Francis expected the shocked look, but suddenly felt strangely relaxed that the man didn't look disgusted or threw him out. He leaned his head back to stare at the ceiling and smiled dreamily as he remembered the face from what felt like a lifetime ago.

Slowly his hand rose slightly to his forehead before dropping to his side. "Lewis was.. a hair shorter than myself. But he was strong, and kind. Nicest man you could ever meet. And always wanted to help people. He had these beautiful curls you could run your fingers through forever and a smile that shined brighter than the sun. " He sighed happily. "And the greenest eyes you could lose yourself in.."

His smile slowly fell. "He was just like an angel, he was so perfect. I used to wonder if I was tested by God and that's why he took him. But you know, why would he care about me? Maybe the test was for him.. and I caused Lewis to fail so God took him back. " He looked depressed and folded his arms as he laid his head back to stare at the ceiling.

Any discomfort that the priest might have been feeling was, at the very least, well-masked. Malachi had heard more confessions than he could ever care to count, but there was something different about being told the truth face-to-face. Maybe that was why Mister Tully looked up at the ceiling instead, and why Malachi stared down at his hands.

All the things that he'd been told to say in these situations -- he never did say them. Never could. If that made him an awful priest, then that was what he was. But he had made it this far without condemning anyone, and his former parish at least had liked him for it.

After a long moment had passed, Malachi asked him, "why wouldn't God care about you, Mister Tully?"

This man was not the first that had pondered such things in his presence, though the specifics of his pain and his loss were wholly different.

"Not all things are intended as tests from God. Maybe neither of you were sent to test the other, Mister Tully, but to provide comfort in the time that you did have. If he wanted to punish you, he would never have let you have him at all."

Ever since Francis had been exposed, he'd faced a lot of obstacles and hatred. Long after leaving his home town, the weight had carried on his shoulders unseen to the point he'd let go trying to care. As he sat in the pew to hide from the rain, and actually poured out his heart just because or perhaps in some form of self destruction, he'd never expected what came from the other man's mouth.

He didn't seem to hear him, but the poor man had seem frozen in thought and turned his head towards Father Brennan wide eyed. He'd experienced some superficial compassion in this town from people who didn't know him well. He certainly knew he'd done nothing to deserve it. But still, he stared at the other's face and slowly a frown grew and his eyes glistened with unfallen tears.

"If God cared, why would he do such a thing? I wasn't perfect but I wasn't a bad man and I believed in him back then. And if you're saying neither of these things were tests. And he just died because that's how life is. And that... that letting me have him for such a short time then losing him isn't punishment.."

He draped his arm over his eyes as his voice almost cracked and then he forced out a weak laugh. "Then I see why they keep you priests celibate. You've never been in love before, father."

It was fortunate, the way the other man covered his eyes right then, for Malachi's smile was curt.

"No," he admitted. "Not love."

There was a slight delay in the softening of his expression, the return to something more understanding of the lost sheep and his fount of sorrows. He bit back the things he wanted to say. Caught them by their necks and leashed them, but he could not fully muzzle their loud barking in his head. Incessant, it was. Annoying.

"I cannot claim to understand the ways of God, nor would I tell you to try. But if Lewis was destined to pass when he did, then maybe you were God's gift to him. Someone that would love and remember him, and carry his memory beyond his grave. Are you familiar with the story of Job, Mister Tully?"

Francis didn't move his arm and gave a helpless muttering of ,"then God is an ass for it. He had so much life left in him."

The man wanted to be difficult as he'd come here for food and shelter. But some of his words struck the man who'd turned his back on religion. His head slowly tilted to finally look in the direction of the priest from the corner of his eye. "Course I do. What about it? Saying I should be steadfast no matter my sorrows on earth?"

At the man's muttering, he couldn't help but give a quiet, cut-off laugh. Then God is an ass for it? The people here spoke so plainly, even in the direct presence of a priest, and a part of him was beginning to warm to it.

He supposed that Mister Tully, whether he claimed to believe in God or not, still blamed him for his sufferings. Malachi was not sure what to make of it.

"Sure," he began with a nod. Turning slightly to face Mister Tully, he took care to leave a fair amount of space between them on the pew while he spoke.

"But that isn't all there is to it. We should remain steadfast, of course we should, but even Job in all his faith began to doubt towards the end. He, like many others in the scripture, questioned why God let such things happen to those that loved him most. He was so sure that he had done something wrong, that he was being punished for some sin against God."

There was no easy answer to that question of why. There was even less of one that he believed would be of any comfort.

"You said you were a good man before. I don't believe that's changed, Mister Tully."

[Cw: reference to prostitution]

Francis dropped his arm and started to toy with some threads on his sleeve. "I appreciate your kindness so far, father. Most who walk through those doors wouldn't give me such kindness. But you're naive to think there's much of any good left. It was the good flock back home and through out my travels that has brought me to this point. Not acts of his all mighty. Our families kicked me out for loving him though I did nothing more. And no one who sits in pews like this want to help out a stranger in need funny enough. "

He chuckled low and looked away. avoiding Brennan's gaze, "but it's strange how some wolves who hide among them will come out when a guy hits rock bottom comes along and will offer anything for a meal and a drink or two."

He stopped messing with the strand of thread. "Is that part of his plan or just the truth of the world? "

Malachi was a patient man, almost endlessly so. His patience for the faithless even eclipsed what he had for the faithful, for he could tolerate their doubts and criticisms long before the self-important rhetoric of those that claimed belief. And he knew that this man was in pain, terrible pain, and that his fellow servants of the Lord must have treated him unkindly. Unfairly, in spite of God's own words to love one another.

But naïve?

Malachi was not naïve.

How could any priest be, when so many turned to them to confess the worst parts of their souls? How could he be, as a man that had once faced similar persecution as this bitter man beside him? Because he donned the garb of an inexperienced, and naïve, and holy man, did that have to mean he was one?

Yet Mister Tully's commentary proved that he could still see otherwise. That he had seen the darkness in those that were meant to carry the light, and Malachi did not try to dispel it. It was true. It still was not the only truth.

"I suppose there isn't any difference," he answered. "His plan is the truth of the world."

Malachi was quiet then, aware that it was likely not any kind of answer the man was looking for.

"But... for as long as I am here, Mister Tully, I will do my best to help you. Before you rely on the kindness of wolves, please know that I am here for you to lean on. Anytime you can help us here, I hope that you do, but there is a place for you here regardless of what you can give in return."

Francis rose his brow and smiled towards the priest.

"Any chance this place has shelter? I'd even take a straw floored closet. You offer me that and food and I'll keep the place clean. Talking to you has.." He looked back up at the ceiling in thought. "Not been the worst thing. It's probably been one of the better things that has helped me in whatever soul I might still have if I do."

He could still wander and do things for coins to drink or whatever. This Father Brennan didn't have to know that, but it was a good secure fall back. "You're not like other priests, or other people. You should be careful about that."

To the question, Malachi could only nod and offer a warm smile of his own in return. Where exactly that shelter would be, he hadn't quite decided yet, but he would figure something out. When it came down to it, Malachi would hollow out the nave and dispense of all superfluous things if it meant providing shelter and safety instead.

Still... as Mister Tully continued, the vague warning tugged again at his curious nature. Malachi's features softened with a short laugh, and he wondered what exactly this man thought he ought to be careful of.

"How do you mean?"