We used to dream
We used to name the stars
Tracing futures lying in the dark
They said we'd never last
The brightest flame burns fast

Evening, October 6th, 1890 — Bartonburg

Four days, that's how long Fallon waited between deciding on Lachlan and finally readying herself to break with Jesse. In the six days since her kitchen confession everything had changed. Her decision, her reasoning behind the decision, everything. But, in all those changes one thing had remained constant: her feelings for Jesse. On paper, he was the right choice. He was who she should have picked, he was everything she would be happy with. Fallon hadn't lied to Lachlan when she said being with Jesse was easier, that they didn't struggle as she and Lachlan did. On paper, he was perfect.

When faced with the circumstances of the world, though, he wasn't the right fit for her. It was a mantra repeated throughout the past month of their relationship: there were just some pieces of her that Jesse would never be capable of understanding. He could help her through as best he could, but he'd never know the nightmares she lived through. Lachlan did and Lachlan loved her, something she never thought possible.

She hadn't warned Jesse of her visit tonight, though in hindsight she should've. Their letters throughout the past week were sporadic at best. Fallon blamed being out of the office, being exhausted from her resume in routine, every excuse under the sun except the most obvious one: she was avoiding him and the admission she would have to make.

The floo deposited her into a mostly bare walled flat in a puff of green smoke. And, with a start, Fallon realized Jesse was sitting on the sofa opposite her with a drink in hand. Surely, he didn't know, yet? Lachlan couldn't have told him, he didn't even know who Jesse was. "Hey," she greeted softly. "Sorry for just ... showing up." The invitation was extended for just this reason, the random pop in visits, but Fallon still felt unsure of using it. "And for not being around lately..."

  

It had been a week since he'd been summoned to Fallon's flat, to learn that she cared for another man, and then subsequently spent the rest of the night trying to comfort her in her decisions. Though he should have thought it was leaning his way, Jess knew as the days stretched on without word for her, that this was less and less likely.

Thankfully he had the distraction of the move with Kirke, the two of them fumbling about setting up and decorating a small two-bedroom flat without a lick of help otherwise. His mother said it needed a feminine touch, but Jess was quite comfortable with their bachelor pad. He hadn't been able to do much of the heavy lifting, lest he want to wind up in the hospital again for reinjuring his ribs or collar bone, but Kirke had taken care of most and Jess had supported with magic, which he was pretty good at anyway. Neither one of them had much to move anyway so it worked out.

He'd had a long day at work, the fatigue sinking into his bones both physically and emotionally as he sunk down onto their second-hand sofa (from his mother's bedroom no less) with a glass of firewhiskey. It was a bad idea; he didn't drink more than casually these days, having gotten it out of his system after graduation from Hogwarts, but it helped to dull the aches and pains in his head and heart just enough for him to relax.

This was of course how Fallon found him as she stepped out of the fireplace for an unannounced visit. He'd just poured himself a second glass and immediately set it down, unsure of what to do with himself. "It's alright," He assured her with a soft, sad smile.

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Fallon knew without any further tells from him that he knew what she had come to say. He knew their evening a week ago was a fluke, and there was nothing left to be done. Fallon could've cried if she hadn't forbidden herself from doing just that. Why the universe had to throw two perfect men at her at the exact same time she would never understand. Even a month's difference might've changed everything, it might've made this guilt easier to bear.

Smiling softly herself (even if it didn't quite meet her eyes) Fallon gestured towards the glass resting on the table. "Could I have one?" In another world, she would've already known where the glasses were. She would've helped him and Tybalt move and they would've been happy. In another life, they would be curling up for a quiet evening together after a trying day at work.

She stepped further into the room but made no move to sit. If he gestured to where the glasses were she could retrieve it herself.

  

This was it then.

Jess wasn't sure if he'd rather she just tell him goodbye and get it over with or if they should spend one last evening enjoying the other's company before things broke completely.

Wordlessly, he grabbed his glass from the table and moved to get a second from the kitchen. He paused for only thirty seconds, just enough time to down the sharp amber liquid and pull another glass from the cupboard. It was enough time to bury the emotions and steel himself for the news. He'd known it was coming really, but still wasn't ready.

Upon return to the living room, he uncorked the whiskey and poured them both a healthy measure. Jess gestured to the couch if she wanted to sit, but he couldn't. Sitting felt like a trap, he was too antsy, two glasses of whiskey coursing through his veins. Instead he backed up to position himself against the door frame leading toward the kitchen. The physical distance would hopefully help him start the emotional distancing he'd have to endure after this was over.

Words escaped him, which was frustrating. As he'd gotten older he'd prided himself on finding something to say in any situation, but he hadn't decided to be the one to end things after all and he wasn't sure how, or if he wanted to ask. His glass hung loosely in his hand on the opposite side from where he leaned, eyebrows raised ever so slightly in her direction.

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   Fallon Gillespie

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He knew and she was already feeling the crumbling of her resolve. She was furious when he'd first attempted to put distance between them, back when he was concerned with her reputation and any possible fallout. Fallon was so angry then her vision turned red and steam poured fron her ears. Now, though, she wished they had allowed that natural separation. Perhaps the universe was always telling them it wasn't going to work but they clung to the hope regardless.

There were so many made plans they would now miss. Her birthday, Ireland, the Carribean next year for his birthday. Fallon felt a pang of regret as he silently left her for the kitchen. He knew, and this time he wouldn't be there to comfort her.

She took the second glass and downed it in two gulps. Her tolerance was too high for the single glass to truly do her in, but she needed whatever liquid courage she could get. Wordlessly, just as he had, Fallon poured herself another and held the glass tight in her grip. As much as she wished to down it, she couldn't. Not yet.

Selfishly, (Fallon never realized how horrifically selfish she was until this ordeal) she wanted to prolong the break for as long as possible. Life without Jesse seemed so impossibly dull, like a spark that gave her motivation and excitement was gone. "Can we just talk for a few minutes?" She asked helplessly, already desperately missing him despite his close proximity. "Can we just be JP and Saoirse for a just a bit longer?"

She would leave if he asked her to, Fallon knew better than to push when they were both already hurting. But, Merlin, she hoped he'd grant her one last wish.

  

Jess watched her silently, wondering just what was going on here. Still, he didn't have the heart to ask her to go, or make any other move. He simply didn't know what to do. Even though he'd offered to be the one to walk away, after that night he thought he might not have to. Now it was her walking away, to someone else, and it hit him harder than he would care to admit.

He sipped pensively at his own glass; it dulled the growing ache, but not enough.

The words on the tip of his tongue were harsher than he wanted and so he bit them back, taking another sip of whiskey to give him another moment. Saoirse and JP. It seemed like a lifetime ago, though it was mere months. A lot had changed in that time though, a slow build and a serious setback, another slow build and then the end. Everything they'd talked about on his birthday for next year and her birthday, the present that was already sitting in his nightstand beside her ring, all shot to hell.

The bitter was starting to creep in and he had to shake it off.

"I don't think I have anything left to say." He sighed softly after draining his glass.

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Right. Why would he still want to talk to her after discovering her news? Fallon took a long sip of the whiskey, then another, not even noticing the sharp taste of the liquid. A few weeks ago, she hadn't been able to avoid wincing at the taste of normal whiskey. Then again, a few weeks ago she hadn't been about to lose one of the men she loved. "Okay," she replied uselessly, her gaze dropping from him to the floor in resignation. She should leave. The words didn't need to be said, he knew.

But, she didn't.

After draining her second glass, Fallon reached for the bottle once again. The ache wouldn't sting this bad once numbed. Then she could leave and mail him repayment for the whiskey. Only, this time when she reached for the bottle the top of it slipped from her grasp and toppled off the small table. "Fuck," she hissed.

Magic would've made sense in this situation. One cleaning spell and it would all be fixed. The broken bottle meant more to Fallon than the simple fix. It was a physical representation of her anguish that couldn't be remedied with a simple spell. A small sliver of glass cut through her pants and into her knee as she knelt to collect the pieces. "I'm sorry." Sorry for the bottle, sorry for leaving, sorry for everything. "Where's your trash? I'll clean this up."

  

This was the easier way to do it right? Rip the bandage off and be done with it.

It certainly didn't feel easier.

She clearly had the same idea he did, numb the pain with booze, but then the bottle came crashing down, ironically like everything else, but he was already moving without thinking. He reached over and grabbed the kitchen towels hanging from the cabinet, moving forward to set his empty glass down on the whiskey-soaked table.

"Stop, you'll cut yourself," He sighed, moving to wave his wand over that mess and get rid of it, when he realized he could see blood soaking her trousers at her knee. Too late. Jess knew the close proximity was a mistake, he'd purposefully put distance between them and it was already gone. The irony was not lost on him and he barely contained the bitter chuckle that threatened to escape. "Let me look at it." He motioned toward the cut with the towel in hand.

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He used his wand and Fallon watched in stunned silence as the shards disappeared. If only it were that easy, if only they could magic themselves and ignore the grief. She sat back on her haunches, wincing for the first time as the glass moved deeper into her knee. Fuck. One glance down showed a nice blood stain on her pants. At least she knew of a few good cleaning spells.

Perhaps it was the whiskey or just willful ignorance, but Fallon noticed Jesse kneeling next to her too late. This was far from the closest they'd ever been, but it felt more intimate now than ever before. Sharing space with him wasn't meant to happen now, their personal bubbles weren't meant to be popped. Fallon eyes darted between the bloodstain and him, wondering if she ought to just pull away and disappear now.

Except, when she tried to shift so her injured knee was sprawled out in front of her instead of beneath her, the shard in her knee caused her to wince again. Jesse would never allow her to walk away wincing as terribly as she would once pressure was applied to the wound. "It's alright, I've had worse." So had he, she remembered mournfully. Was it really only two weeks ago that they had last curled up in his hospital bed?

  

"Still need to get the glass out, Trouble." He eyed her carefully, the nickname slipping before he could stop himself. She was trouble, more than he was ready to admit, but it was half his fault too. Whatever they had between them wasn't enough, she'd decided, but he was clinging to something that wasn't there anymore. She was the one who wanted to talk and the liquor had loosened his tongue. Trouble all around.

He motioned to the couch with his head. "Quick patch. Miss Skovgaard would have my hide if I sent you back bloodstained." Not to mention he rather thought MacFusty wouldn't appreciate it either.

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   Fallon Gillespie

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The nickname was one she never thought she would have the pleasure of hearing again. A smile, slight and almost nonexistent, pulled at the corners of her lips. What an apt nickname, she realized now. All Fallon had rained upon him was trouble.

She moved up onto the couch without further fighting or complaint and attempted to pull her trouser leg up enough for him fo work with. The impropriety could be forgiven, she had seen him shirtless, after all, if only the material scrunched up enough. As it was only up to her mid calf was exposed and Fallon was only barely competent at mending.charms, so ripping the small hole the glass had caused would be more trouble than limping home would.

Fallon glanced up at him from her bent over position and tried to gauge what to do next. Grief and firewhiskey had dulled all her senses. Still, she could think of nothing to say.

  

Thankfully she didn't put up a fight and Jess could see the situation more clearly. It wasn't a large piece, but it looked like it was in deep. "I'll get it out, hold this." He handed her the towel. His first aid skills weren't too bad, preferring to patch himself up when he could, but it still wouldn't be pleasant.

Pointing his wand at the offending glass, he cast a quick spell with the flick of his wrist and the shard came flying out. Jess vanished it with a another wave and he pulled at the towel in her hand, covering hers with his briefly to have her press it against the wound. "You'll have to take care of the stain, but I remember you bragging about that one time." This time he allowed himself to chuckle, something had to give.

He should have moved away, they were far too close, he should have given her some space, but something in him just refused to move. Maybe it was the whiskey, maybe he was a glutton for punishment, but he just couldn't bring himself to let this be it even though he knew she'd made her choice and it wasn't him.

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With the offending piece of glass removed there was nothing keeping her here anymore. Jesse said it himself, there were no words left to say. No actions to be taken, no memories to be shared. This was it, their final moment. What a pitiful moment it was. "Thank you," she said earnestly. Merlin, if only she could thank him for everything without it ripping her heart out. If only he could know just how much he meant to her.

Fallon expected him to pull away, to stand up and move back to the doorway, to quietly signal it was her time to leave. But, he didn't. They were inches apart now, the towel long forgotten as the blood ceased running down her leg. Perhaps it was the whiskey that propelled her forward, or maybe it was simply wanting a better final memory than a piece of glass deep in her knee, but the inches disappeared both all at once and a centimeter at a time. Her lips were soft against his, a direct opposite of the bruising kiss she shared with Lachlan.

  

He was going to regret this, he just knew it, but in the brief silence, all he could see was those brown eyes looking down at him and he was sunk.

Fuck.

She closed the distance between them and he couldn't find the willpower or the strength to pull back. It would save them both a lot of heartache if he could, which is what he would regret more than anything else, but there had to be a better way to end this.

He couldn't force himself away, instead moving closer, pushing up to his knees once more so that they were more level, his hands coming to rest gently at her waist, sliding around to pull her close. He no longer had any right to tell her he loved her, but maybe he could show her one last time, then make the last sacrifice and finally let her go. It would be messy, but there was no easy way out. He was moving on instinct, the whiskey fueling the fire as he let his hands wander, one sliding up to that sweet spot behind her neck as the desperation kicked in. Jess managed to contain it, in no hurry, but it was there, bubbling under the surface and threatening to spill over at any moment.

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Her knees instinctively tightened around his waist as the soft kiss took on a new form. This was wrong — so fucking wrong — but if Lachlan hadn't interfered this would've happened eventually. Fallon was certain of it. The kisses in the hospital had created a longing she didn't believe possible, and now that that longing was fueled by grief and whiskey it was unstoppable.

Her hands moved of their own accord, first up his arms and over his shoulders before moving down his chest and to his back. Fallon poured her heart into the kiss. All the words she still had left to say coming out in breathless pants and lightly raked nails over his back. I wanted it to be you one particularly desperate kiss said. I wish it was you.

Jesse knew, though, so Fallon couldn't ever voice such thoughts to him. He couldn't ever know where her heart landed.

  

Every move she made only pushed him further over the edge, the nails digging into his back, her legs tight around his waist. Jess knew this was wrong, she wasn't his anymore, but maybe they just needed this one last night, one more memory. If it had to end, it had to go out on something better than a broken bottle of whiskey. He wanted to ask if this was what she really wanted, if she would regret this as much as he would, but the words just wouldn't come.

Jesse's arms wrapped all of the way around her, holding her body against his, needing to feel that one last time. His lips leaving hers to trail a series of soft kisses along her neck. The desire was starting to outweigh the guilt though he knew he had no right, he was resigned to this bad decision. Jess had spent his youth making bad choices and grew out of it, he was allowed to slip up every now and then.

In the back of his mind he had no idea if or when Kirke would be back tonight and though he didn't want to make any assumptions about where this was going, Jesse slowly slid his arms down beneath her, coming to rest under her thighs as he easily lifted her off the couch. The last thing he wanted was to be interrupted and he wanted to take his time.

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