Series/Disclaimer: Trinity Blood characters don't belong to me.
Pairing(s): None.
Warning(s): Nothing really, except some extreme vaugeness and late of plot or point.
Chapter OST: All The Same - Sick Puppies ; What Have You Done Now? - Within Temptation
Author's Note: WOW. I know. I'm on top of it, aren't I? Two pieces of writing so quickly. o:

Unfortunately, this one really has absoultely no plot at all. I really, really wanted to write something with Brother Petro from Trinity Blood. Especially something between him and Alessandro. See, I can see them as a pairing and at the same time I don't. I'd really like to get into a sweet scene with them (which I tried desperately to portray with Petro kissing his hand) just because Alessandro is a sweet-heart and Brother Petro is, quite literally, his knight. He says so in the series!

Anyway, I'm pretty sure realistically they kiss the Pope's ring but Alessandro is never seen wearing a ring as far as I know. Plus the idea of Petro kissing his hand seemed more intimate without being to an extreme. Needless to say that brief part was the most fun for me to write. I'm a little shakey about the idea of Alessandro intitating such a thing, but after what happens in Albion I'm sure he feels much more comfortable with the Brother.

Well, yes, I'm already working on a second snippet of these two and perhaps a mini-plot line though that's very unlikely at this stage in my brain. Still, I'm on a brother Petro high right now and desperately seeking to write anything about him that I can. If you need a reference, then please, I emplore you to go to and look up Trinity Blood Characters.

You can find Alessandro under 'The Vatican: Leaders' and Petro is under 'The Vatican: The Department of Inquisition'.

Anyway, enjoy!

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Francesco di Medici never raised a hand to his younger brother that anyone could see. At least not a physical one. His verbal strikes, however, were many and quite loud. It seemed quite impossible to imagine a day passing without that loud voice spouting what should have been reason. In reality, that 'reason' often disintegrated into cruel taunts. Albeit they were cleverly masked by a glowing and powerful vocabulary but it was abuse all the same. One could almost proclaim that it was self-righteousness but it really seemed, even through the densest of fog, more like bitterness. Bitterness that it was Pope Alessandro and not Pope Francesco.

Still, Petro's thoughts didn't wrap around that idea so much – after all Francesco was the leader of the Inquisitorial Department to which he belonged. Instead, his brow was folded in deep concern for the boy towards which that bitterness was aimed. The degree to which his discomfort showed was truly painful to realize. He watched Alessandro recoil into his chair and himself as his elder brother's voice resounded off the high walls of the cathedral. It was a fear that his face turned into something humorous yet was shockingly real in his eyes. They regarded Francesco with panic and worry; like a small animal that truly believed its own demise to be near.

Petro hated those days he returned to Rome, awaiting council with his Holiness to report potentially troublesome activity. Those days where he stood watching God's chosen try to hide in the folds and creases of his own clothes took and unknown toll on him. Not on his body so much as his heart.

He was the Pope's Knight, was he not? Hadn't he sword to protect him so long as he should draw breath? Yet there was so little he could do to protect an internal confliction such as this. Face him with heretics and monsters, vampires and assassins – bring around the most dangerous beasts that dare pose a threat to his Holiness and they would all fall to the might of his Screamer. Until his life slipped from this Earth, his body would be the shield and sword used to defend him. No outside harm dare he let pass to hurt that precious boy.

But therein lay his turmoil and helplessness. Francesco was no vampire or heretic – simply a forceful presence. He was an older brother and a confidant for his Holiness – two things that Petro was not. There was no way to protect or overcome those harsh words. Even raising his own objections was out of bounds and the first traitorous step towards blasphemy. Though innocent and intended out of only the best thoughts, it would mean nothing. It would mean nothing and do so little if it accomplished anything at all.

Instead he stood in silence, waiting for Francesco's voice to filter from the walls before daring to speak himself. Taking sure but measured steps forward, he dropped to one knee before the Pope. For some reason his words felt softer, not in voice but in meaning. They left his lips simply, despite the many technical and advanced words he knew. It wasn't until a little later that he realized why, but he finished timely and remained silent. There was really little to report, he should have sent Sister Paula to give the update but something called him home. He found himself suddenly missing this city and the sight of the Vatican.

Soon there was the sound of movement and the softest dust of surprise settled on them. With his head inclined in respect, Petro only came to the light when his Holiness's voice was suddenly so near. The difference was so hard to tell – for the Pope had always been a soft-spoken individual – but that very subtleness made him seem so much closer.

"T-Thank you, Brother Petro." It was informal and formal at the same time. A lightness had touched down on his chest as though God himself had seen fit to relieve him of invisible demons that he himself was not aware of or had suppressed. The words, through their simplicity, echoed sentiments he knew he did not deserve.

"Your Holiness is too kind. The protection and spread of prosperity in God's and his Holiness's name is my divine duty, one that I accept with my body, heart, and eternal soul," his eyes slipped shut in a solemn gratitude and perhaps a brush of regret, "Your thanks is a blessing I do not deserve."

And though he would not look up, he felt an aura of sadness and understanding from the boy standing over him. The warmth of his gratefulness, for whatever it was Petro had done, was gentle but as vibrant as the afternoon sun. Surely there was nothing he had done to earn such a privilege in this life. Something brushed at the pale blue bangs that hung away from his face. His eyes opened hastily to discover a white hand hovering near his forehead. Only for a second did the gesture confuse him before he moved. His own gauntlet-protected hand moved up, supporting the other's with ease as he pressed his lips to the ivory cloth. Thru the soft glove he could sense warmth and wondered briefly if Alessandro's skin was just as soft.

"I-I hope you'll tell me about your travels later. I-I really want to hear…about these places you see."

Pulling back, Petro pressed his forehead lightly against the back of the glove, "As you wish, Your Holiness."

Too soon he was rising to his full height and allowing that hand to slip from his grasp. He was certain that if he were to glance to either Cardinal, a look of surprise would still be in their eyes. Lady Caterina's would certainly be understanding but firm; Francesco's in a touch of distain. But as he turned to leave, Brother Petro Orcini allowed only Pope Alessandro's smile to steal his gaze.