A/N: Huge thank you to the two women beta-ing this story, steph-the-fangirl-925 and aimeeloren. And I would also like to thank those of you who have decided to take a chance on this story. I appreciate it.

Disclaimer: I do not own the characters, they belong to Once Upon A Time.

Chapter 7:

Robin was rarely at a loss for words, but since the proprietress's comment of understanding his regard for Regina, he'd been awestruck, barely registering her further conversation with Emma over Snow's ring. This mysterious woman knew things, things that should almost be incomprehensible.

He followed her through the front room, where Emma stopped to stare at a painting. They went down a long hallway filled with doors, only two remained open.

"This way," she said as she led him inside the closest one. The other was two rooms down across the hall. "Your Regina, she's quite a complicated woman, si?"

Robin blinked a few times and managed to resurrect his tongue. "Yes, she is."

"She loves you too, signor," the woman said while her wrinkled hand patted his cheek. "Dinner is at six. Breakfast at seven thirty. I serve breakfast and dinner daily."

"Thank you."

He watched her leave and threw his bag on the bed. His body soon followed it. Every time he and Emma felt like they were growing closer to their goal, they ended up with more questions. It was all too much for his jet lagged brain to comprehend. Closing his eyes, he decided to sleep, maybe by dinner he'd feel more like himself.

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Emma saw the older woman return to the parlor from showing Robin his room, but Emma's eyes quickly returned to the woman in the painting. She was beautiful with her long blonde hair piled upon her head in an elaborate twist and striking blue eyes. Her gown was of some sort of satin material, the deep "v" neckline showing a great deal of cleavage, counteracting the large amount of fabric that encased her arms. Emma looked at the woman's waist that looked as if she never ate, it was so tiny in comparison to the wide sleeves and paneled skirt, which was so impressive it looked like it could be considered an architectural marvel.

She looks very much like you. "Si, signorina?"

Emma turned away from the portrait to study the elderly lady. She was petite in stature, about five inches or so shorter than Emma. Her gray hair was twisted in a large braid about her head. And though her face was lined with age, her green eyes twinkled in youthful exuberance. "I don't know."

The woman smiled softly at Emma. "Si, she does. " She reached out and took one of Emma's hands. "I am Signora Assante."

Emma shook the signora's hand. "It's nice to meet you. Thank you for opening your home to us."

"Fate works in mysterious ways, signorina. I was to have two other guests for those rooms. They informed me of their cancellation just minutes before your arrival." Signora Assante shrugged. "Fate."

"I'll be sure to send a thank you card," Emma joked and the older woman laughed before indicating the portrait.

"She's very beautiful, no? When I was younger I wanted very much to look like her. I was not so blessed."

Emma turned back to the portrait wondering exactly who this woman was. She was wearing a ring identical to the one Emma's mother had worn since the day of her wedding, until she lent it to Emma for her trip. "What was her name?"

"She went by her stage name, Tiziana Piselli. She was a great actress, admired by many. She disappeared shortly after the birth of her daughter, my third-great grandmother. Tiziana had been a foundling child, the only possession she owned since birth was that ring and a note about its magical properties for finding true love," the elderly woman explained. "My third great-grandfather fell madly in love with her at the opera and was determined to marry her, despite the backlash from his family. He was greatly devastated when she left, but he had told his daughter he hoped his wife had followed her ring and found the man she was supposed to love."

Signora Assante pointed to Emma's ring. "Much like you will if that ring is much like hers and the power holds true."

Looking down, Emma realized the green stone had a brighter glow about it. It wasn't shining exactly but the stone drew the eye with its sudden clarity. "It wasn't like that before."

"Ah. You're true love is close by then." She gave Emma a saucy wink. "Maybe he stays within the neighboring walls."

No, Emma thought, he stays inside these walls. "Maybe he does."

"The beauty of true love. May it never die." Signora Assante patted Emma's arm. "I must go and finish preparations for dinner. Let me show you to your room."

Emma followed her down the hall. The corridor held eight doors, but only one remained open. She watched Signora Assante point to one off to the right. "Your friend is in here. This one is yours."

They walked through the open door and Emma looked around. There wasn't much to the room, a few necessary furnishings and that was it, but it held one window that looked out into a beautiful courtyard filled with flowers. "That view is beautiful."

"Si. My room also shares that view. It is one I never tire of. Mi scusi, I must go or dinner tonight shall be late."

Emma watched the woman leave and she set her bag down near the dresser. As much as the bed begged for her presence, Emma denied its existence. If she slept now she would never sleep tonight. It was better to exhaust herself so she could adjust to the change in time zones. Now all Emma had to do was think.

Plans had to be made as to how to approach Killian and determine what had happened. On top of that, Emma's mind still tried to wrap itself around Signora Assante's story of her grandmother with a ring that also led to true love.

After checking her watch, Emma decided to call her parents. They might have some answers, because the last thing she needed were more questions.

Hours later, after mulling over all they had told her, Emma knocked on Robin's door. He was on the phone himself when he answered.

"Love and miss you too, Roland. Papa needs to go. Tell your mother and Regina I miss them." There was a big pause before she heard Robin say sadly, "Bye, Roland."

Robin closed his phone and looked over at her. "What's happened? Did you see Killian? You look upset."

"No, I didn't see him. I almost wish I had. Maybe at dinner." Emma began to pace the small room. "I talked to my parents about the ring."

Robin sat on the edge of the bed, setting his phone on the nightstand. "And?"

"They can't figure it out either. I mean how is it a woman who has a remarkable resemblance to me possessed the same ring, almost two hundred years ago in this realm? Mary-Margaret has plans to meet with Belle later, but she's not sure if she'll see her."

"Why not?" Robin asked with worry lining his face.

"Because she was supposed to meet with Belle twice already and both times Belle never showed," Emma explained.

"That's odd. I spoke with Regina earlier and she had the said the same thing about Belle. Do you think somehow Rumplestiltskin is preventing her from seeing anyone?"

Emma turned sharply to face him. "I'm calling David. I wouldn't put it past Gold to pull a stunt like that. And with her still in possession of the dagger, things could get dangerous."

Robin watched Emma rush from the room, leaving his door open. Their problems seemed to be surmounting. First Killian, then this new information about the ring and now Belle's erratic behavior.

A knock sounded on the open wooden door, alerting Robin to someone's presence. He almost fell off the bed as Killian walked in. Jumping up, Robin nodded his head. "Father."
"I know you," Killian told him confused. "Didn't I see you in Boston?"

"Yes, I believe so. I thought you were a friend of mine," Robin said as he approached, holding his hand out in greeting. "Robin. Robin Locksley."

Killian smiled at him. "Any relation to Robin Hood?"

"I believe he's family," Robin said chuckling as he and Killian shook hands.

"Killian. Killian Jones. Well, Father Killian Jones. Are you here to attend classes at NAU?"

"No, actually a friend and I are here on extended holiday. We've been trying to locate another friend of ours. He disappeared suddenly and we wanted to be assured of his safety."

"I wish you luck, then. May God follow you safely on your journey." Killian led Robin from the room. "We should go. I have it on good authority from another patron that if we are late for dinner the proprietress makes you sit at the end of the table where you get the last of the food."

"I should probably…" Robin waved toward Emma's door. "She's on the phone with her father."

"Of course." Killian waved him off and turned to head down the hall.

Robin knocked on Emma's door. She answered but now it was her who was still deep in conversation.

"Of course, I will." Emma waved Robin in. "Dad, be sure to keep an eye out. I need to go. Robin's here and we are probably late for dinner."

"Be careful, Emma. We love you," David told her before he hung up.

Emma slid her phone into her back pocket and faced Robin. "What's up?"

"We are late for dinner. Oh, and I saw Killian."

Emma rushed over and grabbed Robin by the arms, her eyes searching his. "You saw him? How is he?"

Robin laughed. "You'll see at dinner, if we ever get there."

Dinner was absolute torture. Killian had saved Robin a seat across from him toward the head of the table. Emma, however, was at the end. She was surrounded by two elderly priests, one short, balding and terrible frail in stature, while the other seemed to tower over her, his body built like a mountain, but a jolly fellow nonetheless who had her laughing several times. Across from her was a pair of nuns who had to have been twins as they not only looked alike but practically mirrored each other's actions. Next to them was a young seminarian who barely looked eighteen. Every time Emma met his gaze he blushed. But, it was seeing Killian not five feet away that had her in agony.

Occasionally their eyes would meet and she could see his gaze lingering for a few seconds before he glanced away quickly. The amount of space between them never felt so far in her life, but it wasn't the distance that separated them but his lack of memories. If Killian had remembered her there was no way they would still be this far away.

Before Emma left to retrieve Robin from Boston, all Killian wanted was for to say the words. For her to finally admit out loud that she loved him as much as he did her. Now, she'd scream it from the roof of the Vatican if it would bring him back to her.

She knew how this worked. Her father explained it to her. If Killian couldn't remember her, he wouldn't remember his love for her either. Which was why when Killian had kissed her in New York she didn't get her memories back.

Taking her last bite of food, that could have been sawdust for all she cared, she saw Killian rise from his chair. He offered to clean the dishes and Emma jumped up as well. "I'll help too."

She watched his eyes narrow on her and she gave him her brightest, most innocent of smiles. If only he knew it belied her actual intentions he'd probably run and lock himself inside his room.

Emma grabbed some plates, her eyes hardly straying from Killian, who watched her warily. God, she missed him. His appearance changed so much. His hair was combed and groomed artfully to one side. His face freshly shaven and so smooth, Emma longed to reach out to caress his cheek. He still wore his signature black, but there seemed to be a casual air to his clothes that he had never had before. A white dress shirt could barely be seen peeking out from atop his black crew neck sweater. He wore loose dress pants and despite their drape, her gaze was still drawn to him.

Once the two of them were in front of the sink, alone in the kitchen, he confronted her. "What are you doing, Miss Swan?"

Emma turned and blinked innocently at him. "Helping. Now are you washing or drying? And how do you know my name?"

He stared down at her with an intimidating glare that probably served him well in his years as a pirate captain. If Smee had to see that look daily for hundreds of years, was it any wonder the man was so jumpy. Emma looked back at him expectantly, rearranging the dishes as if his look didn't bother her.

Finally, he backed down. "Robin told me during dinner. I'll wash."

Emma released the breath she didn't realize she had been holding. Her eyes trailed up his arms as he pushed up his black sweater and rolled up the sleeves of his dress shirt. He dumped soap in the sink and turned on the water.

"Who's Milah on the tattoo?" Emma already knew the answer, but hoped the question would draw out some of his memories.

He glanced down and stared hard at it as if seeing it for the first time. It was at least a whole minute before he answered, the sink filling quickly behind him. "She's the reason I became a priest. I wear that as a reminder to stay true to the vows I have taken."

At first Emma wasn't sure if that was a warning or not to stay away, but then she felt a tear stray down her face and she turned to brush it away. Her heart was already reacting to his loss of memory faster than her brain was. Emma was a complete blank as far as Killian was concerned. It wasn't fair. She turned and helped Killian with the dishes, working in companionable silence.

Then Emma got an idea, a horribly wicked idea if Killian had really taken the sacred vows of priesthood. She sidled closer to him, enough to feel some of the heat radiating from him. He wasn't as oblivious to her as he may have led her to believe.

Slowly, she slipped a hand into the water until her hand tangled with his. From the corner of her eyes, she saw his shoot in her direction. The deer in the headlights stare he had almost made her stop. Almost. Instead, she slowly stroked a gentle finger over the sensitive veins in his wrist. She watched his eyes close as he drew in a deep breath.

Emma stepped even closer, as their bodies turned toward one another. They were so close their breaths mingled, yet their bodies were just shy of touching. Her hand slid to the back of his, stroking up and down. When her fingers would reach his, she plunged them through his in an imitation of an act as old as time. Emma felt him straining to control his body in the tenseness of his hand. She pushed on, continuing her assault on his hand, not allowing any other part of them to come in contact.

Her own feelings were tormented. To be able to finally touch him, to know he was real and in front of her, but not being able to take him in her arms and rejoice over the fact that he was there. His clerical garb was a visual reminder of her loss and it tore at her heart. Yet, the knowledge that she could still get him to feel something with her, despite the fact that she was a complete stranger to him, had her heart swell with hope. Maybe optimism hadn't skipped a generation. It just had to be important enough for her to want it. To live for it. Just like her magic.

Closing her own eyes, Emma enjoyed the feel of his hand in her own. She had never realized how calloused his palm was. This was the first time she had ever stopped to feel them. Usually, he would be standing here making some innuendo or drawing her attention in some way and she'd never just feel.

Emma scrapped her fingers over his rough hewed hand memorizing every detail. She bit her bottom lip to restrain the moan that wished to escape. Opening her eyes, she saw he watched her, his pupils dilated. Killian was no less effected by their touch than she was. Which was why it surprised her when her hand was suddenly crushed inside his.

"Stop," he groaned, his eyes shutting as if praying for the strength he needed to put an end to her torture. "Please."

Emma tugged and released her hand from his. She set down the towel she had been using next to the sink before walking around him. Emma stopped right behind him, pressing slightly against his back, making him hiss as if she burned him.

"Goodnight, Father Killian," she breathed into his ear, before turning to take her leave.

His 'Goodnight, Swan' almost had her pulling up short at the kitchen door. Instead, she forced her feet to carry her through it before she released the tears that were bottled inside.