Author's note: this one's taken me a while, sorry. I've really struggled with them in this chapter, and feeling so frustrated that they couldn't have talked and worked things out sooner, and had a whole extra day together!


Peter, early October 1998

Peter slumped down against the kitchen units, hearing the Egans' front door slam shut. He buried his head in his hands and wept tears of frustration and disappointment; how could he have been so stupid?

He closed his eyes, leaning his head back against the kitchen cupboard, still sitting on the floor. As he did he relived how it had felt to be held by her, to bury his face into her hair, to breathe in her scent. It had been heady and intoxicating and he realised how starved he'd been of human touch since he'd been a priest. Not that that excused what he'd done in kissing her, he couldn't explain that other than that he had stopped thinking and allowed himself just to feel. It'd been a raw expression of how he felt about her and it had overwhelmed all his defences in that moment; years of unexpressed love and longing, and of pain and loneliness.

But Assumpta was right; it was wrong. It had felt right to him in the moment but that didn't mean it was right. Assumpta deserved more from him than what he'd offered her tonight, and he cursed himself for not handling the situation better, for leaving it to her to stop things from going further than they did. He needed to think, to get his head straight, but he couldn't, he hadn't been able to since he'd arrived back in Bally K and this evening was a particular blur. Assumpta's arrival whilst he was babysitting had been completely unexpected and, maybe because he'd not had the chance to get himself mentally prepared for seeing her, he'd found himself finally talking to her, finally finding a way to express to her some of the conflict he felt between who he was and his feelings for her. He wished he'd had something more to say to her. He needed to think; he wished he could think.

After a while, he got up from the floor and slowly washed up Assumpta's glass and put it away. He drained his own wine and washed that glass up too. For now, he needed to look after Kieran and he decided he might as well make the food he'd planned to, given that he couldn't do much else until Niamh and Ambrose returned. He found it agonisingly lonely cooking without her, wishing she was with him, sitting on the counter as she had been. He was almost relieved when Kieran woke up and he had an excuse to get him out of his cot, and distract himself with being Uncle Peter, rather than Father Clifford or just plain Peter.


Assumpta, early October 1998

Assumpta fled up the road from the Gard's house to Fitzgerald's, angry, confused tears escaping down her cheeks against her will. He was a priest. Peter was a priest. She'd almost made her peace with that, that she was in love with a priest, and now he was kissing her? What the hell was she supposed to do with that? What did he even mean by that? Why would he never actually talk to her? She reached the pub and stormed though into the kitchen slamming the door behind her.

As she sat, alone in the kitchen, the tears continued to fall; still angry and confused yes, but also deep sadness. This was a man whom she loved, who possibly, probably even, loved her in return, and yet it just didn't seem like they would ever be able to co-exist together in any meaningful way. Just as they'd managed to find some sort of friendship over the last few weeks, things had got messy and complicated again. Probably being in love with a priest was always messy and complicated, but at least this morning she knew where they stood. But now? She would never be a priest's mistress, never. That was why she'd stopped him; if things had gone any further that'd be what she was. Either Peter loved her enough to leave the priesthood for her, or he didn't. There would not, could not, be an in between for her.

The door to the kitchen opened quietly and, without turning, she knew it would be Brendan. Whilst she didn't want to look at him she was nonetheless grateful that he cared enough to check on her.

"Assumpta, are you ok?"

She took a deep breath, and bit the tears back.

"I'm fine."

She wasn't fine, and she knew that Brendon would know it too. Hopefully he would just think she'd had a row with Niamh, although realistically if anyone knew the real score with her and Peter, it was probably Brendan.

"Only if there's anything I can do…"

He knew. She was sure of it.

"Right" was all that she managed to say in reply.

"Ok"

Brendan closed the door and went back out into the bar. Alone again in the kitchen, her anger surfaced again. Peter should not have put her in this position; it was his dog collar that was standing between them and so it was him who had to decide what to do, and who had to talk to her, whether he wanted to or not. Was he offering her anything? Did he want to be with her, or be a priest? She would have to force him to talk to her, or she would have to run away from him and never come back. She couldn't live like this, not anymore; it was a half life, a sham, and she deserved better from him.

She looked up at the clock, still only 9 o'clock; he wouldn't be home from Niamh's for ages and this wasn't a conversation she wanted the Egans walking in on. She would just have to wait it out, maybe if she looked from the window upstairs she'd be able to see him walking home? She went over to put the kettle on and saw the envelope of photographs open on top of the pile of paperwork there. She picked up the photo of her mum and looked at it sadly; what she would give to have her mum here now, to calm her down and to bind her breaking heart. She couldn't imagine what her mum would say about the situation she found herself in, but she would've looked after her regardless.

Like all great women, her mother had been a complex and complicated mix. In many ways she'd been progressive and free-thinking; she'd encouraged Assumpta to think for herself and to experience life and when Assumpta opted out of religion as a teenager, she hadn't forced her or expressed disappointment. But, at the same time, she'd stayed with Assumpta's dad despite his drinking and the things he said and did when he was drunk. Assumpta had vowed as a teenager that she'd never settle like her mum had done, she'd never be with a man who didn't love her more than anything else and who didn't treat her right. She sighed. Life was so much less black and white when you grew up. Leo had loved her, maybe still did love her. Peter? Maybe, but maybe not more than he loved the church. What would her mum say?

She felt the tears coming again and wiped them away, distracting herself by making a cup of tea and cradling it between her hands. The familiar warmth was comforting, and she took the tea, and her mum's photo, upstairs, stationing herself uncomfortably on the window sill watching for Peter. Once she knew he was home she would go over and see if he would talk to her, finally.