#tppf

“I have a copy of the book in my office. I’ll lend it to you while you’re here and you can see for yourself.”

“You’re going to lend me a book for a week. While I’m following a strict schedule and touring a city you insist I’m not appreciating.”

Nicky lifts his shoulders, and the gesture is so apathetic that it could pass as a Gallic shrug. “I’m not the arbiter of your time. If you find you have more to gain by rereading [Author] instead of taking in the [history] then who am I to stop you.”

“And it’s terribly convenient that either way I’m doing something in support of your arguments.”

“Home advantage,” Nicky says simply – and the smirk on his face is less smug than before but Joe still wants to hit him just as hard. “Come by my office tomorrow when you’re in the [building section].”

Joe takes a moment to study Nicky. Here in the sun, his eyes look paler and his clergy shirt looks more out of place. It’s easier to think of him as a person instead of a representative.

“Alright,” Joe agrees.

The nod Nicky gives him is too pleased by far. But as he’s turning to leave he adds, “Enjoy the rest of your day.”

Joe counts it as a win.

*

When he can’t put it off anymore, Joe wanders towards the building where Nicky said his office would be. There’s a thin rug covering the bland carpet of the hall outside his office door, and the secretary for that section of offices is cold and exact. Joe thanks her with all the charm and warmth he can manage, and her responding hum tells him any more kindness would be a waste.

Down the hall, he finds Nicky’s office open and waiting for him. The space is cozy, with a lower ceiling than most other spaces Joe has seen so far. One large window takes up most of the back wall – letting sunlight into the room and giving everything a warm glow.

Unlike the office of the [important man] or the [other important man], Nicky’s furniture is plain – the wood speaking for itself. His desk is reasonably sized, and covered in books and papers. A few mugs rest on top of papers with scratched logos and crosses on them. The 2 chairs for guests in front of his desk are made of a worn black leather that looks real and old enough to be comfortable. (Supple, Joe thinks, and then promptly darts away from the word.)

There are several healthy ferns dotted around the space. One is so large it’s consumed the whole first 2 shelves of the bookcase it sits beside. The books under it look like antiques and Joe spares a thought for preservation and bugs and humidity. 

Overall, the space is warm and cozy and it’s left Joe feeling completely bereft. He came in prepared for a fight, and instead he feels himself relaxing inside the Vatican for the first time since he arrived. While every space he's seen has been historical and expensive and theatrical, Nicky’s office is a cramped little corner of solitude. (Joe realizes with some horror that all the plants he sees are the first natural life he’s spotted in these buildings at all.)

On the windowsill, there's an overflowing succulent Joe recognizes from magazines and store windows. He has to step further into the office to see it, but he feels the same pull of curiosity that brought him here in the first place and he decides to follow. Little round buds pour off of their stems in strange layers and the many arms of the plant spill over the side of the shiny old brown pot. It’s clearly well cared for, and Joe marvels a bit at the thought of Nicolo di Genova taking the time to nurture it. 

"String of pearls - or Nature's Rosary, as my mentor once called them." Nicky says, walking into his office with a tone as brusque as his walk. If he had said anything else, Joe would take offense, but that personal anecdote feels too human to be the start of a fight.

"I didn’t know nature was Catholic," he observes, feeling his usual tone take a teasing edge.

Nicky snorts and drops his bag on the ground, "I would argue keeping a succulent as a houseplant sometimes feels punishing enough to be.”

Joe is still feeling off-center, and he can’t find anything more biting than, "I suppose it’s all perspective, isn’t it."

"Indeed." Nicky pauses. His hands are on his hips and he looks tense – those ridiculous shoulders are closer to his ears than Joe thinks is entirely healthy. 

For one terrible moment, Joe feels himself brace for an argument. But instead, Nicky shuts his eyes and inhales through his mouth, exhaling from his nose. 

Joe waits patiently until they're looking at one another again, "Everything alright?" 

"Yes. My apologies. I'll grab the book in a moment. Just. Gathering myself.”

Joe nods and watches as Nicky rolls up his sleeves. With the collar still on and his forearms showing, the entire outfit looks much more like a uniform - something wholly separate from Nicky, the man who keeps plants in his office and leaves his empty coffee cups on stacks of papers.

Suddenly watching Nicky compose himself feels like an intrusion, and Joe turns away.

Behind him there's a bookshelf taking up a whole wall and 2 terrifyingly tall stacks of books blocking the way to it. It’s not dissimilar to the scene in Joe's own office, and he wonders if he could ever tell Nicky that.

He distracts himself by grabbing the book with the ugliest cover. 

"Isn’t he a little radical for you?" Joe observes, holding up a worn-out paperback.

Nicky looks at Joe with a raised eyebrow but says "It’s not technically mine. It was gifted to me in the middle of a fight and I haven’t had the opportunity to return it."

There's a strange annoyance that rises in Joe at the idea of someone else fighting with Nicky in any significant way. He wants to ask who it was and what they were debating so intensely but instead he asks, "Gifted?"

"Thrown at my head."

And Joe can’t stop the laugh that comes out, nor does he try to.

Across the room Nicky looks rueful, and shuffles at a pile of papers on his desk. “You probably won’t be surprised to hear that that is not the first book I received that way."

"I’m guessing it’s this whole stack?" Joe gestures at the pile of books that is almost as tall as he is and Nicky lets out a quiet laugh that ends in a snort.

Joe has to work very hard to not be charmed by the sight.

"It’s the whole bookshelf," Nicky says, and he almost manages to sound deadpan. Almost. 

Before Joe can keep this small moment going, Nicky lifts a stack of various documents and notebooks with a cry of success - picking up a thin black paperback book from beneath it.

"Here it is," he says, coming around the desk and handing Joe the book, “This is the copy with the direct quotation. You'll want to look at chapter eleven too I think."

Joe takes the book and says thank you. He wants to say more, but the mean secretary has stuck her head in, and Joe uses the interruption to escape while he still feels capable of it.