It wasn't until Fallon stopped into her third pub of the night that she was willing to admit she was looking for him. She shouldn't have been, really, considering they were acquaintances at best. In fact, the odds of Mr. MacFusty tolerating a conversation with her were slim to none. However, Fallon couldn't sit on her heels and do nothing. Not when she knew the horror he likely felt.

The first time Fallon lost a civilian was during a situation entirely out of her control. She was in training, her fifth time ever in the field, and her colleagues was negotiating a hostage situation. One mistep, one wrong phrase, and the hostage taker had followed through on what Fallon insisted was an empty thread. The guilt lingered still to this day.

She walked through the doors of The Leaky Cauldron determined that it would be her last stop of the night. Regardless of whether or not he was there, she needed to sleep before work in the morning. Fallon had sold her soul to attend the game, and she was already paying the exhausting price.

All thoughts of work and sleep vanished as she spotted him in the corner of the pub. Merlin, how had no one thought to accompany him tonight? How had his teammates abandoned him like so? Fallon quickly ordered two tall glasses of firewhiskey and made her way over to him. Everyone else might've abandoned him, but she wasn't about to. Even if he was grumbling and definitely not in a pleasant mood. "Drink," she directed him as she nudged the glass firewhiskey in his direction. "It won't help in the long run, though."