In the absence of understanding, it didn’t take long for tears to dry and for something else to take their place. A few hours- no, still more than that. Another rotation of the earth. A day lost to cleaning up the mess left in someone else’s wake after he’d already shoved the evidence of his own back into place. Another day and subsequent night spent sleepless and he wasn’t even sure how long it’d been since he last slept.

That was unimportant. He spent the time striking things off his list of priorities. Moved altars back into place, gathered the nest of half-written notes, a cork that bore the indentations of teeth. And once he found his keys and retreated to his room, he tore everything apart just to put it back together.

This time without the smell of lavender, dried or fresh. Without a stolen glove, and a gifted deck of cards, and a bag of sharp knives, and the little lacquer box that had lived in it. He cleaned and scrubbed the room until his fingers bled and then he waited, and waited, and waited.

Mr. Tully had been evasive as of late.

Whether he was afraid of being kicked out or if he, too, was disgusted by the priest, Malachi wasn’t sure. But he’d been quick to slink around and stay out of sight since the last time they’d shared space.

So Malachi waited. Ear pressed to the door, silent save his quiet breath. He’d been listening for-… over a day now, confined to the space behind his bedroom door. When he heard Tully slink down the hall, he arose on sore legs and followed after, swift and silent as a shadow.

“Mr. Tully,” Malachi called only once he’d followed him outside.

“Good morning,” he smiled, eyes dark behind the glare of his spectacles. “Do you have a moment to talk?”

Of course Tully had been evasive. He knew he was only there because Father Brennan had allowed him there. He had tried to avoid everyone in case the priest had told them a change in plans. He didn't stay every night but when he really craved a cot and a meal, he'd return. He tried to avoid this priest in particular and thought he was doing a good job until the voice piped up.

He'd spun around quickly and stared at him nervously. He stepped back as there was nothing sounding sweet and welcoming in his voice. "Good..morning ... Father. I was just.. " he looked at his hands but couldn't tell for certain if they were empty. Even if he had no blade, could he over power and just force the life out of him? "I.. um.." he looked back and forth but they were alone. "Sure...we can talk here.." he said.

Was this how he died? Being murdered by a hypocritical priest who didn't like his tone and how he figured out at least one of his secrets?

The beggar’s response earned a laugh from the priest, genuine and full without any of the warmth.

“Be not afraid,” said Malachi, his smile unwavering. What did Mr. Tully think he would do? Wring his neck? Stab him like he could have done before? How little he must have thought of him. The consequences that would cause would far outweigh the pleasure of ending his pathetic life.

“I’ve felt your absence lately, Mr. Tully, and I wanted to ensure that there were no misunderstandings between us. I don’t feel right about where we left things the last time we spoke.”

One hand appeared from behind his back, gesturing casually to the side as if he wished for Mr. Tully to follow. Whether he did or not, Malachi didn’t go far, merely moving to the side of the church – and when his back was turned, his other hand rested just as empty.

Francis rose his brow as he followed the other. "What are you talking about? There was no misunderstanding from my place. You were dallying with the detective. You're not a good priest, much like Kemble. " He said in a lower voice. "He did the work for money and power. "

He rose a brow as he tried to make sure he remained more than an arm length away. "I don't know what you want to besides pretty men. Definitely funny how you would probably touch a leper over me. Cause people like me aren't like you, right? I'm disgusting and don't deserve a kind hand now and again?"

He wanted to spit at him, but he hoped the others weren't so far if he screamed they would hear. Would it be nice to have them catch him and arrest the tall priest for killing a harmless homeless man? Eh, it would be buried out of sight in no time.

My, he was ever so bold. The rashness with which Tully spoke almost even managed to break through to him.

Malachi maintained his composure however, bringing both cold hands to join behind his back once more. He let the beggar speak without interruption, regardless of the weight of his accusations.

“No,” he denied, shaking his head. “You’re right about some of it, but not that. I do not find you disgusting, nor do I wish to deny you the help that you deserve.”

He wouldn’t have taken him in at all if that were the case. Did he dislike him? Yes. Absolutely. Tully had played far too big a part in the deterioration of the situation for him to feel otherwise.

“When we met, you said that I could never understand because I’d never been in love. You’re wrong,” Malachi watched him a moment longer, and then glanced away, pacing slowly as he spoke.

Somewhere lost in memory, he could almost hear the sounds of a piano echoed through vast, decadent rooms, carrying even through the floor, to him. Could almost recall a man’s face before it rotted in the dirt, but not quite.

“I’ve been in love. I lost him, too. And even now, I felt love for someone else,” he felt the corners of his mouth twitch, but kept his smile even so. “I did not want faceless pretty men, Mr. Tully, I wanted him. Yes, that makes me a terrible priest – but I want to help people. I do.”

The scrawny younger man frowned at him. "Sure sure, whatever you say." The man certainly didn't act the way he was claiming. He wondered what he was up to.

He spoke of love, Francis rose a brow but didn't make any sign of satisfaction at the priest's supposed trouble over wanting someone and, he guessed, not having him. "Well, love isn't guaranteed. I don't know if it was one sided or someone screwed it up." He didn't care either. Normally he'd love the drama, but this priest had settled a bad taste in his mouth that soaked in deep and wasn't going to be forgiven any time soon if ever.

"What has any of this to do with me?" He said, getting to the point. So far, the priest hadn't tried to kill him. And he still watched him to be sure he didn't get too close.

Mr. Tully was… well. Difficult as always. Maybe that was a part of why it irked him so much that Aslan could have ever put any trust in him – but that was not what this was about.

He was not thinking about that. Couldn’t, if he meant to keep himself on the right side of the law long enough for Tully to scamper off again.

Malachi felt his smile finally falter, but not long enough for him to lose hold of it completely.

“I wanted someone to know, I suppose,” he confessed. “And you’re the only one that understands.”

There were others that would listen, that would probably offer something other than a cold shoulder to his admissions, but he couldn’t tell them. Not now. It was just… over. Tully was the only person alive besides himself and Aslan that even knew it’d happened.

“Aslan was very important to me, and… I just needed to say it to someone.”

Malachi dipped his head reverently, allowing his smile to fade. Without it he just looked exhausted.

“You have no interest in clearing the air between you and me, then?”

Francis was quite ready to wash his hands of this man, or perhaps offer to let bygones be bygones... as long as he was allowed to keep staying. But then the asshole had to say that he was the only one that understood. He stopped his fidgeting and stared at him, searching anything visible or just any feeling he was lying to him. But it wasn't there.

He rubbed his arm awkwardly and stepped in place one or twice, trying to think of what to say. His frown deepened as he looked at the man. "Well. Alright. I know, and I do understand. Why do you care what I think though? Isn't it important enough that he knows?" He asked but then maybe Aslan didn't want him the same way. He was a weird guy, he couldn't blame him.

"I'd ask why he was and isn't, but I don't think you want to talk about that." He finally said and then sighed grumbling aloud. "Fine... I.." he waved his hand as he struggled for words. "I suppose.. I can let this air be clear. But you were an ass, and I'm not going to change my mind on that. But I can let the future decide how I treat you. Maybe..' He still intensely watched the man, just because the man wanted someone to understand didn't mean he sincerely gave a damn. Not that that was new for Francis. He was sure both priests prayed for the day they'd find his bloated body on the beach.

It wasn’t enough that Aslan knew, because he didn’t.

Or perhaps he really had believed him, and decided that in spite of it, Malachi was still lacking.

Either way. Malachi would let Mr. Tully come to his own conclusions if he cared enough to do so; he had no intention of ever having to utter Aslan’s name again after this. None of the why’s mattered when they had no effect on the outcome.

That the priest was surprised to hear Tully’s reluctant concession was, for once, written clearly across his pale features. While he had asked, he had not actually expected for the beggar to… listen. Whatever intentions Malachi might have had when he followed him down the hall, whatever plan he might have made while he waited, it had to be thrown out when Mr. Tully threw it all off-track.

He had expected no sign of compassion from him, small as it was. It was a shock to his overtired system, and-

Malachi didn’t know what to do with it.

“I intend to correct my path, moving forward,” he promised quietly, at least in reference to his work. Tully was not wrong about him being a bad priest, no matter how much he wanted to help and serve others. He did want to correct things. He just wouldn’t mention how.

“More importantly, I don’t want for you to feel as though you have to hide when you’re here. The church should be a safe haven for anyone that needs it, and I’m sorry that I made it feel otherwise.”

Father Brennan hadn't expected his response. He didn't know what the man expected. Did he think he was that uncaring? He folded his arms and looked away as he wasn't going to be easy about it, even though he was open to it.

"Correct your path? What is that?" He didn't know if the man mean to be a better priest, or not be one at all to find what he wanted that fit the man better. When he tried to apologize for how he made him feel, finally Francis smirked and shrugged.

"What does that matter? I still came, didn't I? You were an ass, so was Richards. No one is perfect. If I want to feel wanted, I'll go sell myself in dark alleys for bottom of the barrel prices. I deserve it sometimes, but sometimes you both go a step too far. And that I guess is what happens because people think you priests are all perfect just because you serve an unseen, unfeeling, and unspeaking boogeyman."