I told you I was hurt
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."

  

All things considered, Lachlan had been doing well. Sure, he still couldn't talk to his family without stumbling over his words, and he still hadn't decided whether or not to return from his hiatus from his job, and on top of all of that he'd been trying to distance himself from Fallon despite the pile of letters that sat on the small dining table in his cottage—but he'd been doing well. He'd been eating, drinking (sometimes more alcohol than anything, but still), and he'd even managed to get some sleep the night before.

He still looked awful. The dark circles under his eyes had become a permanent feature, and his already thick, troublesome hair was becoming nearly impossible to tame. His clothes had been worn and then re-worn, but he swore—at least before his fireplace began rattling—that he would do laundry later.

The moment Fallon entered through the fireplace, Lachlan was sitting on the couch, much like Fallon had been a few nights ago when he'd gone to visit. He had one of his grandmother's old woven blankets draped across his lap and a cup of tea (very poorly done, but then again, he'd never been one for tea) in his hand. His eyes widened as she approached, but he didn't say anything. He couldn't say anything, be it from the shock or simply the lack of words.

(At least for a long, solid minute.)

"It's only been a few days," he finally said, which was probably a bad thing to say considering the look on her face. That was never good. "But I'd hope your owl has a better sense of direction." He tried to remain composed, but behind his mask of apathy he was utterly and completely panicked.

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While it was entirely plausible that Lachlan lost track of the days (as it had been over a week since they last spoke to one another), Fallon didn't believe that to be to case. Lachlan had left abruptly, so abruptly that it remained a stark comparison to the way Jesse had left that day in the hospital. Anger as hot as the frustration she felt towards her beau during those days rose in her chest. What was it with men and just bloody disappearing?!

Refusing to move further into the room, Fallon remained near the fireplace with a furious look on her face. "It's been over a week, Lachlan." Eight days to be exact. The same amount of time they spent in the tundra. "I thought he did too as every one of my letters to others is promptly replied to." Even Kieran replied most of the time. "What has you so busy that you can't answer a fucking letter? I thought you were dead!" The final statement came out as a furious hiss. Her fears had spiralled to the point that she had even confided in Jesse.

  

He didn't care. He shouldn't care. This was all... well, it was no big deal. They were friends—maybe just acquaintances, really—and there was no reason to get so worked up. She had no reason to get so worked up. He continued to tell himself that as he took a number of deep breaths, trying to keep control of his emotions in this situation where there was so much he could (but very clearly shouldn't) say.

"No longer than two weeks," he responding, shrugging. It had been eight days. He'd read her first letter eight days ago, and had subsequently ignored the rest. Nothing in them really mattered. They'd talked so much about moving past this incident, and writing to each other every other day wasn't exactly a good way to get past it. "Not sure why you'd think I'm in any position to go wandering into dangerous situations anyways." He glanced down at his bare feet, which were still bandaged, and his palms, which were now unbandaged and left his missing finger visible.

"I'd like to know how you figured out my address, though. I don't have visitors often," he added, brows raised. A good subject change.

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Two weeks of silence was a sharp turn from their several times a day letter exchange. After spending weeks fretting over his health and safety, eight days felt like an eternity. She felt no guilt over her decisions, for if he had been unwell no one would've known. Then what? Was this ultimate plan? Fade away into the abyss until no one but his mother cared for him anymore?

"If you had returned any of my letters I wouldn't have had to believe that," she spat. There were more dangerous situations than what existed outside his home. Even drinking to excess posed its own problems. How many times had she witnessed her father falling down a similar path?

She swallowed down another bitter retort and instead answered his question. "You were a witness on one of my cases, it was in the file." Then, with a huff, she continued, "now I would like to know why you couldn't just send me a single letter in return? Fallon, I don't wish to communicate with you any longer. I'm fine and will continue to be. Goodbye. See how easy that was?" She was ranting now, more furious even than when she thought Jesse said goodbye. "No, instead you had to be a fucking coward."

  

He considered her works with a tilt of his his head, but said nothing. He could have returned her letters, and at more than one point he'd considered it. The first letter had been opened and read, the second opened and unread, and the third and the ones that followed had conveniently been dropped on the stack of letters that was already building on his table. He could have returned them, but.

"I don't see why it matters so much to you. Why I matter," he said, his gaze dropping to the floor. They were just friends. They needed to keep a distance. He thought they'd agreed on it that night. Being together too much would bring public attention to them, but writing too much would do something worse: it would be a constant reminder that he had no clear label for their relationship, no clear way to describe how he felt for her. In fact, it might make it worse.

"I don't want to stop communicating with you forever." Merlin no. In fact, he wanted to communicate all the time, in the same close and intimate way that they had for the last month with constant updates and letters, but things were different. Impressions and whatnot. "I just wasn't aware that I had an obligation to answer right away. We're acquaintances, remember?" Impressions indeed.

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— way too attractive set by mj <3 —

A long, tense minute stretched out between them as Fallon refrained from stomping towards him and letting her hand fly. Of course they shared no obligations to one another, but she had always believed friendships to be simple regardless of sex. She would go to great lengths for Atticus and he was a male friend. The same went for Jude or any of Kieran's friend group. Surely, their friendships mattered? Or was she the delusional one?

"I didn't realize replying to a letter was an unwanted obligation." He still hadn't answered what made him incapable of responding. A simple 'I'm fine,' would've sufficed even. Something — anything &,mdash; to put her mind at ease. "Even acquaintances have basic decency when one half of the acquaintanceship expresses concern for the other." Merlin, half her letters had revolved around the thought that he was dead. How was it better to leave those unanswered?

She resisted the ever growing urge to pace and continued to stare harshly at him again. The frustration concealed the hurt, an emotion she wouldn't ever admit to. "But, clearly, I don't matter to you and never did." The moments shared in the tundra were a survivalist move and nothing else. And the late night hospital visits were just another coping method. And the relief found in quiet evenings together was pointless. Even this fight would do nothing to alter their relationship.

"Enjoy your evening, Mr. MacFusty. My sincere apologies for thinking myself deserving of your time," Fallon muttered. The hurt was beginning to overcome the anger, causing her tone to be more resigned than furious. All she knew was she would never write him again, regardless of what he said about communicating with her.

  

Fine, he'd give her that. He should have responded—he'd known that, even as he watched her letters pile up—but the fact was that he couldn't. Not without revisiting their moments together, not without having to work through a now confusing number of feelings he was juggling in regards to their relationship.

Not that he could tell her that.

But he could refute her. And he did.

"Now that's not fair," he said, unnecessarily harsh as he stood up from his seat. He wore loose trousers, no shoes, no shirt—and he didn't realize it until he felt a surge of pain in his shoulder that he'd acquired after trying to gather logs that morning. He resisted the urge to sit back down and cover himself, and he considered then that she likely had never seen the scars on his shoulders and back (the real reason he was hesitant to bring her to the dragon reserves). "Just because I leave your letters unanswered doesn't mean I don't care." She had no idea how much he did. Even to himself he wouldn't admit how much he cared.

"Have you considered that not everyone expresses their feelings the same way you do? That answering letters about my well-being might not be at the top of my list right now? I've gotten enough of those." Not only about his physical well-being, but emotional as well. Littered in those letters were references to the quidditch match, to his sister's injury, and the tundra accident, and all they had done was bring back unfavorable memories. His voice got louder.

"You think you can come to my home, yell at me about answering letters, call me 'Mr. MacFusty' like I'm a stranger, and then threaten to walk away altogether because you're feelings are hurt! And you're questioning the way I handle friendships," he snapped. He stepped closer, eyes narrowed and jaw tight. "Don't you fucking claim to know anything about my feelings when you're here playing with them." His words came quiet, cold, and harsh. It was easier than the alternative.

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— way too attractive set by mj <3 —

Lachlan's wasn't the first bare chest Fallon had seen (that award now went to Jesse, even if her view of his skin was obscured by his many bandages) but she still blinked in a stunned silence at the sight. Smooth white skin stretched as far as her eyes could travel, down over the expanse of his abdomen to where his trousers sat low on his hips then up again. Her gaze hesitated slightly on the deep scar on his shoulder that, presumably, continued down his back. A dragon, perhaps? He was a MacFusty man, after all. Hadn't he just described what most men were trained to do?

She forced herself back to the present and realized with a deep flush that she missed at least half of what he had shouted. Her slacked jaw was once again replaced by a scowl, though not as intense as it was seconds prior. "What would you have me do?!" Fallon shouted. Lachlan was the one to have disappeared, to have denied their friendship, to have unilaterally decided she wasn't worth the effort of his time. And now, he was claiming to be her friend?! Fallon doubted he knew the meaning of the word. "Sit on the balls of my feet and wait for you to confirm whether or not you were alive? Do you even realize what your death would do to me?!" Destroy her. Wholly and completely until she was a shell of herself. The guilt would eat at her until she could no longer breathe.

Her hands were clenched into such tight fists cresent moon cuts bled into her palms. "How am I playing with your feelings? By refusing to tolerate your bullshit?!" She continued. "Non-answers and shrugged comments. That's what you claim as feelings? That's how you show someone you bloody fucking care?!"

  

Assuming her red flush was from anger, he stepped forward again, feeling just as venomous as he had a moment before. For some reason she'd been so worried that he was dead. By what? Suicide? Dragon attack? At this rate, the only thing he was likely to die of with boredom, and yet Fallon had somehow allowed herself to be consumed with such dark thoughts. Maybe she wasn't as okay as she'd led on. (He would have asked, if not for her continued accusatory rampage.)

"I'm not upset that you showed up here. I'm pissed that you came ready to argue." She knew what he meant. There hadn't been an ounce of concern in her voice when she'd entered the room, only bitterness and resentment. "For someone who claims to care so much, you were so ready to disappear. You know it. Because all Fallon Abernathy cares about is if someone does things her way!" he shouted back. Harsh as it was, he didn't think it to be untrue. From the moment they'd met, she'd wanted things done her way. It was probably an auror thing, but now it was a Fallon thing; it had affected their relationship. He supposed she expected him to apologize immediately and drop to his knees, begging for forgiveness for leaving her without an answer.

He tried to breathe, tried to reign control of his emotions, but then she went the 'bullshit' route, and he was done. He stepped forward, so they were face-to-face, and caught her by the wrist. He lifted her wrist between them and bent forward, looking at her with a mixture of pain (emotional and physical, probably) and anger.

"My bullshit?" he hissed. His voice grew quieter, but he was no less upset. "I've killed a woman, nearly killed my own sister, suffered an international scandal, spent two weeks in the freezing arctic, been stuck in the hospital, and lost my strength in a month's time. But there's no excuse for ignoring a fucking letter, right? And what? No room for understanding?" If only she could have seen him in those days he hadn't responded: the constant pacing, the unusual amount of time in bed, the bare minimum for breakfast, the poor attempts at doing housework, the countless drafts of resignation letters he hadn't sent... well, she might not think this was bullshit. But he couldn't say that. He didn't want her pity.

"I've told you before, I'm no good at feelings. Not good at voicing them." As he looked down at her, his anger turned to pain, and he could only think of his feelings for her. Merlin they were there, but she didn't return them. She'd said enough to convince him of that much. "But tell me, Fallon, since you don't like shrugs and silence: how would you like me to show I care?"

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   Fallon Gillespie

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— way too attractive set by mj <3 —

Lachlan was right. He was right, and if she were capable of simmering down she might've been apologetic. Fallon hadn't shared her relief that he was alright, she hadn't calmly inquired what caused the eight day silence. She accused and yelled and yelled some more. It was how she reacted to being hurt, apparently. She'd done it with Jesse, and she was doing it again with Lachlan. Only, with Jesse there were genuine, romantic feelings shared. Even now, when they were standing but an arm's length apart, Fallon didn't believe his feelings for her were rooted in anything but friendship.

And even that seemed iffy now.

"I was ready to leave because you refused to answer my questions!" She accused once more, wholly unable to stop the trainwreck happening between them. "I wasn't about to spend the evening dragging half-assed bullshit responses out of you!" Fallon wasn't his mother, she had no obligations to tolerate such behavior. He wished to be withdrawn from her, fine. She saw the proof she needed and would've left it at that for the rest of eternity.

Lachlan misinterpreted her entirely, causing her scowl to soften somewhat. The bullshit she mentioned was the cryptic responses, the refusal to acknowledge he was in the wrong. Not the trauma he suffered. Fallon knew first hand how affected by it he was, and even that knowledge was only the surface of his pain. "I just ... " She didn't finish the sentence. He knew just as much as she what she needed to know and he hadn't cared, hadn't bothered to send a fucking one word answer to reassure her. "Of course I understand. It was just ... I just ... You left so abruptly that night and then it was just silence. " Fallon attempted to explain once more, her chest rising and falling rapidly with heated breaths. They were so close — too close. She could barely think straight with his proximity. "What else was I supposed to think or do?"

Her gaze turned questioning. What feelings were there to show? What signs had she missed to have forced them here? She cleared her throat, her eyes wide with confusion. None of this made any fucking sense. "That's on you to figure out," Fallon stated quietly. "I can't tell you how to act out your feelings when I don't know what they are."

  

There she went again: bullshit responses. From what he remembered, there hadn't been any questions that night he hadn't answered to the best of his ability, but she seemed to think so. Of course, what she thought had happened to him was almost obvious now, but it was impossible to address that without acknowledging that at one point, he'd considered it. It would be easy to disappear to the cliffsides and never return, to "stumble"  across the dragons during feeding time and let them decide his fate. He couldn't do it, though, because he knew what people would say. They would think him a coward. Just as she did.

That measly fact made it all the harder to turn his head and refuse to answer. He'd left that night because of her. Because of the closeness—no, because that closeness, there on the couch with no one there and still having some invisible barrier between them, was the closest they would ever be. He couldn't stand it. Not after all they'd been through together. Not after she'd shown how gentle she could be despite her hard exterior. How kind she could be despite how hard her words sometimes cut. How tender and real she could be behind the mask of an auror she wore alongside her badge. He'd seen it all in that cave, and now they were back to this.

He hadn't been aware of his expression changing, but his brows were now soft and both his jaw and his grip on her wrist relaxed. She wanted to hear his feelings. Well, he couldn't tell her. He couldn't. The words wouldn't leave his lips.

He could show her, though.

He tugged on her wrist, hard enough to send her body crashing into his. His lips found hers before he could consider what a terribly bad idea this was, and his hands were in her hair before he could question whether or not she even wanted this. She probably didn't, all things considered.

(But she'd asked how he felt. There was his answer.)

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— way too attractive set by mj <3 —

Time slowed to a halt as the tension in the air electrified. Sparks crackled in her peripherals, her breath caught in her chest as he began to pull her towards him. (Later, Fallon would realize she should've known then what was about to happen and thought enough to remove herself from the situation. However, after months of dancing around her lingering feelings for him and the trauma they endured together, all Fallon could do was remain still as a shocked statue.) Her hands braced instinctively on his warm, bare chest, small dots of blood from her palms unknowingly dotted his skin. And, for a moment, Fallon gave herself into the kiss.

Every frustration, every fear, every ounce of self-doubt bled into the meeting of their lips. She leant forward on her tiptoes, her body scrambling to gain more purchase against him. Her hands slid up his chest to grip his shoulders. Anything — anything — to close the remaining half inch gap between them.

Foolishly, her thoughts then drifted to how different this kiss was to the ones she shared with Jesse, and it was like a bucket of ice was thrown over her. Fallon pulled back immediately, her hands moving to cover her mouth. Shock and fear of what was to come with the man she was supposed to be involved with was plain as day on her features. "Lachlan..." Fallon murmured from behind her hands. Frustrated tears welled in her eyes. "I ... I didn't know." She never would've allowed him to think she was free if she had (or, she wouldn't have gotten involved with Jesse had she known sooner. But that was a bridge she couldn't uncross.)

Her eyes never left his. "I ... " have to go. I'm with someone. I love you. A million thoughts raced through her mind, so many that she couldn't make sense of any of it. "How long?" The answer didn't matter, the truth remained the same. Still, she had to know. Had she missed some sign that would've prevented them both some heartache?

  

There had been few moments in Lach's life that had passed so quickly and yet meant so much. The first was his scarring, which, at the time, he hadn't realized had even happened until he was being rushed away by his cousins. The second time was at the Quidditch World Cup, where one misfired bludger had ended a life a mere ten seconds after it slammed against his bat. The third was now. He'd expected her to pull away, to slap him, to yell at him about being so callous and so presumptuous, but she hadn't. She didn't. She pulled herself tighter, and in the moment all Lachlan could do was hold onto her as if letting go would cause her to plummet into a hole in the floor between them. Very rarely did he have encounters like this—if encounter was even the appropriate word. He very quickly discovered it wasn't, because she pulled away with a look on her hands pressed against her face.

She'd kissed him back, and yet. It was never enough, though, was it?

He stood frozen in fear, the regret filling him until every finger and every toe he still had was numb. She looked so confused, and for a split second he wondered if she was only responding in shock or—even stranger—plain old desire, but the longer he looked into her eyes the more convinced he became that she felt something, too. Why the hesitance, then? Why had she backed away? It was just as confusing for him as it was for her.

"I..." he strangled out, still struggling to get his heavy breathing under control. "It's been... a while." The words came out in a whisper, and then his own eyes widened. It was the first time he'd admitted it to himself, at least aloud. "Since the bar. The first time. I think." He didn't answer because she'd asked, but because he'd been seeking the same answer.

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The first time at the bar was over a month ago, back when their lives were uncomplicated and carefree. Fallon dropped her hands from her face and her gaze to the floor between them. She didn't know, truly had no inkling of his feelings. Malou had tried to tell her the morning of the match, had teased her about it even, and Fallon had brushed it off with ease. And then ... and then she met Jesse in person and the bludger and tundra happened, and the teasing hadn't mattered anymore.

"But ... you never said anything?" Her statement came across as a question instead. Of course he hadn't said anything. The very rug he stood upon was ripped from beneath his feet. Lachlan surely couldn't act on his feelings when he barely had his feet on solid ground. Fallon certainly wouldn't. (An obvious lie, as she had fallen hard for Jesse in the past month despite everything in her world shifting three inches to the left.) "I ... " She still couldn't tell him about Jesse, still couldn't confess to their mutual heartbreak.

She brought her eyes back to him, and he looked ... afraid, terrified even. Fallon despised that look, saw it in the tundra when they first landed from the portkey. A horrible, awful look that belonged far from his face. If only she could ease it. If only she could tell him he had no need to be afraid. If only she could lie. "I felt it then, too." She confessed quietly. Fallon still felt it now, despite everything telling her she oughtn't. It was why she stressed over him so frequently and why his continued silence had pained her so terribly. Merlin, he was never going to speak to her once he knew. The thought alone made want to sob.

  

As stiff as a board he stood, his eyes wide and breath shaky. There were plenty of excuses he'd expected her to have, but none left her lips. She had questions, which made sense given that he'd just risked their future as friends (or acquaintances—whatever) by kissing her in a way a friend ought not to. "I don't think I had much of an opportunity after that," he confessed, though in truth he knew he wouldn't have even if they'd managed to avoid the tragedies that followed them shortly thereafter. They'd written letters, but they'd been filled of bickering and accusations and had only ended when he went onto the pitch. Everything after that... well.

She would let him down easy, he knew. She wasn't mean or cruel despite her words that often struck him as such. He knew her heart no matter how they tried to ignore it. In those few short weeks in the tundra Lach had learned who the real Fallon was, even if it was now once again hidden behind the mask that society forced her, a woman and an auror, to wear.

Only she didn't. Not immediately. I felt it, too, she said, and for a moment there was hope. Just a smidgen, because Lach had had little luck in romance over the years, but it was there nonetheless. Hope.

"Do you still?" he asked, knowing whatever she said next would determine their way forward.

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— way too attractive set by mj <3 —