A/N: This one was literally the hardest one to write to date. And I'm only on chapter 2! Woah. So, a little warning: this one's a bit heavy on religion and stuff but y'all knew what you were signing up to, right? Priest Killian is gonna preach.

Thank you so much for all your follows, favourites and reviews. The response this fic has received has exceeded any kind of expectations that I've had.

Again, thank you muchly to my great beta, adeleawesome. She's putting up with quite A LOT for this fic. And I'm not joking.


Chapter 2: Inter Spem Et Metum

A mind not to be changed by place or time.
The mind is its own place, and in itself
Can make a heav'n of hell, a hell of heav'n.

(Paradise Lost by John Milton)

Emma:

So much had happened since she decided to stay. Emma was on edge. Her constant run-ins with the Mayor left her rattled and not in the best of moods, so when on one morning Henry invited her for coffee she was almost ready to refuse him. But how could she now? He was the reason she had decided to stay, so any minute she got to spend with him was precious.

They met, talked nonsense, discussed the already infamous 'Operation Cobra' (with much enthusiasm on Henry's part, of course) when finally the kid casually mentioned Father Jones and dropped the biggest bombshell of the day so far.

"You didn't know that it was him who found you on the side of the road?" gasped Henry.

"N-no," stuttered Emma. Apparently both the Sheriff – that is, Graham – and Killian thought it best not to inform her of that particular fact. Suddenly, she slid out from their booth, bent down to Henry's level and said, "I have to go and thank him. Can you tell me where the church is?"


A half-hour later she was walking down a road in an unknown part of the town (she was still familiarising herself with it, after all). Her swift walking couldn't be explained by a simple urge to thank a person for saving her life; she wanted to see him, too, and rather badly, in fact. Their run-in in the diner the first time they met left her with some confusing emotions. It was time to face him and what better place to confront him ("Really, Emma, is that what you're after?" she thought) – alright, to thank him, than in his "natural habitat"? She snorted at the expression. Very dignified, indeed.

Of course it had to be him that saved her – that first time she saw him she'd recognised him instantly, didn't she? Those dark blue eyes and that accent. She couldn't have dreamed up all that on her own – her dreams were never that good. Emma felt her heart flutter in her chest for a few seconds ("Stop it, you, traitor"). And then she laughed. She was literally saved by a priest. How funnier could it get?

She was breathless from her walk and almost giddy with excitement (although she would had never admitted that to herself) when she finally turned around the corner and saw it. Situated almost on the edge of the town, apart from all other buildings, with the forest behind it as its faithful protector, it's spire proudly towering above the building itself, it was a sight to behold despite its comparatively modest size. There was something Neo-Gothic about it although it did look relatively modern with walls made of red brick and an actual portal adorned with beautiful reliefs.

Emma hesitated before opening the main door, debating with herself whether it might be closed or not at this hour when it suddenly flew opened and a very flustered Killian almost run into her. Her lips formed a perfect 'O' in shock and she was sure that the expression in their eyes matched right now. Emma, at the doorsteps of an actual church. Killian, an actual priest, running out of it, like it was on fire. She almost burst out laughing at the absurdity of it all.

He was first to recover, however. "Emma?" his bewildered expression only made it all that more amusing. She fought the smile that was threatening to appear on her face.

"Why, hello, Father Jones" said she, emphasising his official name just in order to annoy him. It worked instantly, like magic. He grimaced: "I told you not to call me that. Can't you just stick to Killian?" he lowered his eyes for a moment and then looked back at her, his eyes once again dark blue and incredibly intense, as ever. "And what a lovely surprise to see you here," he added with a small smile playing on his lips. Emma felt momentarily distracted by it. She huffed, trying to get a grip on herself and decided to play along.

"Is the church on fire or something?" she asked.

"What?" the playfulness in his tone was gone. He furrowed his eyebrows, "What… what on earth are you talking about?"

"Well, you did run out of it in such a hurry - almost knocking me down in the process, might I add, too".

"Oh, that," his face brightened with understanding. "I left my notebook at my flat with all the dates and stuff. Being without it is like missing a hand," he laughed, pointing with his left ha- arm, actually – towards the direction of his (she supposed) flat. It was only then that she noticed that his left hand missed the actual… hand. She stared at it in surprise and, apparently, for too long because he finally noticed her silence and glanced down at what she was looking at so intently. "Um," he started uncertainly but she didn't let him finish. Trying to be as delicate as possible, she asked, "What is wrong with your… hand?" Well, that didn't come out quite as she wanted it to but there was really no way around it.

"I don't… have it?" he answered, eyebrows quirked and it sounded almost like a question.

"I'm sorry in advance for being so insensitive, but what exactly happened that made you lose your hand?" she asked, almost fearing his response but her curiosity was too great.

"A freak accident with a chainsaw when I was younger," he replied, his jaw clenching, clearly not wanting to elaborate further. She decided to try a different tactic: "Does it bother you much?"

He looked wistful for a moment and then said, "Now? Not much. People really can get used to everything, I've found." Thinking the subject closed, he finally started his own interrogation. "So, deputy Swan, what brings you here?"

She got flustered for a moment – Emma wasn't really good at thanking people because everything she'd done in her life so far was of her own doing, the fact that she was quite proud of – but this called for some genuine expression of gratitude. She struggled to find the right words and then decided to go for the easiest ones.

"I've come to thank you for saving my life when I got into that freak car accident a few weeks back. If it hadn't been for you, God knows what would've happened to me. So yeah. Here it is. I'm… extremely grateful." Now that the hardest part was over, she could get back into her favourite interrogation mode: "Why didn't you tell me, when we first met?"

Killian was silent for a moment. "That would've sounded like bragging, wouldn't it? Besides, I didn't want you to think like you owed me anything. Nothing except Henry should have kept you in this town so I decided it was for the best." A few seconds later, he added: "Am I forgiven for withholding that sensitive bit of information?" The corners of his lips went upwards and she couldn't help but smile in return. "Definitely forgiven. Although I still owe you."

Before he could start protesting, she changed the topic of their conversation: "It's a lovely church you've got here." His face lit up at her words and she was so, so glad to see this particular expression grace his handsome face. "Would you like a tour?" he asked, eagerly.

Emma hesitated. "You know what? Maybe some other time" she smiled, trying to soften the blow. Silence was once upon them and she couldn't bear it right now.

"Why did you become a priest, Killian?" she asked softly, out of the blue.

"I…" he seemed shocked by her question and judging by his lost expression was unsuccessfully trying to find the right words to express himself. "I wouldn't want to give you all the usual clichés. I just… am. A priest. It's my true calling."

Something was off about his answer but she decided not to push it for now.

Killian:

Her question had caught him off-guard, so he couldn't really be held accountable for the next thing that came from his mouth:

"Would you like to have lunch with me?" Seeing her shocked expression he hastily added: "It's lunch-time already, is it not? I don't know about you but I'm simply famished. And the only way I can put some decent food in my stomach is by going to Granny's diner – you know, can't really cook with one hand and all…" he was rambling and he knew that, but he couldn't stop. She simply had to agree. Surprising him (and herself, probably) and saving him from further humiliation she put her hand on the arm of his good one in an attempt to silence him. It definitely worked because he stood frozen on the post not daring to move lest she decided to move her hand away from him. Her fingers on his clothes, so warm, inviting and not at all unwelcomed. He gulped.

"I would love to. I'm famished myself," she smiled, genuinely, and he sighed inwardly with relief, returning her smile with one of his own.


Once they were seated in their booth (Killian was already calling this booth 'theirs' in his head) and Ruby took their respective orders, before he could open his mouth and start some sort of conversation, preferably on a neutral topic that didn't involve religion or him being a priest, Emma took matters into her own hands and, as usual, went in for the kill.

"So," she started, fiddling with her napkin, "Tell me about what's it like being a priest." Her eyes were filled with mischief and he couldn't help but let out a laugh.

"Am I being interrogated?" he leaned in a little bit closer, "Am I in trouble, deputy Swan?" his eyes widened as soon as his words left his mouth – when did he become so playful? Her presence was doing things to him. Strange, inexcusable things.

Thankfully, she just laughed it off and continued:

"No, seriously. I just don't get it – the whole faith in God thing. Don't get me wrong, I'm not against it or anything, I just… Maybe I kind of lost all hope in God and everything that comes with it after being dragged through the whole foster system as a kid. He wasn't really, ahem, present. Or helping, for that matter." She finished, a bit bitterly. She tried to mask it with an air of nonchalance but nothing escaped Killian's gaze when it came to her.

"I'm truly sorry for what you had to go through as a child," he offered sincerely.

"But it's not as simple as that, this 'whole faith' thing, as you called it. In my opinion," and here he took a deep breath,"pure faith is the most courageous thing of all – if you truly believe in God, you don't expect anything in return. You don't wait for miracles to happen, you don't make all those bargains – 'Oh, I'll say a few rosaries for this request or that and everything will be alright' – you don't need proof or anything. You truly commit yourself. You give everything and expect nothing in return. This is truly believing. But," he made a helpless gesture, "not everyone thinks the way I do." He knew he had spoken with too much passion, probably scaring her for good but this topic was particularly dear to him. He might doubt his true calling but he never doubted his beliefs. Being unworthy of something and believing in something – these were very different things, in his mind.

A moment of silence passed between them and Killian started to worry that he really did say too much. Finally, she shook her head, as if coming out of a trance.

"I've never heard a Catholic priest talk like that," she mused, wonder apparent on her face.

"How many Catholic priests have you met?" he countered, smiling slightly, relieved she was still talking and not running away like he expected her to do.

"Not many, but the experience didn't leave me exactly thrilled," she shot back.

"Oh, Emma, Emma…" he couldn't help but laugh at this admission.

And there it was, a moment of silence between them. Simple, friendly silence, when they were content with just looking at each other, marveling at each other's existence and the fact that they were just sitting here, enjoying lunch, talking, interacting at all. He felt so blessed. Such easy happiness was rare to come by, especially in his life.

This moment of piece was soon shattered, though, because, of course, Emma needed more answers. Inevitably, the conversation turned towards Henry and his book. This topic, Killian guessed, was a particularly sore one for her.

"Couldn't you give him some… I don't know, religious books to read – the Bible, the Gospels? Being a priest and all?"

He couldn't help but laugh at this. Oh, Emma, Emma. How little did she know about him, or Henry, for that matter. She did have her excuses, of course, being so relatively new to all this insanity, but now was really the time to set some things straight.

"I, of course, tried giving him something more… as you put it, religious to read, to show him some direction, but," and here he sighed – not sadly but as if preparing to battle with her fully for this particular case. Suddenly, he saw with unusual clarity that she needed to understand some things, not least of all – this. Straightening, with his jaw set and full of determination, he continued: "Hope can be found in the most unusual places. You cannot really judge a person by the way they find it or, most importantly, where they find it. His hope is this book. Who would want to deprive a child from the only hope they have?"

She seemed to mull over this, tapping her fingers on the table and deliberately staring into the window instead of him. After a minute, as if coming to a decision, she turned to face him and finally asked:

"Does he come to your church often?"

"Every Sunday, with his mo- with the Mayor, of course. And every now and then. But that's just mostly to talk. He's a lonely kid so he doesn't have anyone to share his beloved stories with."

"You must know that book by heart now, don't you?" she laughed, quietly. What an irresistible sound it was. Killian unconsciously leaned further, intent on catching every single note of its alluring melody. A small smile was playing on his lips. "He told me you are supposed to be the saviour of this town." And maybe mine as well, he added to himself, almost longingly.

"Shhh!" she admonished him dramatically,"Wouldn't want the whole town to know that particular secret, now, would I?" Emma countered him playfully. He saw right through her, though, as usual – this particular secret was bothering her and a lot. A saviour? She clearly didn't see herself as that. The whole idea must have seemed so preposterous to her that she brushed it off without a second thought. But it still bothered her – for whatever reason. He'd get there. His golden angel wasn't going anywhere for now and Killian was a patient man.

Emma:

A few days had passed and she was still thinking about her conversation with Killian. She wanted to see him again, to talk, to discuss, to debate – anything, really. So it was to her welcome surprise that one day Henry asked her if she wanted to go to the Sunday Mass with him. Emma was a little apprehensive at first – it was rather difficult to imagine herself attending a Sunday Mass or any Mass at all. But her desire to see Killian 'at work' won over. She warned Henry, though, that she would be sitting somewhere in the back – after all, he was coming to the church with Regina and she really didn't want her experience to be spoiled with any kind of encounter with that… woman.

Emma had to give herself a pep-talk before going, still. It wasn't that she was afraid or anything – it was just unsettling for her, that's all.

She was one of the last ones to arrive before the Mass began. Choosing the last pew on the right, she slid in quietly and tried to make herself as inconspicuous as possible.

And then it all began. Organ music thundered through the whole church with the beginning notes of a psalm.

Seeing him come out and kneel before the altar was something akin to a shock.

"In the name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Spirit…"

She wasn't really listening to the words he uttered throughout the beginning of the Mass – she just became lost in the cadence of his voice, strong and confident, and in the sight of him performing such a sacred ritual. She saw Killian she knew only from the diner become someone else right in front of her eyes – a man of God, serving his Lord and Master. Every movement, every word that flew from his mouth was filled with dignity, belief and so much reverence. Not a single lie was heard from him and she was, of course, the ultimate human lie detector. He believed in this, with his whole heart, no matter his eyes or what he said at the diner.

The smells, the lighting, the music, the singing voices filling the expanse of the church, rich and powerful in their glory – it all put her in some sort of an eerie trance. She remembered the last time she attended a Mass and it hadn't exactly gone well – she fled the building with a huff of indignation after hearing the priest utter some nonsense along the lines of 'the Church is always right', leaving her fourth (fifth?) foster parents extremely embarrassed and apologising profusely to said priest. She never set foot in a church again after that.

She felt herself falling under a spell – eyes closing, breathing slowing down – when she was abruptly pulled out of her oncoming sleep when she heard Killian – Father Jones – announce that today he was reading from the holy Gospel according to John. He then proceeded to read the story of The Samaritan woman at the well. Emma didn't pay particular attention to it for she was quite familiar with the text itself – despite telling Killian at the diner that she 'didn't get' religion or faith in God in general. She knew her Gospel, courtesy of some of the foster families she'd been with. She'd known enough to last her a lifetime (and possibly more).

She finally heard Killian tell the congregation to sit down. His sermon was beginning. Yes. That was the moment she was anxiously waiting for today. What would he have to say about this?

He started with some basic explanation of the story, describing the woman's situation and her encounter with Jesus. After a while, though, he started to dig much deeper.

"There is a quote from Dante's Inferno that is, perhaps, his most well-known: 'Abandon all hope, ye who enter here.'"

At this, Emma snorted inwardly. What is this – a priest, quoting Dante? Killian was an enigma she was a very long way from cracking. He continued, obviously unaware of what went through her head at that moment.

"It addresses specifically such sinners who cannot return because of the enormity of gruesome and appalling sins they've committed. 'Abandon all hope.' Hope is seen as the last resort – the most powerful feeling that can still drag you out of whatever gaping hole you've fallen into, however despairing you may be. Why is it always said that hope dies last? We believe in God because we hope. We hope for the better. We hope to be saved. We hope to someday enter His Kingdom of Heaven and be rewarded beyond our imagination. Yet we know it won't happen today, or tomorrow, or in decades, even. And we still hope."

And then his eyes found hers and she froze under his intense stare. It seemed like he was trying to make her listen to his words very, very carefully.

"But sometimes people get afraid of hope, wrongly presuming that it makes them weak and it isn't enough to go on with; too much of a bother. They presume themselves strong enough to get through the day or life in general just on that kind of cynicism alone, viewing the world in harsh and bleak colours only. What kind of life do you think they lead? Joyless, colourless and most of all – hopeless.

"In the Epistle to the Romans, the Apostle Paul says: "For we are saved by hope. But hope that is seen is not hope. For what a man seeth, why doth he hope for?"

"If hope were such an easy thing to believe in, would it be so cherished? In today's reading, Jesus gives the Samaritan woman the most important thing she could have asked for – hope. And it changes her life forever.

"It is so easy in this day and age to brush aside hope or simple faith, for that matter, as something that people don't have time for anymore. Yet they couldn't be more wrong."

Emma was trembling in her seat. How could he? Every sentence, every word of the sermon cut her, like a razorblade, her blood swishing loudly in her ears. Her heart bled and bled, for what defenses did she have against such things? Hope, faith – anything of that sort – had become such a foreign concept to her through the years that she was ready to crumble under the force of the storm he was so hell-bent on delivering. She inwardly cursed. The nerve of that man. Infuriating, irresistible with his words, handsome ("Oh just admit it already, Emma, and move on," she told herself) and so shockingly… understanding. She gripped her seat with such force that her knuckles went white and her fingers became numb. Emma wasn't a coward. She was not going to leave. She had to endure this.

When Killian finished, she drew a shaky breath and started to relax, little by little. Still furious with him and her nerves tingling from the amount of anxiety she had just endured – God knows – (she nervously chuckled inwardly at the thought), Emma decided to close her eyes and concentrate on breathing. Her eyes flew open when she heard a mass of people moving to the centre of the church to receive Communion. It was something else – seeing him hand Communion to the parishioners was eye-opening, indeed. It all seemed so surreal that she had to blink twice to make sure it was really happening. Why was she still surprised? For goodness sake, Emma knew who he was and what he did for a living. God that sounded crude. But still. Out of the blue, she felt an inexplicable urge to receive Communion from his own hands. "What was… that?" she thought, her eyes widening in surprise at her own treacherous thoughts.

After that particular episode Emma stood, still trembling, and quietly found her way to the exit. She'd had enough for the day.

Killian:

It had been a typical Sunday Mass until he rose from his knees in front of the altar and faced the congregation assembled before him, quickly scanning through every familiar face, hopelessly trying to find the only one that really mattered. He was ready to give up until his eyes finally found her, sitting almost near the exit as far away from the others as possible. She was hiding and clearly rather uncomfortable. If not for the ceremony, he would've ran right up to her, greeted her and made everything in his power to make her feel better about this whole business. But he couldn't and she was here, and he was unbelievably happy. She came. He preferred to imagine she came only for his sake and not for Henry's and held on to that delusional bubble as long as possible.

Throughout the whole sermon he couldn't keep his eyes off her. Only sometimes he gave himself a break to look at his notes. He tried to tell her something with what he was preaching and prayed to God it worked. Her expression, though, disconcerted him to no end – it looked like she was ready to bolt at any given opportunity, her face betraying nothing although somehow he sensed that she was on the verge of tears.

He finished his impassioned sermon confused and a bit dazed at the same time. He felt it was one of his best, yet somehow a sense of dread was creeping in. Killian started to become anxious and that never boded well for Communion that was about to start. He went through the motions, as usual, but without the usual feelings that accompanied them – his heart was elsewhere, worrying about a certain pale angel sitting in the back pews.

Fortunately, he chose to look at her again just at the same time as she abruptly rose from her seat and left the church. His heart clenched and he felt something ripping inside, as though a knife was slowly and meticulously cutting through his insides. His body was coated with thousands layers of ice containing the raging fire that screamed for him to run after her. But he couldn't and that hurt even more.

After the Mass was finished and people had finally emptied the church, Killian went about his usual business with checking everything – the locks, the fire alarms, and the candles – before leaving for the day. He thought of going out to Granny's diner and trying to find Emma but immediately squashed the thought. She needed time. He'd done to her something today and he was sure that if he ran into her (by accident, or not) later today, he wouldn't be the least bit welcome. So Killian decided to go by the route he knew best – to the forest, to think it out.


He found himself quite deep into the woods when he discovered that he had forgotten his favourite rosary.

And then it finally hit him.

Hypocrite! The word shrieked through his head making him stumble. He fell on his knees, shaking. How could he do this to her? His words, that were supposed to let her see something, guide her towards some sort of reconciliation with herself, they hurt her. They cut her. He could still see her expression, full of pain, when she stood up and finally left the church. The memory was pure agony. He couldn't bear it. Not his blonde angel, not her, not ever…

And then the sudden anger flared up. Why couldn't she understand? Why was she so stubborn? Killian tried to rein in his outburst but it seemed everything was intent on slipping through his fingers and leave him without any kind of control over himself. He cried out.

And there it was, his inner monster, trying to get out of its carefully constructed cage.

"You're not fit for this. You're not good enough. You're a failure and it's not what you want in life. Admit it. Admit it!"

"What kind of God's servant makes others suffer? Did you think yourself being above everyone else? That you could do it?"

Failure, failure… hypocrite, hypocrite – the woods echoed those words back at him through the air making them almost tangible. He was ready to lash out and break something. He kicked the nearest tree with his good hand and cried out in pain. Killian saw blood on his knuckles. Served him right, he thought, bitterly. He stood there, leaning on the tree with his forehead, panting heavily and feeling like his whole being was about to disintegrate into that than this horrible torture.

It was coming back. Since that car accident, it was only getting worse. He should have gotten used to that by now. He deserved to suffer. Especially now.


A/N: So, sweeties, what do ya'll think? Again, thank you for reading! And I love receiving your reviews - some of them have already given me quite a few great ideas!