As if summoned (or perhaps more accurately, as if he had been waiting to hear the very words spoken), Malachi appeared in the darkened doorway to the sacristy. Nearly faded into it, clothed in a black that matched the hair that framed his face and the eyes that peered curiously out into the nave.

"Hello," offered Malachi. Hands clasped behind his back, he stepped into the light and slightly nearer to the visitor.

He must have just come in from the rain, from the looks of him. For a moment Malachi's gaze fell upon the water left behind by this visitor, slickening the floor of the church, before it settled on the man himself.

"I'm Father Brennan, I've taken over for Father Kemble. What can I do for you?"

I'm a little lost sheep you see...

If he were a more openly expressive man, the amusement that those words brought to Malachi might have made him smile. As it was, though, they brought a mere glint into his eyes; a sparkle of something that passed as soon as it appeared.

Opting not to reward the visitor's statement with a response, he moved on from it instead.

"No," said Malachi, shaking his head. "Father Richards is still here. His duties have shifted slightly."

It was probably the nicest, simplest way he knew how to put it, without airing his fellow priest's business. Malachi stared at the extended hand, reluctant, and took it gently between both of his own instead of shaking it.

"I'm glad to see you here, Mister Tully," he released the hand and quickly returned his own to rest behind his back.

"If you're still interested, I won't turn down the help."

If the comment about being a little lost sheep had been unexpected, Mister Tully's forwardness regarding the state of his faith was even more so. It was not... unheard of, of course, but it surprised him how willing he was to lead with it.

Malachi cleared his throat almost awkwardly, uncertain how he was meant to take the man's words. They felt half-praising and half-insulting.

"Of course. There's no need to prove yourself to me, Mister Tully, I believe you. Ah, I'm curious, however... why do you say that God has abandoned you?"

There was no hint of judgement in the priest's low voice, but he could not mask his concern.

Malachi allowed Mister Tully the time he needed, lingering patiently where he had first stepped out. When he finally sat, Malachi followed at a delay and did the same, leaving a few feet of space between them on the bench.

Loss such as his... it had never been difficult for Malachi to understand why so many turned their backs on the faith. Why so many poor souls cursed the heavens, cursed the earth; why it was easier for someone who had never faced such tragedies to remain steadfast in their beliefs.

There was a brief silence before he spoke.

"It is man's nature to sin. To question why, to go against, to... do what we must to survive."

He wanted to tell him that he understood, that he knew what that desperation felt like. What that abandonment felt like. But in telling him anything, he would tell him too much.

"Your hands have made me and shaped me, together all around; yet You destroy me. Isn't it strange how God's hands form us out of sin? Like clay, we're molded and made from that sin into something useful, or beautiful, or pleasing, and given purpose in our new shapes. How much care and effort went into our creation, yet we're so easily dropped and shattered. We blame the hands for not holding us tighter, even when they try to align the broken pieces."

Malachi breathed out a quiet sigh, and added, "I cannot glue them back together for you, of course. I can only help guide them into place, should you wish to be mended. If a meal and a roof over your head is enough for you, then you are always welcomed in the church."

A secret from a man in need. Malachi would have kept it regardless, the same as he kept everything else: tucked just beneath his skin, bound so tightly to his bones that they must have been filled with secrets in place of marrow. His expression remained carefully neutral.

Why, he wanted to ask, why do you say he's turned against you when you've turned against him too?

The question lingered at the back of his tongue. It tasted bitter, as all things did that weren't meant to be said.

When Mister Tully concluded, having admitted his love for another man, Malachi found that the question died away. He looked to Mister Tully before he could consider doing otherwise, and hoped that his surprise was not as clear as it felt. Mister Tully was... Malachi mulled over the thought. He... he wasn't the man that had fallen for Father Richards, was he?

No, not according to what he'd just said. Not if he had only ever loved one man. Malachi gave a small nod.

"What was he like?"