Cardinal Mboya was halfway through the Gospel reading when Pope Francis II felt it. That first unmistakable cramp. The kind that makes time stop and negotiations begin between your body and your will.
He had maybe five minutes. Tops.
The ceremony had another forty-five.
He was seated on the Chair of St. Peter in full vestments - the white cassock, the gold-embroidered stole, the whole production - and twelve thousand people packed St. Peter's Basilica waiting for him to deliver his first official Christmas homily. Camera crews from seventy countries. Every cardinal in the Church watching.
Three minutes now.
Francis II - né Michael Patrick O'Malley from Pittsburgh - stood up. Not slowly, not with ceremony. Just stood. The sudden kind of standing that happens when sitting is no longer an option.
Cardinal Mboya stopped reading mid-verse.
The basilica went quiet.
Francis II gestured to his secretary, Father Antonio, who rushed over with that practiced concerned efficiency.
"Your Holiness?"
"I need the sacristy. Now."
"The homily-"
"Antonio." Francis II's voice dropped and his eyes narrowed. "I need the sacristy now."
Father Antonio's eyes widened with understanding. He made a small gesture to the Swiss Guard stationed at the side entrance.
Two minutes. Maybe less.
They started moving, but Father Antonio was doing that thing where he's trying to maintain processional dignity, hands folded, measured steps.
Francis II grabbed his arm.
"We're not processing. We're walking. Fast."
They walked fast.
The Guard opened the side door and they entered the corridor behind the apse - a long marble hallway lined with portraits of previous popes, all of them looking serene and eternal and definitely not experiencing what Francis II was experiencing right now.
The sacristy was at the far end. Three doors, two locked chambers, and the final door to the bathroom.
Sixty seconds.
Father Antonio fumbled with the keys at the first door's ornate handle.
"Your Holiness, I believe protocol requires-"
"Just open the fucking door!"
The young Swiss Guard's head snapped around. He'd probably never heard a Pope swear before.
Father Antonio was already at the final door with the key, hands shaking as he worked the ancient lock. It clicked.
Francis II was through before it fully opened.
The door slammed.
Outside in the corridor, Father Antonio and the Guard stood in silence. From behind the door came a long relieved sigh, then a faint sound that confirmed exactly what was happening.
The Guard stared straight ahead with studied professionalism. Father Antonio checked his watch and tried not to exist.
--
"..Again, we're getting unconfirmed reports that Pope Francis II has left the Christmas Mass unexpectedly. Our Vatican correspondent says this is highly unusual. We're seeing members of the papal staff moving quickly toward the sacristy. At this time we have no official word on the Pope's condition."
The CNN anchor looked gravely into the camera. Behind her, the feed showed the empty Chair of St. Peter, Cardinal Mboya frozen at the lectern, the congregation murmuring in confusion.
"Father Morrison, you're our Vatican analyst - what could cause the Pope to leave in the middle of Christmas Mass?"
"Well, this is deeply concerning. For the first American pope to interrupt the liturgy like this suggests something serious. We may be looking at a cardiac event, possibly a stroke"
Inside the basilica, an elderly woman in the front row was crying. "He looked so pale," she said to the woman next to her. "Oh God, the Holy Father.."
Camera crews repositioned, all lenses trained on the sacristy entrance. Swiss Guards stood stone-faced, refusing to answer questions. On Twitter, #PopeFrancis was trending worldwide. Speculation ranged from heart attack to political assassination to divine intervention.
Vatican press officers' phones were ringing off the hook.
"We have no statement at this time.."
"I understand, but people are saying the American Pope might be.."
"We will release information when we have it."
A woman in the square collapsed to her knees, praying the rosary. Someone started a prayer circle. The Italian news was already running a retrospective on Francis II's short papacy, complete with somber music.
Father Antonio checked his watch. Six minutes. The door opened.
Pope Francis II emerged, straightening his vestments, looking considerably more at peace.
"Alright," he said. "Let's go give 'em a homily"
They walked back through the corridor. Father Antonio opened the door to the basilica.
The cameras swiveled. Twelve thousand faces turned toward him, many wet with tears. Someone gasped. Then applause started - tentative at first, then building into something like a stadium roar. People were crying harder now, but with relief. The Swiss Guard snapped to attention. Cardinal Mboya looked like he might collapse.
Pope Francis II raised his hand for quiet. Took his seat. Arranged his robes.
"Please," he said into the microphone. "Continue with the Gospel."
In the CNN booth, the anchor touched her earpiece, struggling to maintain composure. "This is - we're witnessing what can only be described as a miracle. The Pope has returned. He appears completely fine. Medical experts, we'll need your analysis on what we just witnessed.."
In the front row, a younger cardinal leaned toward his neighbor and whispered, "I think he just had to take a shit."
The other cardinal's eyes went wide. He covered his mouth.
On Twitter, #PopeMiracle was now trending alongside #PopeFrancis. News outlets were calling it "The Christmas Blessing." Someone had already started a petition to canonize him as a living saint.
Pope Francis II began his homily. Twelve thousand people hung on every word like he'd returned from the dead.