SO, this is what happens when I attempt to write a story in which nobody cries (except the baby)! It was incredibly difficult. I don't think humour/happiness is my forte haha. But at least I tried.

It was intended as a oneshot, but I'm not sure if it feels finished or not... Let me know what you think!

S, if you're reading this, I added a bit to the Trinity epilogue about Malachy's name, just for you :) xo

The Story of Us

The door clicked shut against the retreating form of Doctor Ryan, and a bewildered Peter made his way back towards the kitchen, wringing his hands as he walked. His unexpected little houseguest had presented him with more worries than his weary mind could even articulate, let alone work through. The scene awaiting him in the kitchen, though, was enough to make him forget it all. Assumpta stood swaying from side to side, gently jiggling the baby while speaking distracted nonsense to him in cooing tones. The more than unusual image had Peter captivated, and he leaned against the doorframe to simply watch them. When Assumpta looked up and caught him staring, he quickly averted his eyes, praying that she wouldn't notice the colour rise in his cheeks.

'Beautiful, isn't he?' Peter said, moving to stand behind Assumpta and look over her shoulder at the baby boy.
'He's lovely.'
'What do you think his name is?' Peter asked softly.
'I, uh... I don't suppose he has one,' Assumpta stuttered, disconcerted by the unprecedented proximity of Peter's mouth to her ear.
'Well, we have to call him something, if we're going to have him all night.'
Assumpta thought for a moment.
'I... I've always liked Charlie, for a boy,' she offered.
Peter looked at the baby, and smiled approvingly.
'Charlie it is, then.'

Assumpta took Charlie into the sitting room and sat with him on the sofa while Peter made some tea. As she waited, she thought of all the reasons why this was an incredibly bad idea. Here she was, about to spend the night alone with Peter – with Father Peter – taking care of a newborn baby. It was madness, really. Everything about it screamed "Danger!". Assumpta's stomach twisted sickeningly and her ears burned with conviction. But, when Peter walked into the room carrying two very priestly floral china teacups, it all just about died away. She smiled at him as he placed her tea on the end table beside her. To Assumpta's secret disappointment, Peter chose to sit himself in a nearby armchair, rather than next to her on the sofa. He took a sip of his tea, and gazed at Charlie with a sad, rueful smile.

'I just can't understand how anyone could possibly give him up,' he said quietly.
'Well, I can.'
Peter raised a questioning eyebrow, and Assumpta sighed.
'Look, I'm assuming the mother is a teenager. And she's scared, confused, alone. But I think, above all, she wants what's best for her baby. She's young, and she's frightened, but she isn't just thinking of herself. No, she wants her son to have a good life. But she doesn't think she can give it to him. So she has to give him up. Even if it kills her.'
Peter gawked at her.
'You certainly have a lot of insight into the mind of a teenage mother. Is there something you're not telling me?' he asked, only half joking.
'I had a friend who fell pregnant when we were in school,' Assumpta explained. 'She came to stay with us for a while when her parents threw her out. I went through basically the whole pregnancy with her, so I got a pretty good idea of what she was thinking.'
'That poor girl,' said Peter, shaking his head slowly. 'Did she end up having the baby adopted?'
'She had an older sister who was married with a couple of kids already. The sister agreed to raise Clara as her own. But I almost think that's harder on Ailis than giving her up to strangers would have been.'
'Oh, Assumpta,' said Peter dolefully, 'that's awful. Why does it have to be that way? If only there were more help available to these girls... Or, better yet, some proper education to prevent these things from happening.'
Assumpta scoffed.
'Don't let the Church hear you say that.'
'Assumpta, I am the Church.'
'Are you?'

The words were out of her mouth before she could stop them, and she watched their meaning register all too deeply on Peter's face. The question hung heavily in the air between them until Charlie broke the tension with a small cry.
'He'll be getting hungry soon,' Assumpta commented.
'Well, don't look at me! I'm not exactly, uh... equipped.'
'Ha. Well, neither am I, despite what it may seem. We'll need to get some formula.'
'Formula?'
'Yeah.'
'Oh, no problem. I'll just casually stroll into Hendley's and pick up a tin of baby formula. That won't raise questions at all.'
'Nah,' said Assumpta, 'they'll be closed.'
'Yeah, because that's the only flaw in the plan.'
'There's a twenty-four hour pharmacy in Cilldargan. You can pick up a bottle and some nappies while you're there. And get me some chocolate.'
'Wait, why do I have to be the one to go?'
'Are you gonna let me drive the Javelin?'
'...Yeah, I'll be back soon.'

Peter arrived home to find little Charlie squirming on the rug in front of a flustered and somewhat guilty looking Assumpta. It seemed as though they had rather hastily assumed those positions and were now "acting natural" for Peter's benefit.

'Hi...' he greeted them suspiciously.
'Hiya. How did you get on?'
'Fine, thank you,' he answered, placing his shopping bags on the ground. 'And what did you get up to while I was gone, may I ask? Not snooping around my house, I hope?'
'What?' said Assumpta, looking exaggeratedly offended. 'Would I go snooping around a priest's house?'
Peter regarded her sceptically as she got to her feet and sauntered over to stand right in front of him, her eyes twinkling mischievously.
'Anyway,' she said playfully, 'why are you so worried? Haven't got anything to hide have you, Peter?'
'No,' Peter gulped.
'Are you sure? Nothing that you might find... embarrassing?'
She was teasing him now, and evidently enjoying it quite a lot. Peter, however, was not enjoying it quite so much.
'Such as?' he asked warily.
'Such as, oh, I don't know... six pairs of Winnie the Pooh boxers.'
Peter's jaw dropped in horror, his face and neck instantly turning the most brilliant shade of red.
'Assumpta!' he fumed. 'You looked at my underwear?! How could you?!'
'Ah, relax,' said Assumpta, waving her hand dismissively. 'Sure, I'll give you a look at mine later, if you behave yourself.'
And she breezed past into the kitchen, leaving Peter to pick up his jaw off the floor while she laughed to herself at the look on his face.

'Bring me that formula, will you?' Assumpta called after giving Peter a few moments to recover.
Peter dutifully complied, deciding it was best to leave that particular conversation to settle for a while.
'Do you know what you're doing?' he asked Assumpta.
'Of course I do. Go in there and fetch Charlie.'
'Yes, boss.'
Peter smiled as he went, thinking to himself that this was exactly what it would be like to be married to Assumpta. She had the most charming way of barking orders so that he actually wanted to obey them. He scooped Charlie up in his arms and carried him into the kitchen.

Any onlooker would be forgiven for thinking they were looking in on a picture of domestic bliss in that small cottage kitchen. And, as he stood cuddling the baby and watching Assumpta prepare the bottle, Father Clifford allowed himself, just for a moment, to pretend it was real. To pretend they were his, this beautiful woman and this precious child.

'Okay, Charlie. Dinner is served,' said Assumpta brightly, breaking Peter's reverie. 'Do you want to feed him?' she asked Peter.
'Yeah,' he replied eagerly.

So Peter led the way into the sitting room, and sat with Charlie in the armchair. He pulled down the rug that was draped over the back of the chair, and carefully tucked it in around the baby before taking the bottle from Assumpta. Settling herself onto the sofa, Assumpta watched Peter smile dotingly at Charlie while administering the bottle like a seasoned professional.
'You're wasted as a priest,' she commented.
Peter snorted.
'Ah, if I had a pound for every time a woman said that to me...'
Assumpta clapped her palm to her forehead.
'Oh my God, I cannot believe you just said that.'
'Neither can I,' Peter laughed. 'I'm so sorry. I think I'm a little overtired.'
'Ah,' Assumpta nodded knowingly. 'Baby brain.'
'That must be it.'

They sat a while in sleepy silence, each lost in thought. Then Peter suddenly piped up with, 'My brother gave them to me.'
'What?'
'The boxers. My brother gave them to me.'
'Oh. You have a brother?'
'Yeah.'
'Is he a priest?'
'No... He's a doctor.'
'A doctor?' repeated Assumpta, with a little too much interest for Peter's liking.
'Ah huh,' he said flatly.
Assumpta thought for a moment.
'Is he a lot like you, this brother?' she asked.
'Sort of,' replied Peter, really wishing the conversation would end there.
'Do you have a picture?'
'What? No.'
'You don't have a single picture of your brother in this entire house?'
'Assumpta,' Peter said bluntly, 'you are not dating my brother.'
'Why not?'
'Are you trying to kill me?'
Ah, he was jealous. A satisfied smile spread across Assumpta's face.
'Sure, I was only teasing.'
'Mmmhmm.'
'...So, what kind of doctor is he?' she asked slyly, and she cackled as she ducked to avoid the pillow Peter hurled at her head.

Peter turned his attention back to little Charlie, and, when he next looked up to speak to Assumpta, he found her curled up on his sofa, sound asleep.
'Oh, bless her cotton socks,' he whispered to Charlie, who was almost asleep himself. 'Look how sweet she is, and how quiet.'

When the bottle was empty, and a sleeping Charlie safely stowed in the makeshift bassinet formerly known as Peter's washing basket, the dozy curate stumbled over and gave Assumpta a gentle shake.
'Assumpta,' he whispered. 'Assumpta, wake up.'
'Piss off,' she mumbled, and he stuck his tongue in his cheek to keep from smiling.
'I'm sorry. I need you to get up, just for a second.'
'Nooo,' she groaned.
'Come on,' Peter soothed, taking her hands in his and gently pulling her to her feet.
The touch was enough to drag Assumpta back into the land of the living, but not quite sufficient to bring her to the land of the gracious.
'You're an idiot,' she said, rubbing her eyes. 'You're a bully and a fink and a... Oh.' Her tone changed when she realised what Peter was doing. 'Thank you.'
'You're welcome.'
Peter smiled triumphantly as he arranged a blanket and some pillows on the sofa bed he'd just folded out for Assumpta. He continued to smile as he watched her gratefully jump in and snuggle down under the blanket.
'You can lie here with me, you know,' said Assumpta from her cocoon. 'I'm far too exhausted to take advantage of you.'
Peter gave a little laugh.
'That's alright,' he said, settling back into his armchair, 'I'll be okay here.'
'Have it your way,' said Assumpta heavily, rolling her eyes as she turned away from him.

One of Assumpta's newly discovered "mothering instincts" forced her, against her will, to wake to the sound of Charlie crying a couple of hours later. She dragged herself into a sitting position, waiting for her eyes to adjust to the near darkness of the room. When they did, she saw that Peter had beaten her to it, and was already standing with Charlie in his arms.

'It's okay, Assumpta,' he said, 'you go back to sleep.'
Assumpta shook her head.
'No, that's not fair,' she yawned. 'Besides, you need me to make the bottle.'

She stood and made her way into the kitchen, swiping the hair out of her eyes as she went. If she were any less tired, she might have been less than okay about sporting her bed-hair in front of Peter, but, as it was, she decided to let it go.

Naturally, he found it adorable.

'I'll feed him this time,' Assumpta offered, and Peter carefully transferred Charlie in her arms. She curled up on the sofa bed to feed him, and Peter watched them from the armchair, his eyelids drooping against his will.

When the milk was gone and Charlie was still unsettled, a strange and wonderful sound drew Peter out of his dream. Assumpta was singing a soft, sweet lullaby, and Charlie was utterly entranced. He wasn't the only one. Peter stayed completely still as he listened, afraid to even breathe lest it should make her stop.

When the final note faded from the air, Assumpta placed Charlie into his bed, softly kissing his little head. Peter let out a shaky breath. The voice in his head begged Assumpta, Sing to me! Sing to me, and kiss me goodnight! But Father Clifford had had a lot of practice at filtering his thoughts, especially when it came to Assumpta. The more rational part of his mind searched for something appropriate to say.

'That was beautiful, Assumpta.'
'Oh,' Assumpta gave an embarrassed laugh. Though the lighting was dim, Peter could just picture her cheeks turning pink. 'I, uh... I doubt I'll be asked to play Madison Square any time soon, but... it seems to have done the trick.'
She climbed back into bed, but Peter had just one more thing to say.
'You'll make a wonderful mother someday.'
Assumpta closed her eyes as the painful truth registered. Being someone's mother would mean being someone's wife. And that someone could never be who she wanted it to be.
'Yeah,' she breathed, 'someday.'

It was about an hour before dawn when next Charlie woke, though it felt like only a couple of minutes had past. Peter finally gave in to exhaustion and discomfort, and stretched out on the sofa bed to feed the baby his bottle. Assumpta lay on her side and watched them. The kitchen light had been left on, lighting the room with a faint yellow glow. She smiled to herself, savouring the moment. Soon, morning would be here and this extraordinary adventure would be over. She would never have another night like this. She would never again get to spend so long alone - well, almost alone - with Peter.

Too tired to carry Charlie back over to his basket, Peter laid the little boy on the bed, in between himself and Assumpta. The child squirmed, awake but not unhappy.

'Maybe you should sing again,' suggested Peter quietly, but Assumpta shook her head.
'No, I think it's your turn.'
'Me? I can't sing.'
'But you could tell him a story.'
'A story? Don't you think he's a bit little?'
'Sure, you're never too young for a bedtime story.'
'Or too old,' said Peter pointedly, propping himself up on his elbow to look over at her. Assumpta said nothing, but merely snuggled down in the bed and looked at him expectantly, waiting for her story.

Inwardly, Peter sighed. This was all too much. It was more than he could take. Here he was, in the wee hours of the morning, lying in bed with Assumpta Fitzgerald and a sweet baby boy. His battered heart and his muddled mind and his weary body had lost all their strength. He no longer had the energy nor the will to hold himself back.

And so, in a husky whisper, he began to tell a story.

'Once upon a time, there lived a brave, noble and handsome knight. From the time he was just a boy, the knight dreamed of serving his King. While he was growing up, he gave a lot of thought to how he might be useful. And, by the time he became a man, he had made up his mind.

'You see, the King had this very special group of servants, this valiant order of knights. And our young man set out to join them. There were many wonderful things about being in the order. The young knight was able to help lots of people, in lots of different ways. And he was happy to be serving his King.

'But the order also had a lot of rules, and some were very strange and very hard to keep. The knights were only allowed to wear yellow on Wednesdays, and they always had to open their crisps from the wrong end of the packet. But the weirdest and most difficult rule of all was that the knights were never allowed to marry.'

Assumpta drew in a sharp breath, her stomach twisting as she realised whose story this was. She looked up at Peter in alarm, but he kept his eyes firmly on little Charlie.

'The time came,' he continued, 'for the knight to leave home and serve the King elsewhere. The order sent him to the faraway land of Hibernia. The knight was very nervous to be venturing so far from home. But, as soon as his ship landed in Hibernia, his fears began to melt away. The land was absolutely stunning, with the greenest grass, and stone walls, and lovely buildings everywhere. And the people there were interesting and kind. It didn't take them long at all to accept our knight as their friend. Yes, the people of Hibernia were incredible, but none more so than their lovely princess.

'From the moment he first saw her – when she picked him up in her ornate golden carriage to save him from the rain – the knight was captivated by the princess's beauty. As he got to know her more and more, he became convinced that she wasn't a princess at all, but an angel in disguise. For nothing so exquisite could possibly have come from this fallen earth. Only, God was very clever when he sent this angel. He took her beautiful heart and bound it in layers of hardness and fury and sarcasm so that no one unworthy could reach it. But the knight saw straight through all of that.'

Assumpta stared at Peter, paralysed except for her widening eyes and quickening heart.

'The knight spent a lot of time with the princess; he couldn't help himself, though the other knights and the townspeople often disapproved. He was always searching for excuses to visit her court, so he could savour her wit and the occasional breathtaking smile. He even saved her, on many occasions, in the course of his knightly duties. Across the road from the princess's castle lived a vicious, fire-breathing dragon who loved to gossip and stir up trouble. The princess's temper was notoriously short, and she was forever storming off to challenge the dragon. The knight was often the only one who could calm her down, and save her from being flambéed by the beast.

'The knight enjoyed the princess's company more than anything, but his happiness was always tainted by the knowledge that he could never have her, not as anything more than a friend. The pain grew stronger as time passed by. Every day, the knight's feelings for the princess grew stronger, until he was sure...'

Peter paused, gathering his courage.

'Until he was sure that he was in love with her. Yes, he was so, so deeply in love with her, and he couldn't deny it any longer. But his pledge to the King's order remained, and he knew it would be wrong to break it. His heart was torn in two directions, and he didn't know what to do, Charlie. He didn't know what to do.

'But he did know this: that, no matter what happened for the rest of his life, he would always love the princess of Hibernia. She would always be the love of his heart, and the first of his prayers.'

Peter finally lifted his eyes to Assumpta's face, and his voice cracked as he spoke his closing word.

'Always.'

And they stared at one another across the yellow haze, both unable to move though they felt the world shifting around them. What was said could not be unsaid, and what was said... well, it changed everything. The pressure built up inside Assumpta until she broke away from Peter's gaze. She looked down at Charlie – peaceful, oblivious Charlie – in between them on the bed.

'He's sleeping,' she said, her voice barely audible.
She scooped him up and placed him once more into his basket. Then she grabbed the empty bottle and took it into the kitchen. She dropped the bottle into the sink, and leaned over the counter, gripping its edges with white knuckles.

What had just happened? Had she asked for a bedtime story and received a declaration of love?

No.

Her head was spinning.

I must have misunderstood him.

But... how could that be misunderstood? The hardness of heart, the carriage in the rain... and he'd looked right at her.

He looked right at me. He called me beautiful, and he thinks I'm an angel, and he looked right at me, and... He loves me.

Her breathing was shallow. She didn't know what to think, what to do. What was the accepted protocol for love declarations from a priest? Probably to run.

But she hadn't received a love declaration from a priest.

Not from a priest.

From Peter.

Sweet, gentle, gorgeous Peter. The man who'd haunted her dreams, day and night, from the very first week. The one who was always there for her when no one else cared. The only one who saw her for who she really was. The man she'd tried so desperately not to want, not to...

But he was everything to her. Everything.

She didn't want to run from Peter.

She wandered back into the sitting room, where Peter lay on his back with his eyes closed. With some uncertainty, she leaned down and placed a lingering kiss on his forehead. The smile itching at his lips confirmed her suspicion that he hadn't been sleeping at all.

Assumpta walked around and climbed into her own side of the bed. She and Peter lay together, close, but not touching, glad to be near one another while the dust settled on the shift in their universe.

After a couple of minutes, Assumpta felt the warm pressure of Peter's hand coming to rest on her hip. Her heart rate quickened as he lifted her shirt, his fingers innocently brushing against the skin underneath. Feeling she should do something to reciprocate, Assumpta shuffled closer to Peter, laying her head on his shoulder. Her left hand grazed his abdomen before resting on his chest, where she could feel his heartbeat, strong and fast, through his shirt. Peter held her tightly with his left arm around her waist, while his right hand found its way into her hair, entangling his fingers in the softness of her locks.

Peter felt many months of tension drain out of him as he finally held her in his arms. Though it could only mean trouble in the future, right now it felt wonderful to have his feelings out in the open. Assumpta knew. She knew how he felt, and she was still there... snuggled up to him on the sofa bed, with a baby in the corner.

What an unbelievable night it had been.

Despite the sparks flying in every place where their bodies touched, Peter and Assumpta quickly fell into a deliriously peaceful sleep.

They were woken a couple of hours later, not by Charlie, but by a knock at the door. Assumpta groaned and nuzzled into Peter's chest, trying to hide from the world. It wasn't fair. It just wasn't fair for her to be ripped from his arms so soon. For his part, Peter was only too happy to hide with her, and he pulled the covers up over their heads.

A second, louder knock sounded, accompanied by an impatient shout of, 'Father Clifford!'

Nothing could have woken the knight and the princess faster. They both scrambled to their feet in a panic.

'Just a second!' Peter called to Father Mac.
'You can go out the back door,' he whispered to Assumpta, who was already gathering her things. He felt terrible about having her sneak out like this, but if Father Mac knew she had spent the night... 'I'm sorry, Assumpta.'
'Don't worry about it,' she said dismissively.
The last thing she wanted just then was a battle with Father Mac.

She knelt over the basket to give Charlie a kiss. She took his little hand in hers as he began to stir.
'Good luck,' she whispered, 'and God bless you, Charlie.'

She headed straight out the back door, but Peter grabbed her by the wrist. She turned back to meet his gaze.

'Assumpta...' he breathed, his eyes telling his anxiety as his hand slid down from her wrist to entwine their fingers.
'Later,' she promised, squeezing his hand before turning to walk away.

The morning air was bitterly cold, and the future was uncertain. Assumpta had no idea what the day would bring. She had no idea what her life would be, now that the world had changed.

But she knew one thing, and that one thing warmed her from her heart to the tips of her toes.

She would always be the love of Peter's heart, and the first of his prayers.

Always.