Archive of Our Own

Chapter Text

The door to Janusz’s room swung open. Janusz himself looked like he’d only just woken up, still blinking tired eyes against the light from the corridor. He was dressed, though his fascia hung at a wonky angle and his pellegrina was flipped awkwardly over both shoulders.

He squinted at Ray, looking him up and down.

“You look terrible.”

Ray huffed out a breathless laugh at Janusz’s words, reaching into his pocket for a handkerchief he could mop at his face with. 

He was already flushed from walking to the Casa Santa Marta in the heat, and was not particularly looking forward to venturing back out again.

“You’d think I’d get used to it,” said Ray sheepishly, “I’ve had enough summers here by now.”

“Ah, you come from a cold place. It’s nothing shameful. Come on, sit a moment - it’s still early.”

Ray sank down gratefully onto one of the two chairs in the little room. Heat tended to exhaust him quickly. He let his eyes slide shut for a moment, and heard the sound of Janusz pouring a glass of water.

“Thank you,” he said softly, “I keep forgetting I should be - ah!”

The rest of the sentence was lost as Janusz pressed the cold glass to his cheek.

“Nice?” said Janusz.

Ray’s throat bobbed as he swallowed what little spit was left in his mouth.

“Yes,” he breathed, “thank you.”

“You need to take it easier when the weather gets like this,” said Janusz, “you don’t want to faint too early or you’ll upstage Thomas.”

Ray chuckled as the glass was handed to him, and he took a long drink.

“How do you stand it?” he said, holding the half emptied glass to his other cheek, “it never seems to bother you as much as the-”

Ray trailed off as Janusz lifted up the skirt of his cassock to reveal two pale, hairy legs.

“Janusz-” he said, scandalized, “in your underpants?”

Janusz grinned at him.

“Oh no, not today. I believe in going without all unnecessary layers. God will understand, I’m sure.”

*

Janusz was looking better, these days. It had been weeks before he’d made his way back to the Vatican after conclave, and to Lawrence’s eternal shame, it had also been weeks before they’d even realised he’d gone missing, in all the confusion and bustle following the election of Pope Innocent. He’d been too thin back then, hollow-eyed and frighteningly quiet.

But today he wandered through the gardens with his hand looped through the crook of Ray’s arm, pointing out various plants and trees, benches, alcoves. It was quite sweet to watch, and Lawrence found himself smiling. Ray’s gentle nature seemed to have been good for Janusz. Perhaps they were recalling moments with the late Holy Father, fond memories of their time together. That was good. That was healthy.

Lawrence was happy for them.

“And over there was a favourite spot of his.”

“There? But it’s so… so open. Did you never get caught?”

“Oh no, plenty of times. But the guards would never say anything. They’re good men.”

“Goodness…”

“Ah, and over by the pond! Bruised my knees terribly when he bent me over that stone bench - he started putting a cushion out first after a while.”

“There too?”

“Oh, all over. Come, I’ll show you all the spots in the Sistine Chapel too.”

*

Lawrence didn’t often call on Ray. His apartment was close enough to Vatican City that it was a walkable distance, but most evenings the two of them were too exhausted to do much visiting, and he worried sometimes that he asked too much of Ray, imposed too often on his time.

However, the man had left his phone in Lawrence’s office, and it wasn’t too far a detour from his own way home, and so it wasn’t long before he was knocking gently on the door. 

There were lights on inside. Ray was clearly home. But nobody answered.

“Ray?” called Lawrence, as softly as he could. It was late, and he had no desire to bring the ire of the neighbours down on poor Ray.

But still, there was no answer.

Lawrence tentatively tried the door, and found it was unlocked. He let himself in, then stopped abruptly.

Ray’s place was a simple but roomy studio, which meant that stepping inside brought him face to face with a wide-eyed Ray, propped up in bed with Janusz seemingly passed out on top of him, his head pillowed on the taller man’s chest. They’d obviously been there for a while - they were in their civilian clothes, and the cable-knit jumper Ray was wearing had the effect of rendering him oddly vulnerable looking. 

Ray brought a finger up to his lips.

“I’ve only just managed to get him to sleep,” he breathed, barely making a sound lest he jostle the man in his arms. 

Janusz had been more erratic than usual lately, oscillating between periods of friendly but intense chatter and complete silence. It seemed that the man was not yet entirely recovered from whatever ordeal he’d endured in his time away from them.

Lawrence nodded, then held up the phone, placing it on Ray’s desk.

Ray mouthed a sincere thank you, then smiled as Lawrence raised a hand in farewell, and let himself back out.

Chapter Text

Ray was quiet today. Not that he wasn’t usually - the bishop tended to keep out of the way, soft-spoken and timid around most of the curia save Cardinal Lawrence… and himself, of course.

Janusz reached across the table, where Ray was idly poking at a bowl of stew. He tapped his fingers against Ray’s wrist, hoping to get his attention, but instead the poor man jumped, pulling his arm away before he realised what he’d done.

“Sorry,” he breathed, “s-startled me.”

“No, no, I shouldn’t have poked at you.”

Ray took a long, deep breath, and held it for several moments before exhaling through his mouth. He tugged at the collar of his cassock, and Janusz could see beads of sweat gathering at his temples, in spite of the reasonably mild weather.

“Are you ill?” said Janusz.

“What? No, no, just a little tired.”

Ray kept his eyes on his bowl, and took a mouthful of fish as if to reassure him.

“Is Cardinal Lawrence overloading you with work again?” said Janusz, “I can speak to him, if you want. Or arm wrestle him into submission. Although actually, I don’t think I’d win that one-”

“No! Cardinal Lawrence doesn’t - Janusz, it’s fine. I’m fine.”

Another big breath. In for several counts, hold, and a slow, shaky exhale.

“Raymond. Something is bothering you.”

Ray’s spoon clinked as he dropped it into his bowl.

“Leave it!” he hissed. 

Then his eyes widened, and he stood up abruptly, stumbling and pulling at the skirts of his cassock as the fabric caught around his legs.

“Sorry,” he said, unable to raise his eyes from the floor, “sorry, sorry, I-”

Ray pressed a palm to his chest, and Janusz watched with alarm as he bent over and gasped in several panicked breaths, before fleeing the cafeteria.

*

Janusz decided to give Ray a little while to collect himself before knocking on the door of his office. 

He could hear the sound of shuffling that meant someone was in there, but nobody came to answer the door, nor did Ray even acknowledge the fact that he’d knocked.

So he did it again.

Again, nothing.

“Ray?” called Janusz, “Raymond, I can hear you in there.”

No answer. 

Janusz shrugged, and then opened the door.

Ray was at his desk, his glasses sliding down his nose as he typed furiously at his laptop. His lips pressed together into a tight line, but otherwise he gave no indication that he’d noticed Janusz entering.

“Ray.”

Ray ignored him, continuing on with whatever document he was typing up.

“Ray.”

Janusz watched him stop, hands hovering over the keyboard. They were trembling.

“Please go away,” said Ray softly, “I’m sorry I snapped at you.”

“You call that snapping?” said Janusz, “when you are angry it’s like watching a little puppy trying to bark for the first time.”

No smile. Not even a twitch.

“Raymond. Please tell me what’s wrong.”

“That’s just it,” said Ray, folding his hands in his lap, “I don’t know. I don’t know what’s wrong with me. I just - sometimes I feel like I can barely breathe. Like when you know you’ve made a terrible mistake, except I don’t know what I’ve done because I haven’t done anything, but that feeling of - of all-encompassing dread is just there-”

Ray glanced at him, worried he’d said too much, and clenched his fists tightly before an email notification caught his attention. He raised his hands to his keyboard again, but Janusz caught him by the sleeve.

“Now, come on,” he said, “you’re not getting any work done like this. Let’s just… sit, for a moment.”

Ray’s eyes were wide with fear and worry, and he went willingly as Janusz manhandled him over to the little couch he had against the back wall of the office. They sat down together, and Ray bowed his head, his shoulders shaking slightly. Janusz wound an arm around his waist, pulling him close.

“Alright. You tell me, what’s gone wrong today?”

Ray sniffled slightly.

“Mmm. Nothing. I… I think things are going okay…”

“And what do you have left to get done?”

A tired sigh.

“Some reports. Whatever that email was.”

“And that’s it?”

Ray nodded.

“I just… I keep worrying about things that might pop up. Unexpected crises. You never know what’s going to happen, around here. Or - or who I might’ve upset, what I might’ve missed-”

Janusz nodded. They hadn’t crossed paths in the early years of Ray’s assignment to the Vatican, but he’d heard the stories. It was no wonder there were lingering anxieties.

“Well, if anybody wants to have words with you today, they’ll have to go through me.”

He curled a hand into a fist to demonstrate, and jabbed at the air a few times for good measure.

Ray huffed out a breath that sounded like it might have been a fragment of a laugh.

“You’re safe with me, mój kotek,” he said, pinching Ray’s cheek, “let Janusz look after you, hm?”

Ray slapped his hand away, but shuffled so that he could lean his cheek against the top of his head.

“Thank you,” he whispered, almost too soft to be heard.

Chapter Text

There’s a bishop sitting on the curb along the carpark out the back of the Apostolic Palace. Janusz doesn’t recognise him, and he’s certain he would remember if he’d seen him before. He’s tall and rather scrawny, long limbs folded up so that he’s hunching forward against his knees, making the most of the tail end of a cigarette. The poor man looks utterly miserable.

“Got one of those for me?” said Janusz.

The bishop blinks at him, wide grey eyes that have all the pitiable hurt of a kicked puppy in them.

“Oh. Of course.”

He digs around in a pocket and taps a cigarette out into Janusz’s waiting hand, then fumbles for his lighter. His hands are shaking enough that he has to strike several times before the flame takes, and even then it trembles as he holds it up.

Janusz sits down next to him, right as the other man makes an awkward, aborted move to get up.

“I haven’t seen you around here before.”

“No,” says the man softly, “I only arrived a few days ago.”

Janusz doesn’t ask him how it’s going. The answer is fairly clear from his demeanour. Instead, he smokes and hums under his breath, fragments of a childhood tune he’s certain he’s misremembering. 

The other man scrubs wearily at his face, pressing his palms into his eyes. 

“You get used to it,” says Janusz, “well, most of it.”

“I’m being eaten alive. I thought I was prepared, but… oh, I’ve made a fool of myself.”

“Is that all?” snorts Janusz, “I do that every day. Here.”

He pulls the other man to his feet, groaning on the way up like the old man he is becoming. His new friend is younger, perhaps by ten years or so, and rises far more easily.

Still humming under his breath, he takes him by the waist with one hand, already steering him around in a circle as he scoops up his other hand, smoking cigarette still perched between his fingers. After a few stumbles they fall into step with each other, and Janusz is pleased to see the faint start of a blush spreading over the other man’s cheeks. It’s enough to make him shift his weight and bend his knee in spite of the considerable height difference between them, holding the man steady as he tips him back into a dip.

They manage it, but not without a great deal of yelping and scrambling to regain their balance. By the time Janusz has managed to narrowly avoid sending them both toppling, the other man is laughing, backing away from him before he can go for another round.

“See?” says Janusz, “there is always more of a fool you can make of yourself. If you need any help with it, just come find me.”

This earns him a smile, shy but genuine. It’s gratifying to look at. He hopes he will make it happen again soon.

*

Janusz is smoking out of the window again. Not that he’s ever been much of a stickler for the rules, but it seems less like his usual gleeful flaunting, and more like he’s just reluctant to go outside.

The office isn’t his anymore. It belongs to their new Pope, and whoever he will name as his new prefect - if indeed he appoints anyone at all. As of now, the space remains vacant, and Janusz floats in limbo, his future in the hands of an entirely unfamiliar Holy Father.

The radio is on, when Ray comes to find him. It’s set to some crackly oldies channel; he recognises the tune of a Dusty Springfield standard, though the words are in Italian.

“I thought I might find you here,” he says.

“Mmm.”

Janusz looks thinner. Smaller too, like he’s shrunken in on himself. He’s always been a slight fellow, smaller in stature than most of the men he works with, but Ray’s never thought he looked small. His personality had always managed to make him feel larger than life, and in those oddball moments where he sweeps Ray off his feet, manhandles him into joining one of his ridiculous schemes or simply catches him off guard, Janusz is nothing but a powerhouse of chaotic energy. 

Lately, however, he simply looks small.

“Tell me when you’ve had enough brooding time,” says Ray, “I’ve got some other things scheduled for you too.”

“Don’t lie to me, Raymond. I’ll make you go to confession.”

He knows it’s probably nothing, but Janusz is leaning just a little too far out of the window for comfort, and so he steps in a little closer, snags a finger under his fascia and tugs him backwards. Janusz stubs the cigarette out on the windowsill before he lets himself be pulled close, letting out a quiet grunt as Ray manoeuvres him into place.

“What-”

He winds Janusz’s hand around his waist, places a steadying palm between his shoulder blades. It’s nothing like the way Janusz spins him, wiggling them from side to side. Instead, he holds his friend close, and sways.

Janusz won’t look at him, at first. His lips are pressed tightly together, the corners downturned as he fixes his gaze on the floor, where their feet make clumsy steps as they try to find their rhythm.

But then he sighs, and Ray feels the tension drain from him, watches his head drop forward. Janusz hides his face against his shoulder, leaning against him slightly, letting Ray take a little of his weight.

The lyrics to the song are different in Italian, Ray realises. What he knows as a desperate plea from an unrequited love is instead a lament about the pain of separation, and he holds Janusz a little closer, smooths a thumb over the dip of his spine.

Ray keeps dancing even when the song runs out and the presenter starts talking about the traffic. He hears Janusz chuckle quietly against him, and then feels himself being steered towards the radio.

“Ah, shut up,” mutters Janusz. 

His hand shoots out and clicks it off. But he still continues swaying.

Ray hums under his breath - he’s never been much of a singer, and a lot of it comes out tuneless and muddled, a memory of a memory, a half-remembered tune neither of them know the words to. But they dance in time to it anyway.