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Chapter Text

Vincent is still tired and groggy and doped up on painkillers when he gets the news. He has woken up after surgery, been given some light food and been brought to a regular room, and now the surgeon has come to talk to him. He explains that they’ve been successful in repairing the shrapnel damage Vincent sustained from the car bomb that knocked him out, and that he’s had no major organ damage, which is certainly a relief to hear. But then the surgeon goes on to ask if Vincent is aware that he has female internal reproductive anatomy, and Vincent feels like the ground has fallen out from underneath him.

He struggles to believe it at first. How is that even possible? He’s a man, he’s always been a man, so how could he possibly have female anatomy like that? And how could he have made it to his mid-60s without being aware of this? Surely that can’t possibly be right. It goes against nature, it goes against Scripture, it goes against everything he knows and believes in. Men simply do not have those parts. After all the years he’s spent working among female victims of sexual violence, he’s pretty sure he knows the difference between men and women, thank you very much. And he knows which one he is.

Well, at least he thought he did.

Of course, Vincent has always known that he isn’t particularly… well endowed, in the same way that, standing at only 5 foot nothing, he’s always been a head shorter than other men around him. He’s also aware that he never developed as much as his peers in his teens, and that he’s always looked noticeably youthful for his age, even now into his mid-60s. And he’s never needed to shave even once in his adult life. But he’s never really given any of this too much thought until now, because he hasn’t seen cause for alarm. Everyone’s different, after all, and none of that had to mean anything. Certainly not when also factoring in his partly Indigenous Mexican heritage.

But this?

Before he really has time to register what’s happening, he throws up every bite of the banana they managed to coax into him back in post-op.

The doctor and nurses assume his nausea is a result of the anaesthesia he was given for his surgery. Vincent doesn’t correct them.

He never eats banana again after that day.

The revelation throws him into a full-blown crisis, as his whole identity – his whole life – crumbles before his eyes. Although he still feels like the same person he was before this discovery, he no longer knows who that person is. Does this mean he’s really a woman? He doesn’t feel like one, and his external anatomy still looks the same as it always has. And then there’s the fact that he hasn’t actually seen any irrefutable evidence of this supposed female reproductive system. All he has to go on is the doctor’s word, so it might not even be true for all he knows. Not that he can think of any reason why the doctor would lie about something like that, but his brain is desperately clinging to anything it can find in order to reject this new paradigm. He doesn’t want to accept it. Can’t accept it.

Because if it’s true, doesn’t that mean he’s been living a lie his entire life, and that his more than 40 years of ministry are invalid? Only men can be ordained to the priesthood, so if he’s not truly a man after all, then… All the work he’s done as a priest, all the sacraments he’s performed… All the children he’s baptised, the sins he’s absolved, the couples he’s married, the people he’s given last rites, the people he’s buried… Dear God, what has he done? How many people has he tainted with his sin?

In his turmoil and confusion, Vincent turns to God as so often before, but frustratingly enough, he finds no clear answers to his desperate questions. Neither God nor Mary nor any of the other saints he tries praying to seem to offer any of the guidance and comfort he’s used to getting from them. Relax, is all he gets, you’ll understand in due course.

Usually, this wouldn’t bother him. It’s not the first time he’s received such a response, and normally he can handle having to wait for the insight he’s seeking. But this isn’t like those times. This time, he can’t wait. And yet all he gets is silence.

Lying in his hospital bed, Vincent feels the pain from the blast and the surgery radiating from his abdomen, as if it’s determined to not let him forget what he now knows. Its constant presence keeps reminding him of what’s hidden inside him. The heating pads he’s given alleviate the pain somewhat, but they too are a constant reminder with the way he can feel the weight of them on his abdomen, right over where his shameful secret is hidden. Yet he declines further pain medication, officially reasoning that his pain is light enough now that he doesn’t need it, but the truth is that he knows he doesn’t deserve it. This pain is simply his just punishment for being a freak and a fraud and a liar, of this he’s certain.

Eating becomes a chore too, and it’s a chore he increasingly struggles to muster the motivation for. All he wants to do is to lie in bed and waste away. He can’t really bring himself to engage with the nurses’ attempts to get him back on his feet and move around, other than to use the bathroom, and he doesn’t want visitors. He struggles to sleep as well, plagued as he is by both physical pain and panic-attack-inducing nightmares.

He knows he must seem utterly pathetic like this. Just another old man wasting away in a hospital bed and not taking care of himself. He’s seen himself in the bathroom mirror, seen how he’s begun to look noticeably older than he usually does, and he feels it too. For once in his life, he feels every one of his 64 years.

It's not long before he’s given the second piece of the puzzle - a diagnosis that, at least for the most part, explains how this could happen. A blood test reveals that he was born with a condition called Turner syndrome, which is explained to him as the complete or partial absence of a second sex chromosome. Where most people have XX or XY, Vincent only has an X, and he’s told that this is a rare condition only seen in women.

What it doesn’t quite explain is how his body developed in such a way as to be mistaken for male, as Turner syndrome on its own is associated with unambiguously female external anatomy, so the doctor reasons there must be more going on here too. He offers Vincent further testing to figure out that part of the puzzle, as well as more in-depth information about the diagnosis he’s just been given, but Vincent has already heard enough.

He's confused and overwhelmed by everything he’s learning, and he feels completely alone in his anguish. Neither praying or reading the Bible give any clear answers or direction, and he has nobody he can talk to about it all. Nobody he can tell about this discovery. His parents are both gone by now – he buried them himself – so he can’t talk to them. He doesn’t want to think about what his brothers or sister would say if he told them. And there is no way he can share it with anyone within the Church. Not even going to confession feels private or secure enough for this one.

Dios mío, Dios mío, ¿por qué me has abandonado?

Chapter Text

Returning home from the hospital, Vincent doesn’t go back to work right away. His staff can tell that he has neither physically or mentally recovered from what happened with the car bomb, insisting that he needs to take more time to let himself recover, which he somewhat reluctantly agrees to. He doesn’t tell them that there’s more than just the car bomb weighing on his mind these days. He certainly doesn’t tell them what. He feels like an impostor, like he doesn’t belong here anymore, and so he keeps to himself.

With so much time off, however, he has way too much time to think. About the news he’s been given. About who he is, about what this means for him going forward, about how dirty and sinful he is for serving as a priest in this state. He desperately wishes, not for the first time, that he could drown himself in a bottle. Desperate for a way to make his brain shut up for once, he doesn’t know how else to achieve it right now. Perhaps it’s a good thing that alcohol is illegal in Afghanistan, he reflects wryly.

Although the road ahead is still far from clear to him, there is one thing he knows for sure. Whatever else happens, it’s not right for him to continue in his position as priest. Not like this. He’s a woman at best and a freak of nature at worst, and either way, he’s desecrating the holy priesthood as well as his flock by remaining in his position. He can no longer carry out his duties or the sacraments with a clean conscience, and he’s of no use as a priest like that, to say nothing of the fact that he no longer knows if his ordination is even valid.

Eventually, he can’t take it anymore. One night while he sits alone in his apartment, not too long after his release from hospital, he finds himself staring at a length of rope in his hand. It would be so, so easy to just… solve the problem once and for all. If he leaves behind a note explaining his decision, and the situation he now finds himself in, he’s sure nobody will miss him anymore once they discover the truth. They’ll all just be glad to be rid of him. He’ll be doing them all a favour, really.

But something stays his hand. Replacing the rope with his rosary, he prays instead, and it cannot be a coincidence that he suddenly remembers a number of Bible verses about God’s love and care for all His children. About how everyone is created in God’s image. Things like that are rarely coincidences, in his experience. Usually when there is something he can’t get out of his head during prayer, there’s a message in there somewhere, and he likes to think he’s become rather good at figuring out what that is. The session ends with Vincent in tears, but the rope remains untouched. And Vincent wakes up again the next morning.

He finally writes a letter of resignation to the Pope, agonising for a while over what and how much to say about his reasons. In the end, he settles for simply saying that he seeks complete laicisation rather than simply to be reassigned to another post, and that he’s making this request for unspecified health reasons. At least he’s not lying.

To his surprise, his resignation is refused. So he prays about it, briefly allowing himself to wonder if maybe he’s meant to take the refusal as a sign, but ultimately he settles on trying again with a new letter of resignation. Perhaps adding more context will help. He explains about the car bomb that landed him in hospital in the first place, and says that the recovery has turned out to be tougher than anticipated. Again, not really a lie.

When his resignation is refused a third time, Vincent breaks. He’d hoped to be able to avoid revealing his condition, so that he could at least leave the priesthood with his dignity and reputation intact, but it doesn’t seem like he has a choice. But he supposes that’s what he gets for still trying to conceal his lies and deceit. In frustrated desperation, he once again prays for guidance. And the instruction is clear: tell the truth.

Instead of sending yet another letter, he decides to request a personal audience with the Pope himself this time. Clearly this is a situation that requires direct and immediate face-to-face communication. So eventually, he finds himself on a flight to Rome, practically vibrating with nerves and anxiety the whole way there.

By the time Vincent returns to Kabul, he feels almost light-headed. The meeting with the Pope didn’t go at all the way Vincent expected, and instead of accepting his resignation after hearing the situation fully explained, the Holy Father had helped him make a tentative peace with the situation and decide what to do next. They’d spent a long time talking and praying together as they worked through Vincent’s dilemma, and Vincent had felt more heard and supported than in a very long time. In the end, he’s been allowed to keep his position, and arrangements have been made for him to travel to Switzerland to undergo a hysterectomy. To remove the part of his body that’s causing all these problems.

But even as he returns to work and starts feeling better about the future, and about his identity as a man despite his current physical condition, something is still nagging at him. Like he’s having second thoughts about the upcoming surgery. And when he finally gets the letter confirming the date for his pre-operative appointment and surgery, he doesn’t feel the relief or joy he expected to feel. He just feels empty and confused and unsure what to do about it. So even as he begins taking the necessary steps to be ready for the trip, he prays about it day in and day out, asking God for guidance.

Kneeling by his bed the night before his flight, his fingers toying with the beads of his rosary as he prays, he can no longer deny that he knows what God wants him to do. If he’s being honest, the realisation has been building for a few days already, and now he’s as sure as he’ll ever be, even if he doesn’t understand why. So with less than 24 hours to go before he’s due to fly, he puts down his rosary and cancels the trip.

*****

Though it’s an uphill climb, Vincent slowly grows more secure in his masculinity in the wake of his decision to cancel the surgery. His constant prayers and reflections pay off, and start to reshape the way he views both his identity and his physical situation. Rather than his condition being a curse and a sin, he begins to see it more as… not a gift, exactly, but perhaps as a part of God’s plan for him. His sense of being an impostor doesn’t quite disappear, but it does lessen quite a bit. He begins to ease back into his previously discarded yoga routine, no longer seeing his body as an enemy to fight, and it also helps even more with recovering after his hospital stay.

Sometimes he still doubts. His conclusions seem to contradict established Church doctrine, which has been laid out by skilled theologians, so how can he be sure he’s correct in his interpretations of what he sees as God’s will? That he’s not just hearing what he wants to hear, or letting himself be led astray by Satan’s attempts at separating him from God? It’s a question he’s wrestled with in other circumstances before, but his current situation has brought it right back up to the forefront of his mind again. On particularly bad days, he has nightmares about going to Hell for his sins. He may be a high-ranking member of the clergy, but he’s still just a human and he can still be wrong.

He slowly begins to wonder, however, if perhaps that’s exactly the point God is trying to make here. Vincent knows he’s a little too given to black-and-white thinking sometimes. He doesn’t like uncertainty or grey areas; it goes against everything he’s been taught throughout his life in the Church. And yet here he is, a living, breathing grey area. Perhaps, he hesitantly allows himself to consider, God is asking him to embrace this uncertainty. To let go of the need to have all the answers, and instead trust that God will guide him where he needs to go, both physically and intellectually.

To his great surprise, a letter arrives to his archdiocese from the Vatican some months after his visit with the Pope, naming him a cardinal in pectore. The letter is very specific that this appointment must be kept secret, which is hardly surprising given the nature of Vincent’s ministry. He’s already suffered physical persecution for being a priest; being publicly known as a cardinal could be a death sentence. But despite the highly secretive nature of his elevation and the fact he can’t share it openly, Vincent still takes it as the major sign of trust and approval that it is, thanking God for sending him such a clear sign that he’s still welcome in church. That he’s on the right track with how to handle his situation.

It's kind of ironic, really. By carefully starting to embrace doubt, and allowing himself to question rather than to always have all the answers, he feels like his faith only grows stronger. He begins to feel closer to God than he has in a long time, even before the revelation that rocked his world. And by embracing the female aspects of himself, he begins to develop a healthier and more solid relationship with his masculinity. One that isn’t built on physical features or external validation, but on his God-given internal sense of self.

Chapter Text

The Pope dies on Easter Monday the following year, and before Vincent has really had time to process what’s happening, he’s standing on the balcony of St Peter’s Basilica three weeks later, being presented to the world as the new pope. Never in a million years could he have predicted this when he came to the conclave.

He has to tell the Dean of the College of Cardinals about his situation in the Room of Tears very shortly after being elected. Apparently, the Dean’s assistant has uncovered some of the paperwork related to Vincent’s cancelled trip to Switzerland, put two and two together at least to an extent, and so the Dean comes to confront Vincent about it.

Appearing as calm as ever, Vincent tells him the bare bones of the situation. Tells him about what the doctors had discovered, tells him he’d had no idea about his condition until then, and tells him about going to Rome to talk to the late Holy Father about it. Vincent also circles back to the Dean’s own homily at the beginning of the conclave, and its message of embracing doubt and uncertainty; it had all sounded so very similar to Vincent’s own thoughts surrounding his condition and his faith.

Perhaps it is my difference that will make me more useful, he tells the older man gently. I know what it is to exist between the world’s certainties.

Not everyone is going to be as accepting as the Dean is. Vincent knows that this kind of thing will be seen as very divisive, and as he steps out onto the balcony and looks out across St Peter’s Square, waving to the faithful in his first appearance as Pope Innocent XIV, his polite smile is hiding a deep pit of anxiety inside him. In this day and age, it’s almost inevitable that the truth will leak somehow, and then what? He’s not just worried about himself in that regard, but how will it affect the Church as an institution? He is, after all, ever a servant of the Lord, and he has no desire to deliberately provoke a schism or further sully the Church’s already fraught reputation.

But for now, he manages to push away those thoughts, delivering an opening address that primarily focuses on the terror attacks that took place only hours ago. He also includes a brief comment about how it’s important that young men be taught a more positive and healthy masculinity as opposed to the toxic kind that breeds violence. It’s a comment pulled from the countless reflections he’s made around gender and manhood in the months since discovering his condition, and it’s one of the things he wants his papacy to focus on.

Perhaps especially because of that, he knows deep down that he will have to address the elephant in the room at some point. It can’t stay a secret forever, and he’ll be better off staying in control of when and how it’s released.

*****

Slowly settling into his new role as one of, if not the most influential religious and political figure in the world, Vincent’s insecurities begin returning, quietly at first and then in full force. He once again feels like an impostor; feels like there’s an invisible barrier between him and the people around him. And not just because he’s the Pope now. If they knew, he wonders, would I still be welcome? Would they stand up for me against my opponents? Or would they throw me under the bus as soon as possible?

The thought pops up unbidden at unpredictable moments, just like his memories of the trauma he’s seen and experienced throughout his ministry. He can sit there having a good enough time with his closest advisors, or helping the nuns do the dishes in the kitchen despite head nun Sister Agnes’ protests, and then all of a sudden, he’ll become acutely aware of just how significant his secret is. How he’s only conditionally welcome here as long as he keeps his secret to himself. The secret that has been so instrumental in shattering and re-forming his entire identity and worldview.

Meeting his new medical team for the first time as part of his ascension to the papacy, Vincent’s understanding of his body and his condition are once again challenged, as he finally feels ready to confront the reality of his condition and learn more about it. He can’t share his condition with the world, but he does need his medical team to know.

He goes through several routine examinations he’s had no idea would be necessary, including an ultrasound scan of his reproductive system, which ends up being uncomfortably and unexpectedly invasive when it turns out that his uterus is too small and atrophied to be positively identified by scanning the abdomen. They end up having to do the scan internally instead. It is easily the most embarrassing medical procedure he’s ever had in his 67 years, and he finds himself incredibly grateful for the gynaecologist’s professional demeanour during the exam. And for the fact that he will never need a prostate exam.

After a batch of scans and blood tests, and appointments to discuss the results, he feels like he’s beginning to get a better understanding of his own body. He discovers that his condition does not simply affect sexual development, but that it is in fact a medical condition he should have been followed up for. Everything from his heart to his hearing to his endocrine function is examined to establish what his overall health is like. He learns new terms such as intersex and mosaicism and isochromosome and idiopathic hyperandrogenism. One of his doctors takes the time to show him two previous cases of Turner syndrome patients who were raised as male and only discovered the truth by chance in late adulthood, and Vincent begins to understand more about how his body has developed the way it has.

It takes a little while to process all the medical information he gets, but that’s easier to handle now than when he was originally diagnosed almost three years ago.

For the first time since that original diagnosis, Vincent begins to marvel at the complex creation that is the human body. Each individual human is lovingly formed by God in His image, yes, and yet there are so many complex biological processes involved, and so many ways things can… not go wrong, as such, but diverge from what’s normal. Everyone’s created in the same mold, and yet each individual is completely unique. It’s something he’s reflected on before, when he’s helped deliver babies or baptised them, and now for the first time he can see how it applies to his own situation as well.

And that just makes it all the more painful to see all the hatred that is being thrown at transgender and intersex individuals these days.

He doesn’t believe it’s right for people to play God and alter their bodies to better fit their gender identity – rather, he prays for them to find the same peace he has, and to realise that their bodies do not have to define them – but neither does he believe in making life harder for those who do choose to change their body, or for those people who, like himself, have done nothing more than to simply exist in bodies that don’t fit the typical definitions of male and female. He can’t condone this sort of targeted political assault on a group of people who just want to live their lives in peace.

It breaks his heart every time.

All he can do is to use his position to hopefully influence people; to speak out against this violence, and hope that people listen. It’s an incredibly difficult task to accomplish when he cannot share his own personal connection to the issue, as he has to be very careful about how to argue his case without revealing too much, but with the help of his closest advisors who have been informed of his condition, he tries his best.

There is no way to separate his theological and political views on gender from his own experiences in that regard. There’s barely any way to separate his understanding of theology and faith from the journey he’s had to undertake to reconcile his faith with the biological facts of his body, and yet now he’s expected to do just that. Separate them. Because he cannot let anyone know his secret. And that realisation, in turn, makes him once again question whether he is truly welcome in the church, or if he’s only conditionally welcome.

Perhaps it seems like a ridiculous concern for the Pope himself to deal with. He’s the Pope; of course he’s welcome in the church. And yet here he is. It’s an incredibly lonely place to be, but not an entirely unfamiliar one anymore.

If there is one thing he wants to accomplish as pope, one thing he wants his papacy to be remembered for once he’s gone, it’s creating a church where nobody else ever has to feel the same way. A church where everyone is not just tolerated but welcome, no matter who they are or what baggage is in their past, so long as they come in good faith.

He has a long road ahead of him.

A very long road.