Bleeding on the inside
I told you I was lost
In the middle of my life
There's times I stayed alive for you
There's times I would've died for you
There's times it didn't matter at all
September 29th, 1890 — Lachlan MacFusty's Home, The Hebrides
Despite her lingering guilt for using a case file for personal purposes, Fallon could think of no other way to confirm if Lachlan was alive or not. His obvious depression, stress, and lack of coping abilities caused her to doubt his safety even before he'd gone silent. She could accept that she had made him uncomfortable. She could accept that he never wished to see or speak to her again. She could accept just about anything, so long as he was still breathing. No matter how much it pained her, Fallon would walk away from their friendship if it was what he wished.
With Jesse out of the hospital and in the process of moving, Fallon had very few distractions to distract her from primary goal for the evening after work. She changed from her ministry robes into her standard trousers outfit, her hair in a messy braid down her shoulder, and floo'd to the address hastily scribbled on a piece of scrap paper. It was there that she saw him for the first time in over a week, and there that she realized he was, in fact, not dead.
"Glad to see you're alright," she greeted in a bitter tone with her arms folded tight across her chest. Although relieved to see him breathing, Fallon had no restraint over the rage washing over her. "I thought my owl was sending my letters to Timbuktu."