Make It Better

by Just2Ships

Summary:

After Assumpta’s visit to St. Joseph’s, something shifts between Peter and Assumpta. Sharing a ritual of childhood, they find a way to show they care about each other without crossing any lines, or breaking any vows. It’s perfectly innocent, or is it?

Notes:

Author's Note: This is my first Ballykissangel fanfic, and only my second one ever. I've loved this show since I first found it on Amercan Bribox about two years ago; well, I love Series 1 -3, minus the last horrible bits in Episode 11. After the end of Series 3, I couldnt bring myself to watch any subsequent series of the show. I had fallen in love with the idea of Assumpta and Peter being in love. This story comes from that place of love. It begins in Series 1 Episode 6 " Missing You Already" and then departs from canon. I've borrowed a scene and some lines of dialogue from the episode, and that means from Kieran Prendiville, BBC Northern Ireland, and BritBox. They are not my characters, but they are my friends and I want them to be happy. All usual disclaimers apply.
See NOTE at the end of this first chapter.

Chapter 1: Ouchies

Summary:

Peter heads to Fitzgerald’s to give Assumpta a talking to after she leaves St. Joseph’s open and with a broken window during the festival. What Peter ends up giving Assumpta instead is a little comfort when she least expects it.

It started as a joke, really. Definitely not flirting and not even in the category of teasing. Peter only meant to make Assumpta smile, or to perhaps chuckle at his bit of silliness. Yes, that’s what it was — Peter being silly to make Assumpta feel better. Just to make it better.

After his meeting with Niamh about her upcoming nuptials, Peter hurried back to St. Joseph’s to see if Assumpta was still there enjoying the “peace and quiet” same as anybody else. As he entered the sanctuary, he saw that a rock, probably thrown by one of Ballykissangel’s few hooligans, had broken a window. Assumpta was no where to be found. Peter was quite miffed at the vandalism. He was also miffed at Assumpta for walking off, leaving the church empty and unlocked. “What if the little buggers came inside to wreak havoc, too?” Peter mumbled to himself as he locked the door.

He headed to Fitzgerald’s to ask the landlady just what she had been thinking.
“You could have waited, Assumpta! And the least you could have done was shut the door behind you.”

“I had to go!”Assumpta yelled back in reply from the kitchen.

“Of course you’ve got a pub to run, right?!”

“Right, Father, it’s a dirty job, but someone’s got to do it.” She quipped on her way behind the bar.

“Oh, my God.” Peter could see a poorly placed plaster covering a wound on Assumpta’s head. It was obvious she had been hurt by the thrown rock. Peter’s anger was immediately replaced with contrition and an urge to make sure Assumpta’s injury was well taken care of, by him if necessary. “Did you see the doctor?”

“No, was definitely kids. They were running off.”

He had to insist, but even then Peter was surprised Assumpta let him clean & bandage the small injury on her forehead. Well, she protested vehemently at first, causing Peter to feel more than a little bad about ripping the original plaster off so roughly, so he proceeded more gently.

When Peter placed his hands on Assumpta’s face to examine the wound, he noticed his hands were shaking a bit. Of course his hands would shake under the circumstances; it had been awhile since he had cleaned someone else’s injury, even if this one was barely bleeding. He pushed her hair off her forehead finding the strands were softer than he expected, being so thick and curly. As he cleaned and bandaged her injury, he wondered what Assumpta did to make her hair so soft. He only wondered for a moment though — just a passing, inconsequential, thought really — because it only took a couple of minutes for him to play nurse with the bandages. He ran his fingertips across her forehead one last time to make sure the plaster was sealed.

For his troubles, Assumpta did give Peter a small smile of thanks, or derision — he wasn’t sure which, but just as her mood had been earlier at St. Joe’s, there was an underlying, weary, sadness in her eyes and behind her smile. When Peter saw Assumpta with that look, he felt a stab of … empathy? … concern? He couldn’t quite say what he felt when he saw her look of hidden pain, but he certainly felt something — something he was sure in that moment was perfectly appropriate for him to feel for one of his parish, even if she wasn’t a practicing Catholic. Without any conscious thought about what he was doing, Peter leaned forward, once again brushing an Auburn curl out of the way, and gave Assumpta the lightest of kisses where the plaster lay.

Assumpta suppressed a gasp and instead lifted her eyebrows in an unspoken question. Her face was flushed and she narrowed her eyes at Peter waiting for him to reply. Peter felt his own face begin to warm. He gave her a one shoulder shrug along with a lopsided grin as he explained, “A kiss to make it better. You know. Didn’t your mum give your ouchies a small kiss when you were hurt as a child?”

“No. I mean, yes she did. Sometimes. When I was still in pigtails.”

“Oh. Right. Well. I think you could still pull off pigtails if you wanted to, quite well, actually! I, uh … It’s time for me to get back to St. Joseph’s — I, erm, must check out the window damage. I’m sure Father Mac is going to have something to say about this … erm, I mean, something to say about that window.” He gestured his intention to go with thumb toward the door.

Assumpta stood watching Peter turn to leave the pub. Then, touching the tips of her fingers to the plaster, she murmured, “Ta, Peter. It does feel better now.” Assumpta shook her head and smiled a smile that could have only come from her heart. Peter looked over his shoulder and returned her smile. In fact he smiled all the way up the hill to the church knowing that he had done one good thing and it had made it better.

Notes:

NOTE: This isn't a Christmas story but I am hurridly writing it on the eve of Christmas Eve. It's meant to be a little present for all my fellow Peter and Assumpta shippers. I hope you are still out there. I plan to post the next chapter soon after Christmas, and I have it plotted for 3 chapters. Please read and review. Being a novice fanfiction writer, I really need feedback!

Chapter 2: Need a Little Help

Summary:

Peter has an accident and needs help. It makes sense for him to head to Fitzgerald’s and Assumpta to get it. He knows she will be there for him and know what to do to make it better.

Notes:

Author's Note: All the usual disclaimers apply -- not my universe, characters or canon story line, but I am ever so grateful for them. I'm just borrowing Peter and Assumpta, Michael and the other pub-rats to give them a taste of happiness not allowed them on the telly.

Sending a special thank you and nod to MONTY PYTHON and THE HOLY GRAIL in this chapter -- see if you can find the Easter Egg, which of course belongs to that universe.

Special note: I am not a doctor, nor do I play one on TV. Please suspend your disbelief and read the first aid parts with a grain of salt. They were written to move the story along, not as advice to any of y'all on how to care for cuts or scraps. LOL

Father Peter set the black phone’s receiver back onto its cradle and swore an oath more fitting for a footballer than a Catholic priest. Pressing the dirty work cloth to the gash, his mind raced over his options for fixing up the open wound on his right palm. The knuckles on his left hand were scraped and oozing blood, too, but he wasn’t worried about them. Standing, he found his knees were a little weak as he started toward St. Joseph’s door and down the hill to Fitzgerald’s.

Torrential rain pelted Peter who was a right mess by the time Assumpta opened the door he had been pounding on with the flat of his left forearm. “We’re closed, I told y—“ the publican stopped mid-sentence when she saw Peter cradling his blood soaked hand. “Jesus, Mary and Joseph, what happened to you?!” Assumpta grabbed the priest and pulled him into the pub.

Closed between the lunch and dinner shifts, the dimly lit bar was empty but Assumpta pulled Peter past the vacant barstools and tables so she could push him onto the settee in front of the fireplace’s glowing embers. Noticing Peter was shaking from either shock or cold, Assumpta pulled a small blanket over his shoulders and threw two logs on the fire.

“Peter, what happened? Let me see!”
Peter held his hands out to her, moving aside his own left hand so she could unwrap the bloody gash on his right palm. “I asked Liam and Donal to fix the broken window at the beginning of the week but they only got as far as setting up the ladder. It’s been there for days and I needed the window fixed before Sunday morning mass tomorrow."

“Ah, so you thought you’d do the job yourself, did ya?” Shaking her head and clicking her tongue, Assumpta looked at his injury and then quickly covered it again. “Oh, Peter, this probably needs stitches! Let’s give Michael a call.”
“I already have. He’s up with one of the mountainy men’s wives doing a home delivery. Can you plaster it up for me enough so it can wait until Michael is back in BallyK?”

“Yeah, or I can take you to the hospital in Cildargen …”

“Please, no. Let’s just see if we can get the bleeding to stop and clean it up here. The last time I was at the hospital, two of the elderly nuns serving as nurses there made everyone genuflect every time they entered a room I was in as if I was the pope incarnate! I don’t think I am up to dealing with that today.”

Assumpta let out a loud snort of laughter before she could stop herself as she pictured Peter and the nuns. “OK, but we’ll leave a message for Michael to head straight here on his way back into to town and you can stay here until he arrives. I’ll make that call then grab my first aid kit. I can fix you up while you tell me how you managed to injure yourself doing a job you originally assigned to the town’s two least competent handymen.”

Chuckling at Assumpta’s dig, the curate explained, “I didn’t realize one leg of the ladder was on the carpet and when I started using the putty knife to chip away the caulk holding the broken glass into the frame, the ladder rocked. My left hand’s knuckles holding the knife scraped along the window frame, and without thinking, I dropped my mallet and grabbed for purchase with my right hand. I guess I grabbed the broken glass and not the wood. Luckily, the ladder stopped rocking or I’d be in even worse shape.”

Assumpta had gathered together a small basin of warm water, antiseptic wash and the first aid kit with its assortment of plasters, tapes and ointments. She lifted the dirty rag from his hand and immediately pressed it back as blood oozed from the cut. She grabbed a thick square of padded gauze to replace the rag and then pulled his fingers around it in a fist. “Hold your fist tight to keep the pressure on the cut, Peter. It will be okay.” She tried to soothe him with her gentle tone. She then dipped his left hand into to water bath to cleanse the abrasions on his knuckles. After a final rinse with antiseptic, she patted his knuckles dry and sprayed them with a liquid bandage solution. “When that dries, your knuckles will heal up just fine in a day or two.”

Peter’s grip on the gauze in his right hand had assuaged the flow of blood from the wound so when Assumpta removed the gauze she could see the extent of his injury. It was a jagged cut, deep enough to cause her stomach to roll, and, without thinking, she sucked in her breath in sympathetic pain. “Oh, Dear God, please let me do this right and not make it worse.” Peter mumbled an “Amen” causing Assumpta to roll her eyes and smirk. At the same time, she appreciated his simple faith in even her agnostic prayer.

The landlady brought a clean basin of warm water to the small table which she had placed close to Peter. She squirted some of the antiseptic directly into the water. “The rinse has something in it that dulls the pain but it still might sting.”
Holding his large, trembling hand in both of hers, Assumpta placed his hand, palm up, in the basin. Using her thumbs, she massaged gentle circles around the cut. When the blood that had already dried was removed, and the edges of the cut were clean, Assumpta took a fresh gauze and dried his hand. Peter pulled air in across his teeth as blood began to flow again from the cut.
Again, Assumpta put pressure on the cut with a fresh padded gauze. She sat holding Peter’s hand tightly until she was sure the bleeding had stopped. Then she removed the gauze and felt tears pricking the backs of her eyelids. When she lifted her gaze to Peter, his green eyes glistened but he smiled at her. “It’s just a flesh wound!” He quipped.

Laughing in spite of herself, Assumpta began laying out first aid supplies. She splashed a little antiseptic on the cut, as Peter groaned and smacked the table with his good hand, just once but with enough English on it to make the water slosh onto the table and the rug below it. “Hey, there, you big baby. Mind the rug!” Assumpta reprimanded him.

Getting Peter to relax his hand enough so she could treat it was difficult. Assumpta held his hand palm up in her left hand and gently stroked his fingers and wrist until she felt him give in to her touch, releasing the taut muscles to her care. She found some antibiotic ointment and measured a small dollop onto the cut. Peter had been prepared for it to hurt but it soothed the injury instead. “This has a little topical lidocaine in it to numb the pain.” Assumpta explained.

With a small square gauze dampened with rubbing alcohol, Assumpta cleaned and dried outside the cut. She had Peter flex his palm halfway so she could apply steri-strips to the wound. Then rolling gauze into a one inch cylinder shape, she placed it across his palm. “Hmm.” She hummed to herself as she smiled and looked up into the only thing about Peter that was Irish — his green, green eyes.

Still making eye contact, Assumpta removed the cylinder of gauze from his hand and slowly lifted his palm to her lips. Starting on the center of his palm below the cut, Assumpta began to ever so lightly kiss his palm until her lips were directly on his injury. Placing a kiss there, she felt his other hand cup her cheek so she stayed as still as she could, not wanting to break contact. After a moment or two, Peter felt Assumpta turn her face to look at him and he removed his hand from her cheek, only for her to catch it and cover the scraped knuckles with another series of small, gentle kisses. Without meaning to, Peter released a quiet moan; he smiled to himself when he looked up and saw her flushed face and the grin with a hint of mischief that had taken over her sweet, laughing mouth.

“Kisses to make it better.” Assumpta whispered in a voice low and filled with … what? Peter wasn’t sure what her husky declaration was filled with, but he forgot his injuries straight away.

Assumpta looked at the clock on the wall, and tskked at the time. Gently, but quickly, she replaced the cylinder of gauze across his palm, taping it in place. She pulled his fingers loosely across the cylinder of gauze, then used an ace bandage to hold his hand in a loose fist position. “You just sit here and I’ll bring you a pint to replenish your blood loss.”

For the remainder of the hour, Peter sat by the fire and watched Assumpta go about the business of readying the pub for the evening crowd. Every now and then, he may have absentmindedly placed the knuckles of his less injured hand against his lips, but if he did so, he was only vaguely aware of what he was doing. It was enough to just sit and watch the publican in her element, and remember her healing touch.
By the time Michael walked into the pub later that evening, Peter was holding court at the bar between Paidrag and Siobhan. The wounded priest was fairly well anesthetized through his parishioners’ generosity and concern. In fact, between the bandaged hand and the tiny bit of blood splatter on his old grey jumper, Peter hadn’t had to pay for a drink all night. Even Brian had bought him a shot of the good whiskey after sending Liam and Donal up to St. Joes to finally fix the broken window pane.

Michael insisted Peter eat a bowl of stew and drink a large glass of water before walking him home. On the way to the exit, Peter stopped abruptly to look back at Assumpta, “ Assumpta, thank you for fixing my ouchies! You made them all better!” He slurred his gratitude in her general direction. Laughing uncontrollably, he told Michael he probably didn’t even need him to look at his scrapes and cut. “Really, Michael, Assumpta fixed me right up just as good as my mum would have, better even, cause she’s not my mum!” He laughed his way out the door and up the street. Assumpta slipped into the kitchen hoping no one noticed the blush in her cheeks or the grin she couldn’t quite subdue.

Realizing Peter was in the "happy" stage of inebriation and in no danger of an alcohol-induced coma, Michael suggested to Peter that he get ready and into bed; the doc would examine and rebandage the injury and Peter could go right to sleep afterwards. He would leave a glass of water and two paracetamol tablets on his bedside table for the inevitable headache Peter would have in the morning.

Michael had to admit that Assumpta had done a decent job cleaning the cut and applying the steri-strips. “Stitches would be better but it looks like these steri-strips will hold it together as long as you keep the hand still. Let’s straighten it out and clean it a bit. I’m giving you an antibiotic shot because of how deep the cut is. Any pain beyond a level four, come right to see me. We don’t want you lose your hand due to an infection.”

With that happy thought, Michael turned to head out of Peter’s bedroom door and down the stairs. Peter called out to him before he could leave, “Quit worrying, Michael! Assumpta took good care of me. I am going to be just find, just finnuh. Imma be o.k.!” Peter giggled again and gave a thumbs up with his relatively good hand.

“Really, Peter, just between the two of us, why are you so sure that horrible cut is going to heal ‘just fine!’ because of Assumpta’s care — she didn’t put any herbs or oils on it did she?” Michael decided he had better investigate further before leaving.

“Ahhh worried she’ll take business from you, Doc?” Peter giggled. “Don’t worry, I don’t think she will. I don’t think she kisses just anyone’s ouchies, but she kissed mine. You know, a kiss to make it better!” He winked.

Michael grinned and headed out of the Peter’s house and onto the street. “A kiss to make it better!” He chuckled to himself. “As sound a remedy as chicken soup, and twice the comfort. Probably just what the curate and the landlady needed after the shock of that cut!”

Both Peter and Assumpta slept well and deeply that night, dreaming not of their mums, but of each other and well-placed kisses that seem to always make it better.

Chapter 3: Good Night and God Bless

Summary:

Who are Peter and Assumpta to go against doctor’s orders?

Notes:

When Chapter 2 was published at Christmas time, I had no idea it would take me until Valentine’s Day to publish Chapter 3. I’m so sorry. I hope you will enjoy this one, despite waiting for it for so long! Next week is mid-winter break for schools here, and I hope to spend the time wrapping up this story’s final chapter in between grading my students’ papers.
This chapter is definitely AU, but borrows a few more lines of dialogue from BALLYKISSANGEL Series 1.6. The characters and other references to the beloved show are borrowed. All the usual disclaimers apply.
Two other notes:
Please don’t use this chapter for medical advice — the medical references are obviously fiction & quite probably inaccurate!

Also, the rating on this chapter might border the “M” rating category. Please don’t read if emotional but mildly physical romantic scenes make you uncomfortable. It’s meant to feed the slow burn between our two lovesick leads.
I love your feedback — I am still so new to writing fan-fiction. Kudos and reviews are appreciated so much!

Slowly pushing her maxi-length skirt up to her thighs, Peter moved his hands from Assumpta’s calf, placing them on either side of her porcelain, dimpled knee. Assumpta had held his gaze as he touched her — she could see his emotions on the surface of his glistening, hesitant green eyes. Those eyes were her undoing. Assumpta knew Peter might never declare that he loved her with words, but she often saw something in his eyes that made up for that. Peter’s pupils dilated as he looked into her own deep brown eyes, pulling her in with such force that she couldn’t help but accept his touch. They had always been so careful not to touch each other more than necessary, and, unfortunately, it seldom was necessary. This touch, skin to skin, felt both agonizing and comforting at the same time. Assumpta closed her eyes and gave in to it. She had no choice. Put simply, she needed him to touch her.

Assumpta tried to stay quiet, but she couldn’t suppress a moan, almost whispered, when Peter moved the fabric of her skirt out of the way. In a final act of protest, she turned her head and eyes away from him. In that moment, her knee shifted away from Peter’s fingers, too. The connection broken, she nearly cried out at the loss, but all that came out was a quiet admonishment, “Peter.”

Peter heard his name on her lips, yet he couldn’t stop reaching out for her. Her eyes found his again and the tears spilling over told him that Assumpta didn’t want him to stop, which was good because he couldn’t be dissuaded — he knew he must touch her. Peter slid his hands back where they had been before she moved — the her compulsion to touch her causing his hands to shake. Oh, he was so careful, not wanting to frighten her. He could hardly bear to think of his sassy, spirited barkeep being afraid of his touch. So first he used fingertips to touch her in not quite a caress, but she could tell he was touching her with a tenderness and intent that surprised both of them. Peter’s breath quickened; he wasn’t comfortable with this, but he knew his careful, if inexperienced, touch was what Assumpta needed from him in the moment. He also knew he could never leave her aching as she was. Peter knew she needed him to at least try to give her release from the distress that had overtaken her. For her part, Assumpta’s desire to stay connected to Peter through his gentle ministrations battled with her fear of being hurt by him, even though she knew he cared for her. Assumpta pulled slightly away from him but then their eyes locked again and she knew she could trust Peter not to hurt her. Another thought quickly followed that one: to feel his hands on her was worth the risk.

Peter leaned in and used his palms to cup her rounded knee, stroking the area above and below it, perhaps to distract her, as he gently admonished, “Look, let me do this properly.” He put more pressure on her leg and leaned into her, hoping to hold her still as long as possible.

Assumpta exhaled into his ear, “Aaahhh, Peter!”

Peter, put his forehead on hers, “I just need two minutes, eh? Can you hold out a bit longer?”

Assumpta, nodded but tearfully exhaled, almost into his open mouth, “Ooohhh, Peter! “

Closing his eyes and trying to keep the pressure where she needed it, Peter murmured, “Sh, sh, shhhhhh. . .”

Finally Peter could tell Assumpta was ready for him to intensify his touch. But, she wasn’t prepared for the final, intense pressure, the pressure that would release her from this transcendent yet torturous encounter.

Assumpta was nearly on the precipice of release when Dr. Michael Ryan walked through the red door and into the small lounge in the curate’s house. His glance took in what was happening on the davenport. “Hallo! Peter, you look like a pro at this. Sure, you’ll be putting me out of work next! I never could have gotten her this close without another pair of hands to help me!”
Peter nodded towards Assumpta’s foot. Without another word, the doctor reached down to Assumpta’s ankle and gave her leg an additional tug as Peter continued to apply pressure further up. All three heard a loud pop at the same time. Assumpta gasped and let her head fall back to rest on the arm of the sofa, breathing heavily. At last, Assumpta’s dislocated knee was back in place.

The good doctor placed a knee brace on her knee and sent Peter to Fitzgerald’s for some ice. “So, when Peter called my answering service, he described your injury well enough and said you were at his house. You know you are lucky he completed the first aid badge back in his Boy Scout days, Assumpta!” Michael smiled and gave her a wink. “Funny though. Peter didn’t say how you hurt it or how you ended up here after closing time at the pub.” Michael glanced at Peter’s stairs. It wasn’t a question, but Assumpta knew it begged for an explanation.

“Erm … sure,it was Fionn’s fault.” She glared at the sleeping dog who was resting happily near the warmth of Peter’s small fireplace. “I had stepped outside for a breath of fresh air after Brendan and Siobhan left — they were the last customers, so I thought I would close the pub a bit early.” Assumpta looked up to see if Michael was still interested.
The doctor nodded his head so she continued, “Liam’s small orange kitten was out for a stroll and I called it over for a bit of a scritch. I didn’t realize I’d left the door to the pub open and Fionn saw the wee cat and chased it up towards St. Joseph’s. Well, I couldn’t let him catch the little furball — Fionn’s too rough and the kitten would have been hurt. So, I slammed the pub door closed and ran off after them, and, as luck would have it, I tripped over the curb right in front of St. Joseph’s. That church must have it in for me, and Peter too, for that matter!” She exclaimed with a blush, realizing how the last bit might have sounded.

Michael chuckled, “ How did Peter come to rescue you?”

“Oh, well, you know, he was coming out of the church just at the moment I was falling down in front of it. He started making some joke about finally getting me down on my knees for him even if we weren’t quite in the church.” She paused and blushed again as she realized her innuendo.

Michael contained his laugh in a cough as Assumpta added, “He stopped joking when he saw I couldn’t stand. By then, Fionn had forgotten the kitten and ran to Peter, who then brought us back here to call you.”

“How did you get back here? I hope he didn’t make you walk!”

“No. No, no, … erm … he, uh, he carried me here, and Fionn followed along, just as if he wasn’t the cause of all my troubles.” Assumpta tried to cover up her embarrassment with a scowl. Michael, likewise, tried to hide his grin as he pictured the little scene she had described. He chuckled again to Assumpta’s growing irritation, “Oh, bog off, Michael.”

He gave her a hug and two paracetamols with a glass of water. “I knew you were in good hands, Assumpta. Peter has good instincts and excellent first aid training. The nurse said he told her flat out that you had dislocated your knee. I hurried here from Cilldargen, but I knew, if nothing else, Peter would make you comfortable until I arrived. The fact that he almost had your knee back in place on his own was a happy surprise! “

Assumpta nodded and sighed. Michael added as he walked towards the door, “Don’t move about too much tonight. Better yet, keep it elevated tonight and ice it. You can take more paracetamol in four hours. Let Peter take care of you overnight and you can head home in the morning.”

In protest, Assumpta tried to stand just as Peter walked through the door.
“Tch, tch, tch — what are you doing? I think you should stay off your leg for a while. Shouldn’t she, Michael?”

“Yes, Doctor Peter, I concur. In fact, she should stay exactly where she is until at least 8:00 a.m. tomorrow morning. I’ll come by then with some crutches to help you back to the pub. Until then, you need to rest, elevate and ice. Peter will look after you, offer you tea and biscuits or other comforts, as needed PRN. Then, when you are ready to sleep, he can make you comfortable on the sofa and give your ouchie — I think that’s what he calls injuries — a kiss to make it better like your mums used to do when you were wee ones. Before he heads upstairs to bed, he can undo your brace and check on your knee. You are small enough to sleep on his couch and I think by morning, you’ll find you feel much better. That’s my prescription. Understand?”

Peter and Assumpta quickly glanced at each other and then nodded at Michael. Peter swallowed before he asked the elephant-in-the-room question, “Michael, what will people think about Assumpta staying at the curate’s house? What will Kathleen think? She opens the store at 8:00 and will surely watch you arrive at my house, alone. Then, she will just as surely watch you and Assumpta and Fionn leave. She will have questions.”

Michael shrugged nonchalantly, “If they think anything, they should think of your kindness and the lesson of the Good Samaritan. Besides, don’t worry about Kathleen. I will remind her about patient confidentiality, including her own. She knows I take that very seriously and she won’t want people to hear she is gossiping about protected confidences. She won’t be a problem. I promise you. Now, relax and enjoy the evening; get sleep tonight, and I will be here at 8:00 sharp in the morning. Goodnight and God bless you, as my mother used to say to me so I could fall to sleep with happy dreams.” With that, Michael gave a small smile and headed out the door to his car.

For several awkward minutes, Peter and Assumpta sat as they were before the doctor’s departure. Peter finally fell back on his English manners, “Cuppa, Assumpta?”

“I thought you would never ask! But, truth, I would like something a bit stronger, Father.” Sarcasm dripped from her reply.

Peter scowled at Assumpta but he couldn’t hide the hurt in his eyes. “Yeah, sure, my child.” They stared at each other, until Assumpta finally broke their gaze.

“I’m sorry, Peter. You didn’t deserve that from me. Especially after all you’ve done for me, not just tonight but ever since I met you on the road on your first day at BallyKissangel. You’re my friend. I — I care about you.”

Peter smiled ruefully. “Of course I’m your friend, ‘Sumpta and you know, how much I care about you. So between us,” he gestured between their hearts, “I want to be just Peter and Assumpta. OK?” His voice was shakey and his eyes glistened again.

“OK, Peter.” Assumpta smiled at him in the way that he always thought of as her special smile just for be him. “Now what?”

“Now a cuppa, with a bit of my best — not your best, Landlady, but my best — Irish whiskey, a sweet biscuit or other nosh, at your request, all at the doctor’s orders.”

When Peter headed to the kitchen, he heard Assumpta quietly mumble, “What about the kiss for my ouchie? The doc prescribe that too.”

Peter quickly stuck his head back around the corner and gave her a lopsided grin, “He did, indeed. Wouldn’t want to go against doctor’s orders, yeah?”

Assumpta covered her blushing face with her hands and laughed out loud. “Oh, you’re a cheeky one, Peter!”

“You have no idea,” he replied.

The rest of evening went as planned between them. First there was tea, biscuits, ice on Assumpta’s sore knee, and plenty of good conversation between friends. Before they knew it, they both were yawning and struggling to keep their heavy eyes from closing. Peter had sat on the floor below the sofa from where he absentmindedly rubbed Assumpta’s feet and calves as they talked. After awhile, they sat quietly and just enjoyed being near one another. With a sigh, Peter leaned his head back onto her ankles and stared into her lovely, sleepy face. “I should go to bed and let you sleep, ‘Sumpta. Let me get you a pillow and blanket.”
Peter left the room and ran upstairs, pulling his emerald green jumper off as he went. A few minutes later, he came back, dressed in pajama pants and a black-on-white AC/DC t-shirt, from his teen-age drummer days. After he sorted out Assumpta’s bed covers, he gave her a set of pajamas and suggested she put them on while he was in the bathroom. Assumpta heard the shower turn on and tried to think of anything other than Peter under it, and waited somewhat breathless until she heard it turn off. The smell of toothpaste and jasmine soap entered the lounge before he did when he was finished with his quick shower. She had never been anywhere near him after his daily wash up, and she couldn’t help openly staring at his towel dried hair, damp arms and damp face. His T-shirt clung to his chest and biceps creating in her a new appreciation of his lean, muscular body, which she had seen so little of before. Peter gestured towards the bathroom for Assumpta but she shook her head no, saying she had hobbled in to use it while he was upstairs.

Peter sat down on the floor again but turned so he could see Assumpta’s face. Shyly, she smiled at him , which made him give her another lopsided grin. “What?” She asked.

“I should have known you would be adorable in my pajamas.” He chuckled.

Assumpta felt heat rise from her core to her face. Without thinking she said in a much more sultry voice than she intended, “You should see me in my own.”

Peter took in an audible, quick breath, color rising to his face. He kept staring at her as he chuckled so quietly she barely heard him. He pulled himself onto his knees and touched the hem of the blanket. It was her turn to breathe in quickly as he lifted the blanket from her feet and lay his hands on each leg. The warmth of his hands rushed upwards and she felt dizzy, yet highly focused on his touch at the same time. Slowly he pushed up the loose pajama pant legs and undid the Velcro on her knee brace. Like earlier, he traced delicate patterns both above and below the injured knee. He paused until she looked him directly in the face again. Peter cocked his head in a questioning gesture and Assumpta gave him an almost imperceptible nod in response.
Still Peter stalled by placing one hand on her unhurt knee and stroked it in a circular pattern. His hands became damp as the circling became more rhythmic; then he slowed the circles, ending by gently pinching and pulling at the center with a lightness the made her want to beg him for more, but more of what, she didn’t know.

Assumpta lay back on the pillow, which she noticed smelled of Peter and, God, she now knew she loved his smell. Assumpta stretched her arms above her head, drawing Peter’s eyes up her body. He trailed one warm hand down her uninjured leg to her small, soft foot, inserting his fingers between her toes and rubbing the ball of her foot in a rhythmic stroke. Assumpta felt heat run from his touch up her legs to where her thighs met, wet and hot; she longed for him to touch her there. Peter continued to stroke her foot with one hand while he cradled her injured knee with the other.

Surprising her, Peter leaned forward and lay his face down on her legs. She could feel his hot, rapid breath on her thighs as he began kissing the inside of her thigh and then the sore knee. He moved his mouth up her leg and kissed a line from the apex of her thighs down to her foot, kissing and suckling her toes, something she never would have asked a man to do, but now couldn’t imagine living without. At the same time, he trailed his hand back up her leg and hovered his hand over the outside of her mound, not touching, but increasing the heat until it was unbearable. He kissed his way back up her ankles, calves and knees; kissing, sucking and licking as he went. Reaching her thighs, he sucked on one area between her injured knee and where her panties began until she cried out his name. He could feel the reverberations of her inner muscles vibrating. His mouth continued its contact until she lay still. Peter lifted his flushed face, breathing in her odor, and asked in a low voice if he had “kissed it better?”

Assumpta shook her head no, and whispered, “I am in beautiful agony.” She place a hand in his tousled hair, slightly tugging. She was undone. If he could do this to her without touching her directly, what would it be like to feel him inside of her?

After a minute of contemplation with his eyes closed and hands still, Peter whispered, “Where does it hurt?” Assumpta answered by lacing her fingers in his, pulling him so their intertwined hands lay on her left breast, covering her heart. Undoing a button on her pajama top, he placed a kiss just there, choosing to mark it with his lips, tongue and teeth. Peter touched her breast with reverence, his hands, face, lips and tongue caressing it. He had moved his body so his leg was between both of hers on the couch, careful not to let his hips or the length of his body touch hers. Peter’s kiss moved to her nipple where he suckled in a way she had never experienced, the rhythmic movement created contact between his upper thigh and the bud of her mound. Unable to move her hips or lift her legs, she let her hands grip and roam across his chest and back and under his rock-and-roll shirt that reminded Assumpta that Peter hadn’t always been a priest. Assumpta felt the muscles deep in her core contract as Peter continued to suckle, alternating his teeth, lips and tongue. She cried out his name and clung to his shoulders. After her second climax, he placed his forehead on hers again before placing a kiss on her cheek. They both closed their eyes; one in prayer and one in awe and contentment. Peter slowly sat up and pulled away from Assumpta. He rearranged the brace on her knee, as well as her pajamas; reverently rebuttoning her top. Going into the kitchen, he brought her an ice pack and said good night.

As he walked towards the stairs, Assumpta snagged his hand. “You could stay here, Peter, in case I need you. “

Once again, his lopsided grin appeared, “No, I don’t think I can.”

With longing still in her voice, Assumpta asked, “What about you, Peter?” And she tentatively reached out to stroke the bulge she could see through the thin material of his pajama pants.

Peter stepped back just beyond her reach and smiled. “Tonight was about me taking care of you, making you feel better. Don’t worry about me. I’m going to be ok. I’m going to be uncomfortable for a while, but I will be ok.” The lopsided grin was back. Peter leaned down to lightly kiss Assumpta’s cheek one last time then he went upstairs to his lonely bed. Assumpta sighed but was soon in a deep, restful sleep.

Michael arrived at the curate’s house as promised at 8:00 sharp the next morning. He knocked loudly before trying the door and letting himself into his friend’s home. He found Peter and Assumpta in the kitchen, bickering over tea and toast like an old married couple. “What are you two on about now?”

“Oh, you know. God, the universe, what’s better: jam or marmalade.” Peter grinned as he explained and saw Assumpta roll her eyes just before she smiled back at him, that special smile he claimed as his own.

Before they left, Michael asked to take a look at her knee. Peter stayed in the kitchen while the doctor examined her. When her skirt was raised and the brace was off, Michael manipulated the knee and leg and found it to be flexible, not too swollen and stable, although she would need to wear the brace for a few weeks. He also examined some small bruise-like marks on her thigh well-above her knee. “It’s not uncommon for there to be some bruising.” He explained and pretended to ignore the flush of embarrassment on her cheeks. When she stood up he gave her a one-armed, fatherly, hug and told her she looked both healthy and happy.

“Yeah, well, you know. Peter is good at all the old remedies and TLC, along with the general first aid. You left me in very good hands, Michael.” She ducked her head so the doctor, who had known her since her birth, wouldn’t see the truth in her eyes.

Peter coughed as he entered the lounge from the kitchen. Michael extended his hand to Peter and told him thank you for looking after his patient. Assumpta, who was dressed in her skirt with Peter’s emerald green jumper over her t-shirt, started to pull the jumper off. Peter placed his hands on her shoulders and ran them down her arms to her fingertips. Seeing her shiver at his touch, he gently suggested, “You’re cold. Why don’t you keep it? It looks better on you than me anyway.” She tilted her face up to look into his green eyes.

“Ta, Peter, I’ll think of last night when I wear it.” She lifted her hand to her face, covering her mouth as if she was going to blow him a kiss, and breathed in his scent on the cuff. With that, she turned to go out the door, following Doc Ryan, who had a tender smile on his face.

Michael drove her down the street back to Fitzgerald’s. Giving Kathleen a friendly wave, he helped Assumpta out of the car and into the pub using her new crutches. Before the doctor drove away, he walked across the street and had a brief conversation with the storekeeper. Then, to insure no hard feelings, he spent a fiver on things he didn’t need; after all, he had taken away a new avenue of gossip for her. The money did its deed, and Kathleen, who was actually not too dissimilar from Brian, felt her temper placated by the money’s healing properties. Dr. Ryan then drove back to his office. As he walked through the door, he smiled when he found himself humming an old love song from his youth. “Kisses for ouchies, indeed!” He chuckled. For the remainder of the day, he thought off and on about the happy, carefree smiles on Assumpta and Peter’s faces as they said goodbye that morning. He thought, too, that sometimes a doctor needs to treat the whole person, and not just the obvious injury.

Chapter 4: The Good Physician

Summary:

Peter seeks guidance and forgiveness. Assumpta keeps her sense of humor.

Notes:

This chapter is definitely rated T. I toyed around with scenarios that kept it in the M range and it just didn’t feel true to the characters. My goal was to give Peter and Assumpta a happy ending that seemed realistic. For some readers, it may seem too tame. I hope you enjoy it, even so.

Special thanks to Peter G. And his fanfiction story “Fr. Jack Collins’ Story.” I’ve borrowed the character of Jack Collins and his backstory from Peter G’s fanfiction. Of course, all of the Ballykissangel characters are borrowed from the BBC’s lovely show, BALLYKISSANGEL. I own nothing and all usual disclaimers apply.

Final note: I’m not terribly happy with this last chapter as a writer. I really wanted to finish it in four chapters and in doing so, I had to compress the action. As a result, it has a little too much narration and not enough action. I am a work in progress as a new fan fiction writer and will work on that problem in my next story.
Please read and review.

Peter bowed his head and prayed the rosary as counseled to for penance by the priest during his confessional. When he finished his act of contrition, he continued to sit in the pew with his head bowed. Father Jack Collins, assistant parish priest in Castle Cromartie of the Cilldargen parish, placed a conciliatory hand on Peter’s shoulder. “Fancy a pint, Peter?”

As the pair sat down at a table well-removed from the busy bar at Fr. Jack’s local, a barkeep carried two pints over to them, “You’re getting to be regulars of a Saturday afternoon, Fathers!” Smiling , she headed back to the bar, leaving the two men to talk.

“Peter, she isn’t wrong. You’ve driven over most Saturdays in the past six weeks.” He took a drink of his pint. “Have you come to a decision?”

Peter looked at the older priest and nodded, once. “Yeah. Erm. Yes. I spoke with the bishop yesterday afternoon , and then with him and Father MacAnnally in the evening. We agreed tomorrow will be my last mass; the paperwork for laicization is in process. The process, including releasing me from my vows, is long. It could be weeks or years. But, in terms of practice, I will no longer be a priest after tomorrow’s mass.”

“Good. I mean, I’m glad you’ve made a decision. It is a loss for the parish, but I believe it will be better for your soul. Cheers to you and God bless, Peter!” He raised his glass in the younger man’s direction.

 

About seven weeks earlier, Peter had been honest with Assumpta when he said he would be spending an uncomfortable night after his ministrations to her dislocated knee. An uncomfortable night became an uncomfortable day, then an uncomfortable week. On the following Saturday, Peter was heading to Cilldargen to see Fr. MacAnally for confession when he found himself veering off and heading to Castle Cromartie and Fr. Jack Collins instead. Peter continued going there every week since to confess and take counsel from the older priest. Unlike his talks with Father Mac that felt derisive, Peter found his talks with Father Collins insightful, encouraging and respectful. He felt as if he and his problems were lifted up and, although he was still troubled, he felt hopeful that he would be able to eventually come to a resolution.

Because he truly believed in the power of absolution, Peter was able to walk with his head up after his initial confession with Fr. Collins. He knew he had taken even Dr. Michael’s suggestion that he “care for” Assumpta during their night alone farther than he should have, and he was truly sorry. In the intervening six weeks, he had avoided Fitzgerald’s with the exception of the occasional lunch or pint with a parishioner, or the unfortunate time Father Mac insisted on the two of them having dinner there.

Assumpta, for her part and to his surprise, seemed to be unphased by his absence. Fr. Collins had charged Peter that first week with the penance of seeking her forgiveness; he wanted Peter to ask for forgiveness for taking advantage of the situation the night she was under his care. Peter had been horrified when the priest had put it to him in those terms. He knew he needed to seek forgiveness from God for playing so close to the edge of breaking his vows, but it really hadn’t occurred to him that he had hurt Assumpta. Although he tried to abolish the memories from his thoughts, as he recalled the feel of her hands on him and the sound of her voice calling out his name in passion and pleasure, it all seemed contrary to any thought of her experiencing harm from their encounter. From Fr. Collins insightful perspective, though, Peter realized he had probably hurt Assumpta in ways he had not considered.

In the middle of week after his first confession in Castle Cromartie, Peter tapped on the closed door of Fitzgerald’s between the lunch and dinner shifts. Assumpta answered the door, and without saying a word, stepped back to let him enter. Peter noticed she had his green jumper pulled over a t-shirt and jeans. Without realizing what he was doing, he reached up and adjusted his collar, the white plastic feeling oppressive on his Adam’s apple as he swallowed repeatedly. They went through to the kitchen and sat down at the farmhouse table.

After sitting for a what felt like minutes but was probably only seconds, Assumpta got up to set the kettle and make up a tea tray for them. Peter watched her work, enjoying the sight of her in her element, preparing food and drink for one of Fitzgerald’s punters, which he knew he was through and through.
The silence between them wasn’t unbearable, but knowing they had at best an hour to talk, Peter jumped in, “Assumpta, I wanted to talk to you about the night Doc Ryan asked me to care for you.”

“Hmmmm …” was all Assumpta responded with at first. She carried the tray with tea, sandwiches, scones with cream and marmalade, and chocolate biscuits to the table. Touching Peter on the arm, she gestured to his teacup, “Drink, Peter.” He picked up the strong tea, and drank. “Eat, too. Food is a comfort, and I want you to feel better about,” she paused, “whatever this is.” She moved her hand down his arm lingering on his hand, before she absentmindedly touched her heart and sat down across from him.

Peter did eat a few bites of a sandwich before he started talking. “After that night, I needed to confess. I knew I had gone too far — for myself and God. I couldn’t bear to talk to Father Mac about how close I came to breaking my vow of celibacy, so I went to a different parish priest—“

“Thank God for that, Peter!” Assumpta interrupted, and they both smiled.

“I went to a priest I respect and that I felt had perspectives that Father Mac wouldn’t have. As part of my penance, he suggested I consider not just my own soul, but yours and how I had affected you by taking advantage your vulnerability.” His voice broke but he continued, “I feel horrible about it, Assumpta! I used your injury as an excuse to touch you in ways I had dreamed about for so long. It was wrong, and I am terribly sorry. I hope you can forgive me.”

Assumpta took a slow drink of tea before answering him, “If I need to say I forgive you, I can say it. I forgive you, Peter. Please remember though,” she said as her face became red and her voice quieter, “that although it was done with just a nod, I gave you consent to, erm, take care of me. I didn’t — don’t feel I was taken advantage of and you were not on your own that night. I wanted you too, or as much of you as I could get. Peter, the only reason I didn’t follow you upstairs to your bed was because I could tell you were trying so hard to honor your vows. Well, that and my bum knee.” She smiled.

“I respect you and your vocation, Peter. I know you’re a priest. I won’t make it easy for you to break your vows. I forgive you and I hope you can forgive me too, for my part. Now, eat and let’s enjoy our ‘high tea’ together.” She looked into his sea-green eyes meaningfully, “It’s unlikely to happen again between us.” And he knew she meant more than having tea alone together.

When Peter found himself on the road to confession the following Saturday, he went again to Castle Cromartie to see Fr. Jack. He continued going there in subsequent weeks and was surprised that Fr. MacAnally didn’t seem to mind; in fact, he seemed grateful of the respite from conducting his aggravating English priest’s confessional duty.

From Father Jack’s guidance, Peter was able to see the situation with Assumpta as one piece of a larger crisis. Their conversations covered everything from the sweating statue fracas to the circumstances of Peter’s initial response to his calling, having to make his decision just weeks after his father’s death. They talked about the parallels between making vows to God and matrimonial vows. Father Collins asked Peter to examine hard questions about his faith and his trust in God. Father Collins shared his own story of being a priest who had spent the first part of his life as a married man and received his calling after the death of his wife. He told Peter to consider if God could use his followers in different ways at different times in their lives. “Do you have faith that God can continue to work through you as a lay person?”

Peter also spent time on the phone with a counselor from an organization meant to support prospective priests and veteran priests when they questioned their calling. After over a month of conversations with Father Collins, counseling with the support organization and prayer focusing on the steps of discernment, Peter had come to the decision to seek laicization.

By the time Peter talked to the bishop, he was able to list why he was seeking laicization with clarity. All of his introspection in the previous weeks had helped him be at peace with his decision. The bishop, like Father Collins & the counseling service, asked Peter what part the Steps for Discernment had played in his decision process. After hearing Peter’s investment of thoughtfulness, introspection and prayer when making his decision, the bishop’s concerns were laid to rest. “Peter, a priest cannot use personal desires to justify throwing off the yoke of priesthood. However, I believe you are coming to me after seeking God’s grace for your decision to leave the priesthood. I also believe your time as a priest has not been in vain, God has used you well for his works and will continue to do so as a layperson. I will do all I can to ease the process of laicization for you.” Giving Peter his blessing, the bishop smiled, “Now, for explaining this to Father MacAnally, I am afraid you will end up feeling the worst for wear after he is done with you. Let us pray …”

Dr. Ryan made a rare appearance at mass on the day of Peter’s last homily. His face registered little surprise when Peter announced his decision to leave the priesthood. The good doctor was glad to see that the response of the congregation, with the exception of the old flower ladies, seemed more concerned for Peter’s well-being than for themselves and Ballykissangel’s inability to keep a priest for long.

By the time Peter arrived at Fitzgerald’s after mass, his news had traveled there on its own. The pub was packed and Peter had a hard time keeping up with all of the offered drinks and well-wishes. It reminded him of that day months before when the drinks flowed after he injured his hand. He tried to catch Assumpta’s eye, but she was kept busy by the larger than normal crowd. Having come back to the pub for dinner with Dr. Ryan, Peter still had not seen Assumpta. It was nearly closing time when he felt her warmth as she stepped up behind him to lean around as she took the empty pints off of the bar. “Careful, Peter. A couple of more pints, and I may have to cut you off.” She went around the bar and stood facing him, with a smirk, her eyes dancing.

“Ouch!” Peter grinned back at her. “That hurts.”

Assumpta laughed outright and felt her cheeks blush. She laughed, “Where does it hurt, Peter?” It was Peter’s turn to blush.

Doc Ryan finished his drink and smiled as he turned away from the young couple. Leaving Fitzgerald’s he had a sense of accomplishment although he wasn’t sure why. He finally chalked the feeling of well-being up to being happy that two of his patients were no longer hurting. “Yeah, and they know how to make it better if they need to — those medicinal kisses truly work!” Whistling an old love song, Michael drove the short way home, remembering how happy Peter and Assumpta looked as they gazed at each other.