Malachi would never understand her.

How could anyone so kind truly exist? So understanding, even of someone like him – especially of someone like him. He’d killed her grandfather. He’d done countless things before that, too, and in the time since.

It terrified him, that she could relate to his dependency on his deceased father. Malachi felt more and more like him with every day that passed.

He did not want to be for her what Lyle had been for him.

“…If it would make you feel better to do so,” he relented. There was no way he would ever tell her how he ended up in this state (and try to explain Arthur?), but he knew how important his health was to her.

“I’ll stay in here. I… thank you, Nettie. For the room, and… for everything.”

Malachi let his hands fall back to the table’s surface as Nettie pulled away.

“No, I don’t need anything else,” he shook his head, but the movement was slow.

His cassock was freshly cleaned (if he ignored the blood sticking to the inside of it at his chest), and he would return to the church as soon as he felt less liable to ruin his reputation further. Nettie had already gotten the room, after all, and he was exhausted enough to spend his day in it.

“Just tell them… I went for confession.”

Father Richards could not hear his, so it was at least more believable than their head priest being strung out and bloodied in a cheap hotel room.

He managed a smile in return, but it was the same, slightly off one he’d thrown her way before.

It was the best that he could do, at the moment.

Malachi looked back to the food on the table once his niece had left. He picked at it some, ate what he could – which was not much, but he tried. It was not long after that he wound up on the bed anyway, lured over by the draw of sleep.

He curled in on himself on his side, lying atop all of the blankets and covers, and slept.

Malachi awoke with a shiver, burning up in the thick layers of his frock. He lifted his head and, upon making (some) sense of where he was and seeing Nettie at the table, pushed himself up to sit at the edge of the bed for a few moments.

Somehow his entire body felt even worse.

With a wince, Malachi moved to the table. He looked distractedly through the supplies before setting a gentle hand on Nettie’s shoulder, and saying, “Nettie?”

“It’s quite alright,” Malachi assured, offering her a small smile as she straightened up.

Having someone to assist him in cleaning and bandaging his wounds would be… ideal, yes, but did he really want her to see the extent of it?

“I slept well,” he answered honestly. “I am still tired, though. Ah… I can take care of bandaging myself, though, really. I don’t want to bother you with that.”