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The first time
It wasn’t as though Aldo was oblivious to other men’s beauty. Yes, he couldn’t actually do anything about the attraction he felt, but there was nothing wrong with noticing beauty so long as you were discrete about it.
And my God was he noticing right now. How could he not notice.
It was his first synod after his elevation to cardinal, and as the other men filed in and took their seats, his eyes fell on one particular man. On the opposite side of the large conference room, right next to the window, sat a rather handsome figure.
He had a gorgeous head of tousled ringlets that gently framed his face. Despite how silvered his hair was, it was remarkably thick. My God, he had more hair than Aldo had had in his 20’s! The sun from the nearby window didn’t help matters any, the golden light made his cherubic curls practically glow with highlights. He had a peppering of darker hair mixed in with the silver. It must have been such a deep shade of brown when he was younger, perhaps nearly black. He must have looked quite striking back in his youth.
Hell, he still is. The gray made him look distinguished, as did his stubbly beard and horn-rimmed glasses. He almost looked more like a stern professor than a catholic prelate. He could have easily fit in with Aldo’s colleagues back at the Gregorian University, yet his frame wasn’t at all reminiscent of a man who had spent his life at a cushy desk job. With his broad shoulders and sturdy torso he was built like the men his father had invited over to play poker and drink whiskey when Aldo was a boy. Dock workers, meatpackers, plumbers; men who spent their days using every bit of strength God had given them. He would have looked right at home dealing cards at the table with them.
And yet he was here, among some of the most powerful figures in the global church. There was the red zuchetto of a brother cardinal carefully perched on that remarkable head of hair. Good lord, if he was a cardinal then Aldo would likely be seeing him around a lot these days. What a distraction that was going to be. Thank God he wasn’t sitting any closer or it would have been an immense task to focus on the content of the synod. From previous experience he knew that in time he would get used to the beautiful man’s presence, and he would become just another face Aldo knew. Someday, this man would be no more distracting than any other. Until such a time though, he would have to be careful to keep a strategic distance from the man. Not enough to seem avoidant, but enough to prevent any unwanted temptation.
As it turned out, his worries were for nothing. Only 13 minutes into the session and the man had rudely interjected himself into the debate at hand. He opened his mouth and out spilled ideas of the most regressive, backwards, intolerant nature that Aldo had ever had the disprivilege of hearing.
After that, it was hard to notice any of the man’s previously charming qualities.
4 years after meeting
“I still don’t understand why you invited him here,” Aldo huffed, “He’s done everything in his power to make our lives a living hell and stall any progress your papacy is making.”
“Because my dear boy, I’m the pope, I’m not supposed to sink to his level. I cannot play favorites just because the man has been a pain in our backsides. We invited cardinal Valerio here for a personal meeting to announce his appointment as patriarch, it would look awfully biased if we didn’t do the same for cardinal Tedesco.” The Holy Father patiently explained.
“You know this,” He chides, “You can’t let him get under your skin like this.”
Aldo knows he’s being childish. He shouldn’t let cardinal Tedesco get the best of his professionalism like this. He knows that letting this descend into a petty schoolboy spat is exactly what the man wants, and that he shouldn’t give him the satisfaction.
And yet. As soon as the man opened his mouth Aldo would forget all his diplomacy and take the bait. It had been like this since the day he met the other cardinal. He seemed to know exactly which buttons to press to make Aldo furious. It would have been impressive if it hadn’t been so infuriating. It had only escalated after the conclave last year. Tedesco had always been a thorn in the liberal’s sides, but now that they held the papacy he had seen fit to double down on his harassment. Aldo suspects that some of this behavior was born out of a loyalty to Ratzinger that had morphed into a hatred of the man who had taken his place; someone whose presence was a constant reminder that his beloved mentor was gone. Normally Aldo would have pity and grace for a man whose poor behavior was born out of grief, but some of Tedesco’s recent attacks were frankly inexcusable.
He was just about to bring up the fact that in a recent interview the man had all but said that the Holy Father’s pontifical election was won through illegitimate means, but the pope cuts him off before he can open his mouth.
“You’re going to have to learn how to manage with him if you’re going to be taking over Jacopo’s position when he steps down to become dean next year. I cannot have my secretary of state stooping to his level every time the man hits a new low. You cannot lose your diplomacy around him, if anything, you will need to have extra diplomacy with him to make up for his lack of it. Now please, go find wherever he has gotten off to and let him know that dinner is starting soon. Preferably without starting a brawl.”
Aldo wants to complain, wants to ask why Janusz can’t do it instead, like a winey brother griping about chores. But he knows the old man is right. He is going to have to deal with cardinal Tedesco for the foreseeable future. In fact, baring the possibility of him getting excommunicated, he was likely going to have to put up with him until one of them died. The sooner he learns to live with this thorn in his side, the better, so he may as well start now.
He asks a few of the guards if they’ve seen where Tedesco has gotten off to. Fortunately he’s not any easy figure to lose track of, what with his blocky build and near constant talking. They tell him that last they saw, he had headed out to the kitchen gardens for a walk.
As he approaches the garden, it’s easy enough to find the other cardinal, his bright red zuchetto stands out against the green shrubbery like a beacon. He was on a bench near the herb patch, looking oddly peaceful for someone so diametrically opposite of the very concept of peace. As Aldo got closer, he realized the reason for his serene appearance. The man had fallen asleep in the sunny warmth of the spring afternoon. The light was making his lashes cast spiky shadows on his cheeks. He had never noticed how long Tedesco’s lashes were, but now that he was seeing the man perfectly still for the first time, it was hard not to notice. The bridge of his nose was going a little pink in the heat. He had a rather elegant nose, Aldo realized. It was somewhat crooked, though you couldn’t tell from afar. He must have broken it when he was young. In this rare moment when the man wasn’t endlessly talking, one could admire the plush curve of his lips, the delicate cupid’s bow, the fine lines around his mouth. He must laugh a lot. No doubt at us after he wastes our time, he thought uncharitably.
The thought was enough to reawaken his annoyance with the cardinal sleeping in front of him. He ought to shake him awake, or holler at him to get up. They didn’t have all day after all. But as he reached out to put a hand on the cassock clad shoulder in front of him, he glanced down, and caught sight of the man’s hands.
There in his lap, his two great big hands were clutching at a rosary. The tiny beads were mother of pearl, the centerpiece an icon of Micheal. It looked old, but not antique, perhaps a gift for his first communion or confirmation. Its delicate appearance was in stark contrast to the large claused fingers it was wrapped around. He must have fallen asleep praying. There was something so vulnerable about the whole scene. His fingers were grasping at it much in the way a child grasped their mother’s hand.
Aldo’s first thought was to accuse him of false piety, this coarse and uncaring man playing at childlike innocence. But how could he be? The man was fast asleep, and even Tedesco was not Machiavellian enough to engineer something in his sleep. No, it was simply a rare moment of an otherwise obnoxious man’s humanity.
Still, Aldo was here for a purpose. He abandoned his earlier plan of shaking the man in favor of calling his name.
“Emenince Tedesco?”
Nothing.
“Your eminence?” he tried a little louder.
Still nothing.
“Emenince?” he called, and gave a gentle tap on his shoulder.
The cardinal woke with a snort and a disheveled expression. He blinked owlishly behind his glasses for a few confused moments before his eyes landed on the man before him.
“Ah, cardinale Bellini,” he greeted, smirking, but voice still heavy with sleep, "Couldn't wait to continue our earlier discussion, huh?”
And Aldo immediately regretted not leaving the man to sleep through dinner.
16 years after meeting
It felt as though the entire world had let out a sigh of relief. The conclave had come to an end, and they had a new pope. Aldo knew so little about the man that had ascended to the throne of Saint Peter only 2 days prior, but the feeling in the Sistine after that final vote…It had been pure mana. The Holy Spirit in its fullest glory since they had been sequestered. There was much to learn about the new pontiff, but Aldo felt safe in the assumption that they had chosen the right man.
Admittedly he was still nursing his own bruised ego. What a prideful old sinner he was. The worst part was that he hadn’t even noticed his own ambitions, all the while criticizing every man around him for the same thing. Talk about specks and planks. He had even accused his dear old friend of being ambitious, all while ignoring the dean’s growing panic at the prospect of being elected. How foolish he had been. It had taken the stern scolding of Benitez for him to fully realize how far he had strayed. Over these last few days we have proven ourselves to be petty and smallminded men. And wasn’t that the God honest truth. Yes, Aldo would be taking a few days to hide and lick his wounds. Speaking of…
If anyone was the picture of a wounded animal it was Tedesco. He had been stuck remaining in the Vatican after his train back to Venice had been rescheduled, and he looked utterly miserable. He supposes anyone would be if they had been unable to return home after such an ordeal, only to be stuck at the residence of someone they had just lost catastrophically to. During his extended stay, the new pope had already held a private meeting with the man. How must that have gone? He hadn’t heard about any screaming matches, and the patriarch hadn’t posted any spiteful outbursts online, so it must not have been a disaster. Hopefully it would stay that way until he left.
Being so new to the papacy, Innocent hadn’t needed his secretary of state to organize any diplomatic matters yet. Best let the man get his bearings before throwing him into the deep end. This did, however, leave Aldo with an unusually bare schedule. He had come into the office today only to answer a few emails and promptly run out of tasks. It was perhaps the first time in the last decade that he hadn’t started each day with a mountain of work to get done. In theory, this sounded like a dream come true. In reality however, he was incredibly bored. He had already gone for a walk around the gardens, pestered Jacopo for an hour, prayed 3 rosaries, and it was still only 11 AM. He refused to go home so early, but what else was there to do? Well, presumably, the Vatican museum was still officially closed, but given that the security guards all recognized him, there was a decent chance they would let him in. That would kill a few hours.
His suspicions ended up being correct; Halberd Luka had let him into the building without his even needing to ask. He wandered the halls, looking at the various works of art, taking moments to reflect and pray on the holy mysteries they portrayed. Perhaps the meditation of it all was what he needed after his catastrophic fall from grace these last few days.
This silent contemplation was only broken when he heard a cough from a neighboring room. One of the guards perhaps? Aldo walked to the entrance of the room the noise seemed to have come from. From the doorways, he saw, not a guard, but the profile of a man in a black cassock and a red zuchetto. Eminence Tedesco stood not 20 feet away, staring up at the immense tapestry in front of him. So intense was his scrutiny of the work, that he seemed completely oblivious to the presence of another person. His eyes traced the piece, a depiction of a radiant sunburst as halo to a fluttering dove. The Holy Spirit. It was the most tangible manifestation of the trinity, God’s breath at work on earth, and they had both lost sight of it when it had mattered most. By the look on his face, the patriarch was wrestling with a similar understanding. His eyes were weary and tired looking, but still searching the painting, as though he was determined to not take his eyes off what he had previously neglected. As Aldo searched his expression, he was struck by how gentle he looked in the moment. His normally imposing posture was softer, his wild gesticulating replaced with calm stillness. Even his gaze, while intense, was not so much piercing as it was attentive. Still a cardinal, yes, but just a man. Not the cartoon antagonist Aldo had thought of him as for the past 16 years. Under all his anger, all his posturing and provoking, he was just a man. A man with gray curls and doe-like eyelashes; an aristocratic nose and the build of a former farm boy and the smile lines of someone who had enjoyed life whenever they could. He was beautiful.
What a surprising thing to rediscover all this time later.
Lost in his observations of the man before him, Aldo startled when his subject turned his head to look back at him.
“Come to give me a dressing down? You’re too late Bellini, others have already beaten you to it.” There was irritation in his voice, his usual vinegar, but there was also something sad to his words. Regret perhaps. Aldo shook his head in response.
“I…No, I think that would fall under the category of throwing stones when I am not without sin.”
This garnered a raised eyebrow. Good. Maybe they were both meant to surprise each other as the fog of rivalry lifted.