Miriam was a woman that could be charmed – if only on the surface level – without much more than a few well-placed compliments, smiles, and laughs. From how it appeared, her son was much the same.

Her daughter-in-law, however, did not care for such things. The response she gave was a simple dip of her head, while Miriam chattered on to Levi about how good of a husband he was for allowing his wife to pursue her interests – never mind that Mara had no interest in tailoring.

The Brennans were not the religious sort. Malachi was grateful for the simplicity of Arthur’s answer, for the vagueness of it. Briefly, his hand rested over the doctor’s, eclipsing it.

Before Mara could think to reply, Miriam’s agitation forced her to speak.

“That is very kind of you to say, Doctor Adams,” she began, taking up her fork to begin eating. With an uncomfortable laugh, she said, “I do think you give him too much credit. It is so generous of you to allow him to assist you.”

Finally acknowledging the man seated across from him, Levi offered Arthur another smile.

“I am not surprised, myself. I recall when I was younger, Mal doctored me when I needed stitches for my leg, and–”

“What?” Miriam interjected. Her smile was starting to strain, if only slightly. “When did this happen?”

Levi grabbed his own fork as he hummed, considering the question. “Oh… ’72?”

“How did it hurt you?”

“He did not,” Levi clarified quickly, “I believe I had been playing too roughly in the gardens, is all, and Mal – truly, I should apologize – he found me wailing over my injury. I was afraid to tell father, of course, so I had him tend to me himself. Quite a miracle that the scarring is not any worse than it is!”

Malachi’s thumb rubbed gently over Arthur’s.

While Miriam was, for the moment, silenced by what most likely was her own outrage, Levi took the opportunity to keep on.

“Do you get on well with your family, Arthur? Do you have any siblings?”

How did it hurt you, Miriam said.  The hand not on Malachi's leg tightened with the effort not to correct her.

No, she might not have ever seen Malachi's room at the end of the cellar, but what did that matter?  So quickly, she was willing to dismiss Malachi's entire personhood.  Rage very nearly had Arthur's polite smile faltering.

Finally, he glanced to the side at Malachi's plate, ensuring he'd been served and that he was eating.  Even if it was not much, the last time he had eaten was already a day ago.  Arthur worried about him.

"A have an older sister and two younger brothers," he said to Levi, picking up his wine glass but not drinking from it.  "We all get on very well, though we had our fair share of incidents like the one you described."

Many a time, Arthur recalls having chased his siblings around with a variety of sharp things.  Scissors, knives, even sticks he'd sharpened himself.  Laying rotting mean in their beds, under their pillows only for them to discover too late in the night to tell their parents.  Even on the days Arthur found himself bored of his usual antics, his brothers tip toes around him, never sure of what he might have done and was simply staying quiet about.

"I remember once when... maybe seven or eight?  My sister tore her leg on the bed post, climbing where she shouldn't have been.  I helped dress the wound and took the blame when our parents found out - I still hold that over her today."

He laughed a bit, amusing himself with the false memory and sipping his wine.  He was not a fan of it.

The food, too, was again dry to Arthur's tongue.  Sour with the tension in the air, and anticipation with what was to come after dinner.

"Levi, you have a daughter don't you?  Your mother was telling me about her over breakfast - she sounds like a fine young woman.  Oh, but have you any other children, or the desire for any?"

For the second time, Arthur mentioned a sister. Malachi took that to mean that she was either an easy, common lie of his or that she truly existed.

“Ah,” came Miriam’s gasped delight, as she pushed herself back into the conversation to beam at the doctor’s shared memory. “How wonderful. You were drawn to healing others from such an early age – that is admirable.”

Her eyes lingered on the doctor’s glass. Or rather, on his bitten lips, as he laughed and sipped at his wine.

If she had anything to say about the newest set of bruises and bites that freckled what skin was uncovered, she kept it to herself. Levi, chewing a mouthful of food, offered first a polite nod and then a vehement, resolute shake of his head. He nearly coughed, raising his napkin to cover his mouth until he had swallowed.

“No, no. One was quite enough, I think,” he said, reaching for his glass. “Our Nettie is very independent. One has to be, when there are so many other matters going on that take precedence.”

Malachi did not mention that it was not entirely her choice, to have been made to be so independent. The couple sitting before them had spent less time with her than any of the servants; they had not raised her, as Malachi had.

“What about you, doctor?” Levi countered. He sipped at his wine, and asked, “do you have any children of your own? I must say, being a father is a life-changing experience for anyone.”

His wife set her utensils down. Ignoring Levi’s questioning, Mara looked over them both once again, and asked, “what happened to you?”

True, Arthur did not have any children yet, but if his conversations with Malachi meant anything, it would not be a lie to say he was expecting.  Truer still was the fact that he was looking forward to it, despite his nervousness.

As much as he hated Levi, wanted to disagree with everything he said, he hoped being something close to a father would be as life changing as he implied.

The doctor set down his glass to say as much when Mara interrupted with her own question.  Arthur blinked at her, surprised by her boldness, but did not back down from her.

"My nose, you mean?  I hope you'll excuse the injury - I try to help the mentally disturbed as often as I do the physically ill, and no good deed is without its consequences.  This in particular was from a spat with a man on the beaches of Whitby.  And trust me, it's looking better now than it did at the beginning of the week."

A nosy little woman, Mara was.  Weren't wealthy people supposed to be quietly curious?  Passive in their aggression?  If that was the case, Mara had missed the memo.

"As for children... I'm not yet married, so I don't yet have the honor of being a father or husband.  But in time, I hope."

The nose was not what she had meant, as was clear by the awkward quality her husband’s smile took on. They were all aware of what exactly Mara had been asking about – the bruises, the bites – but the answer he provided seemed to soothe their curiosities enough to drop the subject.

It was plausible, Malachi reasoned. A mentally disturbed patient very well could have bitten and bruised him so.

What made the story less than compelling was the same marks of injury depicted on Malachi’s skin.

“That is very unfortunate,” Levi offered in some attempt to make sure that his wife did not question it further.

Mara glanced back down at her plate to resume eating, chewing Arthur’s response all the while. Away from prying eyes, Malachi gave Arthur’s hand a gentle, encouraging squeeze, as if to say that he was pleased with it.

“Well, I am hoping for you as well, doctor,” said Miriam, her smile a touch too friendly. “Raising Levi –” which Malachi did not need to remind her that she had not done “– was perhaps one of the most fulfilling experiences of my life, and look how he has turned out. He is no doctor, of course, but there is no greater love than that of a mother and father for their son.”

That brought her son to scoff lightheartedly. Had he been a better father, he might have said the same thing about his and Mara’s love for their own child, but it did not occur to him.

“You mentioned Whitby?” he raised a fine blond brow, glancing up from where he delicately cut into the meat on his plate. “I hear they have nice beaches. Is that where you have been, Mal?”

Surprised to be addressed so directly, Malachi quietly cleared his throat, suddenly flustered.

“I- yes. Not for very–”

“More wine?” Miriam waved for the nearest servant.

“Ah,” Levi nodded slowly. “For your little… God thing, is it?”

“For the church. Yes,” the servant moved about the table, refilling their glasses whether they had been touched or not. “That is how I met Doctor Adams.”

“Yes, I heard that part. And you two are… friends?”

Had it been anyone else, the inflection might have implied that he assumed something less innocent about their relationship. From the way he looked between them, though, it was clear that his confusion laid primarily with the fact that they could be any sort of friends at all.

Lowering her voice, Miriam questioned Arthur, “and you do not mind that he’s…”

“Mother,” Levi laughed. Another awkward sound to cover her. “The doctor has made it clear how compassionate he is for all kinds of people. One has to be, in order to be a doctor, I presume? I for one think it is a good thing. Look at him, sitting at the table – Arthur has clearly been a good influence.”

Arthur was all too pleased to hear Malachi speak for the first time all dinner, turning to look at him when he cleared his throat and then away again, too soon, as Miriam interrupted.  He did not look again, instead accepting the wine poured for him with a nod to the servant.

Of course Miriam knew what she was doing, and everyone else at the table did not even try to stop her.  Overlooking Malachi was something engrained in their blood, after all, wasn't it?

Luckily, Arthur had a very different instinct when it came to Malachi.  In pre-emptive apology, he squeezed the other's thigh before he spoke.

"We're friends, yes, and very close ones at that.  As I believe I said before, he helped me during a very hard time in my life recently, and he has been very kind to me all the time that I have known him.  We aren't without our disagreements and tiffs, of course, but what friends are?"  Arthur's expression was soft but serious as he eyed all three people across from him.

"I truly wonder who has been a better influence on who, sometimes.  I encourage Malachi to step out of his comfort zone, enjoy life outside of the church, but he makes me think about many things.  Myself, what I want in my life - religion makes you very philosophical, I have learned.  Really, Mrs. Brennan, you should be very proud of the man he is today."

A gentle smile graced the doctors lips, along with a sharp tilt of his head.

"As for his table manners, well, in my experience with Malachi - of which, I have many - I've found that he's perfectly capable of sitting at a table, as well as many other things.  So long as he is welcomed to do so."

His rant complete, Arthur took a quiet breath and glanced down at his plate, and then up again at Miriam.

"Would you pass the salt?"

There was a moment of tense silence that followed Arthur’s request.

On top of it all, such a subtle, well-placed insult to the food served brought all four Brennans to stare, in their own ways, at the man that had voiced it. Miriam’s smile finally cracked and fell from her powdered features, and she opened her mouth to reply – only to be interrupted by a strange noise from the opposite side.

A laugh. Involuntary, genuine, and cut off almost as quickly as it slipped out, as Malachi released Arthur’s hand to cover his mouth.

That was quite possibly worse than anything Arthur could have said, if one was judging from the look on Miriam’s face. Taking a breath, she raised her chin and waved a hand for one of the servants to pass the salt in her stead. She dabbed her mouth with her napkin needlessly, and made to scoot her chair back.

“Excuse me a moment.”

“Ah- mother, should I–”

In a short motion, Miriam slapped Levi’s hand where it touched her arm. She offered another smile to the table, stood, and made her way out of the dining hall.

Levi shot a strange look to his brother. Without delay, he pushed out his own seat.

“I should help her with the – dessert,” he said, standing. “Please excuse me.”

As soon as he turned to follow after his mother, Malachi drew in a deeper breath, as if the air had suddenly been let back into a suffocating room. Mara appeared unfazed by the little scene, sparing a glance to the door her husband disappeared through before returning her attention to her meal.

“That lasted far longer than the last time you were here,” she commented, without looking up. “Perhaps she is finally warming to you.”

“Perhaps she still believes the good doctor will fuck her if she behaves well.”

“Ah,” the corners of Mara’s lips quirked upwards at that. “Is that it.”

A breath escaped Malachi that might have been an irritated huff at the idea that he, himself, presented.

“Doctor Adams,” she lifted her gaze. “You are managing them so well. I fear they only get worse, but I commend you for your efforts. Civility is not their strong suit.”

Arthur did not let the immediate regret he felt for his words show on his face as he was stared at.  It was hard.  For a day, now, he'd tried so hard to please Miriam and make a good impression of himself on her.  And in less than a minute, he had thrown it all out.

It was harder to care when he heard Malachi's laugh, short as it was.  Harder still when he reminded himself that he was going to kill Miriam very soon.  Really, her impression of Arthur would not matter for very much longer at all.

The salt was handed to him by someone Arthur couldn't even muster up the pride to look at.  He didn't even need it, and set it beside his plate as Miriam and Levi left the dining hall in a huff.  Mara's comment surprised him, and Malachi's even more so.

"She - what?"  The question was quiet as Arthur looked between Mara and Malachi frantically, eyes wide and cheeks pink.

So that comment before - she had been flirting with him, then!

Hadn't he told her he had a lover?  Lied about the sex of the person, but a lover nonetheless.  What a shameless woman, Miriam was.

He ignored Mara's comment to look instead to Malachi, the remorse finally bleeding onto his face.  His hand never left the thigh it rested on.

"I'm very sorry, Malachi, I don't know why I said that.  Her - she bothered me with that comment.  Is she always like that?"  Finally he turned to Mara.  His distrust of her had seemed to vanish completely, if only for a moment.  "I'm sorry you had to see that, ma'am.  They - she..."  Arthur gestured vaguely to where her husband and mother in law disappeared.

"The idea they have any civility is... a unique stance to take.  But I should not add fuel to the fire."

Perhaps for the first time since they had arrived in the dining hall, Malachi allowed himself to look over at his lover.

And what a sight! To his surprise, his comment must have shocked his dear Arthur, who flashed a similar look to the one he had seen on the way to the table. With his pretty green eyes forced wide, his cheeks colored pink – Malachi smiled in spite of himself.

“You are perfectly fine, Arthur, there is no need to apologize.”

Arthur had done nothing wrong. All he had done was defend him, and that was more than Malachi could say for most of the people in his life. As much as he loved the way such family matters seemed to fluster him, Malachi did not want him to genuinely feel as if he had done something terrible for having insulted Miriam Brennan.

Waiting until she had finished chewing, Mara offered a simple nod, and said, “she has shown more tonight than she used to.”

More civility than she used to show with Malachi, but neither he nor his sister-in-law felt the need to say that outright.

To prove her point, there was a yell from the other room.

“Arthur,” Malachi set his hand over his again. Leaned closer, if not as close as he wanted.

“It’s alright. None of this is because of you. My mother simply has a temper that is very difficult not to test – if anything, your presence has lessened it.”

“Indeed,” Mara agreed. “I suspect the real dinner party will start with dessert. Doctor Adams, I do hope you have fast reflexes. Prepare to duck.”

“Don’t- no.” Malachi shook his head at that, curling his fingers around Arthur’s to hold onto them. “Arthur, don’t involve yourself. It will all be over soon.”

All of it.

Though Mara was being polite without her husband, Arthur still wished she was not at the table so he could lean back into Malachi and kiss him like he wanted so badly to do.  Even so, his lovers reassurances did help him, but not as much as the warmth of his hand over his own.

"What on Earth is coming with dessert?"  The question was directed at Mara before Arthur looked to Malachi again.

"Don't worry, I'm not not going to involve myself."  Not any more than he already had, anyway.  "I just want to know what to expect.  Passive aggression?  Less passive aggression?  A food fight?"

He could not imagine Miriam participating in the latter most of those options, but he was trying to lighten the mood with the remaining people at the table.

"Truly, though, no matter what is it, I'll be able to handle it.  I'm serious, Malachi, don't worry about me."  He gave Malachi a serious look, damped slightly by the smallest of smiles.