The touch of Nettie’s hand made him shiver, however slightly, but Malachi’s hand was warm.

He couldn’t believe this was happening. Why, wouldn’t it, he supposed, it sure was a long time coming – but it was so much worse when it was real, and this time there was no evading it. All the evidence bruised and broke his skin for the rest of the world to see him seeping through the cracks.

A calmer quiet settled over him as he listened to her speak, soothed by the sound of her familiar voice. She didn’t even know what she was promising, when she said that she would help. That she loved him.

Malachi had always flinched away from saying it back to her, as much as he would have meant it if he did.

Everything he loved ran away from him.

A soft, amused huff met her final question. He picked his head up from where it laid against the handkerchief in his hand, and let his eyes wander over the food she had prepared.

“That one wasn’t true,” he answered softly. “But the…”

He trailed off, clearly uncomfortable and unsure of himself.

“…The men,” Malachi frowned. “The money, the… wine.”

The drugs were new, he wanted to say. They were just to help him sleep. But she’d know as well as he did that that was just an excuse. His thumb rubbed gently against hers, shaking still from heavy use. Hesitant, he finally lifted his gaze to meet her stare.

“You said that I’ve been good to you, and to others, and – I have. I know I have. But what if I’m not a good person?”

He thought of the answer Tully had given when he’d posed a similar question: that only actions mattered, in the end. Malachi had always thought that it was true, but – what if it wasn’t? What if the good things he did didn’t matter, because of who was doing them?

“What if I’m just – a terrible person, Nettie, that just happens to sometimes do good things?”