Near Midnight, August 26, 1890 — The Arctic Circle

Her hope of surviving was vanishing by the hour. The three trips they'd taken since arriving in this cave had resulted only in disappointment and increased stress. They were surrounded by a great white expanse, stretching seemingly endlessly in each direction. There were no glimpses of a village or the ocean. There was nothing but ice and snow.

She had quietly removed herself from Lachlan's embrace an hour ago. Deciding instead to focus on keeping the fire stoked and going over their meager inventory once more. Anything to distract from the grief swelling in her heart, from the realization she'd never see her family or friends again. To think, JP would never know the truth behind the kiwis or her identity. It was all too much to bear.

A pot transfigured from a duplicated shoe sat atop the heated coals. She had to try and get some into Lachlan soon, but he'd been so lethargic and ill she hadn't wanted to disturb him more than necessary. Not to mention the fact that she wasn't capable of the brave face she'd mustered for the past few days. Fallon was terrified he was going to die before her, and if her determined face was what was keeping him going she couldn't afford to let it slip. A shaky breath escaped her, a tear froze to her cheek before she could wipe it away.

What had she done to deserve this? Why was she singled out to enter this hell? More importantly, how had no one come to find them yet?

  

His hope had vanished entirely, and now his only focus was staying alive. He’d made the trips with her so they wouldn’t end up separated if she crashed or found a village, but with each trip he found himself growing weaker. His throat burned in pain, and no amount of polar bear or snow rabbit could soothe it. They’d found water to boil, but it didn’t soothe him for very long.

He had a fever that morning and he knew it. His face was flushed and warm but his hands icy cold; the sweat that trickled down the back of his neck instantly turned to ice and latched onto his skin until it was melted by his own body temperature. He didn’t say anything; she was too busy working, and he didn’t want to dull her spirits anymore than they already were. She needed to make it back, even if he didn’t.

It was quiet that day, with no snowstorm or unearthly winds to disturb them. His eyes blinked open at the south of her shaky breath, and he leaned to the side in an attempt to look at her face.

“You’re crying, ” he said, somewhere between a question and a statement. He tried to push himself onto his knees, hoping to find his footing. “Let me help you with that. You’re doing too much,” he explained, a shaky breath of his own escaping his lips.

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— way too attractive set by mj <3 —

Damn it.

One glance at him and Fallon knew he was sicker than what she was trained to handle. Her selfish pushing for the extended broom trips had exacerbated his condition, and now he was going to die if she couldn't get him home. Why had she touched him? Why hadn't she allowed the pull of the portkey to bring her here alone? At least if she died it wouldn't be after watching the slow death of her ... acquaintance.

It was laughable now (or perhaps it was just this current wave of hysteria she was feeling) to think how she'd lamented to Malou about him less than a week ago over a steaming bowl of porridge. She was so confused about the definition of a bloody word he used, and now it didn't even matter. Now, Fallon knew how her body fit against his (in the most platonic sense) and the label made no difference. What a joke their lives at home were.

"No, sit," she sniffled and gestured for him to stay where he was. The fur of the polar bear was the warmest spot in the cave, and he needed it the most. "I'm alright." No, she really wasn't, but his dying would only make that worse too. How was she to get his body home with her if she did survive?

Fallon cast a final spell on the fire and moved back to sit on the furthest spot of the fur from him. She could barely bear to look at him without another wave of tears threatening to overcome her. He was sick, and it was all her fault. "I'm so sorry," she stated quietly, her arms wrapped tightly around her knees.

  

He could not sit put. The illness had sucked the life out of him, but the thought of his impending death had softened him. He watched with a frown as she curled up into a ball on the opposite side of the cave, frustrated that she’d chosen the farthest possible spot. He pushed himself to his feet, disgruntled by the weight of his own body but too stubborn to sit back down, and slowly walked to where she was, dismissing her attempts to keep him in place.

He practically collapsed beside her, only pushing himself up to press his side against hers. The body warmth was just as effective as the polar bear rug (with the exception of his legs, which he’d angled off the cold floor).

“Still don’t know why you apologize,” he mumbled, pressing cheek against the side of her head. He nearly pressed a kiss to her hair—not romantically, but out of habit. It was how he’d once comforted a young Tilda when she was little and upset about stepping on an ant pile or when she’d scraped her knee blast. He hadn’t done it in many years, yet the instinct still remained. He wondered how his sister was. Did she think he’d run off? Did she hate him? Would she mourn for him, or would she think he deserved it for being an idiot?

“Or why you’re determined to stay over here.” It was at that moment that it began to storm outside, the wind filling the silence and drowning out his weak breaths. Good.

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— way too attractive set by mj <3 —

He was so damned stubborn, almost as stubborn as herself, it would (quite literally!) be the death of him. Fallon huffed as he came closer, but made no move to shift from him or complain further. He was sitting and warm, she had no other arguments.

Despite her instincts screaming at her to check him, to gauge his fever, to do something other than sit here and mope, she made no moves. For days she'd been a pillar of determination and pure survival instinct. One minute of moping wouldn't kill them, she hoped.

"We're not making it home," she admitted, wishing he had stayed over on the other side of the cave for this confession. "Whomever did this...I wasn't meant to survive it."

  

She finally said what he’d been thinking. Neither of them were going to make it out alive. He’d been thinking it since they’d been trapped, but it seemed she’d succumbed to hopelessness at well. He’d normally say something along the lines of I told you so, but no energy for pettiness—nor the heart for it—remained.

“I don’t want us to die out here,” he admitted, pulling back to meet her eyes. There was so much unfinished business to resolve: the Quidditch World Cup, his sister’s injuries, his family’s grief. She had a life, too, with friends and a stable job that she’d worked so hard for. Surely it couldn’t end here.

“We should die of old age, surrounded by our families and children and grandchildren,” he explained quietly. “I always said I’d have to be the one to get married and carry on the bloodline, that brother isn’t charming enough to catch a woman’s eye,” he chuckled, and then coughed. He wouldn’t admit it—not here, not even to her—but he missed Quillian. A little.

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— way too attractive set by mj <3 —

Her gaze remained resolutely on the flickering flame before them. The admission alone was a confession of their death sentence, but meeting his eyes made it all the more real. Fallon's nails dug into her knees. Not only had she doomed her family to a life of not knowing, but now Lachlan's was too.

For someone who was always determined to become a spinster, the topic of marriage kept popping up everywhere she turned. First, in her letters to JP and now here, with the first person she might have imagined them with. Fallon wiped at another set of frozen tears. "You're not charming," she attempted to tease, though it may have come out more bitter given her mood. "You're an oaf."

  

An oaf. He wouldn’t deny it was true, but he would disagree with her assessment of his charms.

“Don’t lie, you think I’m charming,” he scoffed, and then coughed. He absolutely was charming; if not, she never would have willingly talked to him after their letters the day before me the match. She never would have talked to him out at the pub the night after the accident, and never would have comforted him.  “—Even if you hate that I am.” Which was a possibility, he’d decided.

Now they were doomed together. They would die in this little cave together, or they would die in the snow. Someone would stumble upon their bones in twenty years and wonder if two lovers had laid down to die. They would never know the truth, and they would never know who they were. It was a sobering reality. Death was real, and it was coming for them. He wasn’t ready.

“I wish I would have put a bludger through the skull of whoever did this. Would have been worth the scandal,” he mumbled, mindlessly grabbing her hand in his. She was cold, but somehow warm. He was going mad.

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— way too attractive set by mj <3 —

Were they not on death's door Fallon might've blushed at what she thought was a rather obvious attempt at flirting. But, they were days, if not hours, from freezing to death, and she wasn't feeling particularly cheerful or flirtatious. "Perhaps," she acknowledged with a shrug. "Maybe I was just looking for a free drink."

His hand in hers had her shifting to lean against him, one hand wrapped around his muscular arm. "If there was anything left of them." Ideally, whoever did this to them would resemble to corpse of the polar bear she dragged out of the cave's entrance. "I never understood what could turn someone dark, could make someone want to cause another physical pain. It makes sense now." Perhaps Merry was right after all.

  

A chuckle rumbled through his chest, alarming Lach to the pain. He wasn't going to get better, was he? He was only too afraid to let her know.

"Well I'd say you got more than you bargained for," he replied, squeezing her hand. All sense of propriety had been lost in the few days they'd been stuck together. Intimacy had become a must for survival, every touch offering a sense of warmth—but more importantly, comfort. They were so alone in the arctic wasteland; they only had each other. He leaned in as she wrapped an arm around her, tucking her head under his chin.

"I'll let you be the one to fire if we ever meet them." Maybe it would be in Heaven; maybe in Hell. Lach had never been one for religion, but there was obviously more to death than the physical body. "Anger or not, I've killed enough people for a lifetime." Just one was enough for him.

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— way too attractive set by mj <3 —

"I'd say," she said as she moved her knees to lean over his legs without thinking. It was a natural position for her to assume after days spent curling up together for warmth. The only way for her to get closer to him would to be to sit on his lap, which, even in their near-death state, Fallon still recognized as highly uncouth. Lachlan hadn't offered either, so it was all a moot point really.

She squeezed his hand in response, wishing more than anything she could take the grief of his actions from him. It wasn't fair that he was going to die before any sort of absolution or justice could be found. Before he could find forgiveness. Fallon looked up at him, her gaze full of all the words she couldn't — and wouldn't — say. Her forgiveness wasn't what he needed, even if it was all she could offer. "Lachlan ..." she started and faltered. What was there to say to that that she hasnt tried to express in the pub? "I'm sorry it had to be you." Fallon eventually decided on.

  

If only they had the polar bear rug. Lach mentally cursed at the realization that his wand was curled up in the furs, and that in order to warm himself further he'd have to get up, walk over to the rug, grab his wand and the rug, and then walk back. What would have seemed like an easy series of movements a few days ago now seemed like a death sentence. He shifted his body to accommodate their new position, using what little strength he had to pull her up onto his lap. It was warmer that way, and he wasn't in a position to feel embarrassed anymore.

"I don't blame you," he murmured, unsure if she was talking about the portkey or the quidditch match. Either way, the only person he blamed for putting them in this position was the asshole who'd made the key a portkey before the match. "But we can't die here, Fallon," he said, using her first name for the first time. He usually stuck to Abernathy or Auror or whatever moniker he came up with in frustration, but it seemed they'd reached the point of using each other's given names. "We have to try. One more time. You know that." She still had a chance, and he'd rather be there for it.

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— way too attractive set by mj <3 —

Fallon felt safe in his embrace, protected. His body warmth — too warm, she knew — flooded her senses, and she curled into his chest as she had the past few times they'd slept. This level of intimacy was new to her, but, surprisingly, she wasn't wholly opposed.

Reaching for her discarded wand, Fallon summoned the rug and made it so they were sitting upon it once more. "I know," she agreed with a sad smile. What terrible luck they had to have to force themselves into wasting what little time they had left attempting to survive. "One more time." It was quite possible the final attempt would kill him, and maybe that was what he was hoping for.

Fallon leaned her head back against his chest, trying in vain to listen for his heartbeat through the thick layers separating her from his bare skin.