Nettie agree to walk him home. Of course, she did. He wasn't well and while she'd been looking ward to spending a little time with him, guilt ate at her that he'd come to see her when he needed rest.

She hung her head, hiding her troubled face. "I'm sorry, I made you come out when you should be resting." She felt that small worry worm it's way back into her mind, growing into doubt. 

"You do need to take it easy, uncle. Please think of yourself. I won't ask you to escort me the next meeting, I shouldn't have troubled you this time." 

She turned around to pass the other two quickly to head to the church.

It was not like him to conceal his thoughts from her. Even when he changed them, when he warped them into something more palatable, more acceptable, less distressing from a man like him – he thought it important to keep some measure of honesty between them.

Yet, as he walked at her side and tried not to let his mind linger on what they left behind them, he found that task was nearly unachievable.

Malachi glanced her way at the apology, noting the way she’d lowered her head, as if she’d done something shameful. Not even in the hardest days of his youth had he ever been ashamed of her. Not even when her actions, however typical of a child, got him in trouble; not even when she’d thrown that rock hard enough to draw blood in his ‘defense.’ Never had he punished her for any of her thoughts, her questions, her beliefs; not once had he even raised his voice.

Why, now, did she hang her head in shame, like his judgment was something to be feared?

“No, I want to escort you,” he insisted, giving her a gentle nudge with his arm.

If he was still around, that was.

“And if I ever can’t, I want you to be careful. I know that you can take care of yourself, but I worry about you too, you know.”

Malachi managed a smile, and after a moment it felt less forced. His head ached where his hair still covered the bruises.

“Now, please. You still haven’t told me about your meeting.”

It was quiet as they walked, she knew her uncle liked his silence and normally she'd fill the emptiness with chatter, but today her words dried up in her throat. She didn't even mention meeting a nice man in town. Maybe he'd worry if he thought she liked someone. It seemed selfish to mention anything good in her life when he seemed struggling. Did he still like Whitby?

Her face slowly rose to glance in his direction when he said he wanted to take her and she smiled though it was only slight and she nudged him back. "Alright, but if you aren't better, I will give you such an earful for not taking it easy or seeing a doctor."

Immediately that smile and moment was gone when he spoke again. She blinked while taking a second to think on what he was saying and shook her head. "You... can't talk like that. You're young and in the prime of your life. I won't have you thinking about leaving me just yet, alright? " She loved her uncle and wanted him to live a long life fulfilled in whatever would make him happy. She had traveled all this way to help make it so.

She looked forward again as they walked. "It went well. We tried some techniques the others knew, I showed them how I made poppies. They really seemed to like that." Her fingers reached into her coat pocket as she presented him with a handkerchief. "I made you one. I should have given it to you inside while you were coughing, but I didn't think about it quickly enough since I wondered if it were better to give you another and leave it a surprise. I am sorry..."

Ah. That… clearly had not come out the way he had intended it.

Malachi blinked, staring forward as he processed her… valid concern. Valid, yes, because he had found himself in dangerous situations far more often as of late and could not exactly guarantee his safety at all times, nor could he guarantee that he would even be careful, but he hadn’t meant it like that.

But the words stuck. Lodged themselves just south of his throat, burrowing gradually into his heart.

I won’t have you thinking about leaving me just yet, alright?

And the way he interpreted it – he knew that it wasn’t what she meant. He knew, or at least he assumed, that she hadn’t meant for it to make him feel even worse for considering leaving the priesthood, but it did. For almost as long as she had lived, he had been a priest. It was as fundamental to who he was as his love for her; did leaving it all behind mean leaving her, too? Or at least leaving behind some part of her, some part that idolized a faithful priest?

He said nothing, for no words came to him then. This life might not have been the one he would have chosen – it was not even the one he wanted now, if he was being truly honest with himself – but he had always had someone else to consider in that choice. He was glad when she followed his quick change of subject.

“…This is for me?” Malachi asked, as if to confirm that he hadn’t misheard. Took the handkerchief when it was handed over, turned it over in his careful hold to examine it. Distractedly, he said, “don’t be sorry.”

How could an embroidered handkerchief stab him in the heart the way it did? His fingertips felt too warm where they smoothed over the design; too destructive, too dirty.

“It’s beautiful,” he finally said, low voice thick in his throat. “It’s better that you gave it to me now, I would have hated to ruin it. Thank you, Nettie.”

Malachi took a steadying breath and lowered the item, but kept it in his hand, holding tightly to it.

“And – please, tell me you’re settling in well?”

Nettie looked concerned when he took a time to speak, and was glad to have a reason to change the conversation. Even outside on a beautiful day, she felt a heaviness and now she worried. He seemed down when she told him she didn't want him to die, was there more going on and he was trying to protect her? She wondered if she could bribe every doctor in town to tell her if her uncle had some incurable condition.

"Of course it is for you. No one else matters more to me." She said hoping it would lift his spirit a little. It wasn't much, a handkerchief with the poppies she had been showing off with his initials stitched carefully in the corner in a pure white which was bright against the common more beige fabric. She'd wished she had something nicer but he liked the humble things and she wanted him to feel free to use it.

Nettie stared at him and her smile shrank but didn't disappear. It had a calm and serenity to it, wanting to reach him and let him know she cared for him and wanted to be a support for him no matter the storm he had to weather.

"You could never ruin it. And it would make it all the better if it was useful to you. " She immediately hugged him, now worried something was befalling the man who was like a father to her. "If something happens to it, just tell me. I'll make you as many as you want."

Nettie’s arms pulled him closer.

Malachi had never felt so far away.

Fingers tightened their grip on the handkerchief, arms remaining awkwardly at his sides. He’d never minded closeness with her – (tried not to mind it, convinced himself enough that he didn’t) – but in that moment it felt constricting. Suffocating, for her worried words had stolen his breath and her handkerchief covered his face.

His eyes had reddened, but his cheeks were dry. Gently, as if the slightest force could damage her, Malachi set his arms upon her shoulders in return of the hug.

“Please,” he repeated, quieter this time. “Just tell me something good.”

Malachi barely rest his hands on her, he even hid his face from her. She felt her worries were right. He was embarrassed and she was burdening him. She slowly withdrew and looked at the road ahead and started to walk again. She told herself she was too old to cry. He'd always been there for her but she was an adult now and it was stupid to cling to him.

"Like what? Everything is fine. It's always fine, isn't it?" She managed to say as she didn't want to look back. A rope she'd clung to without realizing it was severing and she was trying to not make it break faster.

There was a fragment of him that’d splintered off; no longer needed, or perhaps simply no longer appropriate, left to rest and rot and fall dormant. Only it hadn’t truly severed itself – it found life in every curse he spat, every greedy mouth he ever kissed, every surrender, every complaint, every perversion of the gospel he shared and every shattering of once-solid vows. It scratched incessantly at the confines of his skull and begged, no- demanded, to be given a choice of its own.

To be selfish.

To be allowed to not be okay, without worrying all the more for what his own condition did to someone else.

To be his own person, for once, to not be a priest of, the son of, the orphan of, the ‘father’ of.

Malachi nodded and stepped back to walk at her side, though the answer left him dissatisfied. He looked over the handkerchief again, thumbing over the initials she’d stitched onto it. And how selfish it was of him, he thought, to feel this way and to make her suffer for it. To distance himself from the only person that still lived that loved him.

“Yes, I suppose you’re right,” he agreed distantly. “It’s always fine.”

He slipped the handkerchief into his pocket. Lifted his head, and with an embarrassed smile, said, “I didn’t mean to press. I just want to know that you’re doing well here, that you’re…”

Still alive. Still happy. That she hadn’t woken up one day to find that she shared the sentiments of the rest of the family and that he was beneath her.

“…It just makes me feel better to hear about you. What you’re doing, how your friends are. Your letters were always the highlight of my days,” he admitted, and tried not to sound too ashamed of it.

Nettie kept her head down but didn't want him to think she was rude. She brought her head up and her eyes were glistening with unfallen tears but her cheeks had pinkened from the attempts to resist crying.

"Of course I'm ok. My friends are good, they rarely have a bad day. I was even thinking of inviting them to Whitby to see the place. I even met a boy in town." She finally admitted but her voice cracked.

She reached out and slapped his arm lightly. "It's you I worry about! You are slipping away from me. I'm sorry I embarrass you, uncle. I just want to stay close and help you but I don't know how any more. But if I'm a burden I can leave you alone. The last thing I ever wanted was to be a problem for you." She finally admitted. Nettie was terrible at keeping things from him.

Wait, what? He turned his head immediately when Nettie mentioned having met a boy, a frown pulling at the corners of his mouth.

“What bo- ow!”

Malachi winced as she slapped his arm, jerking it out of her reach before she could think to do it again. Wouldn’t have hurt on a normal day, light as she’d done it, but all the bruises and scrapes were yet to heal.

He couldn’t blame her for her frustrations, of course.

“That isn’t…” he let his arm fall back to his side. “You aren’t a burden.”

Why had he raised her to be so caring? Couldn’t he have raised a rich little bastard like everyone else? At least then he wouldn’t feel so guilty for making her cry.

“It also isn’t your job to worry so much over me. I’m only embarrassed that you feel there’s so much about me to stress over – as if I’m incapable of managing myself,” he said.

Back in the house, in those few minutes he’d spent out of sight, it had felt like finding part of an answer. Not all of one, but enough to guide the way forward. Now it all felt obscured, and the fog was thick enough that he couldn’t even tell where he was trying to go.

“Tell me about the boy,” Malachi requested, “or I’ll be stressing over that.”