Brendan watched as Assumpta put the last of the glasses away.

'All done then?'

'Yeah, thanks,' she said, her voice tired. Brendan eyed her for a second, and sighed.

'I'll get out of your hair, then,' he said, walking over to the door. 'Night.'

'Night,' she called after him, walking down the bar to put the chairs up. She was looking forward to bed; her foot was still sore, and she'd dropped a glass on her hand earlier in the day causing it to ache beyond belief. She gingerly lifted the chair up onto the bench.

'Need a hand?'

Assumpta froze. She started breathing quickly, her heart rate shooting through the roof. She wheeled around, her dark eyes meeting those green ones.

He was here. In Ballykissangel. Standing in her bar. Looking at her.

She stopped, watching him warily, fighting the emotions that threatened to overwhelm her. They always did, when it came to him, and she hated it. Anger. Frustration. Hurt. Love.

He held her heart, and as much as she tried to take it back, she knew she would never fully recover. Peter Clifford would always hold a piece of her heart.

She reminded herself of her anger. Her rage at his actions. How he'd wordlessly left her at her most vulnerable, leaving her to wake up to Leo, as if he were some kind of second prize. Some kind of compensation.

'What do you want?' she asked, trying to show the anger in her face, and desperately trying keep her voice under control.

He stared at her. 'You.' The word was out of his mouth before he realised what he was saying.

Her heart rate increased as she slowly began to panic. She'd worked so hard to forget him; to put him out of her mind. To push him slowly out of her heart. To hide his memory so deep she couldn't find it again. But here he was, and his presence was only dragging up those memories.

Peter swallowed and looked at the floor. That was not how it was meant to go. He took a quick breath in, reminding himself of the reason he was here, and looked back up at her, meeting her eyes.

Refocus. Do what you came to do. Nothing more, he thought.

'I didn't get a chance to explain,' he said. 'And I'd like that chance.' She eyed him warily. He could see the panic in her eyes. He'd caught her off guard. He would have to be careful.

He ploughed on, taking advantage of her hesitancy.

'That night, I asked God not to take you away from me. I told Him I'd devote my life to Him if He brought you back to me.' He paused, letting it sink in, and taking a small step toward her. 'And He did. Only, I made a mistake.' He took another small step. He was still half the length of the bar away, but he wanted to be closer. He wanted to reach out and touch her.

If she let him this time.

'I begged God not to take you away, but then I ran.' Another step.

She felt the hot tears biting at her eyes. He had run. He had left her. She struggled to fight the tears with anger; she hated crying in front of him. She wouldn't forgive him. She couldn't.

'The truth is, I was terrified. I was terrified of losing you.'

He concentrated on her beautiful face; her familiar dark eyes, her red lips. It helped him to stay calm. To finish what he wanted to say without losing it. He needed to stay in control. He'd lost control last time – he'd never really had it to begin with – and it had cost him dearly. He wouldn't do that again. He took another step forward, getting closer and closer.

'I hid behind the church, behind my job. I loved you, and it terrified me.'

A single tear fell down her cheek, but she ignored it.

'I never should have left you,' he whispered, unable to stop the tears forming in his own eyes at the sight of hers.

She took a ragged breath in, trying desperately to compose herself.

'If you think you can just walk in here-'

'I don't,' he quickly interrupted before stopping, realising he should let her speak. She stared at him, willing herself to let fly. To rage at him. To make him pay for her hurt.

'I was alone, Peter.' Peter's heart broke at the sound of her pain, barely hidden behind the anger in her voice, but he forced himself to remain calm.

'No, you weren't. I knew you wouldn't be. I knew Niamh and Brendan and Siobhan would look after you,' he said.

'I didn't want them. I wanted you!' she cried, unable to control herself any longer. The hurt and pain she'd tried so hard to bury came rushing to the surface. 'You said you wouldn't let me down, but you left me when I needed you most. You hid behind that stupid uniform, all pious and noble. You never even said goodbye!' she cried. Her face went hard. 'You never loved me,' she whispered, knowing it was anything but the truth, but desperate to keep him out of what was left of her heart before it cracked.

'I left because I loved you!' he cried. 'I left because I thought it was the only thing that would save you!'

She stood, shocked – she'd never heard him really yell before. She'd heard him angry, and she'd heard him raise his voice, but never shouting. And it scared her.

Her mind went back to the priest's story. How he would have given anything to save his wife; even his own life. She closed her eyes, struggling to control her emotions. She couldn't give in. Not now. He'd hurt her too much.

'It nearly killed me to see you lying on that floor. You were dead. I thought I'd lost you forever,' he whispered, his voice breaking. He fought to keep it under control. 'I couldn't lose you.'

She stared at him, the tears falling down her face, her paper-thin resolve crumbling completely. She couldn't push him away any more; she didn't have the strength to fight him any longer. As much as she didn't want to admit it, she didn't want to fight him any longer.

She suddenly realised that if he walked out that door and out of her life again, she didn't think she'd survive.

He looked into her eyes, watching the fight drain out of her, and he started to hope again. Maybe he hadn't lost her after all. Maybe she would forgive him. And maybe, just maybe, she still loved him.

'I love you,' he said, inching closer and closer to her. 'I used to come to the pub just to see your face. Just to hear your voice. It was agony, knowing I could never have you, but I couldn't stay away. And then…I was ready to give up my life for you, Assumpta. I gave up my life for you.'

He stared in to her eyes, his gaze fierce. He could smell blood, she knew. She looked at the ground, unable to maintain his gaze, trying to hide. He took another step forward.

'I still think about you all the time. Night and day. It's different stuff, but it's all the same. I run futsal training, and I'm thinking of you. Wondering what you're doing. I talk to the boys at the centre, and it's you in the back of my mind. Something good happens and all I want to do is tell you. My dreams are you. I haven't slept because of the nightmares – they're always you; your cold, white face lying on that floor.' He drew in a shuddery breath, forcing the pictures that had plagued his dreams for months out of his mind. 'It's always been you. It's only ever been you.'

He was only inches away from her now.

'And then when I thought I'd lost you…' he stopped, looking up at the ceiling, willing himself to continue. 'I would have done anything. Anything at all. Leaving you was easy when faced with…I couldn't…' He stopped, his voice breaking.

She shook her head.

'No…' she whispered, her voice betraying her.

'I'm so, so sorry, Assumpta. I made a mistake. A huge mistake, and I've paid for it every day since. I let you down, and you don't know what that's done to me.' He drew in a careful breath. 'Please forgive me,' he whispered, and she choked out a sob. 'Please, Assumpta,' he whispered urgently. 'I can't go on like this,' he begged. 'Please forgive me.'

He tried desperately to push his emotions down; she didn't want him to stay. He reminded himself of why he'd come – her forgiveness. That was all.

She shook her head, unable to stop crying. For the first time she considered what leaving had done to him; before tonight, she'd only really known her own pain, her own hurt. She suddenly realised what he'd done for her – what he thought he was doing – and just how much it had cost him. The lack of sleep, his gaunt, thin frame, his dull eyes… The pieces of the puzzle suddenly all fit, and the pain of the realisation overwhelmed her.

'I know I don't deserve it, but I can't do this anymore. Please, Assumpta. All I'm asking is that you forgive me, and then I'll go,' he whispered.

She looked up at him and her face crumbled. She fell forward onto him, her forehead resting on his chest, her body shaking with the sobs she couldn't hold back any longer. He closed his eyes and put his arms around her, trying not to think of it as the last time he would ever hold her. She pounded his chest with her fists, the last vestiges of anger pouring out of her.

'I hate you,' she sobbed.

'No, you don't,' he said, kissing her soft, dark hair. He'd noticed when he first saw her that she'd let it grow out; it was long and dark and he loved it. 'God knows I deserve it,' he added.

'I called for you, but you never came,' she sobbed.

'I know, I'm sorry,' he whispered, the tears running down his face freely now.

He held her tightly until she slowly stopped hitting him, her palms eventually resting flat against his chest. He pulled her even tighter, wanting to envelop her, to take away the tears. She slowly stopped crying, pushing herself away from him slightly. He loosened his grip, but his arms wouldn't let her go. She looked up into his red-rimmed eyes, knowing she looked the same.

He stared back down at her, his face serious.

'I thought I was doing the right thing, but I wasn't. Please forgive me.'

After a few breathless moments, she nodded slowly and hesitantly, and a small smile slowly broke out across his face. He reached up and brushed her hair away from her face, and wiped a fresh tear from her cheek.

What was he doing? He swallowed hard, letting her go, dragging his eyes away from hers. He was drowning in her beautiful, dark eyes. He promised himself he wouldn't break her heart, and here he was, doing it all over again. He promised himself he wouldn't stay. He wouldn't ask that of her again. Her forgiveness was miracle enough; he could never ask for more.

'Thank you,' he whispered, holding her soft hand in his fingers. He looked down at it. 'I'll…I'll go now,' he stumbled out, choking on the words. He let her hand go and turned to leave.

'Peter,' she called quietly. He stopped, pausing for a second before turning around. He looked down at her feet; he couldn't bring himself to look into her eyes. It would be the end, he knew, and he couldn't do that to her. Not again.

'Where are you going?' she asked quietly, her voice ragged.

Where was he going?

'I…I only wanted to explain, Assumpta. I couldn't bear the thought that you were here, not understanding…' he trailed off. 'I can only ask for your forgiveness,' he added, finally forcing himself to look at her face.

Her eyes glistened with remains of the tears she'd shed that night. Tears because of him.

'What do you want, Peter?' she asked again, her voice soft but firm. Her question stung; she knew exactly what he wanted. What he'd always wanted. What he'd had for just a few fleeting hours before his world had collapsed around him.

'I think you know what I want,' he said, his shattered voice betraying the hurt he felt. 'I suppose I should be the one asking what you want. What do you want, Assumpta?' he asked, not really considering the implications of such a question. He'd spent so long fighting for control, and he was tired. He looked up at her tear-stained face, her red-rimmed eyes.

'I think you know what I want,' she repeated back at him. He stared at her; she sounded terrified. He frowned for a split second, not understanding…

His heart swelled; he crossed the few steps between them in an instant and gathered her up in his arms, holding her tight. He could feel her bury her face in his shoulder, her soft hair brushing his neck. He never wanted to let her go. He felt his eyes fill with fresh tears, and he squeezed them shut, enjoying the feel of his arms around her.

Eventually, he slowly pulled away, staring into her dark eyes, finally allowing himself to be swallowed up by them.

'I love you,' he whispered. She smiled tentatively up at him, and his heart nearly exploded. He glanced down at her lips. His face grew serious.

'I'd like to kiss you, if that's ok,' he said quietly, putting his hands on either side of her face. He leant forward slowly, waiting for her to protest, but praying she didn't. He closed his eyes, his forehead touching hers.

'Assumpta,' he whispered, before slowly closing the gap between their lips. He kissed her gently, softly, his lips barely touching hers, terrified she'd pull away. She didn't, and he hesitantly kissed her again, his lips caressing hers. She responded, gently kissing him back. It was all he needed; he kissed her again, more fully this time. Each kiss built upon the one before; he kissed her slowly, deeply. Her hands, hands that had been resting on his chest, slowly slid up and buried themselves in his hair; his one hand still at her neck, the other at her waist, pulled her closer to him.

He slowly pulled away, breathless, his face serious, looking into her eyes. 'I love you, Assumpta Fitzgerald.' She gave him a small smile and looked down, his gaze too intense. She rested her head on his chest, and he held her tight, his head resting on the top of hers.

The clock on the mantle chimed eleven. Peter leant back slightly, and Assumpta looked up at him.

'So, need a hand?' he asked.

I felt bad just leaving you hanging. That's what reviews will do to you, I guess! The moment you've all been waiting for. I hope it lives up to expectations...

Let me know what you think, please - all feedback - including criticism - is greatly appreciated and will go towards future stories.

For those of you interested, there is still more to come. Just because our favourite couple have declared their undying love (heh!) doesn't mean things are going to go swimmingly...there's still a Community Centre in Manchester to sort out, and the rest of Ballyk...