he was trying to find the Holy Father. And yet.
He shook his head again and sighed as he came to a halt. Aimlessly wandering the Vatican in hopes of stumbling across Innocent had stopped being a viable strategy about twenty minutes ago. Aldo closed his eyes and took a deep breath. The Pope was nowhere to be found, and no one had seen him. That ruled out all the usual places. So he was someplace where hardly anyone ever passed by.
...or at least where hardly anyone would ever see him.
Oh, Aldo knew exactly where he was.
The path to the roof of the Apostolic Palace had been discovered by the Holy Father by accident. During a private tour that had to be paused due to a staff member’s medical emergency, Innocent had wandered a bit on his own and somehow ended up on the roof. As always with him, Aldo had been surprised but not very shocked. It had become clear rather quickly that Vincent Benítez was no ordinary man, in every possible sense of the word.
They had all advised the Holy Father repeatedly not to return there— not just because it was reckless and dangerous, but because the headlines, if anyone ever found out, would be catastrophic. And yet, in the short weeks of his papacy, it had become something of an open secret among a handful of people that he occasionally made his way up there. Why exactly he went, Aldo couldn’t say. Maybe it was solitude he sought. Maybe a desperate attempt to be closer to God. Or maybe he just liked the thrill. Aldo, for all his effort, could not decipher the man, not in this case or in any other. So far, however, he had always come back down from there and carried out his duties, and so Aldo had seen no reason to disturb him in his adventurous spiritual pursuits, however strange he found them.
At times, Innocent struck him as almost childlike. A restless orphan handed a task no one had ever been able to prepare him for, a fate too big for him, because there was no one there to guide the way. Always a little lost and looking for someone to cling to. And then, suddenly, he seemed completely different— suddenly he was the one doing the guiding, calm, composed, powerful and—within this calmness—dominant. Never strict. Decisive, yes, but always patient. Never reproachful.
It was an odd contrast, one Aldo had never known in the Holy Father— the previous Holy Father, he mentally corrected himself—that man had led in a different way. Fatherly, modest, yet always with expectations to fulfill. Always unspoken, but unmistakable. And for Aldo it was obvious to fulfill them to the best of his abilities and without hesitation. The rules had been clear. He had known what was required of him.
With Innocent, he never knew. If he actually had any expectations, Aldo didn’t know them— and probably couldn’t meet them if he tried. Perhaps that’s why he’d had to deal with the Deputy Prime Minister alone today.
Sometimes he wondered why he’d even been made Innocent's Secretary of State in the first place. Their first meeting at the conclave had been anything but warm and after that they essentially hadn't talked again up until Innocent had been elected. Aldo wondered if Innocent had perhaps just followed Thomas' poorly disguised sweet talk, which he always insisted was advice, to give Aldo the position again. If so, he must have surely regretted it by now, if today's humiliation was any indicator of the current state of their relationship.
A few minutes’ walk and a couple of tourist groups later, Aldo found himself before the door that led to the rooftop. He hesitated. Did he really have the mental energy for the conversation that would inevitably follow? After nearly an hour of searching, Aldo was in no mood to talk. Fatigue, hunger, and a creeping sense of cosmic insignificance loomed large. And yet, it felt wrong not to check on him. Despite everything, it was strange for Innocent to simply vanish during official business hours.
Reason won out. Aldo opened the heavy metal door to the roof of the Palace, offered a quick thanks to the Lord for the warm and mercifully windless day, and stepped outside to find the Holy Father.
It had only taken a few minutes to find him in the end. The white garments stood out unmistakably against the surroundings, just like the man who wore them always stood out from everyone else.
The city stretched endlessly below, golden and distant, the early spring haze making the skyline shimmer. Innocent sat at the far end of the rooftop on a low stone ledge, knees pulled up to his chest, shoulders slightly hunched. From a distance, with his slender frame, one could have mistaken him for nothing but a child. The cassock, snow-white in the sunlight, seemed too large for how he sat folded into himself.
Aldo wasn’t sure what the sight stirred in him.
His footsteps echoed softly on the stone. Innocent didn’t look up.
“You missed our meeting,” he said, more annoyed than he had intended. “And you didn’t even leave me a message.”
“I know,” came the reply, without lifting his head.
That was it? I know? That was all he got?
Aldo’s mouth fell open in disbelief. He shook his head.
“Your Holiness, you can’t just— That was a very important political meeting today, which you skipped without a word. And left me to deal with this…”
Aldo could feel himself getting worked up. He wiped a hand across his forehead. “He treated me like I was some intern secretary, and I’m not even going to get into the disrespect and poorly concealed contempt he had toward you.”
No reaction. Aldo felt his anger rising further, and forced himself to push back against it.
“If you want me to handle meetings like this for you, then you have to tell me beforehand so I don’t make a fool of myself and the entire Holy See in front of some conservative lunatic. I—”
“Thank you, Aldo. I’m sure you handled the meeting perfectly,” Innocent cut in. His words sounded rehearsed, his thoughts clearly elsewhere.
Aldo shook his head. “That’s not the point.”
What was the point?
Reliability, probably. Responsibility. Mutual respect, on top of it all.
Some bitter part of Aldo thought that Innocent would never have put Thomas in this situation.
And the late Holy Father would have at least told Aldo directly beforehand that he'll have to handle it alone. In the last months, Aldo had practically taken over all affairs of state anyway, with the late pope only attending a few symbolic meetings. Transparency had been important. So had trust. And Aldo didn’t believe Innocent trusted him. He wasn’t sure if he trusted Innocent, either.
“I didn’t miss it on purpose, if that’s what you’re thinking,” the Holy Father said eventually, still looking away, his voice a little steadier now.
“Then what?”
A beat.
“I couldn’t,” Vincent said at last.
“You... couldn’t,” Aldo repeated, irritated. What was that supposed to mean?
He had clearly been here the entire time, so it hadn’t been a scheduling issue. There had to be another reason. Aldo narrowed his eyes slightly, tilting his head.
“Why?”
When no answer came, moments stretching like endless hours, Aldo finally decided to say something else, if only to fill the unbearable silence.
“What are you doing up here anyway?” he asked, in a tone that tried to sound casual.
Of course the pope didn’t owe him an explanation. It was more curiosity that drove Aldo now, as well as a need to fill the silence, and maybe, hopefully, find a sideways answer.
“Do you see the people down there?” Vincent asked, nodding toward St. Peter’s Square.
“They’re hard to miss.”
“I see them, every day. And they see me. But not really. They see a saint, and a man who’s supposed to guide them. And I see a flock I’m supposed to protect. Who listen to me, who I influence. Personally, politically, culturally. I look at them and I see responsibility. So they look at me, and I look at them—but we don’t see each other as people, not really.” He paused for a moment, then gave a faint smile. “Except from up here. Here I don’t feel like I’m intruding. I can just watch them be. And no one’s looking up to me.”
“You’re not intruding,” was all Aldo could say.
“Yes, I am. All the time. With every appearance and every word. Whether I want to or not, people orient themselves around what I say. Even when they want to do it, even when they turn every word I say into doctrine. I intrude. I influence. And the worst part, the worst part of it all is— that’s the job. That’s what I’m supposed to do. What everyone expects of me.”
He closed his eyes.
Aldo closed the distance between them and sat on the ledge next to Vincent, his gaze lowered to the piazza. His anger drying out, replaced by something akin to concern, yet he didn't know what to possibly say.
Aldo had never been good at comforting people. One of the things he had always admired about the late Holy Father was his ability to make people feel safe. When you spoke to him, it always felt like everything would be okay. Aldo wasn’t sure if he had ever given any person that feeling. Innocent had that ability too. You probably had to have it, if you were working in pectore in dangerous countries. And if you wanted to be a good pope. Something that became increasingly clear Aldo wouldn't have been.
A flicker of envy rose in his core, one he immediately pushed back down to where it came from. God had made His will clear, and so had the late Holy Father— even if only indirectly. Aldo swallowed, tried to focus again. What would his former mentor say now?
"I know how much humanitarian work you’ve done in so many places. You’ve always guided people. And they’ve always been grateful for that." Not as comforting as he’d hoped, but at least it was honest.
"It’s not the same."
Aldo exhaled deeply. "No, it’s not."
For a few minutes, both men sat in silence. The sky began to take on a deep red hue, and the piazza slowly emptied. Despite all the unsaid words hanging in the air between them, the silence wasn’t uncomfortable. This time it was Innocent who spoke first.
"The Holy Father said something similar, you know? About how I help people." Aldo looked over at him and saw Innocent fiddling with something in his hands. "That’s why he gave me the diocese in Kabul, even though there were other candidates suggested. But he was... he was convinced I should do it."
"He seems to have trusted you," Aldo said shortly, turning his gaze back to the piazza to avoid thinking about his words too long.
"He wrote me a letter," Innocent finally said in a monotone voice, revealing the piece of paper he must have been holding the entire time. The letter had seen better days, folded and refolded many times, but the seal was unmistakable, and Aldo knew the handwriting all too well. He forced himself to smile.
"Got it when I was still in the Congo."
"To offer you the position?"
"To express his goodwill, he said." He smiled at that. "I must have read the letter dozens of times over the years, every time I had a moment of doubt about why I was in that place," Innocent sighed and shook his head slightly. "Today I found it again and read it once more. For the same reason."
A few seconds passed.
"And?" Aldo asked, impatiently mimicking casual curiosity.
"Today it read more like a recruitment campaign."
Aldo furrowed his brows.
Innocent’s tone was unreadable, as was his expression. “He wrote that the Church needed someone with patience. Someone who could endure uncertainty without becoming bitter. He said I had a gift for listening and for comforting people.” He paused. “That’s why I said yes.”
Aldo felt a heavy pressure in his chest. He looked at the ground and pursed his lips. Every quality listed felt like a blow directly aimed at his heart, as if someone had taken the time to neatly compile every single trait Aldo lacked and written it down just to show how inadequate he was.
Someone?
Aldo shook his head. His voice grew quieter. "You know, no one knew that he’d made you a cardinal. Or that he’d been in contact with you."
"No," Innocent agreed, "he didn’t tell anyone. It was just as much a surprise to me. At the time of that letter, we’d only met once. During his Africa tour."
Aldo’s eyes widened and his mouth opened. He closed it again quickly trying to conceal his surprise, blinking a few times at a loss for words.
He knew the late Holy Father had never trusted anyone with the knowledge of his plan—and the clear execution of said plan—for a cardinal in pectore. Not even Aldo himself. That had become clear after the conclave, and by now Aldo had come to terms with it. He knew his mentor had always kept some secrets. But the fact that he had appointed a man he’d only met once somewhere in Africa, without telling anyone or seeking any counsel, immediately being so utterly and completely enarmored with him— it triggered a dull ache in Aldo’s chest. He swallowed, his lip suddenly trembling.
"You must have made a lasting impression on him," he said, his voice suddenly very rough. He cleared his throat.
If Innocent had noticed Aldo's complete shock, he had the mercy not to comment on it. Some moments of silence passed. Then, “You were closest to him, weren’t you?”
The question hit harder than expected. Aldo felt his throat tighten and his heart sink.
"Yes," he said, gaze firmly fixed on the ground.
He thought about their countless nights of chess matches and dinners together. He thought about all the times they dissected gossip news articles together, laughing about all the boulevard papers contradicting each other. He thought about their shared prayers. He thought about their walks in the Vatican gardens in the mornings, when it was still quiet and the birds were just about to wake up. It was on one of those very walks he told Aldo about his idea of naming a cardinal in pectore for Kabul, before it was never mentioned again. He thought about the conclave.
"At least I thought I was. Until recently."
He thought about trust.
"What changed?" The genuine interest in Innocent’s voice wasn't lost on him.
Aldo looked up at the sky as if it held the answer for him. "I think he did." A few seconds passed. "But maybe also my perspective on him," he added, his voice softening. "Near the end... I think he stopped letting me in. Me, or anyone else. He gave orders, he didn’t ask questions. He became very good at being surrounded without ever being seen." He swallowed. "I'm beginning to wonder if he ever truly let me in at all."
The statement felt like a hit with a sledgehammer. Deep within, he felt a little piece of himself break, the shard now piercing his flesh from the inside. The sting felt a little too familiar— but much stronger than ever before.
"I miss him." Aldo felt his eyes begin to burn and slowly fill with tears. His breathing quickened and became ragged as he fought not to sob.
His breath hitched as the other man placed his arm on his shoulder. From the corner of his eye, he saw Innocent’s soft smile. Aldo wanted to be angry, he wanted to scream and shove him away and punch something and yell at him and explain that he didn’t need pity— especially not from him.
But all he did was close his eyes. A gift for comforting people, he thought.
They sat like that for a long time. Or at least, it felt that way to Aldo. His breathing calmed as he felt the air grow colder.
When he opened his eyes again, Innocent was looking back out over the city. More and more lights were flicking on below.
“I barely knew him,” he said simply. “I respected him, admired him even, and I have... a lot to thank him for.” He paused for a moment and it seemed to Aldo like Innocent was weighing his options. For what, he couldn’t tell. “But I still barely knew the man. And yet somehow he handed me this.” He lifted the letter. “This job. This mission. And I was glad to accept it— maybe even proud to do this for my church and my people. But... I didn’t choose this path, not really. He did. I want to believe it was God who set me on this path, but the more I think about it and I turn it over in my head, the more I realize it was just the ambitions and fears of mortal men that put me here." He started to frown. "He just opened the door and I— walked in. Like..." He shook his head.
“Like a lamb to the slaughter,” Aldo finished the sentence for him. He swallowed. It was a thought—no, a fact—that had been simmering inside him since the end of the conclave. But he had never been brave enough to fully think it, let alone say it out loud. Aldo had never been intended as a successor to the papacy. Not for a moment had he been a candidate the late Holy Father had seriously considered. His mentor had always seen him only as a right hand— and hadn't even had the decency to spare him the humiliation of the conclave, letting him campaign regardless.
Aldo felt the bitterness rise in his throat. The late Holy Father had sacrificed them both. He had shown them a path they were destined to follow, without ever telling them. For Innocent, that path had led straight into a cage. For Aldo, it had led to a hollowness he couldn’t ever seem to fill. They had both expected a different ending to the conclave, and both of them had paid for their certainty in blood.
“I think he made the wrong decision,” Innocent finally said after another moment of silence.
“I don’t believe that,” Aldo burst out before he had even fully realized what he was saying. Instantly, he wished he could take the words back. He wasn’t even sure why he was defending the old man, when he had just been accusing him a moment before.
“What?”
“I think,” he began, his voice tense, his gaze hard, “that his decision to want you as pope was the right one.” Every word was laced with frustration. At whom or what, he wasn’t sure. Envy rose up in him again, making his chest heavy. He shook his head. Once. Twice. But this time, the thoughts wouldn’t shake off.
“And what a pope I am. I leave my Secretary of State hanging without a word and can’t even bring myself to apologize properly, because I…” He scoffed. “Yes, the people are lucky to have me,” he added, voice dripping with sarcasm— a tone Aldo had never heard from him before.
“Yes, they are. Shut up.”
“Did you just tell the pope to shut up?” He sounded more surprised than offended, a hint of amusement in his voice.
Aldo felt the frustration surge. He grew restless, his tone sharp and loud, nearly stumbling over his words. “He wanted you here for a reason! Right here. Because you were the right choice, because you have all the qualities it takes, because you have the strength to carry this burden, because you always leave a positive impression, and because you seem to everyone like you were sent straight from fucking heaven to save us, and—”
“Aldo—”
“What?!”
Only now did he realize how fast he was breathing, how worked up he had gotten. He let out a deep groan of frustration at himself.
Why always this anger? It wasn’t Innocent’s fault. It wasn’t anyone’s fault. He wanted to leap up and scream— instead, he breathed deeply. He was angry at the late Holy Father for his damned little games. He wanted to lash out and punch something— instead, he clenched and unclenched his fists. He was angry at himself and so, so, so ashamed. He wasn’t enough. He had never been enough, and everyone had seen it. The late Holy Father, the Curia, God. Even Thomas. And how could a man be enough who was so utterly dissatisfied with himself, the Church, his friend and mentor, God, and the entire world?
He closed his eyes, resting his head in his hands. “I’m sorry. That was… I apologize, Your Holiness.” If he prayed hard enough, perhaps God would grant him the mercy of striking him down right here and now. But God seemed to have other plans.
“Aldo,” Innocent began once more, his voice softer now. Aldo kept his gaze fixed at the ground. The patience of a saint, he thought bitterly and instantly hated himself for the envy-riddled thought.
“The late Holy Father was a great, wise, and kind man. We were all better for knowing him, and we both owe him much. I have a lot to thank him for, more than I could possibly say.” Aldo could hear the smile in his words as he felt Innocent's eyes on him. “But he was also just a man.”
Aldo let out a shuddered breath. His eyes were glassy and unfocused when he turned to look at the man beside him. For the first time since Aldo had come up to the roof, the two of them locked eyes. There was nothing but kindness on Innocent’s face, and in that moment, Aldo didn’t know what to do with it.
“Just like you. And like me. God may be infallible, but people aren’t. Not even the pope, as you can see,” he added with a half-chuckle, looking away.
For the first time that evening, Aldo felt something resembling peace. It was incredible what effect this man had on others. He wished he could return that feeling even a little— but truthfully, Aldo was surprised Innocent was still speaking to him at all. He thought back to their first meeting, shortly before the conclave began. He remembered his own hostility, the accusatory words rooted in fear, insecurity, and distrust. Aldo felt his stomach churn, disgusted by his own behavior.
“I want to apologize, Your Holiness,” he began, his voice steadier than expected.
“Aldo, you don’t need to apologize for anything—”
“Not for this. Well, also for this, but that’s not what I meant. I want to apologize for how I acted before the conclave, and after. I’m.. ashamed that I didn’t treat you with the warmth and trust you showed me. In our first conversation, I... all that hostility.” He shook his head. “Please, forgive me, Your Holiness.”
Innocent smiled warmly. “I never held it against you, Aldo. I know you were in a difficult position. You don’t need my forgiveness. If anything, I should be the one apologizing to you, for leaving you hanging today. So please, forgive me.”
Aldo looked at him, surprised, unsure how to respond. He just nodded, bewildered.
Innocent grinned. “And besides, you were right. I really shouldn’t have come here.”
They both laughed at that, the absurdity of the situation lightening the mood.
“And also,” he added, “my name is Vincent.” The implication was clear. Aldo smiled slightly embarrassed, caught off guard— he was hardly equipped to handle kindness like this even on a good day. But still, he smiled.
A breeze passed. Somewhere below, a bell rang. The moon shone bright that evening, and Aldo was once again grateful for the mild Italian night air.
“Do you think of him often?” Innnoce— Vincent finally asked after a few minutes of peaceful silence.
“Every day,” Aldo confessed. “Every time I close my eyes and pray, I hear his voice. Every single time.”
“What does he say?”
Aldo shrugged. “Mostly, he just recites the prayer in my mind. Sometimes he comments on what I’m thinking. He’s always kind, but never particularly warm. More distant. Like he was toward the end.”
“There is worse company in prayer,” Vincent replied, sounding like he spoke from experience.
“I don’t know.” Aldo contemplated for a moment. “Maybe. Maybe company would have helped him too. I think he was very lonely, at the end. Or maybe even long before that. Maybe all that isolation and paranoia was just the final expression of a dying man who didn’t know how else to cope.” Aldo bit back the tears forming in his eyes. “Maybe I could have done more for him. Maybe—”
“Aldo, stop,” Vincent interrupted gently, laying a hand on his arm. “You did what you could for him. Not just at the end, but the whole time. And it was enough.”
“Was it?” Aldo asked, more provocatively than he intended. “I wasn’t the one he wanted to be pope,” he added despite himself, bitterness still lingering despite his best efforts.
The heart is deceitful above all things, and desperately wicked. —Jeremiah 17:9
He shook his head.
“You have nothing to blame yourself for except your humanity.” Aldo didn’t know what to say to that. If he could say anything at all. So he did the next best thing and looked at the moon.
“We should probably head back. I’m surprised Monsignor O’Malley hasn’t sent a search party yet,” Vincent said lightly.
“I don’t want the same thing to happen to you,” Aldo said abruptly, just as Vincent was about to stand.
“Happen to me?”
“Loneliness. Isolation. That desperate feeling that you can’t fully trust a single soul in the world.” Aldo looked at him, hesitating only shortly. “I don’t know if I have your trust. But I want you to know that you have mine.” He smiled gently. “Vincent.”
Now it was Vincent’s turn to look surprised. But beneath the initial shock there was a vulnerability that struck Aldo with a tenderness he hadn’t expected.
When Vincent said nothing and just looked at him, Aldo kept speaking, simply because he didn’t know what else to do.
“I know it’s hard for you here, behind these walls. And that you love life and people— not from a throne, but as real and raw as it gets. You miss that.” It was a statement, not a question. A realization made undeniable by saying it out loud. He paused, waiting for a reaction he knew wouldn’t come. Then, “I can’t promise you freedom.” Aldo smiled. “But I can show you how to sneak out unnoticed. And which outfit guarantees no one will recognize you out on the street.”
Vincent blinked, processing the offer Aldo had just made him.
“You mean—”
“It might not be as exciting the Congo or Kabul, but,” he turned his head to look at the glowing city below, “Rome has its charm.” Aldo smiled, satisfied. “It’s just an offer, and not exactly risk-free, but—AUGH!”
He didn’t get any further before Vincent suddenly leapt forward and wrapped him in a tight hug. It was abrupt, clumsy, and completely out of nowhere. Aldo flinched, startled. “Your Holi—Vincent, what are you—?” Aldo blinked, his mouth still half-open, and slowly, awkwardly, patted his back. He didn’t say anything, but he didn’t pull away either.
“Forgive me,” Vincent murmured against his shoulder before pulling back after a few seconds. “I didn’t mean to startle you.”
Aldo finally closed his mouth. “Nothing to forgive.”
“I do hope you intend to fulfill that proposition,” Vincent said, hopeful but serious. Aldo smiled at him in turn.
“Of course, Your Holiness.”
“Good,” Vincent answered, satisfied, grinning at Aldo before turning to leave. “I trust you.”