The landscape of his emotions had been changing so quickly he lost all sense of direction. In the span of a day he'd felt lovesick and tortured, guilty and remorseful, dirty and shameful, lonely and forgotten, hurt and empty, frustrated and callous, cautiously optimistic, hopeful, wanted, attractive, desirable.
It was all too much to try and sift through right now. There was one thing he knew - he would never be the same.
He didn't remember any of the walk home that night - every muscle in his body still abuzz from his time with Emma - but he found himself spread eagle on his bed (shoes and all), hands behind his head, staring at the ceiling.
It was as if the plain expanse of white was the screen of his mind's eye, every delicious moment with his blonde goddess playing over and over and over again. All of a sudden his stomach lurched and he realized he hadn't eaten all day.
He absentmindedly boiled some noodles and tossed them in a little bit of olive oil before sprinkling dried basil and oregano over it. The simple dish was one he'd made many times - though in tougher times it was just plain noodles. He was a man of simple tastes, and while he appreciated good food, he never really could justify spending the time and money when it was just for himself.
Tucking his feet under himself, he curled up on the couch with his bowl of noodles - looking at the TV, but not exactly watching it. He picked at his dinner, but there was a knot in his stomach that made his appetite waver.
The abrupt turn of events with Emma was everything he wanted, but it also went against everything he stands for. As much as he wanted to simply bask in the incredible high, he knew that something had to be done.
He couldn't just ignore the fact that he was a Catholic Priest - and this was… wrong. He couldn't stand there and spout doctrine about morality and all the while carry on a sexual relationship with a parishioner.
And despite his recent laundry list of sins, he still desperately wanted to have a relationship with God. He couldn't deny the constant struggle with his faith - he'd always intellectually understood the importance of it, but in practice it's much more difficult.
There was this couple he knew when he was going through seminary that were the perfect example: They were sickeningly sweet, the kind of people who are so soft, and loving and kind to everyone that it made his fist twitch with an unnerving need to lash out and punch something. Hard.
Before they were even married they agreed to host to two students taking a youth leadership course through a local church - house them, feed them, the works. He had a desk job (but not a great one) and she was a hairstylist.
They both wanted a family right away, and she found out she was pregnant right after the wedding. A few months later he lost his job. They kept the two students in their home - confident that God would not only provide for them and their baby, but also the two teenagers they'd brought into the home.
The entire time he just thought they were crazy. There's "faith" and then there's a blatant disregard for the way the world actually works. He'd spent many nights fuming over the fact that they were setting themselves up for failure, risking the security of their family for… well, for nothing.
In the end, it somehow all worked out - which only made him more upset. They shouldn't be rewarded for their stupidity like that. It's not that he wanted them to fail, but at some point they have to learn that they can't just leave everything up to "fate."
It's like those awful parents who didn't take their sick child to the hospital because they believe God would heal her if that was "his plan." The whole thing disgusted him.
He was determined to prove that you could be a practical modern man and also a man of the cloth. There has to be something in between. If he's being candid, he knows he has swung a little too far the other direction - clinging to his own preparations and his own security, believing that it's up to him (and him alone) to create the life he wants to live.
And he does want that life to include God. That's where things get complicated - how to balance the two.
He leans forward to set the empty bowl on the coffee table, running his hand through his hair as he stretches back onto the couch.
He's a ball of contradictions - skepticism and faith, purity and lust, love and hatred - and he knows he's going to have to sort it all out somehow, but the question is (as always), how?
She would be lying if she said she wasn't surprised. I mean, she figured he hadn't been born a priest, but holy hell the things that man could do with his tongue. She shivered a little at the bolt of arousal that shot through her at the memory.
Smiling to herself, she figured he's either incredibly lucky to be naturally talented in that department, or he's done that many many times before.
But he seemed so nervous at first, so unsure of himself. God forgive her, she found that shy awkwardness just as attractive as his more confident ministrations.
What does she expect, though, really? He's a priest - it's not like next week he's going to suddenly not be a priest.
Her brain hiccups there. Is it like any other job? Could he quit being a priest? She shakes her head to clear the thought. Obviously he wants to be a priest, that's why he became one. And even though she's not much of a church-goer, the immense passion that he has while he's at the pulpit is unmistakable. And they're just… well, she doesn't even know what they are.
Ugh. Now she's that girl. Sitting in her room thinking about "where this is going." She hates those kinds of people. She's never been the swooning type, and she's frustrated that she finds herself short of breath thinking about him. He's just a man - after all.
After a restless night of sleep she's hellbent on getting back to normal. So she likes this guy - that's fine. But let's not get ahead of ourselves.
She decides to go for a run, work out some of the lingering feelings that make her veins itch fitfully. Her headphones aren't in their usual spot, so she takes to rummaging around to find them. (Who is she kidding - there isn't a "usual spot.")
After a few minutes of searching she spots them in a tangled heap on her bedside table. As she reaches to pick them up she notices the folded slip of paper they're sitting on and she swallows thickly, turning it over in her hand.
The list.
That first night she'd had the most amazing dreams - flitting through fantasies she didn't know she desired. At the time, the list was just a funny little personal challenge. He was hot and she needed an outlet for some pent up energy - not to mention it would be her crowning glory to corrupt such an upstanding pillar of morality.
She wondered how much of that he understood. From their conversation the other day it was clear he knew she was just toying with him, but he couldn't know why. He couldn't know all of the emotional conflict she had with her parents, the desperate need she felt to do something shocking - to be someone unpredictable.
As someone who so clearly loved the boundaries and routine - she doubted he could ever really identify with her need for impulsivity.
"I guess there's only one way to find out," she mumbled to herself, connecting her earbuds to the phone tucked into her armband, turning her shoulder to call Killian's cell number as she grabbed her keys and headed out the door.
"Hello?" He'd put Emma's number into his phone long ago, but the question was more out of surprise that she was calling than confusion about who was on the line.
"Father Jones?" She found herself a little breathless, and not because she'd already broken into a light jog.
"I told you, lass, it's Killian." A grin bloomed at the sound of her voice.
"Alright, Killian." The name felt foreign on her tongue. It seemed disrespectful to call him by his given name. Then again, the was probably the least disrespectful thing she'd done…
His heart stuttered in his chest at the sound of his name on her lips. He could get used to that.
"Not that I'm complaining, but what's on your mind, love? You called me..."
"Right. I, uh," she unconsciously changed her pace - nervousness fueling her fast strides. "I was hoping you had time for a coffee sometime today - or something like that."
He desperately wanted to shout YES, but before he could - he realized that it would look quite suspicious, the town priest sharing coffee with the sheriff's daughter.
"Are you OK? You sound out of breath." He was stalling, but that didn't mean he wasn't curious about what was causing her to pant like that. It made him think of things he really shouldn't.
"Out for a run," she replied curtly.
"Oh. I was actually going to do that myself," he had been in the process of tying his shoes when she called.
"I didn't know you were a runner." Not that she was surprised - I mean, he obviously did something to stay in such fantastic shape. She bit her lip thinking of the way his taught muscles felt against her soft skin.
"There's a lot you don't know about me, lass."
"That's why I wanted to get coffee," she replied cooly.
"Fair enough. It's not that I don't want to, but I think being out in public like that, just the two of us would be unwise. Wouldn't want folks to get the wrong impression," he answered.
"Have any other ideas then?" She slowed her pace a little again as she rounded the corner to the park.
"Well, I could use some help preparing for the youth event tomorrow night. Lucy's mother is still in poor shape, so the task has fallen to me. Simple stuff, really - cleaning up the rec room, inflating some basketballs. You could count it as part of your community service quota." He realized he likely didn't need to work so hard to convince her, but truthfully he was pitching the idea to himself.
"Sold, Jones. What time?"
"Give me an hour and a half to run and shower, but any time after that."
"See you soon."
His day was looking considerably better already - and he ran much faster than he had in a long time, likely due to the jitters he had knowing she wanted to spend time with him.
He got back to the apartment and showered quickly, dressing for the day in his standard black and clerical collar.
When he walked up to the church she was sitting on the steps, hair still damp from her own recent shower, just starting to bend into the graceful waves he'd come to adore. His smile fell into the goofy lopsided grin she was starting to enjoy.
"Father," she nodded politely.
"Miss Nolan, thank you again for volunteering," he almost laughed at how stilted it felt to speak with her that way, but he supposed it was for the best until they got inside. It's always possible someone walking by could overhear.
That was one thing he liked about his small-town set up - unless it was Sunday morning, the church was pretty much deserted. Lots of time to himself. Or lately - time with her.
He led the way to the same room where they'd held the AA meeting and pulled out a mesh bag of basketballs, each a little flatter than the next. Clearly they didn't get much use.
"I'm glad you called." He was the one to break their silence. "But I can't imagine what else you'd want to know about me. You practically heard my whole life story the other day."
He kept his eyes trained on the task at hand.
"I suppose that's kind of true, isn't it." She chuckled a little, realizing he was right.
"I may hate myself later for asking this, but…" he brought his eyes up from the basketball he was inflating with the hand pump, "Why me?"
Her heart physically hurt for the broken way he looked at her - she could see all of his self-loathing and genuine confusion in his pale blue eyes, and it brought out a side of her she didn't know existed - a longing to be tender and soothing.
"That's a complicated question," she sighed.
"My schedule's pretty clear…" he quirked a brow as he said it - and he looked like the man she wanted to get to know. The man without the collar.
"At first I think it was because of my parents," she started, noticing the quizzical look he gave her. "They're Mr. & Mrs. Charming, and it has always driven me crazy. They never seemed… real. You know? They were just so nauseatingly perfect all the time."
He said nothing, curious to see where she was going with this, and grateful to catch a glimpse of what made her tick.
"I know it sounds dumb. But I always felt like I didn't belong. I've always had a rebellious streak a mile wide, and they're just so - normal. I wanted to see them crack. I wanted to see the flaws." She tucked a stray strand of hair behind her ear as she spoke.
"So I started acting out. Telling people that my dad was a mean drunk, that mom liked pills. I started hanging around the wrong crowd. I was dating -" a lump formed in her throat at his name, finding herself suddenly unable (unwilling) to talk about that now - "someone who wasn't good for me," she finished diplomatically.
"And this is what led to your community service, I take it?" His voice was low, and there was an edge to it that she couldn't quite identify. When she glanced to good hand and noticed his knuckles were white, her cheeks flushed pink.
He was upset about how Neal hurt her, and he didn't even know what happened.
"Yeah," she huffed. "All that to say, I've always been fitful. Life can be so utterly predictable here, and I just wanted to be - contrary - I guess. Anyway, I didn't have a thing for priests until I met you. And I liked the idea of … corrupting something. God that sounds awful," she fidgeted uncomfortably in her metal folding chair.
"I get that." He answered solemnly, noting her look of bewilderment. "Does that surprise you?"
"Well, yeah. I mean, you're a priest…"
He chuckled at how she bumbled in the wake of his unexpected response.
"You of all people should know that I wasn't always a priest. There are other sides to me, love. Every so often in seminary there were people who were so cloyingly compassionate I could barely keep myself from hauling off and slugging them right in the jaw. I actually felt that urge."
Her eyes widened at his confession as she realized they might not be as different as she thought.
"Well, that's not how I see you. When I met you, I saw you as this shining example of morality."
Her words stung. That's how he was supposed to be. He was supposed to be a leader with moral authority. Not this. He felt his stomach drop at the reality of his wretched failure - and before he could say anything she reached her hand out to gently cover his.
"You know I dreamt about you that night," she said quietly - almost as if she was embarrassed to say it out loud. "Actually, that's what started all of this. I had this crazy dreams that night, one after the other. They were - well, they were really hot," her voice was a little breathier than normal, scenes from her vivid fantasies flashing in her mind's eye.
She noticed the way he stiffened slightly at her confession.
"I made a list. Of all the things we did in my dreams - I wanted to see if you were as good in real life as you were in my fantasies," he was blushing so much he felt like he'd burn up. The thought of her writhing and moaning in her sleep - imagining him - it was too much.
She shifted in her seat to pull the list from her back pocket - the edges tinged blue from being in her dark-washed jeans - holding it out for him.
He took it from her, unfolding it slowly.
"I didn't expect it to go anywhere. Honestly, I expected you to be like every other guy I've ever been with - a disappointment, a letdown, a jerk. But there's something so - sincere about you. Not to mention, you were every bit as hot in real life as you were in my dreams that night."
He felt a rush of pride settle squarely in his chest at her words. He'd only ever been a disappointment and a letdown to everyone in his life - and here she was, this amazing woman, telling him he wasn't.
He kept his eyes focused on the list - a gentle smile curving up his lips at her sloppy handwriting.
Dirty Talk - Confessional
Sexting in Service
From behind at the pulpit
Oral by the communion station
In the pews - any way
On top in the confessional
She suddenly feels a little self-conscious the way he's studying that list - his posture straight and stiff. Maybe she shouldn't have given it to him. Things are complicated enough as it is. She'd just meant it as an explanation of her behavior - a way to say "this is what started it, but I feel like it could be more."
But she couldn't bring herself to actually say that last bit - and now she's worried he's taken it the wrong way.
"Well…" he finally relaxed his shoulders and sighed. "It looks to me like there are still several items left unresolved here," his thumb tracing down the edge of the letters.
"I don't know exactly what this is, but whatever we become is up to you. And if you're willing - I think you'll find I'm more than able to meet your - uhm - expectations," he tossed her a downright wicked smile.
She shuddered at the abrupt change in his demeanor. "Shouldn't we… talk about this, or something? I mean, we can't just keep -"
"Too right, lass," he cut her off quickly. "But we don't need to figure it all out today," he reached his hand up to cup the side of her face gently.
He had come up with an idea of how to handle their situation, but it was drastic, and he wanted to give them a little bit of time to settle things on their own - test the waters - before he did something so permanent.
Truthfully, he wanted to give her some time to decide she wanted to bail. For his part, he knew exactly what he felt about her, and that he'd do anything (give anything) to be with her. Now he just needed to know if she felt the same.
And in the interim - well, they might as well have some fun finishing up that list.