The front door slammed shut.

Peter needed to go after her and explain himself but he couldn't leave just yet. He only hoped she hadn't misinterpreted things. Everything had been so transparent and fragile since he returned from his retreat. Yet this wasn't a matter of feeling vulnerable, this was about time; with his mother's death and Assumpta's failed marriage he knew it was time he acted, time he spoke up, time he quit pretending and accepted reality.

But not quite this exact moment. Right now Kiaran was his priority so an explanation would have to wait.

Suddenly the infants cry came through the monitor like a siren. Peter climbed the stairs, grateful for the distraction.

"I know, I know little one." He kissed the top of the baby's head and sniffled to hold back his own tears…he sniffed again.

"Well, uncle Peter can't fix everything," He walked towards the changing station. "But this we can fix."

~o~

"Well would you look at that." Niamh said, sitting her purse on the table.

"You either have it or you don't." added Ambrose.

Peter grinned at the flattery and passed Kiaran to his mother. "I wasn't going to run away with him."

"We were afraid he might run off with you." she chided.

"Will you have a drink?" asked Ambrose. He was in a very good mood. A night of fresh air had done him wonders. Besides, Niamh was fond of the Priest and anyone adored by her and good with Kiaran held merit in his book. Not that he didn't think Peter had other respectable qualities. Although Gaelic football was not one of them.

"Sorry, I can't. Busy day tomorrow. I'd better get all this put away and turn in." He grabbed up the bags with his supplies and dishes for tomorrow's Far East food festival.

"Thank you again Father," said Niamh walking him to the door. "goodnight."

~o~

Peter hadn't been lying entirely. He did need to put the food away. However it wasn't long before he snuck back out into the darkness and made his way to Fitzgerald's.

He knocked quietly on the back door.

Maybe she wouldn't hear him, maybe she'd gone upstairs, maybe he'd finally mess- Assumpta opened the door as if she'd been expecting him.

"Can I come in?"

"What, afraid the neighbours will see you?" she stepped aside to let him through.

"Listen, Assumpta. I want to talk about tonight, earlier. I just needed time to think."

"Well it's not what's in your head I need to hear."

"I know." Peter looked at the wall. "You're absolutely right. That's why I'm here now."

She stared at him and he feared she'd throw him back out into the night, barring him for good. Finally she asked "Tea or something stronger?"

"Tea is fine, thanks."

She put the kettle on then abruptly walked out into the bar. Peter heard the door latch and grew concerned.

"Ensuring it's locked." she said coming back into the kitchen, she then checked the back door.

"Now who's worried about the neighbours." He teased but his heart wasn't in it and Assumpta glared at him once more. His shoulders slumped and he leaned against the counter.

Peter had been becoming more like a wounded dog as of late. Assumpta wanted to be angry, she was angry! Well, maybe frustrated was more accurate. Yet she knew that Peter was just as exhausted. He was bound to either collapse or lash out and she wasn't quite sure which she was on the brink of witnessing. "Have a proper seat will you." she said with moderate compassion. A fair balance, she thought.

He took a seat at the table while she poured the tea.

She looked at the bottle of whiskey on the counter, considered it then decided against it. Maybe it would be best to take this conversation head on, without assistance. Although if he was going to make apologies and climb back on the fence she'd wish she'd taken all the help she could get.

She sat down, sliding his tea in front of him. "Well? What do you want?"

She didn't mean tonight, she meant in general, the whole of it. She needed Father Peter Clifford to say it.

He clasped the steaming cup and allowed the warmth to ground his thoughts. Leave it to Assumpta Fitzgerald to cut right to the chase. Fine. "Where did it all go wrong?"

"Well it hasn't yet."

"It will though won't it?"

"I don't know Peter, I don't know what you want." she responded truthfully.

"I would like some sleep (that much was obvious). I want to do the right thing (that bit was less obvious)."

"By who?"

"By you, the Church."

"Well that's not possible, it's not an answer. I mean you can't love us both...I'm sorry that was stupid."

Peter let go of his mug and placed his hand, with all its warmth, atop Assumpta's.

The heat, the contact, brought their eyes together from across the table.

"It wasn't." He said, reassuringly. "You must know how I feel about you."

"How would I know that?"

"Assumpta, are you serious? I think about you every minute of every day. I say mass, I say the words, but it's you that I'm thinking of." He closed his eyes as if trying to concentrate. "I can't sleep because you keep me awake."

He opened them again to meet her blank expression. He began to worry again, "Am I getting through to you? Apart from that you mean nothing to me."

Her features softened. "I had no idea."

"I thought the dogs on the street knew."

"Do you think I'd have gotten married if I knew how you felt?"

"Sure, if you were in love with someone else, why not?"

She looked away.

"Were you?" Peter pressed.

She sighed. "I-I liked him. I thought in time he would drive you out of my head."

Then they stared at one another allowing this revelation to hang in the air.

Their truth.

~o~

Down the street Brian was knocking on the red door beneath the church. "Damn it!" he whispered.

He needed to get some documents faxed to Dublin before midnight. Documents that were sitting in a box in the Curate's loft. Business never sleeps.

He removed the key from his pocket and let himself into the house. "Let's hope you aren't sleeping as the Lord made you." he murmured as the door gently opened.

At the top of the stairs he noticed that the bedroom door was open. Although Brian didn't take Peter as the violent kind, the young Priest's height and age might make him a worthy opponent if threatened.

"Father," he called into the darkened room "Sorry for the intrusion I just really need-" he stopped abruptly as he reached the landing and could make out no figure in the bed. He turned on the light and nodded to himself.

He had a good feeling he knew exactly where the Priest was.

~o~

They were now sitting in the dark. Assumpta thought it best not to leave the lights on. No reason to advertise that someone was actively about in the pub at such an hour.

"So what now?" she asked, her chin in her palms, elbows on the table.

Peter looked pensive, brow furrowed and lips tight, he was clearly thinking of all that would have to be done. She, on the other hand possessed the aurora of a mischievous child. A smile danced at the corner of her mouth.

"We do what has to be done," he folded his arms across his chest "when we figure out what that is."

"Until then?" she asked.

"Pray?"

"A married woman and a Catholic priest."

She could sense Peter tense.

"It's alright." she let her chin rest on the table. "Well it isn't, it very well isn't but, you know."

"Yeah."

"You should probably get going."

Peter exhaled deeply and rose to his feet. She followed suit. He reached the door then stopped and turned to face her.

"This is really happening?"

"Better be."

He took her hands in his "I won't let you down."

"Well," she pulled a hand free and reached past him, unlocking the door, "You'll never get to heaven if you break my heart."