Faustus paused momentarily, glancing down at her as the baubles on the Christmas tree floated serenely past them. It surprised him even further that she would choose to work during a holiday, as he knew most of the schedules he wrote around the holidays consisted of him attempting to juggle the department's time off; crime didn't stop for anyone, so neither could they. There were quite a few times that he'd had to also work during the holidays, but Faustus tried to keep it fair. So perhaps her head of department was the same. "Do you always work on Christmas?" He inquired, mildly taken aback by her rather morose tone.

But...he felt a twinge of disappointment, despite the fact that there was not a way he could really determine why. It wasn't as if he ever had plans of seeing her Christmas day...

---

  

Her gaze met his blue eyes, watching as the light of the candles on the tree reflected off them. "Yes." Malou admitted, surprised that she felt so exposed by the answer. As if he might be able to see the loneliness that lingered in her soul. She didn't want him to pity her, the past was in the past. And if her working on the holidays allowed one of her coworkers to see their family for the holidays and not feel that loneliness for themselves, well then it was worth it. "I volunteer." The words spilled across her lips, wishing desperately not he wouldn't read into it, that he might see it as the kind gesture that it was and not some boss who forced it. She bit the inside of her lip as she considered explaining, and then, because she trusted Mr. Prewett, because he had saved her, because he looked almost ethereal in this light, because somehow he had stolen a part of her heart, she added in a very soft voice, "I'd rather be there so others can be with their families."

  

---

Of all emotions to descend upon him this evening, the last that he'd expected was sadness. But her gaze was steady, frank, though why he sensed she might be nervous was beyond him. His own expression softened at her confession as he looked down at her. He reached out suddenly, his thumb brushing the skin of her cheek as he moved a lock of hair that had fallen in her eyes. "And what of those who would like to see you on Christmas?" He heard himself murmur as he dropped his hand once more.

He could feel heat crawling up his back, unsure of what had possessed him to reach out to touch her. Whatever the motivation, Faustus cleared his throat slightly, his eyes flicking up to the rest of the crowd, grateful to see that his action had been half blocked by a flock of ornaments floating past them.

---

  

His face grew gentle, inclining toward her ever so slightly as he met her gaze. Malou's breathe caught as she noticed his hand reaching for her face, the gentle warmth and brush of her fingers against her cheek, drawing all her attention to the touch. Warmth crept through her, as he pushed a stray lock of hair behind her ear. But it was his words, words more encompassing that she had ever thought to hear, that surprised her, warmed her in a different way. They were so gentle, so caring, so unexpected. Malou forced herself to swallow and then unbidden in the barest of whispers, she found herself saying, "There hasn't been anyone." The past tense hanging unspoken between them as she watched his eyes glance back to the ballroom beside them, did he regret what he'd said? This man who knew too well the sting of loss? Or was he was overwhelmed as she was?

  

---

It was at her reply that he suddenly felt an all consuming urge to slip a hand around her waist, to cup her cheek in his hand and press his lips to hers. As if doing so would instead bring a smile to her face instead of the melancholy that had pressed itself into her. In fact, he felt himself move forward. It was only the shout of raucous laughter that rose in the crowd that saw him take a step backward, jerk his gaze from hers as if he'd forgotten where they were, sweeping his gaze over the crowd that brought him back to reality. It only distracted him for a moment, but it was enough to break his concentration, to realize what he'd been about to do.

His hand ran through his hair as he glanced back at her. The realization of what had motivated him to move forward in the first place struck him and he could only rest his gaze back on her, struck speechless by the thoughts that had suddenly raced through his head.

It had always puzzled him why the flower shop incident had caused him such a restlessness that nightmares had descended upon him. But here, listening to the orchestra play one of the very songs that had played that night at the symphony coupled with the maddening urge to be closer to her, it all came together like a fragmented mirror finally shifting into place.

And at the center was her.

---

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   Fallon Gillespie

If the first time in years, Malou hardly heard the music. All she seemed to notice was her breathe and his gaze upon her again. Her head tilted slightly up to meet his gaze as he stepped forward. It was only a step, but she could feel herself swaying toward him. She was all to aware of him, and only him. Her heart sped up feeling the heat of him in just that one step closer.

She hardly heard the laughter but suddenly Mr. Prewett's intense gaze was no longer on her, instead he was glancing back at the ballroom, the air cooling suddenly as his gaze and presence stepped away. Malou didn't know what she expected, her heart thundering needlessly in her chest, but it had been a foolish thought.

His hand pushed back his hair, a gesture that had become familiar to her. One that she knew and understood. He was nervous. But then his gaze settled on her and it was something else entirely, something she had never seen before and Malou knew then that no matter the heartache he held her own heart in that gaze.

  

---

"Forgive me, I—" There was little chance for him to finish his apology or even process why he was doing so in the first place, when a large group of partygoers hurried past the two of them. Their voices clashed with the lilting music that floated through the air, and Faustus suddenly found himself pushed forwards by the sudden crowd of bodies that had come prancing by. Even the little baubles that had floated lazily by them previously were bustled about and rattling with an almost shrill annoyance at the disturbance.

From where they were standing, it was clear it was time to either move or be absorbed by the massive tree his aunt had put in the corner of the room. Concealed by the sudden appearance of the oblivious crowd, Faustus acted without thinking. He reached out and seized Miss Skovgaard by the waist, reaching down with his other hand to take hers. In a quick pivot, he maneuvered them out of the way, just barely escaping being clipped on the shoulder by a guest's flailing gestures.

"Are you alright?" He asked, once out of their reach. He glanced down at her. Had he steered them out of the way in time, or had she gotten caught in the sudden onset of bodies? From what he could see she looked alright, and had certainly suffered much worse at the hands of the Sanditon Hurricane. But his heart was pounding in his chest all the same, so much so that it took a few seconds for him to realize they had ended up completely behind the large decorated tree. As if confirming that fact, a small branch flopped onto his shoulder, scattering pine needles all over the both of them.

---

  

Forgive him? Malou's eyes widened slightly in confusion, but she'd never know what exactly he was sorry for, because the peace of the small spot in the ballroom they had claimed as their own was gone.

It might be amusing if it didn't worry her, just how much she had forgotten where they were. She almost always knew her surroundings, but somewhere in the past few minutes Malou's surroundings had narrowed to the branches of the tree and to Mr. Prewett's very presense. It was jarring to realize just how much of the world was still around them with the arrival of the group pushing past. The eyes, the ears, the voices. Just the thought made Malou's cheeks turn red. How could she have been so silly?

There was a strong hand on Malou's arm, steadying and calming, nudging her away from the choas. One moment she was among a group of chatting party-goers, skirts and coat tails swishing, and the next she was in a corner with a pinetree - and Mr. Prewett.

Obvious concern was on Mr. Prewett's face, his brow worried in confusion. Her fingers ached to reach up and smooth it out, instead she fingered the edges of her skirt. "Yes."

A rain of pine needles across their shoulders had Malou looking up at the tree behind them, when something caught her glance. There floated a piece of mistletoe, directly above their heads.

Laughter filled the air as Malou's father pointed at the mistletoe in the arch above himself and her mother, "It's bad luck not to kiss, you know." He teased his wife before wrapping his arms around her.

The memory was gone as quick as it had arrived, yet the words slipped over her lips in a quiet whisper as her eyes remained on the mistletoe above them. "It's bad luck not to. An echo of a memory, a sliver of a chance, a sentence she had never once meant to say. But as her eyes met Mr. Prewett's blue ones she couldn't find it in herself to regret saying them.

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   Fallon Gillespie

---

He followed her gaze above them. The white berries of the mistletoe hung peacefully, winking like cultured pearls in their nest of green leaves. He looked quickly back to Miss Skovgaard, overcome by the need to apologize again, to let her know he hadn't done so intentionally. But her gaze, wide and blue was distant, almost as if she'd been suddenly taken somewhere else.

But then suddenly she was looking at him, and everything seemed to melt away; the music in the background faded to almost a buzz. With as close as they were, he could see a faint flutter just underneath the skin below her jawline - her heartbeat. He could feel his own fluttering in his chest as he ached to know what she was thinking, staring up at the bushel of mistletoe.

It struck him that even in the small space, she looked rather ethereal. The branches of the massive tree combined with the decorations of tree seemed to diffuse the glow of the light, and the wall behind Miss Skovgaard was speckled with splashes of colors filtering in through the ornaments and made everything seem rather hazy. Or perhaps it was just how close he could feel her, almost pressed against him, or maybe it was the warmth of the ballroom, or that they'd just danced, or the cacophony of noise that had melted away, or maybe it was how badly he ached to —

Bad luck not to...

It was all that he needed.

His hand came up, fingers lacing into her hair as his palm rested on her cheek. His other hand found her waist, and pulled her into him and closing what little space that was between them but that they needed to be rid of. And then he softly, gently, tenderly pressed a kiss onto her lips.

---

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   Fallon Gillespie

This time there was no need for him to step forward, for her to wonder what would happen, to dream of things that likely weren't. Instead his hands were warm and gentle, caressing her cheek and pulling her closer. Malou's breathe caught as the distance she hadn't even realized had still been there melted away. Her own hand floated up to his chest the other, found his waist and sat tentatively like a bird to be frightened away. His eyes were on her, the gaze intent, and for that moment she trusted it wasn't just the mistletoe that guided him. Her eyes fluttered shut as his lips met hers, warm and tender. So very very gentle. And yet her stomach seemed to be seeking a way to soar, her very being aware of every inch of him.

So this was what it was like to be kissed, to feel wanted. It was a tenderness, a kindness, a warmth and presense that Malou had always thought she would be okay without. But now, in this moment she understood. Her body leaned into him , without realizing it, wishing for this moment to never end. His heart beat against her hand as her own seemed to race against the confines of her ccorset.

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   Fallon Gillespie, Faustus Prewett

---

The moment her hand rested on his chest, Faustus felt himself lean in more, circling his arm around her waist even further and deepening the kiss. Surely she knew how fast his heart was beating — it had taken him so long, so stupidly long to realize exactly what he'd felt for her. Looking back, it might have even been at the Sanditon that this had first started, and he just hadn't realized it. But he was here now, with her in his arms feeling as if there weren't a ballroom full of people hidden out of view just behind them. Instead it was just her, beautiful and beguiling, bewitching every fiber of his being until it left him speechless.

He hadn't wanted this to stop — in fact something rose in him, a hunger, that he hadn't felt in a while, and he was sorely tempted to deepen the kiss in ways that were most certainly not...acceptable at a party. But then, she had leaned in, maddeningly so, and it took every bit of strength he had not to give in.

---

  

He was closer now, his hand wrapping around her, an embrace and a kiss. His heart pounded against her palm while her's fluttered against the back of her hand, pressed against them. But his lips.... they were all consuming, his embrace was caring. Malou felt like liquid in his grasp, indeed, unsure of what to do, Malou brought her face back ever so slightly, looking up at him as their foreheads touched.

There was a look she couldn't read there, it spoke in a language it seemed her heart and stomach understood, but her mind had never faced before. And there was a tenderness to it too. Her gaze fell to his lips and tentatively she placed a gentle kiss to those lips -

Another burst of laughter sounded nearby and Malou froze, remembering that just around the other side of the Christmas tree was an entire ballroom of people. Part of her didn't care, only wanted what Mr. Prewett's embrace had given her. But all her nerves, her concerns, her practicalities flooded into her coloring her cheeks a bright red.

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   Faustus Prewett

---

He was captured by the expression on her face as she pulled away - a certain curiosity mixed with a certain spellboundness that he could only relate to too well. This time, she came to him and his fingers laced even further into her hair, his only thought of never letting this moment end. But then a laugh from behind them crackled through the air and Faustus felt her freeze in his arms. He drew away ever so slightly, his eyes flicking to his peripherals as if he could silence them with a single glance - but of course they were so obstructed by the tree, ornaments and presents that it was impossible to even cast such a withering glare. Even if he could, the reality of the situation descended upon him, and he looked down at her. In the dim light, he could see her cheeks redden and he realized how foolish he'd been to put Miss Skovgaard in such a compromising position.

If he could draw back even further, he would, but as it was, they were both quite confined by the tree and the wall behind her. And what was more, someone's voice reached them, exclaiming they'd dropped their fan underneath the tree. Faustus' heartbeat picked back up again, for a different reason this time, as another voice replied jovially that they would be obliged to go fetch it for them. If they were caught, it would mean potential ruin — likely more for her than for him. And so he slowly disentangled his hand from her hair only to press his index finger to his lips.

With the same hand, he dropped it and started softly rapping on the wall behind her. If memory served him correctly, there was a door somewhere just to his left — one that wouldn't have been used tonight seeing as it only led to the Christmas tree, but if he could find it, they would be able to safely slip through to the hallway on the other side. Ah! There was a click and the door swung open. "Through here — there's an empty parlor the first on your right down the hall." Careful to not let her trip, Faustus guided Miss Skovgaard out and stepped through after her, letting the door swing shut behind him with a soft click.

---

  

Without his hand on her face, Malou's skin felt the cool rush of air - which was entirely unwelcome. She could hear a few people talking on the other side of the tree as Mr. Prewett began rapping on the wall. Malou's mind caught up despite the swirl of emotions she was in. If she were found like this - it was foolish. She would have doomed Mr. Prewett to a life he may not want. For her it would only have crushed Mrs. Bagshot's dreams. Malou was use to being the one to stick out. And yet her entire being seemed to have no regrets.

A concealed door opened out of the paneled wood of the ballroom at Mr. Prewett's investigation. It may not have been the smartest move given how he had kissed her, but Malou trusted Mr. Prewett, he had always watched out for her. She could only assume this was the same. His guiding hand was welcome, both for the fact that Malou's entire body felt as if it was tingling and jelly at once and for the fact that the near heat of his presense was comforting.

At the first door she quietly slipped inside, almost surprised how well he knew the house. Then again it was his aunt's, she supposed she shouldn't be entirely surprising. As he entered the room behind her Malou found herself once again incredibly shy, standing just inside the door, entirely unsure what to do, or if she should even look at him. Everything had felt so certain when he kissed her, but it was as if the air had brought with it all her doubts and worries.

  

---

Even though he was absolutely certain there would be no one in the hall, or any nasty surprises, Faustus still looked behind him and in front of him multiple times as they reached the parlor. Predictably there was no one already in the parlor, and he breathed a sigh of relief. Turning to close the door, it struck Faustus that if anyone caught them in here they would also be in massive trouble, and he shook his head to himself as it clicked shut. There was nothing else to do, no other time that would be better for him to apologize to her about how stupid he'd been. He was the Head Auror for Christ's sake, yet he'd acted...well he'd acted like his brother. And yet the repercussions might have been almost worse for Faustus. At least people mildly expected Fitz to behave like that.

As his mind raced, he realized he had gone to the middle of the room and started pacing. He stopped, looking to Miss Skovgaard who was just inside the room next to the door. He ran a hand through his hair again. He wouldn't blame her if the reason she'd done it was to make a quick escape. He took a breath, as if he was about to say something, then realized he had no idea where to begin.

It wouldn't do if he'd told her how much she'd invaded his mind over the past few weeks - months even, without his realizing it. Or how the nightmares that caused such restlessness were because they were all to do with how he wasn't able to protect her in any sort of capacity. Nor how he hadn't wanted to stop embracing her underneath the tree, and forget the fact that all of this had only just struck him like a hoard of Erumpets and left him absolutely reeling. "Forgive me, Miss Skovgaard," He heard himself say. "I've behaved in a most ungentleman-like way."

And yet, it was one of the rare times in his life that Faustus would apologize and only half mean what he said.

---

  

Either she had done something wrong or Mr. Prewett regretted his actions, Malou determined as he started to pace in the middle of the parlor. Unsure if she could remain standing on her own too legs, Malou found herself leaning back against the closed door, trying not to over think this. Mr. Prewett was doing his fair share of thinking, she could tell. For the first time in Malou's life she found she'd rather be feeling than thinking.

Ought she say something? Perhaps she should, after all the whole thing was her fault. She stepped away from the door, at the same time as he pinned her with a gaze. "Forgive you?" Malou's soft voice asked, surprised. "It's my fault." And she didn't regret it, she realized her chin jutting slightly forward in a mark of her stubbornness. "There's nothing to forgive, Mr. Prewett." It was the closest she could get to the truth without making a complete fool of herself. As much as she had hated his presence in the center of the room, away from her, now it was a boon, it gave her a moment to collect herself, to realize that she didn't regret the risk she had taken. Then she took a breathe, reminding herself that this was Mr. Prewett, the same man who had healed her wounds, who had saved her, who had let her ramble about music, who had held her so tenderly, and admitted, "I don't regret it. My only regret is if you do, and if you do, I am the one who must apologize." Her cheeks were warm, her chest flushed, her ears likely red as well, but she held on to the magic of that moment, trying not to let it slip away as it had begun to do with each step of his across the carpet. She had known, had understood, in that moment, she didn't want to let that slip away lost in a flood of doubts and concerns.

  

---