A/N: I'm very, very sorry for the long wait and everything (hello, Christmas, hiii finals, you know, that sort of thing). Thank you from the bottom of my heart for all your lovely reviews, favourites and follows. Means a great deal, shipmates!

This one was not beta'd but hopefully the mistakes will be few. So, here you go.


Chapter 3: Omne Initium Difficile Est

"He who sees a need and waits to be asked for help is as unkind as if he had refused it."

(Dante Alighieri)

Emma:

If you had seen Deputy Swan walking around Storybrooke in the days that followed that momentous Sunday, you wouldn't have had suspected a thing. Cool, unperturbed as ever, she continued on as if nothing happened. But inside her a small oasis started to grow full of hopeful (and, in a way, holy) water her bleak desert of desperation, usually carefully contained within her and meticulously preserved – she was so used to it, it hadn't bothered her for years, not until that godawful (and here she didn't spare him) priest started preaching and telling her, her, Emma Swan, survivor extraordinaire, what to think and what to do – the mere thought of it rattled and enraged her so much she wondered if there was something else to it. Seeds of poisonous hope started to creep through the cracks in the dry land of her desert and she hated it. At first. She raged internally for a few days, fuming and refusing to speak to anyone unless absolutely necessary, even distancing herself from Henry for a while in the process. Now that she knew where the church was, Emma even avoided the streets leading up to it and was particularly careful not to appear in Granny's diner during the lunch-hour. Was she a coward? Probably, but she didn't come here to deal with this sort shit. And damn, wasn't the whole thing pretty shitty.

She felt like a villain from some sort of Disney movie when she had to turn down Henry's invitation to the diner yesterday. A horrible, horrible villain with guilty consciousness and barely believable excuses. But Emma couldn't risk running into Father Fu- (here she had to stop that train of thought, because she wasn't that much of a villain, at least not yet)… Jones. Which, again, made her a coward. A cowardly villain – what could possibly be better than that? That might clash most uncomfortably with Henry's book, indeed. At that, she perked up a little. Yes. She needed to focus on Henry more. No more of that 'hope' crap. She's here for her son, and nothing else. She really shouldn't change anything. But then… didn't Henry change everything when he found her? Wasn't it the time for…

"Stop it, just stop!" she screamed, internally. Emma had to stop on the sidewalk for a moment to get a grip on herself. These kind of thoughts wouldn't lead her anywhere. This had to stop.


Yesterday evening Emma felt an urgent need to finally talk to someone, at least about something. She wasn't the chatty type but being confined to her own head did little good to her sanity – it was akin to ignoring a festering wound instead of treating it with outmost care. Or taking out the whole injured limb in the process, which, Emma mused, was probably even better.

Mary Margaret was in the house, trying (and failing, mostly) to wash the dishes, her mind clearly somewhere else. "Probably wandering the enchanted forest full of invisible monsters that is her relationship with David, whatever that is" thought Emma. Her willpower was being severely tested in this regard – she tried, really, really tried not say anything about the whole 'affair' – and she very much wanted to believe there wasn't much to it – but this whole… falling in love business made her quite uneasy. She was blissfully spared from thinking about it for the last few days, having been dragged under by her own urgent problems. Well, at least something good came out of that sermon, after all. Emma stifled a bitter laugh.

She cautiously approached the other woman.

"Mary Margaret?"

The school teacher almost dropped the dish she was holding in her soapy hands, breaking out of her reverie.

"Y-yes?" Mary Margaret turned to face Emma and then her eyes grew wide. "Oh my God, you're talking again".

Emma gulped guiltily. "Sorry about that. I've had, er, a lot on my mind lately. You know, Henry, the Mayor…" she rambled, painfully aware that these excuses were pretty feeble ones. She was in luck, however, because Mary Margaret decided to give her a much needed break and didn't push for explanations.

"Of course, Emma, I understand," she smiled in answer. "Oh I bet you do," thought Emma automatically but then hastily stopped from pursuing that particular train of thought further because being ungrateful was the last thing she wanted to be, especially towards Mary Margaret.

"I actually wanted to ask you something" said Emma, surprising even herself. She wanted a simple, mindless chat but here she was, talking about the last topic she would've wanted to discuss. Her mouth seemed to have a mind of its own, however.

"About Father Jones."

"Father Jones?" perked up Mary Margaret. She clearly liked the man well enough that the mere mention of his name cheered her up a bit. "Good, at the very least I'm distracting her from David," thought Emma. That made her feel less ashamed for giving into her curiosity. A little pleased with the way she turned that around, she proceeded.

"Uh, yes, about him. I met the man twice at most but I know almost close to nothing about him. He clearly plays a big role in Henry's life, so I'm rather curious to hear your opinion about him." She walked to the table, pulled out the nearest chair and sat down, preparing for a long story. "Tell me."

Mary Margaret simply nodded and took her place across the table. "Well, he's been a priest here for quite a long time. Everybody likes him, he's just… a good man, you know? Always so nice to everyone. It's very sad that he lost his left hand – makes his life a lot harder, of course."

"Of course," echoed Emma, all of a sudden feeling a bit uncomfortable the man's injury without him being present. There was another subject concerning him, however, that piqued her interest more than anything else.

"Why did he become a priest?" she finally asked the burning question.

"I… don't really know. It's just his true calling, I guess. Anyway, you should probably ask him yourself" added Mary Margaret, thoughtfully, clearly beginning to wonder herself. They stayed silent for a minute until she finally said: "The thing is, he's a wonderful priest. Really. And a very good influence on Henry, by the way, so you can stop worrying about that right now." she told Emma with a knowing mock-glare. She sighed then. "The only thing that ever worries me about him is his eyes. Have you seen them? Always so… sad. When he thinks nobody's looking, his expression gets so wistful. It breaks my heart sometimes."

Again, silence. Emma didn't really know what to say about that. Speechless? Certainly. Unexpected? Even more so. She'd seen his eyes but every time he looked at her, Emma saw nothing but… life. Maybe she and Mary Margaret saw very different men in him. Again, Killian Jones was proving to be quite an enigma.

Finally, Mary Margaret sighed, thinking the subject exhausted for the night and said: "I'm going outside for a bit. You'll be alright, won't you, Emma?"

She managed only to mutely nod at this and stare at the table instead. What a fascinating tablecloth. Cloth. Black cloth. Cassocks.

What a fascinating priest.

Emma groaned, fully aware that she now was definitely not as angry with him as she had been before. Something told her their paths were bound to cross again and at last, she felt a bit… hopeful at the thought.

She mentally shook herself. Hope is such a dirty word.

Killian:

He spent exactly three days trying to find Emma Swan and explain himself. Not that Killian went out of his way to do it (much) but he couldn't go right to the Sheriff's office and see her. What reason would he give? "I'm deeply sorry if that sermon has offended you, by the way" wouldn't cut it. This whole business seemed much more personal and at the same time he couldn't waste his whole days looking for her – for heaven's sake, he was a parish priest and had responsibilities that consumed his time good enough.

Besides, all the usual places where Killian could 'casually' bump into her, request a conversation and be done with it didn't seem to work. He didn't see her at the diner at the lunch-hour (here Killian wondered if she was eating properly because somehow, he mused, Emma didn't look the type who cooked a lot) and, much to his chagrin, he couldn't go up to Ruby the waitress (or Granny, even) and ask about her. That might seem suspicious (or not?) and Killian was so occupied with keeping up appearances these days that he couldn't risk it. But why wouldn't he ask about her? Emma was Sheriff's Deputy, maybe he ran into some trouble or something happened or…

The scenarios went on and on, spinning through his head with lightning speed, while he processed everything and looked at every single one from every possible angle, looking for loopholes and drawbacks. He was clearly making too big a fuss over it but he couldn't stop.

Killian spent these last three days battling for his own sanity. His evening walks were becoming increasingly painful with every passing day. He hadn't doubted himself so much in his whole life, probably. The monster reared its ugly head and told him everything that he had already known but made himself forget. Sometimes it sounded like a broken record that was intent on breaking Killian's own head although each time it added something new to its venomous accusations. But mostly it was about failure. Hypocrisy. His own lack of goodness.

"You're not fit to do God's work on this earth," it hissed in his ear on Monday.

"It's not your place," it growled in his head on Tuesday.

"I'm here to break you, at last and for ever and there's no force in this world to stop me from becoming your final undoing," it swore on Wednesday, touching the priest's very soul.

Killian should have been glad to have such a helpful and, most of all, truthful monster in his possession. Others, well, they all lied. This one promised exactly what it would do – and Killian was quite sure it would go through with it.

He didn't regret that sermon and all those words he said. He did, regret, however, not running out after her and trying to explain everything, to the last minute detail. She was missing out on something incredibly vital in her life, Killian was certain of that. It felt as his duty, somehow, to at least tell her something about it – make her think about it. Once she started, she wouldn't be able to stop – and heavens, did he know how that worked.

He couldn't stop thinking about her. All might be lost and she would scorn his very presence but Killian needed to be beside her at least one last time, to see if what he felt was real – did she really make him feel calmer or was it his imagination? Just… one conversation. Or simply to breathe the same air for a few minutes (probably with her glaring at him the whole time but he'd take anything by this point).

And so he still hoped.


Help came in the form of his favourite protégé.

Killian was once more busy in the sacristy, tidying up, checking his notebook and rearranging his books for the umpteenth time, when Henry burst through the door without announcing his presence or even greeting the priest. He just stood there, for a minute, panting, as if he just ran a mile ('And he probably did, by the look of him' thought the priest). Killian waved his hand in greeting but didn't say anything, waiting for the boy to calm down and get down to business at last.

"You need to talk to my Mum, Father" he finally rasped.

"And hello to you too, Henry" Killian managed to say while his mind wildly tried to process this entirely unpredictable turn of events.

"Why would I need to do that?" he cleared his voice, at last.

"I think… Something happened to her on Sunday. I think she needs help. You know. Your kind of help." he finally smiled, shyly.

Killian continued to stare at him in bewilderment, still trying to make some sense of this situation.

"And why do you think something happened to her? Is she…" he gulped, "behaving strangely or…"

"She doesn't really talk to anyone, well, except for Mary Margaret yesterday, and… and… Operation Cobra needs Emma to talk at least! She even refused to go to the diner to drink hot chocolate with me. And she never, ever, does that" he blurted, his eyes starting to shine suspiciously. "And I think she might be a little cross with you. I need you to be friends again" added Henry, clearly trying to use every possible weapon in his ammunition.

The boy was looking at Killian with so much hope in his eyes, it physically hurt Killian to even think of turning him down. So he nodded, still a bit numb. Henry's whole countenance brightened instantly and he almost jumped, giddy with excitement, but, finally remembering where he was, simply grinned at the still disbelieving and, frankly, a bit lost, priest, grabbed his hand and practically dragged him out of the sacristy. Killian only stopped once to bow in front of the altar and obediently followed Henry to wherever the boy was taking him.

Emma:

When Emma finally relented and agreed to meet Henry at his playground castle on the beach that morning, least of all she expected to see a certain priest being almost dragged her way by his right hand by a very determined boy. Killian's face surely displayed the same amount of shock she felt and they could only nod at each other, awkwardly, when both her son and the priest stopped in front of her.

Emma looked expectantly at Henry. By the looks of it, he was gearing up for battle.

"Emma, I asked you to come here because you need to talk to Father Jones. Just… trust me on this, okay?" he implored her.

She just stood there, still a bit struck by what was happening and unsuccessfully trying to ignore the very palpable presence of a certain Father, who was clearly quite uncomfortable with the whole scenario. His eyes were mostly fixated on the ground but once in a while they darted across the faces of mother and son, trying his best to appear collected. He wasn't particularly good at this, Emma wondered with amusement.

"Uh… alright? We'll talk, if you really want that." she finally shrugged, trying to appease Henry.

"You both know this is my favourite hiding place so don't you dare argue here, okay?" Henry sternly addressed both adults. Emma was about to protest when she noticed the look Killian was giving her – "don't" – and just nodded. They both must have looked pretty silly – two grown-ups being lectured by a ten-year old. Okay, maybe she did deserve this.

"Now," continued Henry, determined as ever, "shake hands and be friends again." At the look of horror starting to spread across Emma's face, the boy stood his ground. "I need to see it!"

Killian seemed to have accepted his fate. He extended his good hand to her and finally looked into her eyes. He looked dejected and – impossibly – hopeful at once. She trembled inside. "It's just a handshake, for God's sake," she thought and bravely extended her own.

They shook hands and quickly withdrew them, as if burned.

Skin touched skin, sparks ignited in their cells, electric currents hissed through the air and something intangible formed between them. It was there to stay, whether they wanted it or not.

Emma imagined it, surely, except Killian was now looking at her with the strangest expression on his face – dazed, struck, eyes wide open and lips forming a perfect 'O'. It lasted a few mere seconds but the sight of him, so, so confusing, was seared into her memory now. What the hell was going on here.

He was back to his old self again, though, and was now talking to Henry and it was Emma who had to get a grip on herself. Apparently, the boy was leaving them to their own devices – to talk, in other words, just like he asked them to do. It was time to live up to that promise.

Henry said his goodbyes and left them, with a very pleased smile on his face. She couldn't help but feel the corners of her mouth lift up a little in return – anything to make her son happy, even in this – probably lost – case.

Killian cleared his throat quietly and brought her back to earth. He was still there, standing right beside her.

"Um… I…" he stumbled with his words, then took a deep breath and started over. "I know something happened on Sunday, when you came to my church. I'm very… sorry, if you heard something that disturbed you or maybe even offended you – I'm not really sure – but please," and here he closed his eyes, brow furrowed, as if it pained him to say it, "please, tell me whether I'm wrong and if I presume correctly, accept my sincerest apologies. God knows, the last thing I wanted to do was make you unhappy with something that I'd said." he breathed out. The priest clearly had taken a lot of time to think about this because she didn't expect the words that were coming from his mouth.

Emma suddenly saw everything that happened that day with searing clarity. Of course, he had no real right to lecture her or to tell her how to live her life but it was just a sermon, after all. She presumed (and probably wrongly) that it was directed at her and all at once she felt small. He had his God's Gospel to preach and here she was, thinking it was all about her. Nothing was ever about her. New place, new people, it didn't really matter. How would he have known that it would affect her so much? Nobody ever knew, even her.

Just as quickly as this realisation hit her, she made her decision at last.

"I may have reacted a bit strongly to your… words but," she took a deep breath, hoping with all her heart that she wasn't making a huge mistake, "I understand where you're coming from even though it's not something I wanted to hear. But it's your church, your sermon, and I have no right to interfere." She smiled faintly at him, at last. "So, you see, no harm done." She put her hands up as if in surrender.

Killian stared her, evident relief etched in his features at her words. But he wasn't completely reassured.

"I do hope that this unfortunate… episode won't keep you away from visiting the church again. Your presence was most welcome there, believe me. I'm sure Henry appreciated it a lot."

"Oh you do know how to play me, huh" thought Emma but didn't have the heart to get angry at him for that. He was trying to do his best, after all. Just like her.

"I will… try. I think. But not in the immediate future, so don't get your hopes up," she pointed her finger at him, making her point. He looked at it, transfixed for a moment and then looked back at her. A breathtaking smile lit up his face then.

"Whenever you are ready."

An awkward silence fell between them.

"So," he ventured, "can we be friends again?" She saw him grimace at his choice of words and laughed, deciding to spare him the humiliation.

"Of course. Let's just steer clear of some topics. Let's start with simple things." she proposed.

"Simple? Well. I can do simple, I would hope so. Just don't mention the Romans. I get pretty intense whenever that particular Epistle is brought up."

They found themselves, finally, laughing, sharing a joke, and not thinking about anything for once. Emma decided that she liked this feeling. Light and simple. Father Jones could prove to be a very agreeable distraction and maybe even an ally in her cause.

"See you at lunch tomorrow?" he asked, fidgeting a bit, still a bit uncertain.

"Sure." smiled Emma. She was looking forward to it, as much as she hated to admit that.

Killian:

He could breathe now. Breathe easily. She didn't turn him down, she didn't walk away, she didn't refuse to talk to him. He felt an urgent need to sing "Hallelujah!" or something along those lines, so full of happiness he was. Until he remembered their handshake. The ghost of her touch still lingered on his skin. It couldn't be ignored any longer. It wouldn't. Killian stopped walking and took a few deep breaths. It was nothing. Nothing at all. Just an unusual reaction to someone new that could be explained, probably later. He certainly hoped there was an explanation for that. The things he felt in that moment for now were beyond his comprehension so he decided to abandon the subject altogether. No need to linger on such treacherous thoughts when he achieved so much today.

He wasn't scared to venture into the forest that day. He welcomed it, in fact. Joyous prayers left his lips, full of rapture and gratitude. His 'Hail Mary's' never sounded so delightful, so true, so revolutionary in their power. The whole forest seemed to mirror his mood and he again, inexplicably, smelled a hint of sea in the air.

The monster was swiftly silenced because Killian's mind was too bright a place for it at the moment. He felt lightheaded. He was more than ready to tackle it. Tomorrow would be better and even brighter and with the help of a certain Miss Swan he would conquer it in time. His confidence was boundless in that moment.

Killian went to bed that day blissfully unaware as to what awaited him in his hard-earned sleep.

A dying woman in his arms and a faint whisper: "I love you."


A/N: So, the wheels are turning and thanks to Emma, Killian is about to have one hell of a time trying to understand what's going on. Ahem. Thank you for reading!