Whew, finally finished this one. Ok, so this is the first in, what I hope will be, a long series of stories. I'm trying my best to write what it would have been like if P&A hadn't left/died,  so some of the plots are the same, some are different. And I've changed the titles. Enjoy!

Alternate Episode 4.1 - One is Silver, the Other Gold

by Glenys Packer


"How am I supposed to know if it'd be a good idea?" Assumpta grumbled, leaning back in her seat and watching the countryside as it rolled past the car window. "This is your dad we're talking about here."

"Yeah…" Niamh sighed, frowning at the road before her. "I really just don't know…and lord knows Ambrose is no help when it comes to decisions like this." A car coming down the road towards them signaled a left turn, and Niamh pulled to a stop.

The door of the other car opened and a man got out. He waved to Niamh, calling, "Ten seconds!" as he went to open a gate along side the road.

Niamh and Assumpta exchanged puzzled looks. "That's the old Dillon place…" Niamh muttered before rolling down the window and sticking her head out. "Nobody lives there," she said to the man.

"That's right." The man smiled slightly as he got back into his car. "No one does."

Niamh watched curiously as he drove down towards the cluster of ramshackle buildings that was the old Dillon place.

"That was certainly odd," Assumpta commented, raising an eyebrow. "Who do you suppose he was?"

"No idea." Niamh started the car again. She glanced to the side and caught Assumpta looking at her with a funny expression. Niamh scowled. "What?!"

Assumpta smiled, shaking her head.

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

Meanwhile back in Ballykissangel at the Prawn Cracker, Liam, Donal and Shamie were serving the few customers that were seated at the table. The restaurant attracted a few people, but certainly didn't have the popularity that Fitzgerald's had.

The door opened and Brian Quigley entered, scowling to see so few customers. He glanced at his watch as he walked over to stand next to Liam.

"Not time for the lunch rush yet?" he asked.

Liam sighed and gestured around. "Mr. Quigley, this is the lunch rush."

Brian scowled even deeper. "Well, we need a new plan then, something to attract more people."

"Well, maybe if you spent more time-"

"Liam," Brian said. "I have other business to attend to. I'm the owner of this place, not the manager."

"Then who is?" Donal piped up.

Brian had to think about that one.

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

Niamh dropped Assumpta off at the pub before going back to the garda house to unload the groceries. Ambrose was waiting for her in the doorway.

"Did you two have fun?" he asked, attempting to be genial.

Niamh shot him a withering look. "I was grocery shopping, Ambrose." She took Kieran out of his car seat and handed him to her husband. "Take your pick, change him, or bring in the shopping."

"Are you going to be going over to the pub later?" Ambrose asked, following Niamh into the kitchen as she brought the groceries in.

Niamh paused, turning to look at Ambrose. "Probably, why?"

"Well, have you given any thought to what we talked about last night?"

Niamh rolled her eyes. "Between doing the shopping, ironing your clothes, and minding Kieran, I haven't had much time for thinking." She eyed her son. "You'll want to change that nappy now, or you'll be needing to change that jacket." She walked back out to get more bags of groceries.

Ambrose followed. "That's exactly my point, Niamh. You're run off your feet minding this fellow, and then you spend every minute of your free time over there helping Assumpta."

"Sure, she's my friend," Niamh replied. "So what's wrong with giving her some help now and then? Look, this isn't permanent, Ambrose. I'm just lending the girl a hand until she's got steady help. Like Peter."

"I just would like to be able to see my wife, and not have her be behind the bar," Ambrose said quietly.  "Can we at least sit down and have a civil talk about this?"

"You don't want to talk about it," Niamh said sourly. "You want me to think about it and tell you that you're right. Now will you please change that nappy?"

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

Assumpta had barely opened the pub when Brendan and Padraig came in, plopping themselves down in their usual spots.

Assumpta rolled her eyes. "Have you two nothing better to do?"

"We could be over at Quigley's place having some wine and Peking duck," Brendan said. "But the service here is far more entertaining." He winked. "How's Peter today?"

"I wouldn't know," Assumpta replied in a slightly annoyed tone. "I haven't talked to him yet."

"I find that hard to believe," Brendan muttered to Padraig.

Assumpta walked over and slammed a pint of stout down in front of Brendan. "Just have your pint and shut up," she snarled.

"That's the service I was talking about…" Brendan said, chuckling.

Assumpta was about to reply scathingly, but the door to the pub opened and a young woman entered. She had long blonde hair and a backpack slung over one shoulder, and as she approached the bar, Assumpta managed a smile.

"What can I get ya?"

"Uhm..." The woman looked around nervously. "I'm looking for someone, actually. Do you know if the new priest is here yet?"

"He's expected," Assumpta replied. "But I don't think he's here yet. You a friend of his?"

The woman grinned. "You could say that. I'm his sister."

"Sure isn't that what they all say?" Padraig mumbled. Assumpta shot him a warning look. Padraig smiled sweetly at her, then turned to the newcomer. "Is it true that he's a monk?"

The young woman nodded. "Yeah."

"Well, he's not sworn to a vow of silence or anything, is he?" Brendan asked. "I mean, he will be able to speak to us, won't he?"

"Yeah, if you behave yourselves." The young woman smiled, tucking a strand of her hair behind one ear.

"Will he be wearing the raiments, you know, the habit?" Padraig asked.

"With the bells and the tassels," Brendan added.

The young woman laughed. "Like a man in uniform, do you boys?" She turned to Assumpta. "I guess I'll have a pint of stout while I'm waiting." She slung her bag to the floor and took a seat on one of the barstools.

"There you are," Assumpta said a moment later, setting the drink in front of her.

"Thanks," the young woman smiled. "I'm Orla O'Connell, by the way."

Assumpta shook her hand. "Assumpta Fitzgerald. And those two chancers are Brendan Kearney and Padraig O'Kelly."

"Charmed, I'm sure," Orla said.

Brendan did a little half bow in his seat. "The pleasure is all ours, Orla."

Orla grinned, sipping her pint then reaching down in her bag to find the book she was reading.

 *~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

"Ah, Niamh," Brian said, catching his daughter as she came out of the garda house, crossing the street towards Fitzgerald's. "Could I have a word?"

"Make it quick, Dad, I told Assumpta I'd lend her a hand this afternoon."

Brian rubbed his hands together. "Actually, that's sort of what I wanted to talk to you about."

"Oh, not you, too!" Niamh rolled her eyes. "Has Ambrose been on at you?"

"What? No!" Brian frowned. "I wanted to see if you had decided anything about managing the Prawn Cracker."

Niamh gave him a dubious look. "I don't think so."

"Niamh..." Brian got a serious expression on his face, the kind he got when talking business. "You've been living far too long in Assumpta's shadow – "

"What?!"

"I think it'll do you good to have your own business to run."

Niamh sighed. "You mean to have your business to run for you."

Brian ignored that comment. "It's what your mother and I always wanted for you; to progress. Sure I don't think you're happy just being a housewife."

"That's true…" Niamh sighed. She was getting less and less patient with constantly changing nappies and washing dishes and ironing shirts…perhaps running the restaurant wouldn't be such a bad idea. "I'll think about it some more, Dad, all right?"

"Good girl. Just don't take too long." Brian patted his daughter on the arm then headed over to his car.

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

Meanwhile, up at the church, Peter was getting ready to hear confessions. Wearing his purple stole, he walked towards the confessional, smiling at the people waiting in the pews. There were a handful of older parishioners, and one teenage girl that Peter recognized from some of the youth functions. She glanced up at Peter, but then looked quickly back down at the floor.

The young girl was the last to go in.

"Bless me father, for I have sinned, it's been a week since my last confession," she said. Her voice had a slightly nervous edge to it, but her confession was normal enough. That is, until Peter thought she'd finished. She wasn't talking, but Peter hadn't heard her get up.

"Was there something else?" Peter asked, slightly distractedly. He wanted confessions to be over so he could get down to the pub to see Assumpta.

"Yeah." The girl's voice was shaking.

Peter frowned. "Are you all right?"

"No." It was barely a squeak. Peter could hear her breathing heavily, as if holding back tears.

"Take your time," Peter said gently. "There's no rush."

There was a long pause, then, "He makes me do stuff."

"Who?"

"My dad."

Peter felt as if something icy cold had been dropped into his stomach. "What sort of stuff?"

"Bad stuff," the girl said quietly. "Sinful stuff."

Peter rubbed one hand over his face, leaning slightly closer to the small cross-shaped opening. "Does your mum know?"

"She doesn't."

"Does anyone know?" Peter pressed.

He could hear the girl shifting around. "Uh-uh," she said.

Peter sighed. "Look, you need to tell someone. Your mum, your grandmother."

"I can't!" the girl cried. "They'd be too ashamed. It's all my fault."

"No, it's not," Peter said forcefully.

The girl sniffed. "That's what he tells me."

"Well it's not," Peter continued. "It's his. He's the one doing wrong. Please, you need to talk to your mum about this. Or at least, let me talk to someone."

"You can't!" the girl said suddenly. "I told you this in confession…please don't."

Peter opened his mouth to reply, but he heard the sounds of the girl leaving the confessional, then her hurried footsteps across the marble floor of St. Joseph's.

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

Niamh entered the pub to find Assumpta talking to Orla.

"Sorry I'm late," Niamh said, slipping behind the bar.

"It's ok," Assumpta replied. "It's not like I'm run off my feet or anything."

"Yeah, I can see that." Niamh scanned the empty pub.

"Oh, Niamh, this is Orla O'Connell. She's the new priest's sister," Assumpta introduced. "Orla, this is my friend Niamh Egan."

"Nice to meet you, Orla," Niamh said, smiling.

Orla nodded. "You, too." She glanced at her watch. "I think I'll walk over to the church, see if my brother's there yet." She set her money on the bar and stood.

"Ok," Assumpta said. "I'll see you later then?"

"Yeah." Orla waved. "See ya."

She left the bar and headed up the street to St. Joseph's. The church was empty, except for Peter, who was setting some pamphlets in the display near the door. He had a serious expression on his face, but smiled at Orla as she came in.

"Hiya, can I help you?"

"I was just looking to see if the new priest had arrived yet...I'm his sister," Orla explained.

"Oh, right." Peter nodded. "Well, I'm afraid he's not here yet. I'm Peter Clifford."

"Orla O'Connell." They shook hands. "So you're the Peter that Brendan was talking about?"

Peter laughed. "Probably. What did he say?"

"Oh just something about Assumpta talking to you."

Peter blushed slightly. "Yeah, if it was in connection with Assumpta, it was me."

"Ah, right." Orla nodded.

Peter hurriedly changed the subject. "So, um, Orla, are you going to be staying with your brother?"

"For a while at least," Orla said, shrugging.

"Would you like the keys to the house then?" Peter asked. "You could get it all ready for him. I'm afraid I haven't left much in the way of food."

"Oh." Orla nodded. "Sure, only if it's no trouble."

"Not at all." Peter led Orla over to the sacristy. "I got all me stuff moved out of there yesterday."

While Peter rooted around for the keys, Orla asked, "You're not from around here yourself?"

"Nope." Peter straightened up, a key ring in one hand. "I'm from Manchester. Got transferred here about three years ago."

"Oh. So you're heading back there then, are you?"

"No, actually," Peter said. "I'm staying here." He smiled at Orla's confused expression. "I'm giving up being a priest," Peter explained.

"Oh, right." Orla thought a moment, and suddenly seemed to put two and two together. "Wait, so are you and Assumpta…?"

Peter smiled weakly. "Yeah. But I've just spent the past few days explaining it to everyone in Ireland, it seems, so I'm afraid I'm not really in the mood to go into details…I'm sure anyone in the village would be able to explain it to you."

"Oh, right, sorry." Orla took the keys. "I should get over and get the house ready. I'll see you around?"

"Yeah." Peter nodded. "And if I see your brother I'll tell him you're looking for him."

"Thanks." Orla smiled, and turned to leave.

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

Back at the pub, Siobhan had joined Brendan and Padraig, though she sat sipping a glass of orange juice rather then her usual lager.

"So I see you managed to sneak away from the home front," Siobhan said to Niamh.

Niamh rolled her eyes. "Just wait, that'll be you in a short while."

Siobhan groaned and Assumpta let out a snort of laughter.

"Don't you laugh either," Niamh said, rounding on her.

"Niamh..." Assumpta cocked her head to one side. "I'm not even engaged yet, what makes you think I'm even thinking about children?"

Niamh grinned, then said more seriously to Siobhan, "We saw someone going into the old Dillon place this afternoon. You know, the old farm house up at Eamonn's top field."

"The Dillon place?" Siobhan frowned. "It's been empty ten years."

"Who did you see?" Padraig asked, his expression darkening as he looked up.

"Oh, man in his thirties…" Niamh looked to Assumpta for confirmation. "Forties even. Dark hair."

"He had a look about him like he'd taken the measure of you and you weren't up to much," Assumpta added.

"Sean Dillon," Brendan and Padraig said in unison.

"It's got to be," Brendan added.

"He's got some nerve showing up after all of that," Padraig muttered.

Niamh looked around. Judging by everyone else's expressions, she was the only one who didn't know. "All what?"

"Ah..." Brendan shrugged. "Bad blood, Niamh." He shook his head.

"I don't really remember him at all…he must have been gone what? Twenty years?" Assumpta said.

"Yeah." Brendan nodded. "You were only five or six when he left."

"My dad used to be in with that family…" Assumpta said.

"That explains a lot," Padraig mumbled. Assumpta looked sour.

"Padraig," Brendan said, a warning edge to his voice. Padraig took a sip of his pint.

"Didn't even come for his father's funeral," he said.

"Nor to any others," Brendan added.

Padraig nodded then said sardonically, "Too busy celebrating."

Assumpta rolled her eyes and went into the kitchen. Niamh followed.

"So what is the deal with Sean Dillon anyway?" she asked, watching Assumpta stack dirty dishes in the sink.

"I don't know exactly," Assumpta admitted. "It was something involving Sean's dad and Padraig's dad…And my dad was in with it somehow…but honestly I try not to get involved in my father's old affairs."

There was a call of "customer!" from the front of the bar, and Niamh went out to see her dad standing there.

"The usual, is it, Dad?"

"Yeah, thanks Niamh."

"She saw Sean Dillon today," Padraig said as Brian paid Niamh.

Brian turned suddenly. "What's he want back here?"

"Listen to the lot of you!" Assumpta said, coming out of the kitchen with a stack of clean glasses. "Isn't this his home?"

Brian eyed Assumpta. " I suppose your father never told you. You're too young to remember."

The door opened and Ambrose came in, carrying Kieran. "Niamh, the babysitter had a family emergency, you'll have to take him."

"Your wife's been spotting fugitives," Brendan told Ambrose.

Ambrose frowned. "What? Who?"

Niamh rolled her eyes. "Sean Dillon."

"Was he driving a car?" Ambrose asked, looking interested.

"Yeah, why?" Niamh frowned.

"What make was it?"

"I don't know! Why?"

"Just looking into a moving traffic violation, is all."

"In trouble all ready is he? And hardly set foot in the place." Niamh sighed, taking her son and balancing him against one hip. She huffed into the kitchen.

"Don't mind her, Ambrose," Brian said, paying Assumpta for the whiskey.

Assumpta groaned. "Oh, let's just get a lynch mob up, why don't we?"

"Count me in,." Padraig mumbled.

"Oh I don't believe you lot!" Assumpta cried.

"Easy for you to not see things our way, Assumpta," Padraig said. "Always having your problems ironed out."

"Oh, so having my parents constantly fighting, and then just barely making it when I'm an adult, let alone getting any of the things I want in life, is having my problems ironed out? I get it." Assumpta looked fit to strangle Padraig. Ambrose eyed them both nervously.

"Well, at least you didn't have to start from scratch because your property was taken unfairly from you," Padraig retorted.

"Padraig, Assumpta!" Brendan said sharply. "Please."

Assumpta scowled and followed Niamh into the kitchen.

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

Peter was just coming out of St. Joseph's when Fr. Mac came up the walk.

"Ah, Fr. Clifford, if I may still call you that." Fr. Mac gave Peter a dark look. "I just wanted to tell you that there's been a bit of a delay, so the new priest might not get here right on schedule."

Peter nodded. "Right. Uhm, Father, could I have a word with you?"

Fr. Mac sighed and looked at his watch. "I suppose so. What is it?"

"It's about someone's confession…"

"Father," Fr. Mac sighed again, deeper. "You know as well as I do that you can not discuss another person's confession, even with another priest."

"But can't an exception be made? If it's something extremely serious?"

"Fr. Clifford," Fr. Mac said in a tone of forced patience. "Unless someone told you that they were planning on murdering someone in Ballykay, I don't think you need to worry about it. Now, I have some stops to make, so if you'll excuse me…" He turned to head back to his car.

"Yes, but-" Peter began, but Fr. Mac was already too far away to hear.

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*


After dropping her things off at the curate's house, Orla went up to Hendley's to get some food for her and her brother when he arrived.

"A monk?" Kathleen said, coming over as Orla examined the newspapers. "Sounds so… devout."

Orla smiled. "Well, that's the one word job description."

"We're thrilled to be getting a man so devoted to his faith as your brother." Kathleen reached around Orla to put a jar of something on the shelf.

"Why? What was wrong with Peter Clifford?"

"Oh, so you've met him?" Kathleen looked dark.

"Yeah."

"Well."

"So what's wrong with him?"

"He's English," Kathleen said. "And the whole thing between him and Assumpta Fitzgerald…disgraceful."

"Oh."

Kathleen changed the subject. "So this is Fr. O'Connell's preferred brand of tea, is it?"

"He loves it," Orla replied, smiling slightly.

"Tell me," Kathleen said. "Does he like a sweet biscuit to go along with it?"

"Ah, he doesn't say."

"Then…" Kathleen reached over and took a package of biscuits off the shelf. "Could I furnish him with a package of these?" Orla hesitated a moment, and Kathleen added, "Free of charge."

Orla smiled. "Be my guest."

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

"So," Niamh said as she helped Assumpta clear the dishes from a group of tourists away. "How are things with you and Peter?"

Assumpta groaned. "Niamh, we are exactly the same as we were yesterday, and the day before that…Waiting."

"You don't mean to tell me that nothing's going on," Niamh said with a furrowed brow. "You two are in love and you know you're going to get together and you're telling me you haven't done anything?"

"Niamh..." Assumpta spun around. "He's a priest. I'm not going to do anything s'long as he's got the collar."

"Not even a kiss on the cheek?"

"We're not characters in a paperback romance novel," Assumpta replied curtly, picking up a stack of dishes. Her expression softened slightly. "But if anything major does happen, I'm sure you…and the rest of the town…will know about it."

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

Peter, still feeling perturbed about the girl's confession, as well as Fr. Mac's response to him trying to talk about it, decided to go to the next person he would trust with a matter like that; Dr. Ryan.

Seeing as the late afternoon air was pleasant, and his car wasn't acting perfectly, Peter decided to walk. He was nearing the center of town when a tall, strongly built man in his late forties approached him.

"Fr. Clifford?" the man said, regarding Peter surreptitiously.

"Yeah?" Peter said. "What can I do for you?"

"I'm Lisa Sullivan's father."

It took a moment for Peter to connect the name with the face of the girl whose confession he'd heard. "Oh, Lisa, right." He smiled, despite the man's cold manner.

"I'd greatly appreciate it if you'd keep your nose out of our business," the man said flatly.

Peter looked confused. "Sorry? I don't know what you're talking about."

The man rolled his eyes. "You know perfectly well what I'm talking about." He took a step closer. "And if you want to still look nice for that new girlfriend of yours," he cast a quick glance in the direction of Fitzgerald's, "then I suggest you stop telling Lisa how to deal with her family, it's none of your business." With one last threatening glare he turned and sulked off.

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

Niamh was sitting at her favorite spot by the river, tossing stones in and thinking, mostly about her father's offer, but also about Assumpta, and Ambrose, and everything else that was going on.

"I was planning to just sit here until you went away again, but I'm starting to get a cramp."

Niamh looked up to see Sean Dillon sitting on a tree branch above her. "Oh really?"

"Do you mine if I come down?" he called.

"Be my guest."

Someone had tacked slats of wood to the side of the old tree, and it was these Sean used to get down. Niamh continued on throwing stones into the water.

"Your mother used to sit there," said Sean as he reached the ground.

"How do you know that?" Niamh asked, raising an eyebrow.

" `Cus she'd sit there, and I'd sit there," Sean replied, gesturing first towards the rock Niamh sat on and then up to the tree branch where he'd been sitting. "Your mother's a good woman."

"I know."

"She was good to me, there weren't many others prepared to be that." He walked slowly around and leaned against the moss-covered bark of the tree.

"Weren't there?" Niamh turned her head slightly.

"Well, not your father," Sean said. "I heard them argue about it right here. You ask her."

Niamh looked dark for a moment, then said, "She's dead."

"I'm sorry," Sean said, mentally slapping himself.  "Well...ask him then."

"I don't remember them ever arguing," Niamh said. "Why was nobody nice to you?"

"Oh, you'd have to ask them," Sean told her, sitting down on one of the tree roots.

"So where have you been since you went away?" Niamh asked conversationally.

"Germany, England..."

Niamh gave him a sideways look. "Are you coming back?"

Sean let out a short laugh. "That's a good question."

"Do you have any family?" Niamh asked, tilting her head slightly and studying Sean's face. He hesitated for a moment before replying.

"My wife, Helen, died."

"I'm sorry," Niamh said.

"No you're not." Sean gave her an odd look. "You never even knew her."

"That doesn't mean I can't feel sorry for you," Niamh pointed out.

"True." Sean smiled slightly. "So, penny for your thoughts?"

"Oh, I was thinking about lots of things..." Niamh said, staring back out across the river. "My friend, Assumpta, for one."

"Ah." Sean's brow wrinkled. "She's the publican, isn't she? I think my dad knew her dad…"

"Yeah, that's what she told me," Niamh said. "But…she's got to be the least understandable person I know…"

Sean laughed. "What makes you say that?"

"She's let so many perfect men walk into and right back out of her life," Niamh said. "But she only ever wanted the one she couldn't have."

"Is he all ready married?"

"Priest. But he's leaving for her." Niamh sighed. "Who could blame him? She's gorgeous, witty, successful, intelligent...God, I'd give anything to have been as popular as she was...is...I mean she's always had hoards of men falling for her."

Sean shot Niamh a sideways look. "And you haven't?"

"Niamh!" They both looked up to see Ambrose standing on the bridge, staring down at them.

"What?" Niamh called back.

"I've been looking for you," Ambrose said. "Come on."

Niamh sighed and stood up. "I guess I'll see you later," she said to Sean, then headed up towards Ambrose.

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

Peter was still standing in the road, feeling slightly shocked by his encounter with Mr. Sullivan. Peter had just finally stopped shaking when he heard the bell at St. Joseph's start ringing. Frowning, he turned and ran up to the church, in the door, and walked up the flight of stairs in the bell tower, at the top of which he found Orla pulling on the rope of
the huge bell.

"May I ask what you're doing?" Peter asked, putting one hand on his hip.

Orla looked at him. "My brother, he's got a thing about bells," she explained. "If he's up in the hills meditating or something, this'll bring him in."

"Right…" Peter bit his lip thoughtfully. "And I have no problem with you calling him, just, would you mind doing it in a less noisy way?"

Orla laughed and let go of the bell rope. It let out one last resonating clang and then was silent.

"Thank you," Peter said as they made their way back downstairs. "I've just done enough to get Fr. Mac angry with me, I don't need anything else."

"Sorry." Orla winced.

"Anyway, I think I need a drink…why don't you come down to the pub with me?" Peter suggested.

"Oh." Orla nodded. "Sure. I've all ready been in there earlier, but I suppose I'll have to get used to it. Seems to be the only sort of entertainment around here."

Peter nodded. "Such is the sacrifice of living in a small town. The nice thing is you get to know everyone." They left the church and began walking down the road towards Fitzgerald's.

Orla looked at Peter strangely. "Sounds like that can be a bit of a burden at times, though."

"What makes you say that?"

"I met Kathleen Hendley."

"Ah." Peter was chewing on his lip again, a slight smile on his face. A minute later they reached the pub and Peter opened the door for Orla, then went in himself.

As Orla took a seat at the bar, Peter walked over to Assumpta, who was wiping off the taps.

"Hey," he said quietly.

Assumpta looked up. "Oh, hi. How are ya?"

"Alright." Peter smiled.

Brendan, at the other end of the bar, nudged Orla. She looked up, then over at Peter and Assumpta just in time to see Peter lean over and whisper something in Assumpta's ear. Assumpta turned pink, then leaned back.

"I know," Assumpta said. "You say that at least twice a day."

Peter smiled. "Just want to make sure you don't forget."

Brendan made a face. Assumpta must have noticed, because she turned and narrowed her eyes at him.

"What?"

"You two are so cute it's almost disgusting," Brendan teased.

Assumpta rolled her eyes. "Don't be jealous, Brendan."

Brendan laughed. "So, Peter, you all ready to shack up with me, then?"

"Yeah." Peter nodded. "Until something else becomes more…appropriate."

"Oho!" Brendan chuckled. "I can tell we're going to have a lot of fun with you over the next few weeks, aren't we, Padraig?"

"Oh, lay off, will ya?" Assumpta glanced at Peter and caught the worried expression on his face. She jerked her head towards the kitchen, and the two of them went in, ignoring the snickers from Brendan and Padraig. "What's the matter?" Assumpta asked, closing the kitchen door behind her.

"Nothing." Peter tried not to look bothered.

"It's not me, is it?" Assumpta asked, folding her arms over her chest.

"What?" Peter let out a quiet laugh, facing Assumpta. "No no." He shook his head. "Something with a parishioner."

Assumpta cracked a wry grin. "Ah, well, can't possibly be me then." Her expression grew serious once again. "Is there anything I can do?"

"Unless you can make people more understanding, then no."

"And by people you mean…?"

"Fr. Mac."

"Ah, right, sorry." Assumpta patted Peter on the shoulder as she walked over to put a kettle on the stove. "No chance there."

Peter watched her. "You're amazing, you know that?"

"What?" Assumpta laughed. "I didn't do anything."

"No, but just being with you somehow makes everything seem a little better," Peter said.

Assumpta smiled fondly. "Sometimes just knowing there's someone who cares about you is enough."

"There you go with that home spun stuff again," Peter teased quietly, walking over to put his arms around Assumpta in a gentle embrace.

"Better get used to it," Assumpta murmured.

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

The next day at lunch all the regulars, as well as the new addition of Orla, were in the pub.

"Has anyone seen Michael around today?" Peter asked as Assumpta set a sandwich in front of him. "I have to ask him something."

"I think he had some calls to make," Brendan said. "But he should be around later this afternoon."

"So how's the housing situation working out for you?" Padraig asked.

"Working out fine," Peter replied, taking a sip of lager.

"What about herself?" Padraig nodded towards Assumpta. "She didn't give you a room here?"

Peter rolled his eyes. "No. We all know the gossips have enough to talk about without the priest and the publican shacking up together.

"True enough," Brendan said, nodding. "Between you two and Sean Dillon, this place is buzzing."

As if on cue the door to the pub opened and Sean Dillon entered. Everyone went quiet. Assumpta cast an annoyed look around at everyone seated at the bar, then turned to Sean.

"What can I get ya?" she asked amiably as Sean approached the bar.

"Just a glass of whiskey, please," Sean replied. As Assumpta turned to get the drink, she spotted Padraig and Brendan staring at Sean with sour looks on their faces.

"What's your problem?" she snapped. They shrugged and looked back down at their pints. Assumpta handed Sean his drink.

"Thanks," Sean said. He handed Assumpta the money, then turned, catching Eamonn looking at him. Sean smiled weakly. Eamonn retaliated by spitting at him.

"Eamonn!" Peter said sharply, feeling enough was enough. "That was uncalled for. Apologize!"

"I'll apologize t'Assumpta fer spittin' on her floor," Eamonn said in an uncharacteristically haughty tone. "But I'll not apologize t'him." He downed the rest of his diet cola and left. Assumpta shot Sean an apologetic look as the people in the pub began to talk quietly amongst themselves again.

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

Brian went over to the garda house to find Niamh sitting dismally at the kitchen table, tracing a ring of moisture left by her teacup.

"What's the matter?" Brian asked, taking off his hat and sitting down across from Niamh.

"I have nothing to do," Niamh replied.

Brian frowned. "Why don't you go and help Assumpta?"

"She doesn't need it," Niamh said. "She gave Orla a job."

"Oh." Brian looked at his daughter carefully. "Is everything all right, Niamh?"

Niamh sighed heavily. "No. I've reached sort of a rut. I feel very useless."

"Sure, Ambrose and Kieran need you."

"Besides them."

"This is about Assumpta, isn't it?"

Niamh didn't say anything for a long moment, then she nodded. "I don't think Assumpta even needs me in her life anymore. She's got Peter for all her emotional needs, and she's got Orla now to be her best friend. Lord knows Orla's more interesting then I am. She's been to Australia and Asia and all sorts. I've barely been to England."

"Well…" Brian said tentatively. "This could be a good thing. Open up new possibilities for you. Like-"

"Dad!" Niamh cut in sharply. "I don't want to talk about your restaurant right know, thank you."

Brian held up his hands in a defensive gesture. "Okay, okay."

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

"Ah, Peter," Dr. Ryan said, looking up as Peter entered the room. "What can I do for you?"

"I have to talk to you," Peter said, taking a seat. "It's rather important, and I'm going behind Fr. Mac's back, so I'd appreciate it if you don't say anything."

"Not a word." Dr. Ryan looked concerned. "He's not having problems, is he?"

"Fr. Mac? No." Peter shook his head. "No, it's one of my parishioners. She confessed something, and I think some intervention is desperately needed."

Dr. Ryan raised his eyebrows. "That's very daring of you, breaking the seal of confession."

"She's being sexually abused by her father," Peter explained quickly. "And is too afraid to tell anyone. I think that warrants a bending of the rules."

"Certainly does." Dr. Ryan looked very serious for a moment. "It's not Lisa Sullivan by any chance, is it?"

"Yeah." Peter looked surprised. "Did you know about it?"

"Not for sure, but I had my suspicions." Dr. Ryan shook his head, looking down and shuffling some papers on his desk. "I suppose we should talk to Ambrose, and Lisa's mother, at the very least."

Peter nodded. "Though her father's already confronted me about it. Pretty much threatened me."

"Well, we should keep your name out of this," Dr. Ryan said seriously. "We don't need you getting into trouble. So, I'll talk to Ambrose later, see what we can get done."

"Thanks, Michael." Peter smiled as he stood up.

"No, thank you, Peter."

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

"Who was that?" Ambrose asked, sticking his head into the kitchen as Niamh hung up the phone.

Niamh took her apron off its hook on the wall. "Just my dad."

"What's he want now?" Ambrose asked, frowning.

"Well," Niamh replied. "He's been on at me to manage that restaurant of his. I told him I'd think about it."

"And?"

"And I don't know."

"Niamh," Ambrose sighed. "You hardly spend any time with the family as it is, and working for your father…"

"I wouldn't be working for him," Niamh said. "I'd be running the restaurant. I'd make sure I'd get complete control."

"I still don't think I like the idea."

Niamh scowled. "Well you can't just keep me around here all day cleaning and cooking and looking after Kieran."

"I thought that's what you wanted." Ambrose muttered.

"Oh, did you?" Niamh narrowed her eyes at him. She pulled off the apron and threw it at Ambrose. "Well, you can just make dinner then." She turned and stormed out of the kitchen.

Crossing the street towards the pub, Niamh just barely avoided being hit by Peter in his car, though he stopped in time.

"Niamh," he said, sticking his head out the window. "Are you all right?"

Niamh blinked. "You didn't hit me."

"I know." Peter gave a quiet laugh. "You just looked kind of upset."

Niamh stared at him a moment. "I'm fine," she said, before turning and walking into the pub. Peter frowned, but continued driving up to the church.

Fitzgerald's was fairly busy with the afternoon rush. Assumpta and Orla were running around behind the bar filling people's ordered.

"Hi, Niamh, what can I get ya?" Assumpta asked as Niamh took a seat at the bar.

"Just a glass of lager," Niamh replied.

Assumpta brought her her drink, but couldn't talk because she had to go serve a large group that just came in. Finally, however, there was a lull and Assumpta walked back over to Niamh.

"What's wrong?" Assumpta asked, noticing the troubled expression on her friend's face.

Niamh looked up at her. "Why does everyone assume there's something wrong with me?"

"She's Assumpta," Orla chimed in. "She's supposed to make assumptions."

"Oh, shove off!" Assumpta cried, laughing. Orla shot Assumpta a grin as she went into the kitchen. Assumpta turned back to Niamh. "I was just asking, Niamh."

Niamh had an odd expression on her face. "Well there's nothing wrong with me."

"Ok, fine." Assumpta walked over to serve another group that had entered.

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

Evening came, and Peter, who was over at Brendan's, received a call from Dr. Ryan. Ambrose had paid a visit to the Sullivans, talking first with the mother. She was shocked, but afraid to confront her husband herself, so Ambrose had. The father had seemed accepting of the idea to change, if not remorseful of his actions. Ambrose told him that legal action would have to be taken; the father was oddly accepting of it.

All in all, too many thoughts were buzzing around in Peter's mind as he and Brendan sat in the living room before going up to bed. Peter had some paperwork he was theoretically working on, but his mind was elsewhere. "Got a lot on your mind?" Brendan asked, looking up.

"What?" Peter was jerked out of his thoughts. "Oh, yeah. It's just, this whole mess with my parishioner, and getting ready for the new priest, and I can't stop thinking about Assumpta to top it all off."

Brendan smiled, his eyes sparkling. "Don't worry, I'm pretty sure she's not going to run off again."

"Oh, no it's not that." Peter set the paperwork on the coffee table. "I just can't get her out of my head."

Brendan chuckled. "It's only natural, nothing to worry about."

"I know." Peter leaned back in his chair and sighed. "God…I just never knew I could feel this way."

"You're very lucky."

"I know." The clock on the mantel chimed eleven. Peter stood up and stretched. "I think I'm going to take a walk, there's no way I'm going to fall asleep."

"See you in a bit then," Brendan said, turning back to his own paperwork. "I'll probably still be up, I've got these papers to grade."

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

Assumpta lay in bed, unable to sleep. She stared up at the ceiling, at the patterns cast by the moonlight shining through the curtains. She realized that at the moment, she was very happy. She had Orla, who was turning out to be a wonderful friend and excellent co- worker, but most of all she had Peter.

Just as she thought this, Assumpta heard a faint knocking at the front door. She slipped out of bed and into her slippers, throwing her robe on over her pajamas. She went downstairs and opened the door a crack.

"Peter?" she said in a surprised tone. Shadows obscured his face, but Assumpta recognized him all the same.

"You wouldn't happen to have some aspirin, would you?" Peter asked, his voice pained.

"Aspirin?" Assumpta frowned, stepping aside to let Peter in. The light from the stairs fell over him. "Oh, God, what happened?!" Assumpta gasped. Peter's lip and nose were bleeding, and a bruise was blooming spectacularly on his jaw. He was also doubled over slightly.

"I got into a bit of trouble," Peter said, making his way over to one of the chairs by the fireplace and sitting down. Assumpta knelt near him, turning on the table lamp.

"Should I call Doc Ryan?"

"You might want to…" Peter took a deep breath and winced. "I think one of my ribs might be cracked."

"I'll do that," Assumpta said, getting to her feet. "And get a washcloth to clean up that face of yours. And then you can tell me what the hell happened."

A little while later Dr. Ryan was finished examining Peter. His ribs weren't cracked, but he was banged up quite a bit.

"Did you see the person's face?" he asked after Peter told him what had happened.

Peter spoke slightly grudgingly. "It was Lisa's father."

"Oh dear," Dr. Ryan sighed. "Ambrose didn't tell him, did he?"

"No." Peter shook his head. "Mr. Sullivan said he'd just put two and two together."

Assumpta was standing next to Peter, and he reached up, putting one arm around her waist.

"Well," Dr. Ryan said. "You should probably call Brendan to come and pick you up. Walking home in your condition isn't a good choice."

"It's late," Peter argued. "I don't want to put him to the trouble."

Dr. Ryan gave Peter a stern look. "Well, I'll leave you two to work out the details, just don't do anything foolish." Assumpta let out a snort, and Dr. Ryan seemed to realize the double meaning in his words. "I just mean, don't walk all the way to Brendan's by yourself. Anyway, goodnight to you both."

"Good night, Michael," Assumpta said, following the doctor to the door to lock it after him. "And thank you."

"No problem." Dr. Ryan smiled, and left.

Assumpta turned back to Peter. "Well, I could give you a ride home, or you could just stay here in one of the guest rooms, I don't think anyone would care."

Peter yawned. "Yeah, that's fine." Assumpta went over and helped him to his feet, then up the stairs.

"Just give us a shout if you need anything," she said at the door to one of the guest rooms.

"Right." Peter smiled. "Good night."

" `Night."

They stood staring at each other for a moment, then Assumpta smiled faintly and turned to go back into her own room.

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

The next morning while Peter was in the kitchen having breakfast, looking bedraggled and wearing his grey sweater and jeans from the night before, Assumpta went to answer the door to find a worried Brendan and angry Fr. Macanally.

"Is Fr. Clifford here?" Fr. Mac demanded, marching past Assumpta into the pub.

"Yep." Assumpta gestured towards the kitchen. "He's in there eating breakfast."

"Is he all right?" Brendan asked.

Assumpta nodded. "Yeah. He's a little banged up, but he's fine."

At that moment the door to the kitchen opened and Peter came out. He smiled. "Hi," he said. "Sorry if I caused any worry."

Brendan looked relieved to see that Peter was all right. "God, man, what did Assumpta do to you?" he teased.

"It wasn't Assumpta," Peter said, rolling his eyes. "I was…erm…attacked by an upset father of a parishioner."

"Yes," Fr. Mac said, narrowing his eyes. "I have to talk to you about that. But first of all, why in God's name did you spend the night here rather then returning to Brendan's?"

"Ahm, if I may vouch for Fr. Clifford's innocence here," Assumpta said, stepping in. "He was in pretty bad shape when he showed up last night. I called Dr. Ryan, who looked him over. We decided it would be better for Fr. Clifford to just spend the night in one of the guest rooms..." She paused for emphasis. "Rather then going all the way back to Brendan's."

"Well, that's fine with me," Brendan said, putting a hand on Peter's shoulder. "Just as long as Peter's all right. Come on, let's get you home. You and your boss can have your talk after you've gotten a change of clothes."

Peter turned to Assumpta as they headed out. "Thanks, Assumpta, again."

"Yeah, no problem." Assumpta watched the two go, then turned to Fr. Mac. "Well?"

Fr. Mac shook his head and walked to the door. "I don't know what I'm going to do with the two of you."

Assumpta rolled her eyes as the parish priest left the pub.

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

A day later, Peter was closing up the church for the evening. Things had calmed down, Lisa's father had been taken away, and Peter had spent some time with both Lisa and her mother, who were both grateful to him for helping, even if Fr. Mac wasn't.

As Peter came out of the sacristy, he saw someone sitting in the first row of pews.

"Oh, sorry," Peter said. "I didn't know anyone was still here."

"Fr. Clifford?" the man said, standing, and revealing the long brown robe he was wearing.

Peter blinked. "Fr. Aiden O'Connell?"

"Yep." The young man stepped forward to shake Peter's hand.

"Welcome," Peter said, smiling. "You're bit later then expected, I must say."

"Yes…sorry about that," Fr. Aiden said. "I got a bit held up." They walked together to the door of the church. "Is my sister here?"

"Orla? She is indeed." Peter nodded. "She's probably down at the pub. Why don't you come down there with me? Everyone's been wondering where you are."

"And here's me wondering where I am…" Aiden said under his breath as he followed Peter.