[CW: drug abuse, allusions to violence, blood, injuries]

He looked like a murderer.

He looked like he’d been murdered.

He felt like both.

Malachi took one good look at the outside of the shady excuse for a doctor’s office he’d slept in, and took off. Faster than he’d ever bothered. Through more alleyways and side-streets than he’d ever dared. He couldn’t afford to be seen, not like this, not drenched in blood and covered in more bruises and bites than skin.

He memorized quickly the path he took, the names of every street that led back to him, and crossed them off the map of where he would ever go again. It was still morning when he reached the presbytery, and he slipped in the way he always did: stealthily, practiced, invisible. If there was anything he knew how to do, it was disappear and not be found.

The dark red ensemble from the previous night’s masquerade was exchanged for a familiar black and white. His collar felt stiff against his neck, scratching at the marks he couldn’t hide. He cleaned himself of blood, and sweat, and everything else that had dirtied him on his way home, but the marks were still there.

It hadn’t been long by the time he walked outside. He could clean up quick, and there was nothing to be done about the rest. The bruise on his jaw. The cut on his brow. The incisions spread across his swollen knuckles.

The dilated pupils, endlessly black.

“Father!” an older woman’s voice called as soon as he stepped out. Malachi didn’t turn around, but she approached with haste, grabbing at his elbow.

“Father, we were worried sick! Your–”

Malachi jerked his arm out of her grasp, face stained with a pained grimace. A gasp sounded from her, the poor, caring lady that organized their music. “Father! Wh- what happened to you? Are you alright? Father, come inside, let me take a look at you.”

“My what?”

“Your face, Father – oh, how could this happen? Who did this to you?”

“You said,” he bit out, still not looking at her, “your. My what?”

She stared at him, wide-eyed and concerned, before it clicked.

“Y-… your niece, Father, she… she came by looking for you. I-I think she just stepped out to find you – Father, please, come inside,” she reached for his arm again, but Malachi was quicker, moving out of her reach.

Ignoring her shouts of protest, he did not turn around and go back inside. He cut a path through the grass and hopped back down onto the street to look for his niece.

Nettie had gone to see him in the morning, the newly stitched handkerchief in her hand and a small lunch she'd made for him after service. Having not seen him, she told the woman there with a laugh it was a mistake. He must have left early to see her and they had just missed each other. It wasn't the truth, but she worried. Some old rumors from other towns he'd been in, other strange moments she never commented on. It rumbled deep in her mind and worry crossed her face. How long until some day he wouldn't be there at all, or he'd be found in a ditch?

When she saw him, relief filled her and she came upon him but then she froze. He was clearly injured. "Uncle." She clutched the small package in her hand and moved quicker to him. "Uncle." She wanted to raise her voice but he wouldn't want any attention on him. She wanted to ask if she alright, but clearly not. Her eyes were wide and full of concern.

"Please.. do you.. need a doctor? Or a constable? You look like something.. " A fight? he'd been beaten? There was definitely teeth marks.

There she was!

His darling daughter. The only person alive that gave a shit if he was, too.

Malachi turned when her voice reached his tears, and though the girl might have frozen at the sight of him, a smile overtook his face. It was strange, sleepy; wider than he ever smiled. It pulled at the cuts on his lip and welled with little dots of fresh blood.

He ignored the question.

“Nettie,” he greeted warmly. His eyes settled on the items in her hands.

“Are those for me?”

Nettie stared at him. She was sheltered a little but not so much she was unaware of what was going on. "Yes .. I made us lunch, and finished your handkerchief. Wisteria, remember?" She held up the black satin cloth.

"Let's go someplace so you can eat, if you feel like it." She gently took his hand and led him to the closest hotel that looked like it didn't give a damn who stayed there, a d got him a room. "So you can relax and no one will bother you." Every word was careful. She knew her uncle didn't take care of himself but she never imagined it was so self destructive.

It was a miracle every time he laid eyes on her. A wonder, that he’d managed not to ruin her too.

Malachi took the satin cloth, staring down in admiring inspection of the careful design. Even as Nettie took his other hand, he didn’t take his eyes off of the handkerchief until they reached the hotel.

He was aware of her worry. He knew what she was doing, getting him a damned room, stuffing him into another enclosed space she thought he couldn’t get out of.

Or… maybe that hadn’t been her.

“Thank you, dear,” he said in spite of it.

He couldn’t remember the last time he’d been hungry, but Nettie had went through the trouble of making lunch, and he didn’t want her efforts to go to waste.

“Sit with me. How are you? Have you seen that boy again?”

Nettie didn't need to be told, she was already sitting. "Don't worry, I'm not going anywhere. "
She laid out the light meal for him. Easy and small things that wouldn't be heavy on his stomach, it was such a struggle to get the man to eat at the best of times. She watched him carefully but tried to look like she wasn't horribly concerned.

"I'm alright. And not yet, we are planning to meet at a dance coming up. At least I am. But what about you? How are you doing? Have you..ah.. met anyone recently?" She asked her voice soft as snow fall. She wondered if some bully caused those marks.

The thought of actually putting anything into his mouth made him feel… kind of sick. Regardless, he made an attempt to eat for her sake, careful not to let anything touch the more bruised side of his mouth.

Malachi’s head tilted at her answer.

Not another masquerade, he hoped. Did that count as a date? Was he courting her? He seemed to deliberate saying anything else, but after a moment, said, “I meet people all the time, of course.”

It wasn’t a lie.

“This is really lovely, Nettie,” Malachi praised, setting the food aside in favor of staring, almost unfocused, at the embroidered handkerchief.

Frustration grew as she watched him. "I meant last night. Did you meet anyone who might have ... been violent? Or did you wake up like this?" She asked finally.

Her eyes went downcast as his muddled mind focused on the gift. "I worked very hard to make it perfect for you. I even put your initials on it. I wanted to make them red since you like that color but it would have looked strange so I made it in dark green."

Malachi knew it had been far too much to ask for her to just drop it.

Without looking up from the handkerchief, he swallowed a lump in his throat. Why, of all days, had she chosen today to visit him?

Because she was worried.

Guilt clawed at him, dragging cold talons from the pit of his stomach.

“I did,” he answered after a long silence. “I woke up this way.”

And then everything after had made it worse.

“Don’t make this a big thing, please,” he asked of her, his voice pleading and quiet.

Nettie ran her fingers through her hair. He was clearly aware of something. "So you woke up like this and you aren't concerned or want a constable. Did you wake up with the drugs too?" She said.

The woman took a deep breath and put her hands on the table . "I told them you must have left early before they were awake to see me. And I will tell them any lie you want for your current condition. But please, do not think I want to keep pretending to be blind. How long have I been with you? Or followed in your shadow from one church to another? I've always stood up for you and always blamed them for the rumors. And maybe some of it was truly on them. But there is more going on. All I want is for you to trust me to be honest with me. Please..." she said begging him.