If there was anything Malachi considered himself to have had an advantage in, growing up, it was in not growing up Catholic.

All the teachings had come to him later, once he had already developed opinions and thoughts of his own. His father might have played at being a religious man when being one was convenient, but in educating Malachi, he had left matters of faith outside.

He had enough experience by now with those raised Catholic that he knew the issues were deep-seated. It typically took more than a few words of encouragement to break down those walls, but it took far longer if he never cared to try.

"If having the legal security of a wife would soothe some of your fears, that is your choice. I would urge you not to run into anything hastily, though, if you are simply seeking a distraction from the things you truly want."

Malachi kept his own opinion regarding that loveless sort of marriage unspoken. The priest allowed a brief silence, studying the constable's covered face.

"When I was younger..." he started, sounding somewhat hesitant. "Before I was a priest."

How he despised sharing anything of himself with his parishioners. Part of collecting information, however, was knowing when to give, when to add fuel to the fire of trust he meant to build.

"I loved someone. For... many reasons, we could not be together, and I was certain that that pain would haunt me for the rest of my life. Like a ghost following my every footstep," and Malachi smiled, then, strange and small. "This might not be what you want to hear, constable, but it is possible to move on. No matter how difficult it may be. It is either that, or condemn yourself to this feeling of helplessness forever, always to wonder what might have been if only things were different."

His smile faded, and Malachi looked away from Crane to the empty cup instead.

"You are not wrong for being the way you are. But it would be wrong to make yourself suffer any more than you need to."

If Crane did not want a wife, even in the most practical sense, then what was he seeking a doomed marriage for? As if having a woman present in his life would make the urges go away, and not make them even stronger; as if a shield could prevent rather than simply deflect an attack on his integrity.

Malachi reasoned with a frown, "if anything, constable, having a wife will not make you less lonely because there is someone in your bed. It will only draw your attention to the fact that it is not him beside you."

He had no experience with marriage, of course, but that seemed rather obvious enough. Crane's follow-up question had him hesitate.

How had he... gotten over it?

Through no means applicable to the constable's situation, he was afraid.

"I... I had to accept that there was nothing I could do," but he supposed when the other person was dead, it was a little different.

"That things between us would not change whether I spent my life in grief or not. No one deserves to waste the rest of their time alive on being caught up in the past, or wishing for what can never be, or holding onto someone just because you want, so desperately, for them to hold onto you. I had to accept that they never would. The rest of moving on followed after that."

'Hopeless' was not the word Malachi would have used to describe him, but he did not challenge the constable. A man was allowed to reflect on his inadequacies, even if his perception of them proved faulty.

His silence followed after Crane when he departed from the room to check the stew. Allowing himself another cursory glance about the furnishings -- the books and hastily-tidied papers in particular -- Malachi rose from his seat and gave a distracted nod.

It had not been his intention to have dinner with a parishioner tonight, but at least he knew that this one wasn't trying to fuck him.

As far as he could tell.

"It's easier said than done, of course," he admitted. "Distraction can help, so long as you are not using it to bury and hide your feelings, but to... give yourself the time to distance yourself from them, instead."

Now he was not blatantly suggesting that Crane find some other man to drown his sorrows in... but he wasn't not saying that either.

Malachi did not think to bat an eye when his assistant priest was mentioned. A smile settled easily on his face.

"If you would prefer," started Malachi, "I could come here and offer mass with you, on those days. It would not be a problem."

Once the bowls had been brought out, along with bread and spoons, Malachi paused in his wandering to join the constable at the table. Without having to be told, he seated himself, and examined the food set before them.

Far more food than he needed, far more than he typically ate -- but he would not risk looking ungrateful by refusing anything he was given. He'd finished the tea. He could finish some stew and rolls.

He did not doubt Crane's skills in the kitchen, though. From the way Mister Tully had reacted to the sweet buns he had made, Malachi was operating under the assumption that the man was instead quite skilled.

"Not a problem at all," he reiterated. Malachi reached for his spoon, but seemed to think better of it and grabbed a roll instead. Didn't want to scald his tongue if the stew was still hot.

"So," Malachi turned the roll over in his hand, inspecting it.

"In a world where everything worked out the way you wanted. What would that look like?"

Settling to take a bite of it, he chewed a portion of the roll and stared curiously across the table.

Ahhh, now things were getting interesting.

Malachi warded off the smile that threatened at the edges of his lips, stuffing his mouth with bread.

A perfect world where grown men could love each other and priests could fuck. Or, as Crane put it, where celibacy was not necessarily required for certain people of certain positions. Right. He gave a low hum and swallowed the bit of roll.

"Ah, fear not. Secrets are the only things I keep."

He did smile then, as if he meant it as a joke.

Oh, God, the way his thoughts conjured birds in their cages, escaping through the weakened bars.

"There is no need to apologize, either. I happen to agree with you," Malachi admitted. "Are you aware of what celibacy actually means, constable?"