Author's Note: I'n not even sorry!

This chapter is rated T

.

This is his body
This is his blood

Such selfish prayers
And I can't get enough

-Bedroom Hymns, Florence and the Machine

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"Sheriff Swan is here to see you, father," the nun said after rapping on the door frame.

The door was open, but Emma was standing behind the sister, unable to see into the office.

"Send her in," his voice replied warmly. The sound pulled at Emma's chest. "Would you bring us some tea, sister?"

"Of course, father," the nun said, dipping her head before turning to scurry off.

Emma took a deep breath before stepping forward to look into the office.

It was a small, neat room. The desk was plain, and the chair behind it was simple.

He'd been sitting, but he rose to meet her, stepping around the desk as she crossed into the room.

"Oh, my god," Emma gasped as she took him in from top to bottom.

"Father Jones will suffice, lass," he said with a wink. He extended his right hand to her and gave her a winning smile. "You must be Sheriff Swan. Pleased to meet you."

Emma tried to pick her jaw up off the floor.

He was dressed all in black (which wasn't surprising), but the little white square at his throat was disconcerting. Even though she'd already known that in the latest version of the curse, Killian Jones was a priest, seeing it with her own eyes was something else entirely.

Even without the guy-liner, his blue eyes were strikingly beautiful, bright and animated. His scruff was gone, revealing a smooth expanse of sharp jaw-line. His whole countenance seemed different. The centuries of pain were gone, replaced by some sort of pious calm.

So different, and yet clearly the same.

Emma licked her lips. She had come to him as a last resort, really. She'd tried convincing Mary-Margaret and David to no avail, Regina was one-hundred-percent back in bitch-mayor mode, and Henry wasn't in Storybrooke. The boy had been vacationing with Neal when the damn trap had been sprung.

So, with all the family options taken from her, Emma was left with a pirate.

Emma knew that Hook loved her. She'd known it since Neverland. And deep down, she'd reluctantly admitted to herself that she loved him, too.

But she also knew that True Love's Kiss wouldn't work on someone with amnesia.

The man standing in front of Emma wasn't Hook. He was a stranger, someone different and unknown-a priest for crying out loud. But she'd seen the way Mary-Margaret and David had been pulled toward each other despite the curse. Emma had to hope that the same would be true for her and Hook-Father Jones, whatever. She had to believe that True Love would win out over evil and she'd restore he happy endings... Again.

So, all she had to do was seduce the priest.

"Lass? Are you feeling ill?"

Emma realized she'd been staring at the blue-eyed priest, her mind playing cruel and naughty tricks on her. She shook her head and took his hand, surprised to find it soft, smooth, and unadorned by jewelry. When he wrapped his left hand around their entwined rights, she jumped and made a shocked little squawk.

"Miss Swan?" he said, concern coloring his features.

Emma decided to play the blonde card, as she had on too many marks during her bail bondsperson days.

"Look, I'm sorry," she said, giving him a demure grin, "I've screwed this up. I just wasn't expecting a priest to be so…"

She eyed him up and down, biting her lip and trying to look flustered (which really wasn't difficult).

"Can we just start over?" she said, looking up at him through her lashes. "I'm Emma."

He gave her an indulgent smile.

"Killian Jones," he said warmly. "And I'm very pleased to meet you, Emma."

He patted her hand and then released her. He walked back around his desk and gestured for her to sit on the chair opposite. He didn't take his seat until after she sank into the chair.

"How can I assist you, love?" he said.

"Well, it's complicated," she said, hesitating as she shifted back into sheriff mode.

"I've been told I'm clever, if that is any help," he teased.

She grinned at that.

"Okay," she said, taking a breath. "This is going to sound a little crazy."

She paused to look at him, and he was watching her with expectation.

She bit her lip again before speaking.

"Do you ever dream of another life?" she asked.

He burst out laughing.

Emma had never seen him laugh like that, carefree and open. It was beautiful.

"Miss Swan—"

"Emma," she corrected.

"Emma," he said, "are you trying to ask if I ever regret becoming a priest?"

"No," she sighed. "I told you this was going to sound crazy."

Killian tilted his head to the side and studied her. Before he spoke again, the nun returned with a tray of tea and cookies. She set the tray down on the desk.

"Thank you, sister," Killian said.

They both waited for the nun to leave before speaking again. Killian carefully poured two cups of tea and offered one to Emma. She took it, brushing his fingers with hers and watching to see if he reacted to the touch.

She didn't know if it was wishful thinking, but she thought that his eyes widened slightly when her fingers grazed over his skin.

"Thank you," she murmured.

Emma busied herself adding sugar to her tea, trying to figure out how to do what she needed to do without scaring off the priest.

"You didn't answer my question," she said finally, watching him through her lashes as she pretended to study her tea cup.

"Everyone dreams of different lives, lass," he said, taking a sip of his tea.

He was still hedging, but Emma was sure he was dreaming about his old life. She'd dreamed of her old life while she'd been in New York. The dreams hadn't made sense at the time, all jumbled and confusing, but she'd had them, and she would bet hard cash that Killian was having them too.

He would have so much more life to dream of.

"What do you know about memory loss?" Emma asked.

"Amnesia?" the priest said, eyebrows rising. "Not much, I'm afraid."

"What if I told you your dreams were memories?" she said quietly.

"I'd say that sounds mad," he replied after just a moment's hesitation.

She nodded.

He looked away, his brow crinkling. Emma decided she didn't want to push him too fast.

"Just… Just think about it, okay?" she said, searching his face. "Come find me if you want to learn more."

He met her eyes and stared at her.

Emma's chest grew tight as she watched the weight settle behind his eyes. She hadn't wanted to burden him. She didn't want to force Hook's past on this light, happy person, but she needed him back. She needed all of them back. And she knew from experience that fake memories, no matter how pleasant, weren't good enough.

She just hoped he'd agree with her when it was done.

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