"No, he just went from bloody kissing me to being aloof," Fallon huffed. Malou hadn't read every letter exchanged, she didn't know him as well as Fallon had come to. The sudden change in tone had to stem from somewhere, and stressing about her worrying wasn't it.

She stabbed her egg rather aggressively, wincing as her fork loudly scraped the plate. "I'm not worried, I'm pissed." He was going to change their entire ... relationship because he was concerned with her reputation, but he hadn't asked her her thoughts. He just made the decision and that was it. Nothing infuriated her as readily as that.

  

Malou still disagreed, but she hadn’t read all the letters, she hadn’t seen what Fallon had written, she had no idea how many letters had even been exchanged. Knowing the two of them there probably had been a flurry of owls before the two letters she now held had been exchanged.

“Pissed that he either wants to court you or not see you at all? I thought you weren’t interested in him Fall, what happened?” Malou’s gaze was intent on her friend as if trying to figure out the whole world for her.

  

---

Court her?! Mr. Hatchitt made it fairly obvious he had no intentions of doing that. Besides, she in no way wished to be courting or otherwise. Women like Fallon didn't court. They worked until they inevitably wound up pregnant and then had a shot gun wedding. It was perhaps one of the most shocking differences between her and Malou's upbringing.

"I'm not not interested in him," she muttered without meeting Malou's gaze. When he wasn't being a bloody jackarse he was funny and thoughtful and kind. As was Lachlan. Merlin. She was confused. "We would exchange letters throughout the day at work. I have a box of them in my dresser." The box would be entering the fireplace sooner than later. "This," Fallon reached over and grabbed the first of the two letters, "was just completely unlike him. Probably because I'm too bloody complicated now."

  

And there was the problem. Fallon insisted she didn’t have any interest and yet she noted what wasn’t like him, she knew that much about him. Besides, Malou had known Fallon for thirteen years. Thirteen years that entitled her to the knowledge of Fallon’s reactions. She had seen Fallon’s face light up when telling her about Mr. Hatchitt’s confession and the kiss, just as now she could see the disappointment in her eyes.

“It is unlike him.” Malou agreed before taking another polite bite of her breakfast. “But I do doubt it is because you are too complicated.” Malou wasn’t willing to give up on Mr. Hatchitt just yet, no matter what the letters said. “I think he cares enough to give you space and time to rest and recover.” Malou’s voice was gentle as always as she continued, “You have a lot going on Fall, between the disappearance and MacFusty, and the assassin. If I were him I’d be worried about you having too much to worry over.” Malou was worried about that much. “He was so very worried for you when you disappeared that I just can’t except he’d be anything less than that right now.” Because Malou herself was very worried about Fallon, whether Fallon thought it warranted or not.

  

---

"It's not his place to decide what I can and can't handle," Fallon replied hotly. Being able to talk and exchange letters with him was a sorely needed distraction, a way to pretend things weren't as terrible as they presently were. Lachlan wasn't dying when she was leaning against Mr. Hatchitt. An assassin wasn't after her, she wasn't missing her toes. He made her forget the awfulnes of it all, and he'd gone and decided it was wrong of him.

"The assassin isn't in my control. I visited Lachlan yesterday and he was looking better, so he should be fine. The disappearance ... I'm fine. Everyone needs to stop tiptoeing around me." She ranted as she stood to make another cup of coffee. "It sucked. I thought we were going to die, we didn't. I'm fine."

  

Fallon’s temper exploded but Malou knew it wasn’t at her. There had been a time when Malou hadn’t been so wise about it, but over the years she had learned. Friends were there to listen to the rants and raves of the angry, they were there to be a shoulder on when the tears finally came, they weren’t there to correct or contradict in such moments of passion.

“No. It wasn’t.” Malou agreed quietly, taking a sip of her own coffee. Despite different upbringings Malou and Fallon could always agree that women should have a say in their own lives. Mr. Hatchitt, whatever his reasons, had not given Fallon that chance.

She watched as Fallon stood up for more coffee. I thought we were going to die. Stabbed Malou in the gut. She didn’t quite know what to say out there. Fallon had told her some of what happened, but Malou suspected the rest still lingered in Fallon’s mind, a place where Malou could not go, could not help.

Mallou said nothing, her friend needed a listening ear and Malou could be that for her. Instead she stood up grabbed another biscuit for Fallon and put it on her plate in a silent gesture that she was there for Fallon no matter what.

  

---

Her temper didn't lessen as she lent against the kitchen counter with an iron clad grip on her mug. The biscuit would be cold by the time she ate now, but Fallon wasn't the least bit hungry. She wanted to train, to run, to fight until her fists bled. None of which she was permitted to do presently, which was all the more infuriaring.

"It wasn't," she huffed once more. "Good riddance, I guess."

  

“I guess.” Malou echoed, although she disagreed rather a great deal. Already she was entertaining the idea of once again writing Mr. Hatchitt herself to sort the whole matter out. One of them deserved a happy ending and of the two of them it really ought to be Fallon.

For a moment they shared the silence, Malou sitting from her mug as Fallon stewed by the counter. “It’s a shame, though.” Malou’s voice was gentle almost light as she tried to diffuse the tension. “I rather liked Mr. Hatchitt. But I suppose all things have their place and time.” She sighed as she stood up and moved her dishes to the sink.

  

---

"Yeah," she agreed uselessly. Perhaps if she hadn't disappeared to the tundra there would've been hope for her and Mr. Hatchitt. Their letter exchange was over now, though, and she was so over it. (Or, if she wasn't over it she would soon be, anyway.)

Chugging the mug of coffee, Fallon refilled it once more. "I'm going to go back to bed," she muttered. "Thanks for making breakfast."

  

“You’re welcome.” Malou smiled as she did and collected Fallon’s half eaten plate. If Fallon wanted to recover she’d need to eat more than this, but Malou would chide her later, instead she called after Fallon, “Get some sleep this time.” Perhaps while Fallon slept Malou would write Mr. Hatchitt, or perhaps she’d simply knit her a new scarf.

  

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