"Sean," Niamh started, turning the faucet on and watching the clear liquid fill the teapot.

                "Yeah?" he asked, looking up at her from where he sat at the kitchen table of their home. Actually it was his home, but when they got married, they both decided that there was nothing wrong in making it their home.

                Carefully, she settled the ceramic coated teapot onto the burner of the nearby stove and turned to look at him, a look of maternal vexation in her lovely eyes. "I’m worried about the baby."

                His eyes widened slightly, brows raising up on his head. "Why?"

                The whistling steam from the teapot startled them both, causing Niamh to jump. When she realised that it was nothing more than the signal that the water was ready, she sighed in relief. "I haven’t felt it kick," she admitted, lifting the teapot off of the burner with a hotpad.

                "Would it kick so soon?" he queried, having no real knowledge of how it all felt or worked out. All he remembered was that the further along in the pregnancy Emma’s mother had gotten, the angrier she’d become. He winced internally as he remembered the feeling of being hit with a glass vase.

                In an unhurried manner, the red haired woman poured the hot water into the two waiting cups, filling them to the brim with the steaming liquid. She watched, focusing on the swirling of the release of the tea from the bag floating on the surface of the hot water. "Kieran started kicking early on."

                Sean, watching her, seeing her preoccupied nature, stood to help her with the morning beverage. He poured a small amount of cream into each mug and stirred them, then looked at her. "Maybe this one’s just a little slow," he said, offering her a bright smile and a loving gaze, trying his best to lighten the mood and cheer her up.

                "Sean," Niamh sighed, snatching her mug of tea from the counter and taking a quick drink. "I’m not kidding."

                Her husband of two years also lifted his mug to his lips, taking a slow drink, savouring the flavour of the tea. "Then, we’ll go see Doctor Ryan if it will make you feel better."

                She smiled in relief, one hand falling to her stomach, hoping for a gentle kick from the baby she carried.

                "Everything seems to be just fine," Doctor Ryan said, looking at the screen as he moved the transducer over Niamh’s stomach. On the monitor, the image of her tiny baby could be seen, moving slightly, turning and kicking, though not hard enough for her to actually feel it.

                She watched in awe as the baby moved, seemingly aware of them gazing upon it. "Really?" she whispered, eyes glued to the monitor’s screen, while one hand held her blouse up, allowing the doctor to do his work. Her other hand held tightly onto Sean’s, squeezing gently as she watched her baby.

                Sean, completely in awe at what he was seeing, gave her hand a gentle, reassuring squeeze.

                Doctor Ryan smiled, nodding in assent. "See," he said, pointing at the image, fingering pressing against the screen, "there’s the head."

                Nimah could feel tears in her eyes, threatening to well up and spill down her cheeks with her joy. A baby. Growing inside her. Her baby. Sean’s baby. At that moment, Niamh Dillon felt more love than she could ever remembering having felt.

                "Wow," her husband whispered, watching the baby move on the screen. When Emma’s mother had been pregnant with her, he’d never gotten to see anything like this. Sure, he’d been there for the sonogram, but it hadn’t been so clear, so amazing.

                "And here are the arms and legs," Doctor Ryan continued, pointing them out on the screen. "And soon you should be able to notice the fingers and toes." He looked at them, seeing their overjoyed expressions. The miracle of life. It was one of his favourite parts about being a doctor.

                Upon mention of the baby’s extremities, she looked at the doctor. "But why haven’t I felt any kicks?"

                "Sometimes it takes them a while to start," he said, glancing down at her as he lifted the transducer and handed her a cloth to clear the clear blue gel from her belly. "I don’t think that there’s anything for you to worry about."

                Niamh cleaned her skin, frowning at the feel of the slimy gel. Outside of the tremendous pain at the birth of Kieran, the only other thing she remembered vividly was how that gel made her skin feel after each sonogram. She shivered inwardly as she handed the cloth back to the doctor.

                "Told ya," Sean mumbled, smirking down at her.

                Nimah only glared at him playfully.

                "Orla will be attending the beverage counter?" Father Mac asked dubiously as he looked down at the list of positions still needing filled for the annual Saint Joseph’s Carnival.

                "Yes," Aidan nodded, glancing over at him, tearing his attention away from the pencil he was fiddling with. "for as long as she can until she’s needed at the pub, though Oonagh and Paul were considering keeping the pub closed that day and just serving at the Carnival."

                Father MacAnally nodded, jotting down some notes on the pad of paper that laid before him. "Good. Then, I believe that was the last thing that needed to be taken care of." When Father Aidan didn’t answer him, he glanced up, noticing that his fellow priest appeared to be deep in thought. "You’ve been looking rather preoccupied as of late."

                Aidan blinked and turned to give his mentor his full attention. "I apologise, Father, I was just thinking about the carnival." Quickly, he cleared his throat and turned to gaze out the window. The carnival was not the only thing on his mind, though at the moment it did take precedence over everything else. "I hope that it is as succesful this year as the last."

                The older priest nodded, pushing back the chair in which he sat. "I think it will be," he stated, clasping his hands behind his back. Father Mac was not unaware of the arrival of the stranger, but he also was not about to ask any questions that he did not feel were needed. At the same time, he worried about his parish priest and the flock he attended. "Is there nothing that you wish to tell me?"

                Aidan turned to offer him a bright smile. "No, nothing at all."

                "All right, then," Father Mac said, plucking the pile of papers from the desk in front of him. "make sure that everyone who has an assignment at the carnival is made aware of their promise."

                The younger priest accepted the papers, glancing down at the neatly penned text for a moment before nodding to Father Mac. "Yes, Father." Aidan watched the older man leave and sighed, his eyes turning once again to the window of the small priest’s office.

                Fitzgerald’s pub had been quiet since the school headmaster and friends went off about their merry way to enjoy a week of fishing on Conor’s boat. Things didn’t seem the same without Brendan’s running commentary from the end of the bar, Sean to add something snide into it and Conor to contiually ask her out.

                The tiny bell above the door chimed as it opened and Orla looked up, smiling broadly as she saw the three men enter.

                "A pint, please, Orla," Brendan chirped, his mood greatly improved since his trip.

                She immediately plucked a clean glass from the shelf behind her and pulled on the tap, issuing forth a stream of the well loved amber liquid. "Am I ever glad to hear that again."

                Sean chuckled and took his customary seat at the end of the bar next to Brendan. "We weren’t gone that long," he quipped.

                They each smiled and thanked her as she sat a pint in front of them. Brendan took a long, loving drink from his, closing his eyes as he let the elixir roll around his tongue for a moment, tasting every little grain of the hops and barly.

                Oonagh arrived from the kitchen, wiping her hands with a dish towel. "Well, it’s good to see you three back. Did you have fun?"

                "Of course we did," Brendan said, smiling as he settled the butt of his glass back onto the countertop.

                Orla leaned over the counter, placing her elbows firmly on the smooth surface. "Catch anything?"

                A powerful rush of air startled them all as Conor let out a monstrous sneeze. "A cold, I think."

                Brendan and Sean enjoyed a good laugh, both lifting the glasses to their lips to take another long drink. Orla only shook her head in amusement and handed Conor a tissue.

                "Bless you," Oonagh whispered to Conor, patting his arm as he wiped his slightly red nose.

                Conor smiled at her, glancing at Orla’s amused expression for a moment, frowning slightly as he tossed the used tissue over the counter and skillfully into the wastebasket.

                "So what’s been happening since we’ve been out exploring the vast nothingness off the coast?" Brendan asked, straightening his back a moment to stretch it out.

                "Carnival’s coming up," Oonagh mentioned, gaining a frown from Brendan. He loved the Saint Jospeh’s carnival but mostly for the sake of his daughter Aisling. Outside of her enjoyment, he couldn’t have cared less. "And there’s a new lady in town."

                "Oh? Who?" Conor asked, seeming to be the most interested of the three of them.

                "Her name’s Morgan," Orla mentioned, seeing the excitement in Conor’s eyes fade a moment as he realised he’d sounded far more interested than he should have. There was no real relationship between the two, but Conor held his hope, even if he still technically was a single man.

                Brendan’s once happily interested expression turned into a deep scowl. "Morgan what?"

                Orla shrugged, taking his now empty pint and refilling it. "I don’t know. She never said."

                "What’s she doing here?" Conor asked, deciding to empty his own pint in a long drink.

                "She’s a friend of Brian’s apparently. From Dublin," Oonagh joined in the conversation, glancing at the three men, seeing Sean’s curious look, Conor’s interested eyes and Brendan’s unhappy frown.

                Sean, finding no more interest in the conversation reached behind the bar and snatched up the current copy of the newspaper from Cilladargen, deciding instead to devote his attention to reading of the world’s events.

                The bell over the pub door chimed again, alerting them to another arrival. Father Aidan entered, smiling as usual, though when he saw Brendan, his smile faltered. He couldn’t help but to recall the words spoken to him in confession only a couple of days before. It was going to be hard to be around his friend when he knew such vital information.

                "Tea, Orla, please," Aidan requested as he took a seat at the bar, glancing sidelong at his friends. "Looks as if the three of you enjoyed yourselves."

                Conor, instead of answering, blasted out another sneeze. Oonagh chuckled and handed him a tissue, followed closely by the remainder of the box.

                "Bless you," Aidan offered, smiling at him as Conor tried desperately to keep the situation under control, then nodded in thanks to his sister as she set the white ceramic mug on the counter before him.

                Sean, meanwhile, glanced up from the newspaper, smirking at Conor, then looking at Brendan. His friend still scowled deeply. He wondered what the problem was, but he wasn’t about to say anything. Instead, he looked to Father Aidan and smiled. "We did, I think."

                Orla moved the wastebasket closer to Conor, who thanked her quietly, snatching another tissue from the box as he felt another sneeze approaching.

                "Who’s this new person in town?" Brendan asked suddenly, his voice showing a hint of disapproval of the arrival of someone he didn’t think he wanted around, though he was, as of yet, unsure if it was who he thought it was.

                Aidan, in the midst of a swallow of his tea, nearly choked. He knew that sooner or later he would be questioned about her, but he hadn’t been completely prepared for it.

                "Aidan," Orla muttered, handing him a towel quickly, shaking her head in amusment as she took the mug from his hand and set it on the counter.

                "Who?" the priest asked, dabbing at his chin and the wet spot on the front of his black shirt.

                "Morgan," Brendan said, not at all amused by Aidan’s near disaster with his beverage.

                A moment passed, wherein an uncomfortable silence settled over all of them. Aidan knew that he would have to tell someone of her presence, but he only hoped that she’d do so first. "Oh, her," he mumbled, clearing his throat. "She’s a friend of Brian’s."

                Brendan narrowed his eyes at the priest a moment, noticing his discomfort with the subject. "Does she have a last name?"

                "She hasn’t mentioned it," Aidan answered quickly, looking back down at his tea, finding that he wasn’t interested in it any longer.

                Just outside the pub, a small, dark red sedan parked, settling into a spot not far from the door. The lady in question slipped out and looked toward the pub, hoping to be able to enjoy a nice cup of coffee, though she had no idea that her brother was there and not in a good mood.

                "What’s so important about whether or not she’s told anyone her surname?" Sean asked finally, trying to understand Brendan’s agitation with the mention of this woman.

                "Because it does to me," he snapped unnecessarily at his friend before returning his attention to his pint.

                "Old flame?" Conor quipped, trying to add a bit of humour to the heaviness of the mood.

                "No," Brendan snarled, causing Conor to blink and focus his energy on trying to stifle another sneeze.

                Orla sighed and looked at Brendan with an expression of an older sister or displeased mother. "No need to get bent out of shape."

                The school headmaster only shot her angry glare, emptying his pint again before sliding it forward for a silently requested refill.

                "Well," Aidan said after several moments of oppressive silence. "I have some-" he stopped, trying to think of something, anything, that would get him out of the awkward situation that had arisen in Fitzgerald’s pub. "-weeding to do."

                Morgan took a deep breath as she started for the pub door, enjoying the feel of the warm summer breeze against her skin, tossing her dark locks around her shoulders. Her fingers reached for the door handle, though she never got a chance to grasp it. Instead, the door flew open and a rather flustered priest barrelled out, stepping on her foot before he even realised that he wasn’t alone.

                She yelped, jumping back a step, in surprise and shock from the unexpected encounter.

                "Oh, excuse me," pleaded Aidan, his eyes locking onto her face. "Morgan."

                She looked up at him, offering him a polite smile. "No problem, Father, it was only a toe," she said in a kind joking manner, though the look on his face made her smile fade. "What’s wrong?"

                "You don’t want to go in there," he said, sighing softly.

                Morgan settled herself back on the ground, testing the tenderness of her recently offended appendage. "Why not?" she asked out of curiosity.

                "Brendan is back from his fishing trip."

                Her eyes lit up and a bright smile crossed her face. "That’s great. Now I can talk to him."

                "No!" Aidan blurted out, taking hold of her arms.

                "Why not?" she asked, blinking in surprise of his sudden response, though she didn’t mind his hold on her arms. "It’s why I came back in the first place."

                Gently, he squeezed her arms, then released her. "I know," he said, sighing, his eyes showing his obvious discomfort with the entire situation. He was used to being taken into the confidence of most of the town, but this had to have been the hardest thing he’d ever had to deal with. "Brendan is not exactly happy about hearing your name."

                "You told him?" she asked, looking at him with a certain amount of distrust. The words of confession were sacred, confidence to be kept between confessor and the priest.

                "No, of course not," he said, shaking his head, looking at her, seeing her desire to see her brother, to speak with him and end whatever anger was still held between them. "Orla mentioned your name and that you were in town. Brendan inquired as to your identity."

                Morgan sighed, knowing in her heart that the priest would not have revealed her confession to anyone, though she had been worried for a moment. "Then it’s better that he know now, than for me to wait."

                Aidan watched her enter the pub, then followed her, preparing for the worst.

                Brendan held out his hands in front of him, making a gesture to demonstrate the size of the fish that he’d caught during their trip. Sean laughed and shook his head, taking Brendan’s hands and moving them in a significant amount.

                "Brendan?"

                The school headmaster’s hands fell, ignorning the monstrous difference in size between the fish in his story and the one in Sean’s version of the tale. "Morgan." His voice showed his disapproval at her appeareance in the pub. But nothing held more contempt than his eyes.

                She smiled, taking a step forward, though she stopped suddenly, smile fading as her brother’s hands landed heavily on the countertop. "What the hell are you doing here?"

                "What?" she asked in surprise, her voice cracking with emotion. "I came back to see you."

                Hearing the ire in the voice of her friend, Orla slipped out from behind the counter and seized her sneezing mate, dragging him from the front room of the pub and around to the storeroom. Oonagh, on the other hand, only sighed and turned to the kitchen, intent on leaving them alone for a bit.

                "Well, I don’t want to see you," he hissed at her, causing Sean to look up from his paper, frowning.

                "Brendan, please," she pleaded, reaching out to him, her fingers stretching toward her brother.

                "No!" he snarled, his voice raising, threatening to shake apart the timbers that held the pub together.

                Aidan sighed and intervened, his calming voice adding little to the effect of the headmaster’s wrath. "Brendan, please listen to what she has to say."

                Brendan shook his head, holding his hands up in front of him. "No, I listened to enough of what she had to say ten years ago. No more." Quickly, he started forward, preparing to move past her when she spoke, her words causing him to come to an abrupt halt.

                "I’m sorry," she whispered, her eyes filling with unshed tears, tears that would have never been there before.

                "Sorry?" he asked, glaring down at her, though shocked was etched into his features. "You?

                She nodded, reaching up to brush away a single tear that slipped from her eye, rolling down her cheek.

                The hush that fell over the pub was painfully loud to them all, though Brendan’s sudden burst of laughter shattered it. "You were never sorry."

                His words hurt her, it was evident on her face, though her brother chose not to see that pain. Sean, on the other hand, did see it and sighed, looking down to the countertop, studying how the grains swirled and danced with one another.

                "I am sorry," she said, reaching for him, noticing Sean’s discomfort out of the corner of her eye. "I’ve paid for what I’ve done. I just want to make things right."

                Brendan yanked his arm away from her as she reached out to him. "It’s too damn late for that," he condemned as he stormed from the pub, slamming the door in his wake.

                Even though the others had not been present, it was not hard to tell what had happened. Orla and Conor both peered out of the storeroom, seeing her agnosing expression. The blonde wanted to be able to comfort the woman that would surely be her friend, but instead she left that task to her brother, whose calm and soothing voice seemed to be able to do a better job than she could ever hope to do.

                "I’m sorry, Morgan," Aidan offered, looking at her, seeing her tears. He longed to be able to wipe those tears away, to take away her pain, though he knew he was not a miracle worker. Pain like she felt could only be left behind with forgiveness and understanding. Something which he felt was going to be long in coming.

                "I should have known it would happen," she whispered, taking a tissue from the box that Conor had been using moments earlier to wipe at her eyes.

                "He’ll come around. Just give him a little time."

                "He’s had eleven years to come around, Father," she said quietly, looking at Aidan, seeing his desire to help her. "If he hasn’t forgiven me for everything by now, then I doubt that he will."

                "Excuse me for seeming rude, but what’s going on?" Orla asked as she and Conor made their way from the storeroom.

                The dark haired lady, tears still in her eyes, glanced over at Orla and sighed softly. "It’s a family matter."

                "Family?" Conor asked, stifling another sneeze, though Orla snatched a tissue and handed it to him anyway. Good thing she did, too, for a moment later, a violent sneeze shook his body.

                Morgan sighed and looked at them all, noticing the proprietor of the pub step from within the kitchen to join in, her curiosity getting the better of her. "Brendan is my brother."

                Orla blinked as she looked at her, suddenly noticing the resemblence between the two.

                "He never mentioned a sister," Conor noted, sniffling into a tissue.

                Morgan smirked and sniffed a little, looking down at the bar. "I’m not exactly his favourite person." She glanced back at Aidan as he laid a hand on her shoulder. "Thanks anyway, Father, but I think I’m going to go home."

                He nodded and watched her leave, turning his attention back to the others, seeing the look of mild surprise on his sister’s face.

                "Wow, a sister," she mumbled, eyes still fixed on the gently closed door. "I never imagined."

                Sean, who’d never moved from his spot at the bar during the entire confrontation, cleared his throat and folded the paper neatly on the bar. "Maybe someone should go talk to Brendan." All eyes turned to him, informing him without speech that since it was his idea, he was the likely candidate.

                His home was far too small to pace properly in, so instead he stood next to the small fireplace and just fumed. How dare that woman come back to Ballykissangel after all these years and think that he would just put aside everything and be pleased to see her? Who the hell did she think she was? His sister, that’s who. Brendan glared at the burnt wood on the iron grate at the bottom of the hearth, blaming the inanimate object for his problems.

                At the sound of the echoing knock at the front door, Brendan yelled, "Who is it?" The last person he wanted to see was his sister, Father Aidan following close alongside.

                "It’s Sean," called his friend.

                Brendan stomped across the room to the front door and flung it open, glaring at his friend. "What?" he asked, voice still angry from the earlier encounter.

                "Wanna talk about it?" his friend sighed, stuffing his hands into his pockets.

                "No."

                "Well, ya should anyway," he muttered, stepping past his fuming pal and into his home. The first thing he noticed was that nothing was broken. He was thankful for that. Sean didn’t feel like ducking flying objects.

                Brendan let the door close of its own power, looking at his friend with a grimace that could rival even the angriest of men.

                Concern filled the priest as he slipped off his bicycle and leaned it against a nearby tree. He knew that it was difficult to confront one’s relations, but this had to be the most confusing and challenging situation yet for him. He’d dealt with lying children and scheming townsolk, though the pain of a sister and her brother was the worst for him. It made him thankful that he and his sister had such a strong relationship.

                "Morgan?" Aidan called as he knocked gently on the door.

                A moment later, said object swung open revealing a red eyed young woman, tissue in hand, sniffling still. "What?" she asked quietly, looking up at him.

                "Morgan, would you like to talk?" he asked, gazing down at her, wishing once again that he could steal away her pain, hide it from her and the rest of the world.

                Silence ensued for a moment as she thought, her eyes studying him, seeing his desire to help her. "Not really," she answered, regardless of what she saw, but his kind, understanding smile caught her off guard. "But I suppose you’re going to stand there until I say yes."

                "Most likely," he acknowledged, his eyes twinkling with amusement, his lips curving into a bright smile, trying desperately to see one of hers.

                He was rewarded a split second later, when her expression changed, lips curling, offering him the smile that he wanted to see. "Would you like some coffee?" she asked, stepping aside to allow him entrance into her home.

                "I would love some, thank you," he replied, taking a look around as he stepped inside.

                Regardless of her upbringing in the rural countryside of Ireland, Morgan could never resist a good cup of coffee. Something about the richness of it made her feel warm inside, made her feel comfortable.

                With careful concentration, trying to take her mind off of her brother’s harsh words, she filled the coffeemaker with water and scooped out some grounds.

                "Nice home," Aidan called from the adjoined living room.

                "Thanks," she returned, watching the pot as the dark liquid began to fill the glass carafe. Two mugs settled onto the counter where she wanted them. She didn’t know how he liked his coffee, but she figured him to be a man who would prefer it black, so she skipped the sugar and cream and instead poured the hot beverage into the mugs.

                Morgan entered the living room, holding two steaming mugs of coffee, one which Aidan accepted gratefully. "So," he started, holding the mug in his hands, enjoying the heat against his skin. "why does Brendan seem to adamant about talking to you?"

                Her eyes met his for a brief moment before she sat down on the sofa, Aidan seating himself as well. "I did some very bad things," she said, taking a slow sip of her coffee.

                "Such as?" he asked, also taking a drink, smiling as he noticed it was unsweetened. He rarely drank coffee, but when he did, he liked it without embellishment.

                "I tried to ruin his life," she replied, unable to look at him, afraid what she would see in his eyes.

                "How so?"

                She sighed as he asked his question and took a sip of her coffee, then settled the mug down on the wooden coffee table just in front of the sofa. "I made up rumours about him when I was younger."

                "What kind of rumours?" he questioned, tilting his head as he looked at her.

                She could see in his eyes that he was rather naive about the kinds of things an angry sibling would say against one of their own, so instead of explaining it to him, she only said, "I don’t think she want to know that."

                As if suddenly realising what she meant, he blinked and nodded, glancing down into his mug of coffee. "I see."

                Morgan took a breath, holding it for a moment before releasing it in a long. slow rush of air. "Anyway, I hurt him and he never forgave me apparently."

                "He’s holding a lot of pain inside." Aidan sat his mug down on the table near hers, his hands returning to clasp in his lap.

                "I know that. That’s why I wanted to apologise to him."

                "To help him release that pain? Or to help release your own?"

                Morgan looked at him, seeing that he was only trying to help her and her brother. Slowly, she nodded. "Both, but I guess he heard about everything else."

                Aidan squinched up his face in confusion and looked at her. "Everything else?"

                A lull of thought parted them for a moment as Morgan collected her thoughts, organised them into something understandable. "I was sixteen when I left Ballykissangel," she explained, looking down at her lap, settling her elbows onto her knees as she clasped her hands in front of her. "Mum and Dad threw me out of the house."

                Aidan only frowned, seeing the torment that ate at her from her actions.

                "I’d been stealing from them," she continued, eyes lifting to gaze out the front window. "Mostly money, but some jewelry, too."

                "Stealing?" he asked in surprise, unable to picture the fragile, docile female next to him as a thief.

                Unaware of his image of her, she nodded. "I don’t even really remember what started it. I just did it."

                Aidan sighed, studying her for a moment, before nodding. "Go on."

                "After they kicked me out, I went to stay with Brian and Niamh for a while before heading off on my own."

                "That’s why Brian was so willing to help you."

                "I suppose so," she shrugged. "but I really don’t know. He was just always nice to me."

                Aidan lifted his mug off the table again and took a drink, noting that it had cooled down some.

                "I eventually ended up in Dublin," she said as she stood and started over to the window she’d been gazing out. Her head gently rested against the glass, eyes closing. "I didn’t do so well on my own."

                "What happened?" he asked quietly, studying her as she stood there, unaware of his intense scrutiny.

                She didn’t answer him at first, though she nearly blurted out her entire life story in one great gush of emotion. When she did speak, her voice was low, barely audible. "I ended up being a stripper."

                The priest blinked, attempting to comprehend her words. A stripper. Brendan’s sister had done something that was not only a sin, but downright appalling. No wonder Brendan was so angry at her. "Oh my," he finally said, taking a deep breath to calm his racing heart. "Why?"

                Her head lifted, eyes opening, focusing on some distant point outside her world. "I needed to make money," she replied, shrugging nonchalantly, acting as if she’d said nothing important.

                "I’m there were other ways to make money," he stated, still shocked at hearing her admission.

                She let her eyes turn to him, her shame and humilation deep. "I wasn’t exactly qualified for anything."

                "Maybe not, but why a-" Aidan stopped, trying to get the courage to say the word. "-stripper," he choked out eventually.

                For some reason, she found the entire conversation amusing for a split second. Discussing her occupation as a stripper with a priest was not exactly the way she’d envisioned it in the past. With a sigh and a few steps across the room, her fingers snatched a dark looking binder from a shelf. Flipping through it quickly, she came to what she sought and showed it to Aidan.

                The priest glanced at the photo, then realised it was of her, doing what she did best at the time. He managed to swallow the lump that had formed in his throat.

                "That’s why I ended up doing it."

                It took him a moment to realise that she was referring to her slender figure and well shaped curves. "Just because you were lovely?" he queried, tearing his eyes from the image caught forever in time on that piece of paper.

                "I definitely prefer the way you put it," she muttered taking the album from him and closing it gently. As she moved to seat herself again on the sofa, she set the binder down on the coffee table, replacing it with her coffee mug.

                "How long did you do this?" he asked, still shocked.

                "Four years," she answered, taking a slow sip of her drink, trying to pour all of her pain and anger into the mug, wanting to let it all pool there so she could just pour it uncaringly down the drain.

                "I don’t really know how to react to that," he said quietly, shaking his head, eyes on his hands.

                "That’s not all, Father," she continued, setting the cup down again.

                "Aidan, please," he said, looking over at her, to see her meet his gaze. She smiled wanly, offering him all that she could at the moment.

                "I was addicted to a variety of drugs, as well."

                Aidan regarded her, trying to imagine her thrown into such a life, but he couldn’t. No matter how hard he tried, he couldn’t see her doing something so sinful, so wrong, so painful. It jut didn’t seem like her. "I wish I’d known you then."

                "Think it would have helped?" she asked, seeing his eyes, his own form of discomfort pooling there.

                He shrugged slightly, still gazing at her. "I don’t know," he said softly. "but I would have tried."

                She reached out and patted his arm, offering him a warm smile, comforted by his friendship. "I appreciate that, Aidan, but I learned a lot from what I did and I think that it made me a better person."

                He wanted to take her hand, to hold it gently in his own, but he knew that it was not allowed. At least not for him. "That’s good to know."

                Her hand fell away from his arm, leaving a warm imprint on his shirt from where she’d let it settle. "All of it eventually compounded on itself," she continued, wanting to get it all out of the way and past her. At least for that moment. "and I ended up having to steal to get enough money for the drugs that I thought I needed."

                "And you got caught?"

                Nodding, she took a deep breath, her words coming out with the release of air. "Got five years in prison."

                Aidan’s eyes closed upon hearing her words. Prison was not an easy place, especially for a woman. Not that a woman couldn’t handle what went on there, but he felt that a young woman like Morgan would not have dealt well with the goings on there. "And you think Brendan knows all of this already?"

                "He might. It would explain why he was so angry."

                "You did do some bad things while at home. He probably never forgot those," he reminded her, turning his body a little on the sofa to get a better, more comfortable position while still able to look at her.

                "Yeah, I know, but add everything else to that and you have a good reason why he wouldn’t want to forgive me or even talk to me about it all."

                Aidan had to admit that there was a great amount of truth to her statement. Slowly, he sipped at his coffee, his mind wandering.

                "She what?" Sean asked, his voice showing his shock at hearing Brendan’s words.

                "She started stripping to buy drugs, Sean," he repeated, frowning heavily as he did. It bad enough to hear it the first time he’d said it.

                "Woah," his friend muttered, looking down at the Guinness bottle he held in his hand.

                "She did a lot of bad stuff," Brendan stated, sinking down into his favourite chair, hand going to his head, rubbing his temple as he tried to force away the headache that was growing.

                "Apparently."

                The throbbing started just behind his right eye, threatening to move to his left if he didn’t calm down, lower his level of anger. "She even went to prison," he said quietly, eyes closed, head resting on the back of his chair.

                "For what?" Sean asked, having taken a long swig of his ale.

                "Theft and drug abuse as far as I know," the headmaster answered, his brows knitting together.

                Sean sighed and shook his head, finishing off his beer and setting the empty bottle to the side. "That’s not good," he mumbled, turning his head a little to get a better look at his long time friend. "You think she’s going to start trouble here?"

                "How do I know?" Brendan mumbled into his hands as he rubbed his eyes, still trying to avert the tension that had built in his head.

                Sean shrugged, crossing his ankles as he stretched out his long legs. "She seemed sincere, enough."

                The school headmaster opened his eyes, dropping his hands into his lap. "The devil can seem sincere when he wants to," he noted.

                His comment made Sean smirk and chuckle slightly. "Good point."

                With a heave and a sigh, Brendan threw himself to his feet, hands landing on his hips. "I just don’t know what to do," he started, making his way to the fireplace again. "I’ve waited for the day that I could see her again, but when I do, then all I want to do is remind her of what she did to screw everything up for me back then."

                Sean looked at him. He could see the pain in his friend’s eyes, hear it in his words, but he could hear and see the anger that dwelt so deep within his soul, buried under years of anguish. "Maybe it’s time to get over it," he suggested.

                "It’s not that easy," Brendan reminded him, looking over at him.

                Sean sighed and leaned forward in his chair, placing his elbows on his thighs. "Listen, Brendan, I know what you’re going through. In a way. I wasn’t exactly welcome back here at first, but I stuck it out and held on."

                Brendan only looked at him, trying to find the relevance in what his friend was saying, but having a bit of trouble doing so.

                "Just give her a chance," Sean finished, stating what he wanted plainly.

                The headmaster frowned and turned his gaze to the window, watching the trees sway in the summer breeze, wishing that wind could just carry it all away.

                The summer breeze brought to Orla’s doorstep a sniffling, though smiling Conor.

                "You shouldn’t have," Orla stated, smiling softly as she accepted the bottle of wine and the bouquet of brightly coloured wildflowers.

                "Probably not, but I couldn’t resisit," he replied, stepping inside as she moved to the side to allow him entrance. Her home hadn’t changed much, though a new coat of paint did cover the walls.

                She closed the door behind him and moved to sit the bottle of wine on the table. Quickly, she inhaled the fragrant scent of the flowers and smiled at him over the petals. "They’re beautiful," she complimented.

                He grinned at her, stuffing his hands into the pockets of his faded jeans. "I have good taste."

                His comment made her roll her eyes as she turned to grab a vase from the cabinet. "Sure ya do."

                Conor chuckled in good humour and popped the cork on the wine bottle. He’d been looking forward to the chance to be alone with her, to hopefully start over with their relationship, even though Orla insisted there wasn’t one.

                After arranging the flowers in the vase, she held out two wine glasses, waiting for him to pour their drinks. She had a feeling that it was a bad idea to do this, but she needed to attempt something with him. He was a great mate, and a handsome one at that, but she had a hard time as seeing him as anything else. She knew that it hurt him to hear her say that, but it was the truth. Though, possibly, there were underlying feelings, but she highly doubted it.

                Conor poured the wine, letting each glass fill about half way before he returned to bottle to the table. She handed him one of the glasses, which he took and held out before him. "To trying again," he said, smiling at her, his eyes twinkling with the thought of being close to her.

                Orla returned his smile. "Trying again," she said softly, then took a drink, watching him over the lip of her glass as he drank. She felt a strange pang of something in her heart, butterflies fluttering in the pit of her stomach. His fingers brushed against hers as he took the glass and sat it down on the table. At his touch, her breath caught in her throat, forcing her to breath deeply.

                Conor moved around the table and smiled down at her as he bent, his lips meeting hers, finding that she didn’t pull away. Maybe something would go right after all, he thought.

                Morgan and Aidan had continued talking for some time, getting to a know a little more about each other, though Aidan spoke very little about himself in truth.

                "Thanks, Aidan. I appreciate you listening to me."

                They stood at the door now, Aidan preparing to leave for the evening, heading back to the Priest house for another night to himself. In reality, he wasn’t looking forward to it. He enjoyed Morgan’s company, finding a strong comfort with her.

                "Anytime you need me to listen, I’m here," he said, smiling down at her, gazing into her soft doe like eyes. He suddenly didn’t want to leave, feeling the urge to stay pulling at him.

                She smiled up at him, her soft lips curving happily as she leaned up to kiss his cheek innocently, an act which made Aidan blush profusely. "You’re a good friend already," she whispered.

                "I’m a priest," he replied, though he wasn’t sure exactly what his reponse was meant to answer; her comment about his friendship or the soft kiss she’d placed upon his cheek. Regardless, he’d said it, reminding them both of his evangelical station in the town.

                Morgan only laughed softly, her mirth spreading around them both like the tinkling of a glass windchime. "I noticed that."

                Aidan smiled sheepishly and took a breath. "Well, have a good night," he said, then left before he could say or think anything else that might have been misconstrued. He may have been naive in the actions between a man and a woman, but he could not deny the fluttering of his own heart as he mounted his bicycle and started back to town.

                "Emma," Danny whispered, holding her close to him as he kissed her lips tenderly.

                "Hmm?" she asked, gently removing the flannel shirt he’d been wearing.

                "Are you sure about this?" he inquired, feeling her hands on his chest. It hadn’t been that long ago when they’d first discussed the possibilites of being intimate and now it seemed to be happening.

                She looked at him, seeing the man that she adored. Her heart lept, breath catching in the back of her throat as she slowly nodded. That was all the encouragement Danny Byrne needed to pull her to him and make that night one of the most important of their lives.

                Unfortunately for Conor, things didn’t go as well with him. He’d ended up laying on the couch by himself, eyes glued to the ceiling, trying to figure out what ha gone wrong with the evening. She’d been responding to him like he’d hoped, then suddenly, with no explanation other than ‘I need to get some sleep’, it was all over with.

                He frowned, closing his eyes as he tried to go to sleep himself.

                A third empty Guinness bottle settled onto the floor next to the chair where Brendan lounged, eyes gazing at nothing, mind churning with thoughts of his sister and his own life. Maybe it had been for the best that she’d made those rumours about him. Maybe that had been what spurred him on to be the best teacher that he could be, to help children understand the differences between wrong and right.

                Maybe, but not likely, he mused. His eyes closed, as he thought on the subject. Within moments, snores filled the small room.

                Morgan showered and dressed for bed, mind still on all that she’d revealed to Aidan. At first, when he’d shown up, she hadn’t really wanted to talk, but the more she was around him, the more comfortable she felt and it all came tumbling out. At least he was not judgemental, she thought to herself, then reminded her subconscious that he was a priest and was not supposed to judge. At least she didn’t think he was, but even so, Morgan had the opinion that Aidan would have a hard time judging anyone.

                The warm comfort of her blankets surrounded her as she settled into bed, laying back on the pillows, eyes fixed on the ceiling. She hoped that her brother would come to see that she’d paid hard for her mistakes and it had strengthed her, showed her that she’d been wrong for so long. It was what she wanted. It was what she needed.

                The Priest’s house next to St. Joseph’s was quiet as usual, offering living space to only Father Aidan O’Connell. He enjoyed the quiet that surrounded him, but on that night it felt oppressive. He had basked in the light that Morgan seemed to give off, feeling that warmth of her words and of her smile. It was wrong and he knew it. The only light he was supposed to bask in was that of his Lord and Saviour, but that night was different. That night, his mind and attention had been focused on her and none other.

                Aidan knelt before his bed, elbows on the soft mattress, fingers laced together. "Please, Lord, forgive me. I can not stop resting my thoughts upon Morgan Kearney. She is like no one I have ever met before. Strong of spirit and lovely of body." Shame filled him as he said those words. It was not his place to notice such things about a woman, but he’d been unable to concentrate on anything other than that, especially after she’d shown him that photo. "How can I be expected to keep to my vows with a woman like her near me. Yet, at the same time, I can not avoid her, as she trusts me to be her friend and confidante," Aidan sighed, knowing that there was no way he could keep from speaking with her, from listening to her, from offering comfort should she wish it. "I am lost, Lord, I am confused. Please, show me the way." Tears brimmed in his eyes as he cast his gaze toward the heavens, pleading with his words and his heart for a sign.