Work Text:
The formal investigation was not unprecedented, but the request for Tedesco's involvement was. It had been years since a sexual misconduct investigation had made it all the way to the Holy See, likely thanks, Goffredo could grudgingly admit, to the previous holy father's efforts to address the historic failures in that area early during his papacy.
Before that, and Goffredo bit the end of his vape and gave it a vicious pull, such “investigations” were typically handled at the diocesan level, usually briefly, and were more concerned with ensuring the Church's reputation remained intact than determining any sort of truth, let alone justice.
He still remembered in shades of red a case that had come up from one of his parishes when he was first made bishop, and the current archbishop's insistence that they should not defrock the priest who stood accused. It was their responsibility to help him find his was back to god! They must stand by him. No one had mentioned the child. No one had felt the need to stand by him.
Goffredo, brasher still in those days, had been dismissed from the investigation for yelling his demands for retribution when it became clear no one was interested in digging further. He never had the heart in the end to find out what had happened to the priest after he was transferred. Or the boy. A coward without the courage of his convictions.
He'd never been asked to weigh in on another such investigation. First, because after his outburst he was considered too brash for a situation that needed such “delicate” handling. Later, because he was at odds with the new liberal papacy.
Today, though, Innocentius XIV had called on him to assist in such an investigation. He hadn't said as much in his formal communications of course, but Tedesco was Patriarca di Venezia still, and he was nothing if not well informed on the goings on of the Vatican, even with this new young pope and the loyalty he seemed to inspire.
When he was received into the papal offices, he found not just Innocentius, but Eminences Lawrence and Bellini as well. After the usual greetings, ring kissing, and pleasantries, or in the case of Bellini, traded barbs, the pope gestured for Tedesco to take a seat at the chair before his desk. Tommaso stepped up beside the pope, holding a leaflet of papers, while Aldo took the seat beside Tedesco.
“Thank you for joining us, Patriarch. As I'm sure you're already aware,” and here Innocentius gave a wry smile, as though this were some shared joke, “a case of misconduct has been brought to the Vatican, and I thought your input might be of use.”
“My input?” Tedesco asked in exaggerated surprise, irritated at the pope's patronizing little smirk at his expense. “I'm afraid I may not be of much use, Holy Father. You see, the previous pope did not see fit to include me in investigations of this sort, and so I have no experience in such matters.” He made an expansive shrug of helplessness.
Aldo gave a disbelieving little snort, and Tedesco couldn't help the twitch of a lip. Doubtless, Aldo knew this uncharacteristic show of humility had more to do with contrariness than any actual feeling of the sort.
Innocentius just gave one of his benign little smiles, and continued, “In fact, I think you may have unique insights in this case. The clergyman under investigation is an acquaintance of yours, I believe,” and here he turned to take the papers from Tommaso's ready hand, “I understand you were colleagues with a Bishop Stephano?”
Tedesco was still smirking, gloating in the rise he'd gotten from Aldo. At hearing the name though, he felt the humor vanish from his body with the abruptness of a thunderclap. If he was not a career member of the Curia with much practice, he might have reacted, but instead he forced himself to hold his smile.
“Father Stephano?” he asked, and cursed his tight voice for betraying him.
Aldo's chair creaked beside him, but he kept his eyes on the pope. Innocentius glanced up at Tedesco and then back at the page, “Yes, I believe you met him while teaching at the Lateranum?”
It wasn't a question. The little pope could be well informed as well, it seemed.
"No,” Tedesco answered tersely. Another creak from Aldo's chair beside him, likely annoyed at Tedesco's rudeness. Innocentius's eyes flicked up to him.
“We met here in Roma, when he was assigned to the Seminario Romano." He elaborates. "We both taught there for many years.”
Both of these statements were true. They just weren't directly related. Tedesco had taught at the Roman seminary, but only after the other priest had been reassigned elsewhere. When Stephano was teaching, Tedesco had not yet been ordained, had not even been confirmed when they first met.
Innocentius's had continued to watch Tedesco as he talked, and he seemed to consider him in the silence that followed. Tedesco schooled his face into its usual aloof boredom. Tommaso had been very clear about smoking being forbidden within the offices and now Tedesco itched to bring his vape to his lips, to create even the thinnest of barriers between himself and this pope who saw too much.
“Ah,” Innocentius said after a momentary pause, then scanned the page before him, “I had not realized that.” Then he put the page down and smiled, “That is beneficial. Having known him for so long, perhaps you have insights as to his character.”
“His character? What exactly has he been accused of, your holiness?” Tedesco knew. Of course he knew. He'd known this was a sexual misconduct case when he'd left Venice, though not who the investigation involved, and still he had walked right into this.
This time, Tommaso stepped forward to answer, taking up a folder that he had held tucked under his arm.
“Bishop Stephano has been accused of sexual misconduct. The extent of the alleged misconduct is as yet unknown, and potentially many years in the past. It's possible there has been some amount of cover up,” He pointedly did not look at Tedesco. “Equally, it is possible that this is a slander against his character due to his,” the faintest of pauses, “strident theological convictions.”
“You see how you can be of help to us?” Innocentius continued. “I myself have never met the bishop, nor is there anyone to whom I can inquire without potentially risking an innocent man's reputation.”
Of course. Reputation above all else. But Tedesco knew better that to tackle that head on this time around, so he switched tact.
“Is it not normally the responsibility of the archbishop? Why ask for my assistance? One might think you were trying to circumvent the process so recently laid down by the late Holy Father.”
Tommaso scowled at the insinuation, “It's within the Holy See's remit to appoint an investigator outside the diocesan hierarchy if a cover up is suspected.”
“And so you have brought me here to what? Condemn a man I studied under”–he forced his voice level–“for years? Perhaps I have some secret knowledge of his lechery to help you depose him while you keep your own hands and those of your liberals clean?”
This was familiar ground, and Tedesco clung to it in relief. Anger was what had carried him all the way to the Curia. Anger was what kept him safe in a world that was full of enemies waiting for a sign of weakness.
"Is it is 'misconduct,' you are truly concerned with or are you just eager for the opportunity to depose another protector of our most holy Church's traditions?”
Now Innocentius leaned forward, his polite smile falling away to a serious expression, “You misunderstand me, Eminence Tedesco. I am not asking you to speak against him if you have no knowledge of poor conduct. I am merely aware that you have worked with the bishop. And you may have... mutual acquaintances you could speak to. Without raising any suspicions, of course.”
Tedesco sat back in his chair from where he had been half rising as he built up steam.
Once again he had to acknowledge Benitez was no naive fool. This was actually quite clever of him, and Tedesco found himself wondering what he had gotten up to in Afghanistan to teach him such subterfuge. The man had invited Tedesco here, had made a point of his ears within the clergy, because he needed use of them.
“It was my idea,” Aldo spoke up. “I know you share… similar philosophies with the accused. I thought you might have the right connections to aid the investigation.”
And there it was. Tedesco could strangle the man. This wasn't about Tedesco's connections at all, or at least that wasn't the root of the issue. Aldo was trying to make a point.
The last time Tedesco was at the Vatican, they had had one of their more spectacular blow outs. Even Tommaso, normally the first to attempt deescalation, had taken one look at them shouting and gesticulating wildly at one another in the middle of the Piazza Santa Marta and walked away. It wasn't their first argument of that caliber, but it was the worst they'd had since their… connessione had begun after Benitez's election last year. Tedesco had forgotten what it was about since he'd returned to Venice, more focused on the end result that was being summarily barred from Aldo's rooms and his bed for the remainder of his visit.
Now he remembered it had started over Tedesco's declaration that the liberal cardinals were introducing immodesty and impropriety into the mother church with their relativistic approach to sexual morality and decency. So, of course, the insufferable man had found an opportunity to rub a conservative's indiscretions in his face. It would have been infuriating in any circumstances, but it also would have been fun, to be so cleanly out maneuvered. It would have impelled him to plan a counter offensive in revenge.
Except the cagacazzo had dropped him straight into a trap even deeper than he had known. And Tedesco would have no help extracting himself.
Bene. He was nothing if not capable of standing alone.
“No. I will not do it.” Goffredo said looking between Aldo and the other two men.
“What?” said Aldo, clearly irritated.
“Ri-fiut-o,” Tedesco enunciated carefully. “I won't do it.”
Aldo took in an angry breath, but Innocentius drew Tedesco's attention first. “May I know why, your Eminence?”
Tedesco made a careless gesture. “You want me to go poking around for gossip on a Bishop based on a few rumors? If you want to remove him, that is your right. I don't need to be involved.”
“Goffredo, you can't truly think this is some political play,” Tommaso said. “There have been serious allegations.”
“He's been accused of rape,” said Aldo flatly.
Tedesco couldn't help the way he flinched, but he covered the lapse with a theatrically weary hand to his forehead.
He addressed Innocentius directly, as though neither cardinal had spoken. “We have been here before, and nothing ever comes of it.”
Innocentius tilted his head to the side, frowning slightly for the first time. "What do you mean?”
And the anger flashed hot again.
“You know what I mean, Holy Father,” and he spat the title like a slur.
Tommaso made an indignant noise and Aldo said, “Oh, really Tedesco," but the room was suddenly too hot and their noise only served to make him angrier.
“What will become of this man if evidence of misconduct is found? Will he be given to the authorities? Will you excommunicate him? Even your precious late Holy Father,” and this was directed to Aldo who was openly scowling now, “Was unwilling to go so far.”
“This isn't about retribution, Goffredo,” replied Tommaso. “It's about finding the truth.”
“The truth!” Goffredo exclaimed. “And what will you do with it once you have it? Ensure it is locked within the secrecy of an ecclesiastical trial? Ensure the evidence only finds its way into clerical hands where it can be properly disposed of? Perhaps you will claim privilegium fori allows you this right? Ha!”
As he drew in breath to continue, he realized the others had fallen silent. Blinking furiously, he registered that he was standing, and that he had been yelling. Truly yelling, his chest heaving like he had just run all the way up the Campanile di San Marco.
Tommaso's mouth was hanging slightly open. Goffredo couldn't bring himself to look at Aldo.
Innocentius was unaffected. He was watching Goffredo, eyebrows knit, his head tilted slightly to the side.
Finally, he spoke. “Of course, you are under no obligation to take on this investigation, Eminence. If you truly feel this way.”
Goffredo, still gasping for breath in the quiet of the room, merely nodded.
“Then I am sorry to have summoned you from Venice. Thank you, Eminence.”
Tedesco managed a “Grazie, Santo Padre,” before he turned heel and escaped, nearly barreling over an elderly Monsignor as he slammed out of the office. He did not stop his thundering pace until he was safely back in the suite he'd been assigned in the Santa Marta.
Only once he'd jerked the door shut behind him did he whip out his vape, sucking as though it provided precious oxygen.
It didn't take long for Aldo to follow, not bothering to knock before he let himself into Goffredo's sitting room.
“What,” the American demanded without preamble, “Is wrong with you?”
Goffredo took one last draw on his vape before moving around to the couch, “Would you like to be more specific, Eminenza Bellini?”
Aldo scowled, “You complain one moment that the church will not pursue cases of sexual misconduct, then the next you refuse to participate in the investigation. How does any of that make sense?”
Goffredo sank back into the couch, finding his show of leisure was less affected than he'd expected. A shouting match with Aldo was practically a ritual by now, and a great deal more comfortable than Innocentius's piercing gaze.
“I refuse to do the Papacy's work for them. That,” and he took an unnecessary drag on the vape, “is how it makes sense.”
“This isn't about petty power struggles with the Papacy, Tedesco. People have been hurt!” Aldo, Tedesco now realized, was holding the folder of papers from Innocentius' office. He threw them down on the coffee table before Tedesco like a challenge.
“So I should help you to hurt the reputation of a friend and mentor?” Tedesco asked, carefully keeping his gaze from sliding to the offending paperwork.
“If you're so sure he's innocent, then help us and prove it,” Aldo retorted. “Anyone would think you have something to hide, the way you're behaving.”
The words slipped out without pre-consideration, but as they hung in the air, both of them felt their gravity.
Tedesco didn't lift his vape to his lips, but it was by conscious effort that he resisted the impulse.
After a considered pause, he replied “If you think so, then clearly I am not suitable for your little investigation.”
“You're just going to go back to Venice?” Aldo asked, his anger mixing with plain disbelief.
“Unless you'd like me to stay the night?” Goffredo asked, and raised his eyebrows with a cold smirk.
Aldo's face immediately closed like a book. "You are a stain on this Church,” he hissed, turning too quickly to catch the way these words slapped the smirk off Goffredo's face.
Before he could think to respond, though, the other cardinal had slammed out of the room. If it weren't for the folder he'd left behind, Goffredo might have been able to pretend he was never here at all.
It looked innocent enough, not overly thick. On the front he could now see a discreet label: Bishop Stephano. Goffredo put his hands to his face and rubbed his eyes. It was too late to catch a train back to Venice, even if he was in any hurry to return. He knew he had nothing to look forward to there.
The man had swept into his office as he was preparing to leave that same morning.
“You have been called to Roma for an investigation.” the bishop said, taking a seat in an ornate chair as if this were his palazzo, as though he were the Patriarch and Tedesco a mere provincial bishop.
“I have,” Tedesco replied with some reservation, as he trailed after him, preferring to stay standing. “I leave within the hour.”
“That is why I am here now," Stephano replied, running his hand along the ornately carved armrest like an antique dealer inspecting a new acquisition. “It is in my interest that the accused not be found to have committed misconduct.”
“One of your priests has been found in bed with a nun, I take it?” Tedesco asked, aiming for unconcerned, but achieving only irritation. This was showing off, acknowledging that he knew the investigation was for sexual misconduct, but Tedesco wanted the bishop to know he had his own sources of information. That he was not solely reliant on Stephano for gossip from the Vatican.
Rather than returned irritation, though, Stephano was looking at him thoughtfully. Tedesco felt a nervous chill run down his spine. He was normally able to predict Stephano's moods. An unpredictable Stephano had never ended well for Tedesco.
Finally, the older man spoke, “Well, what is one little indiscretion to the Holy Father? I trust you understand that there are worse scandals his eyes might turn to.”
Tedesco had been expecting this particular insinuation, but that didn't stop his heart rate from picking up.
“I have no interest in helping the new Pope any more than I must, Eccellenza.”
Stephano just watched him in silence. In the same way he had when Tedesco was a boy having given an insufficient answer in class, as though he could see straight through Tedesco's eyes to his pitiable soul.
And, as he had when he was a boy, Tedesco found himself the first to drop his gaze, shifting his weight uncomfortably “I will... dissuade him from pursuing this inquiry,” he said finally, unable to stand the echoing silence.
Stephano smirked, and rose, “Bene. I will speak with you when you have returned from Roma.”
“I look forward to it, Eccellenza.” Tedesco lied, easy in the relief of the man's departure. He walked with him to the door, but was stopped by a deceptively harsh hand around his wrist.
Stephano was very close now, almost whispering in his ear, “Remember what I said, my child. 'Let he who is without sin throw the first stone,' ” and Tedesco couldn't repress a shudder. Unable to tolerate the man's closeness, he ripped his arm away and retreated to his desk.
“I hope you are able to see yourself out, Eccellenza. I believe you know the way.”
The corners of Stephano's mouth lifted again at his apparent discomfort, “I do. A presto, Goffredo.”
He hadn't know the investigation was for Stephano. If he had, he isn't sure he'd have been brave enough to reject the man, anyway.
He watched his hand lift the folder as if it belonged to someone else, and then almost dropped it again as the first page opened to a considerably younger version of the bishop looking back at him.
Tedesco closed his eyes, but it was too late to push the memories back down where they belonged.
It had started with just hands. His hand, taken in one much larger than his own, and pressed against hot, throbbing flesh. He had been fifteen at the time, and less than a year in seminary. Scrubbing his hand in the washroom afterwards, he'd found himself hysterically reciting Matthew 5:30 And if thy right hand offend thee, cut it off. The blood in the sink had felt like a sacrament all its own.
Then it had been hands on him, caressing his hair, his neck. Under his clothes. He shuddered in the cold darkness of his room in Casa di Santa Marta. Even fifty years later, he could still feel them. Lips pressed to his ear, telling him he was sinful, but that this penance would wash away the stain. That he was forcing his teacher to do this, that it was for his own sake.
The first time those intruding hands had brought him to that sickly, almost painful finish, he had known his soul was truly condemned to hell. He wasn't supposed to take pleasure in this punishment. He was beyond saving.
Everything that followed had been easier in some ways. If there was nothing left to save, then he didn't have to feel anything anymore, not even fear. Pain was merely a penance.
It had taken him years to escape the older man and more to find his way back into God's light. If Jesus could forgive the Magdalene, then surely he might even forgive someone as disgusting as Goffredo? And if he was a stain, then at least he could protect the Church from further degradation. If he was detestable, then he would make that a weapon for the Lord.
Still, every so often, Stephano would come back into his life. Usually he wanted his disciple's political influence for some petty clerical quarrel or power struggle. Sometimes, he needed finances. Always, he made sure to remind Goffredo exactly how sinful he was in the eyes of the Almighty. And like in his seminary days, he favored practical lessons. It had never occurred to Goffredo to fight back in all these years, even long after he was able to recognize the abuse for what it was. It would be like fighting back against God's divine judgment.
He took in a shuttering breath, and began to read the file. He had believed all this time that he had been an exception. That Father Stephano, so beloved by all, truly had been tainted by Goffredo's stain, that he was what had tempted the priest into sin. Now, Goffredo could see that he had deluded himself. Was it pride or merely an unwillingness to confront the reality of what had happened, to think he was uniquely corrupting?
He continued reading, searching for who had done what Tedesco had not, and brought the man's abuses to light. The page he finally landed on was a profile of a recently ordained priest, showing a photo of him in a collar and giving a brief academic history. Clipped to it was an annotated scan of a handwritten letter, and when Tedesco was done reading it, the papers fell from his hand, forgotten. He stood dizzily, clinging to the back of the couch to stay upright, and then with a sudden urgency, rushed to the en-suite where he was violently sick.
The boy was twenty five, and he was dead. He'd hung himself in his cell at the seminary, leaving behind a note that fortunately, had been found by a friend who sent it directly to the Vatican. It described continued and escalating abuse by the bishop and a report to the Archbishop that failed to go anywhere.
Leaning his head against the cold tile of the bathroom wall, Tedesco felt the years of self delusion coming down on him like a millstone. He had never reported the abuse. Had convinced himself, somehow, that it was his cross to bear alone, and now a boy was dead.
Only after he was certain his legs could hold him did he drag himself to his feet and back to the scattered folder. He sat once more, and forced himself to read it page by page.
There were other, lesser financial crimes listed, some of which Goffredo was well aware. Mostly, though, there was a growing collection of evidence that there were likely more victims, and that Stephano had been abusing his authority for years. Now, without an identified living victim, and a significant amount of evidence likely destroyed in at least one cover up, the investigation had stalled.
Tedesco wiped his eyes, for he was crying now. He knew now why the pope had been compelled to bring him here, and it wasn't because of Aldo's backhanded plan. No, this was God's handiwork, and in this, the Patriarch knew his duty. So he rose, leaving the file behind, and without bothering to don his uniform of office, he made for the pope's rooms.
Innocentius was not alone when Goffredo barged in, afraid if he paused long enough to knock, his nerve would leave him again. Tommaso's head snapped up from where it had been bent over a table, reviewing something on a laptop screen. Aldo and Innocentius were standing, and both looked around at the sudden intrusion.
“Really, Goffredo, what is the mean--” but Tedesco cut the dean off.
“Your Holiness, I have evidence to give in the case of Father Stephano's misconduct investigation.”
There was a pregnant silence that Innocentius was the first to break.
“Of course,” said Innocentius, “Please sit,” and gestured towards the seating area where two couches sat facing one another over a coffee table.
Tedesco obeyed, only realizing then that he still held the scanned letter in his hand. He put it aside, turning it face down beside him on the couch. He perched on the edge of the seat, hands clasped between his knees so that his elbows supported him.
Aldo came to stand beside the couch facing Tedesco, his arms crossed, while Tommaso stayed where he was, though he straighten and removed his reading glasses.
The silence stretched out as Innocentius settled across from him. Tedesco took a breath, and opened his mouth to speak, but found, for perhaps the first time since he had been elevated to cardinal, that he did not know what to say.
Innocentius seemed to take pity on him, or perhaps on Aldo, who was fidgeting impatiently. “You said you have evidence to give in the case of Bishop Stephano?”
“Yes,” Tedesco replied. He tried to pull himself together, but found it difficult when he was so short of breath. “The victim is dead.”
Aldo huffed irritably, but the young pope merely nodded confirmation. “Yes. A terrible tragedy, and unfortunately, one that makes his story difficult to confirm.”
“I know of another victim.”
Innocentius's face did not become less regretful, but his eyes sharpened. “Who?”
Goffredo closed his eyes. He had to take a deep breath to speak, or at least he tried to, but it seemed to get stuck in his throat, so that when he spoke it was barely above a murmur, “Goffredo Tedesco.”
There was silence for a long moment, then Aldo demanded, “What?”
Goffredo's eyes snapped open, and he found Aldo looking at him with an expression somewhere between disbelief and horror. It was like being shot, he imagined, the way those eyes that he loved so preciously seemed to tear through him. He couldn't bear to look at them any longer, so he turned instead to Innocentius.
Innocentius did not look shocked or horrified. He looked calm, that same regret on his face, but his eyes filled with an impossible kindness.
“Tell me?” he asked, very softly, and leaned forward to match Goffredo's posture, leaning forward with his arms on his knees.
Suddenly, Goffredo wanted very badly for this man to believe him, to understand.
“When I was a boy at seminary, he was my teacher. I-- He-- He was brilliant--” now, there were too many words and he couldn't slow them down enough to find the right ones. “I was his brightest student, his favorite. He allowed me to help him after classes. I was proud. I didn't-- But then he said there was a... stain on me, a sin, and that he could help me atone for it. He said he would help me.” Goffredo was talking too much, too many words, and he still couldn't get to the point, “I-- I didn't understand.”
“How old were you?” Aldo asked, interrupted really. His voice sounded tight. Was he angry? Tedesco didn't want to look into his face again to find out.
“Fifteen.” he answered, speaking to Benitez as if the question had been his, then when the silence returned, amended, “The first time.”
“Oh, Goffredo...” sighed Tommaso, sounding as miserable as Tedesco himself. Goffredo dismissed it with a jerky flick of his hand. He didn't want the dean's pity.
“How long did this last?” Benitez asked. Like he knew, like he only wanted to give Tedesco the chance to say it for himself.
“He was moved eventually, went to teach at university. But he... likes to keep in contact, to ask for favors.” Goffredo looked down now.
“And what did these favors entail? Did you know he was abusing others?” Benitez asked.
Aldo, who had begun to pace around restlessly, stilled.
Tedesco himself jolted upright at the question, “No! Never! He comes for money, mostly, or political favors. I would never have helped him if I had known!”
“I believe you,” said the pope gently, making a calming gesture with his hand. “But I needed to be sure.”
Goffredo let out a gasping breath. “I-- I thought it was only me. That I made him that way. He would always say so, when he visited me. That I owed him.”
Innocentius spoke quietly, his eyes soft and, Tedesco thought, terribly knowing. “And when was the last time that he came to you in this way?”
“Four months ago, at the Conference for the Doctrine of Faith.”
Aldo turned his back sharply, putting a hand to his head and swearing.
Tedesco closed his eyes for a moment to steady himself for the difficult confession, but he had come here with the intention of coming clean for good. There was no backing down now, so he raised his chin and continued, “And eight hours ago, before I--”
But the reaction to his words was immediate and explosive.
Aldo and Tommaso both made noises of alarm, the former spinning back around to face them again, mouth agape from an inarticulate shout. Though less emphatic, Tommaso made a start, his hand grasping the wooden chair beside him, and murmured what might have been, “My god.”
Tedesco barely noticed either of them though, because Innocentius was no longer seated across from him, but kneeling on the floor in front of him-- had he climbed over the table?-- in a movement too quick to catch. The young pope took both the patriarch's hands carefully between his own, ignoring the babbled questions and exclamations from the other of the room's occupants. His own face was still calm and serious, his voice steady. An island amidst a sudden storm.
“My friend, please. Do you need to see a doctor? We can wait to hear your testimony until you have been seen to.”
It took Tedesco a moment to understand what he was asking, but when it clicked he shook his head in irritation.
“Bah! No, it was not like that! He only threatened me. He told me that if I wanted my secret to stay so, I must speak to you on his behalf.”
“Your secret?” Innocentius asked with a frown, though his voice was still as gentle as ever, and so low that even Aldo fell silent from the swearing tirade he was building up to so that he could catch his words.
“My relationship with him.” Tedesco waved his hand impatiently.
“Relationship!” Bellini barked with a hysterical, humorless laugh. Lawrence had come around the table to put a hand on his shoulder in a calming gesture, but he shook it off, storming back over to the couch. “That rapist bast-”
“Eminence Bellini,” Innocentius' voice was so sharp, it made even Aldo pull up short. “Leave us, please.”
At another time, Tedesco might have found Aldo's being cut short amusing. As it was, he barely registered Aldo's gaping mouth and indignant stutter. Tedesco had flinched badly at the word “rapist” and it was still echoing in his head like a bell. Like a revelation.
Seemingly unable to find any argument, Aldo stuttered to a stop and after a tense stare down with the still kneeling Innocentius, whirled around and slammed out of the room.
Only after the echo had faded did the pope take a breath, then refocus his attention on Tedesco. When Tedesco didn't stir, his head still full of that ringing word, the pope squeezed his hands gently, regaining his attention.
“If you are sure you are unhurt,” and he paused here for Tedesco's belated nod before continuing, “Perhaps it is better we start from the beginning...”
It was hours before Tedesco made it back to his room, feeling as though he had been hauling bricks, not simply talking in the quiet familiarity of the papal offices. The pope had been kind, even caring, but incredibly thorough, insisting on knowing all the details Tedesco could remember, not of Stephano's abuses mercifully, but his political machinations, whom he had dealt with and whom Tedesco suspected collaborated with him.
Only when Tedesco had begun to falter for words had Innocentius finally let him leave, and only after extracting a promise that Tedesco would return in the morning and call for a doctor immediately should he need one before then. At some point during the night, Tommaso had left them, so quietly Tedesco did not even register his absence.
At the door, the pope put a hand to his head in blessing, saying, “God bless you, Goffredo, and know that you are not alone.”
Now, under the sterile light of the hallway fluorescents, Tedesco could not say what he felt, other than tired, and so he did not even have the energy to be surprised when he unlocked the door to his room to find Aldo already waiting for him.
Goffredo recognized the tension in the man's body. It was the way he held himself before launching into the overture of his latest theological diatribe.
Since he had made up his mind about revealing all, Goffredo had felt a terrible quivering sort of hollowness under his rib cage. Once he had started to talk, it had faded into the background of his awareness, but now suddenly it was back with a force that made it difficult for him to catch his breath.
Aldo had turned sharply at the sound of the door opening, his mouth already open, no doubt to resume where Innocentius had cut him off, but then his eyes swept over Goffredo, finally catching on his face. His shoulders sagged. He looked as defeated as Goffredo felt.
“Ah, c'mere,” Aldo said, opening his arms.
Tedesco thought he would cry in relief as he collapsed into the other man, but was too tired even for that. Instead, he simply leaned against him, a dead weight, and breathed in Aldo's warm, comforting smell. The relief of knowing Aldo wasn't disgusted with him washed over him, taking the last of his strength and leaving him aching with fatigue.
After several minutes just holding one another, Aldo leaned back and took his face in both his hands. “Are you alright?”
Tedesco tried to laugh, but it came out as a sort of croak.
Aldo tsked, the irritating man, and pet back Goffredo's hair in a stuttering, distracted way.
“Why didn't you tell me?” he asked, trying unsuccessfully to sound matter-of-fact, and not like he had been holding in the question for hours.
“I did not want you to know,” Goffredo said simply, but after an afternoon of truths, he seemed to have lost his ability to withhold even one more. He pressed his forehead to Aldo's so he wouldn't have to look him in the eye as he said, “And I was ashamed.”
Aldo didn't leap to argue that this was ridiculous, as Tedesco expected. He wondered if this new, less argumentative Aldo was going to stay. The possibility was surprisingly uncomfortable.
Instead, the man hummed thoughtfully, his hands stilling from their compulsive petting, and closed his eyes. After a moment he opened them, and said in his usual voice, “You should get some rest. You look awful.”
This time Goffredo did manage a laugh, and if Aldo noticed it was a little rougher than usual, he let it slide.
“I need to wash,” Goffredo said.
“Easy enough,” said Aldo, and took his hand to lead him to the bathroom, graciously not pointing out that he always bathed in the morning, not before bed.
Instead, he undressed them both with a practiced efficiency that didn't give Goffredo time to consider feeling self-conscious. When he had them both down to their boxers, though, Aldo hesitated, and even started to usher him into the shower still partially clothed. Goffredo merely scoffed at this foolishness, and pulled them off himself. After a moment of hesitation, Aldo did the same.
The showers in the Casa di Santa Marta were surprisingly well appointed, spaciously and accessibly built for elderly clergy prone to slipping, or as Aldo and Goffredo had discovered, two aging cardinals desecrating their vows of chastity.
Aldo pushed the older man down onto the shower's built in bench, and, too tired to argue or question, Goffredo simply watched his lover fiddle with the tap before taking up a washcloth and soaping it. Finally, Aldo turned and reached for Goffredo's arm.
His hand froze before it landed, though. Goffredo looked up questioningly, but Aldo's jaw was clenched and he wasn't meeting Goffredo's eyes. He glanced down to follow that stony gaze, and saw what had his undivided attention: a circle of darkening red fingerprints on the wrist that Stephano had grabbed just a few hours ago.
“I thought you said you weren't hurt,” Aldo said accusingly, finally moving his outstretched hand and running trembling fingers over the darkest mark.
“I wasn't. Not truly. He grabbed me when I intended to leave and I pulled my arm away.” Goffredo explained, in the same monotone he'd fallen into when recounting to Innocentius.
Aldo looked him in the eye for a moment in that piercing way of his, and finally gave a sharp nod of acceptance, the tension in his body dissipating. He lifted the washcloth again and returned to his earlier task.
“Is this alright?” he asked as he began to bathe him.
“Si. Va bene,” Goffredo confirmed brusquely, finding it difficult to say more with the hollow feeling in his rib cage stealing the air from his lungs again. So, he leaned his head back and let his eyes fall shut as Aldo took over the business of cleaning him.
It wasn't the first time they'd showered together, but Aldo's manner was different tonight, his hands almost reverent in a way uncharacteristic of the normally frenetic man. It wasn't until he knelt and lifted Goffredo's foot with the utmost care, placing it on his own thigh, that the patriarch felt something small and crystallized inside himself quiver and at long last, crack, and all the tension in his chest came pouring out.
He pretended the steam of the shower was enough to hide the tears starting to streak his face. Pretended the tremors of his shoulders weren't obvious, and Aldo, in another of his rare acts of mercy, pretended he was too absorbed in his washing to notice. He kept the same steady pace, soaping and rinsing both legs before rising again, and using a clean washcloth to wipe Goffredo's tear stained face.
“I have you,” he said, and did not complain when it took some time for Goffredo's tears to slow enough to dry them.
Only once Goffredo was completely clean did Aldo turn off the shower and reach for a towel, ushering him to stand.
“C'mon, let's get you to bed, Nonno.”
Goffredo grumbled at the insult, but didn't have any heart behind it.
Still with a minimal amount of pride, though, he did not allow himself to be swaddled like a child, but swatted away Aldo's hands and wrapped the towel around himself. He caught the edge of a satisfied smirk from Aldo out of the corner of his eye, and made his exit rather than confront the other man's apparent relief at this characteristic bit of irritability.
Goffredo found his pajamas quickly and had pulled them on before noticing Aldo was still fussing in the bathroom. The reason became apparent when the other man reemerged dressed again only in his undershirt and boxers. He apparently intended to stay the night, and for once Goffredo couldn't muster the willpower to tell him not to.
And why should he? So what if someone saw him reemerging in the same clothes tomorrow? So what if there were rumors? Goffredo's reputation would never be restored after the revelations of the day; he had no illusions that the Curia's rumor mill would spare him. So this, yes. This he would allow himself.
With that decided, he turned back to his dresser and pulled out a second pair of maroon silk boxers and his own clean undershirt and tossed them over to Aldo.
“There,” he said. “Don't even think of putting your dirty old clothes in my bed.”
Aldo snatched the thrown underthings out of the air, looking, moreso than any other time that night, surprised. Goffredo didn't have to guess as to why. Still the youngest of twelve at heart, he made no small mention of how little he liked to share his things. After a childhood of hand-me-downs and favored toys being “borrowed” only to be returned damaged, Goffredo was possessive to the point of obsession.
Like everything else tonight, though, he couldn't find it in himself to care about that either. Besides, watching Aldo pull on his borrowed clothes–much looser on his narrow frame–Goffredo thought he liked to see him dressed in his things so.
Rather than be caught staring, Goffredo slumped into bed with a groan, and waited for Aldo to shuffle in beside him to turn off the light. Before the man could fully settle, he slipped his arm around that narrow waist and pulled him to his chest. Unlike the spacious showers, the beds at the Santa Marta were decidedly for a single occupant only, and Goffredo enjoyed the excuse to hold his lover close. Aldo made an indignant noise at the manhandling, but settled with his head on his bed-mate's chest with a minimum of fuss.
Sleep was already overtaking Goffredo, but he could hear the catch in Aldo's breathing that meant he was on the verge of speaking, trying to pick his words. He felt some of the tension that had bled away in the shower returning.
After a moment though, Aldo let out a deep breath, melting further into his lover's side.
“I love you. You know that, don't you, you big oaf?”
His own relieved laugh caught Goffredo off guard, and with it he felt that final bit of tension shake loose at last. Smiling still, he brushed his lips over the forehead conveniently placed beneath his chin for that gesture.
“ Si, amore mio. Goodnight.”