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mymelodyheart · 4 years

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Miles Between Us Chapter 4 ~Reunited~

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Previously in Twists and Turns

Although it was a cold, dreich and cloudy day, it didn't stop the strains of Pharell William's song, "Happy" playing in his head. He was having one of those days where he had the world on a string, and it felt like nothing could thwart his good mood. His Sassenach was coming tomorrow, and she'd be staying with him for at least a week. She already warned him not to make too many plans as she had work to do, but he didn't care. He would be waking up every morning for the next few days with Claire in his arms, and they'd eat dinner together when their day was done. That was all that mattered.

He was about to turn around and make his way into the living room when he saw Jenny leaning against the far end counter, her arms across her chest. It only took Jamie a second to deduce his sister had been standing there a while, her grin saying it all.

"Jenny!"

"I called out to ye when I came in, but ye didnae hear me. Looks like someone is happy," Jenny observed, smirking. "What's up with ye?"

"Claire ...ye ken Claire. Ye met her over two weeks ago. She's coming over to stay for a few days. With me."

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Jamie eased his car into the parking lot, focusing on his breathing when his heart began to pummel against his chest. He'd known this might happen, and he'd come prepared ...or at least he hoped so. Taking his key out of the ignition, he reassured himself Claire would be with him soon enough, so he tried to remain calm.

He leaned back against his seat and shut his eyes for a moment. Breathe in, breathe out, repeat. C'mon Fraser lad, ye got this.

Claire had initially planned on making her own way to Broch Mordha, too worried for him, in case he had another one of his panic attacks. But Jamie had vehemently insisted on picking her up despite her protestations. There was no way he was going to sit around in his cottage, waiting for her to arrive when he could be with her sooner. Every second spent in her presence was precious, and he wasn't about to give up any opportunity to be with her.

When he finally gathered himself together, he noticed his knuckles had gone white from gripping the steering wheel and a dull throb slowly working its way up to the back of his head. Every noise, every reflection of sunlight bouncing off the windshield was a torment. Ah, shite! Please, not now! His jaw already ached from its constant clenching and unclenching and his molars grinding during the drive, an attempt to smother the anxiety threatening to bubble up. He'd just arrived, and already he felt like he was going to suffocate.

All the way from Broch Mordha, he'd centred his thoughts on Claire, afraid that if he allowed his mind to wander, the panic attacks would get out of hand. In his head, he'd pictured her laughing, full of life and excitement, and the way she made him feel. And he'd thought, if he could hold on to those images, he might just be able to keep the anxiety at bay, long enough until Claire was by his side.

Taking a deep fortifying breath, he exited his car, the noise around him giving off a static buzz, rivalling the one crackling in his head. On cue, an onrush of whirring sound intensified and just when he thought he was going to pass out, he caught a familiar scent as a blur in beige walked past him. Surprisingly, the din between his ears subsided into a distant hum, and his head shot up in time to see a man in an old fashion trenchcoat and a flat cap, hurriedly zig-zagging past oncoming and ongoing crowds. What the ...?

He felt drawn to the man like it was pertinent to get hold of him right this instant, not quite comprehending why. "Hey ye!" Jamie shouted after the bustling figure. "Wait up!"

The man stopped as if he'd heard he was being called, long enough for Jamie to see his profile. Harry? Harry ...as in Claire's father? Surely not! It cannae be.

Before Jamie could make sense of what he was seeing, the figure began moving again, and so he picked up the pace. "Harry?!? Hey! Stop! It's me, Jamie," he shouted.

Jamie began to walk quicker, straining his neck so he wouldn't lose sight of Harry, but the man was fleet, occasionally stopping, looking for someone or something before rushing off again. Although Jamie was agile himself on his feet, he couldn't seem to catch up, and it wasn't long before Harry disappeared through the glassed entrance. Bummer!

He ran this time. When he eventually made it inside the airport, all he could see was Harry's head, bobbing up and down among a moving group of bodies heading in the direction of the arrivals' waiting area. He continued to follow, wondering what the hell Harry was doing here. The last time he'd seen the man was before Christmas, and after that, on an old photograph, Claire had shown him. Ah, fuck! Jamie thought he must be losing his mind. Is Harry alive, or is he a ghost? Claire did tell him that Harry or Henry, or whatever he was called, died in a car accident. So what the hell is happening? Is his condition making him see the deceased or is Harry a figment of his imagination?

His eyes scanned the crowd, but Harry's head was replaced by an image of a bouncing oversized red beanie. Jamie continued to walk forward, dipping and diving, not wanting to lose him, but red beanie head was waving an arm, and it kept getting in the way. Ah hell, where did he disappear to?

Irritation coasted down his back, and his eyes landed once again on the red beanie head, walking towards him, just a few feet away. Underneath the brightly coloured headgear was a mass of dark curls that framed a rosy cheek face with crystal clear amber orbs and a smile that tugged at his heart. Gradually, as if coming out of a trance, everything came into focus, and the backdrop and the noises dissolved. His heart stopped as realisation kicked in. It's Claire!

"Sassenach," he whispered. His lungs dislodged every iota of oxygen in his body, the world seeming to suspend around them expectantly.

Before his brain could compute what was happening, Claire dropped her bags and launched herself into his arms. Her warmth, scent and breath enveloped him, soothing his soul. In that instant, everything in the world felt right again as she buried her face against his neck.

"Oh, God Jamie, I missed you," she whispered, her grasp tight around his neck. "You came, even when I told you not to. Stubborn, stubborn man!"

The tension in his muscles loosened, and the feel of her body was worth the stress he'd put himself through coming to the airport. He drew away slightly and gazed down at her beautiful face. "I had to come so I could do this," Jamie murmured, ensnaring Claire's mouth with his own.

Her lips parted on a breath, and his tongue delved in, claiming her. Reminding them both and anyone in the vicinity who was watching, to whom she belonged. She must have sensed the psychological toll on him being in a busy place and what it took out of him to drive here, and his need to be grounded and centred. She clasped his face in her hands, forcing him to withdraw the kiss on a groan. She glanced up at him and searched his face, and when she was satisfied that he was alright, she gave him a smile that caused his throat to tighten with emotion. His heart pounded so hard, she placed her hands on his chest as though to keep it from bursting free. Wanting to feel more of her, he hoisted her up and pressed her closer against him. When he lowered his head to reclaim her lips a second time, she playfully nipped at his lip, before taking control of the kiss, reminding him he belonged to her too. She tunnelled her fingers in his hair and tilted her mouth over his, kissing him fervently until they broke away, gasping for breath.

She giggled, sliding away from his grasp, only for her arms to encircle his waist. "That was some welcome. I'm tempted to come more often now if I get to receive a kiss like that every time I arrive."

A harsh sound escaped his mouth. "Ah, Christ. What universe am I on that I get to keep ye for mysel', huh?" he breathed, running a thumb across her lower lip.

"A universe tucked away in a Highlands, one that I'm so chuffed to have found because you're in it," she replied, smiling, her breath ghosting on his chin as she looked up to meet his gaze. "Though I must admit, I wasn't too thrilled when you insisted on picking me up. I have faith you'll get over your anxiety one day, but you shouldn't push yourself too hard. Healing takes time, Jamie."

He tipped her chin and smiled, oblivious to the hustle and bustle of their surroundings, finding his calm in her presence. "I ken ye still worry, but I'm getting better every day. I promise. The meditation playlist ye sent me helps a lot, and it works even if I get leg cramps out of it as a result. Next, ye'll be suggesting yoga, but I'm warning ye, that's where I draw the line, Sassenach. My limbs are fine as it is."

She scrunched up her nose at his attempt to downplay his condition. "So, no more anxiety attacks? How about nightmares?"

"No nightmares," he reassured her, picking up loose curls resting on her shoulder and letting them slide between his fingers. "Though I still wake up sometimes in a cold sweat and occasionally, I have wee attacks when I'm under stress. But they're manageable as long as I remember the breathing exercises."

"That's good, Jamie," she said, sliding her hands up and down his back. "For a minute there, when I came out, and first saw you, I thought you seemed rather pale. You looked past me like there was no recognition in your eyes, but your colour returned when I got closer. I have been worried about you coming ...so I must have imagined the whole thing."

Ah hell, Harry! He'd forgotten about him. He looked beyond her head, even though he knew Harry was long gone. Knowing it was a futile endeavour to even contemplate Harry's whereabouts, let alone start looking for him, Jamie cleared his throat and brought his attention back to Claire. He didn't want to lie to her, but there was a time and place to talk about Harry. He knew he'd delayed it for too long, but it had to wait just a wee bit longer. "Ye didnae imagine anything, Sassenach. I felt the beginnings of the panic attack, but when I saw my mate and started to call after him and follow him, I realised the distraction helped suppress it. He was going in the direction where ye came from. And then right after I lost him, I saw ye."

She cocked her head and looked at him curiously, amber eyes inquisitive, always reading between the lines. Even though he knew she appreciated that piece of information, there was still something niggling at her. "Are you sure you're alright?"

"Aye, I'm certain now that ye're here."

Claire studied him. "Well, the distraction from your mate helped for sure. Or at the very least, it took the edge out of the anxiety."

Jamie gave her a reassuring smile. "Indeed, it has. Shall we go?" he proposed, eager to get going.

She visibly shook herself and nodded as he stepped away from her embrace and made a move to collect her bags. Once they got going, he twined their fingers together, powerless to stop himself from kissing her knuckles and brushing them with his thumb. The noises in his head had already ceased, and with Claire by his side, not even the drone of a busy airport could yank him back into the grips of immobilising anxiety bouts.

Although seeing Harry earlier had helped quell down the panic attacks, he knew it wasn't a permanent fix. As Claire had once told him over the phone, part of his recovery included finding a healthy way to let go of the past and forgive himself. It was taking time for sure, but the more he acknowledged his demons, instead of burying it deep down into his subconsciousness, the easier it got. The more he talked about the death of his best mate, Simon MacKimmie, the lighter the load on his shoulders became. There might still be lingering guilt and the image of Simon's death deeply embedded in his memory, but as Claire often had, and time and time again said, real progress took time. Jamie understood the fix needed to be on a mental level, and that was on him.

Despite it all, he felt incredibly blessed to have a lass who was willing to walk with him through it and not for him, something perhaps his sister should take note of. He'd shared with Claire his living hell, and still, she found something beautiful in the midst of so much ugly. He was convinced more than ever, with Claire everything was possible and he was looking forward to their future.

As they made their way out of the airport and into the parking lot, Jamie squeezed Claire's hand and smiled. "So what are yer plans today, Sassenach? Do ye have to work?"

She beamed up at him. "No. Work can wait until tomorrow. I think these past few weeks I've worked enough ...not to mention missing out on a lot of weekends. I think I deserve a break."

"Aye, that ye do. So, lunch perhaps, then?" Jamie suggested, releasing her hand and clicking the key fob as his car came to view. "Ye must be hungry."

"Did you make something?"

He swiftly deposited her bags into the boot and shut the door before kissing her on the forehead. "No. But I can always whip us up something, or we can stop somewhere on the way to grab a bite ...if ye wish."

Claire shied away, for once looking reluctant. "I'm not really hungry, to be honest."

"So do ye have anything particular in mind ye want to do?" he asked, his curiosity spiking when he noticed a bright shade of red rising from her neck to her face, causing her face to flush prettily.

She chewed her lower lip. "Are you working today?"

He grinned. "No. I took a day off." And he'd arranged with Willie he wouldn't be starting work until ten tomorrow morning.

"Well, ..."

"Weel what?"

"I think I'd like to go to bed."

To bed? He searched her face looking for any evidence indicating she was unwell or fatigued. After all, she'd been working a lot these past few days. But he found none. Instead, her eyes betrayed what she had in mind. Still, he could be mistaken and wanted to be sure. "To bed or to sleep?" he asked slowly and cautiously.

She stood on her tiptoes and brushed her lips against his, making his stomach flipped. "What do you think?" she whispered against his mouth.

There was an awareness on Claire's face that revealed she felt the wild rapping against his rib cage. Both of their breathing changed, and in an instant, the closeness of their bodies was no longer means to keep anxiety at bay.

His heart rate suddenly became an equivalent of a man running from a bull in Pamplona. "Ach, Sassenach, couldnae ye wait until we were nearer to home to tell me that?"

Her shoulders lifted. "Well, you did ask ..."

He walked her backwards against the car and pressed their forehead together. "Ah, damn it! Here I am trying to block images of what I want to do to ye the moment we're alone and be a decent boyfriend and treat ye like the sweetheart ye are. Now all I can think of is ..."

"What?" she asked innocently, her lids fluttering, her pupils obstructing out some of the gold of her irises. "What are you thinking of?"

Ah, bloody hell! He certainly didn't want to answer that. Not here at the airport's parking lot anyway. He blew out a shaky breath and adjusted his jeans. "Get in a car." The growl that broke from his throat sounded foreign to his ears, but it couldn't be helped when the sudden urgency to have Claire was thrumming in his veins. "And not another word, until we reach home."

She smiled and made a motion of zipping her lips as she got into the passenger side. He groaned inwardly, hoping and praying for another distraction. But this time for an entirely different condition that was tormenting him.

Dear Readers,

Well, I did try my hardest to finish this chapter in time for Valentine's day, but I was having too much of a good time with hubby that I thought surely you guys wouldn't mind. We had takeaways, a bottle of wine and cuddles on sofa rewatching Hunger Games. I know it's hardly a romantic film befitting Valentines, but we both loved it. My thoughts are, every day should be Valentine's day, so I hope you felt Jamie's love (and lust) for Claire in this chapter.😁

Before I sign off, I'd like to thank you for your continued readership and feedback, and I am so looking forward to what you think in my latest update. Take care of yourself and keep the love vibes rolling. Until my next instalment ...X

#melodyheart #wonderwall #milesbetweenus #ClaireBeauchamp/JamieFraser #claire beauchamp #jamie fraser #outlanderfanfic

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betweensceneswriter · 4 years

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Island Hopper-Chapter 28: Just Add Water

Certain things are instant. Not usually sons.

Previously Chapter 27: So Long, Farewell Surprising things await back on Majuro.

ISLAND FEVER (Jimjeran Book 1)

ISLAND HOPPER (Jimjeran Book 2)

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Perkaj looked so small sitting next to Jamie on the Jolok boat. The breeze whipped his fine black hair around his ears. Before he was discharged that morning, Dr. Langenbelik had coached us on our goals. Perkaj, as young as he was, needed to be able to maintain his correct blood sugar level for at the least a full week by himself before we were to allow him to move back in with his family.

After that we were to spot check--stop in and have him test his blood sugars at a variety of times of day to make sure he was being consistent. The goal was for him to re-enter his family and be independent of us, but not at the cost of his health. We could also work with the family to help support him, hopefully getting their cooperation to speed the process of moving back home again.

Jamie and I had bundled up Perkaj with the few possessions he had brought along and the medical paraphernalia that he had gained during his hospitalization, along with a coterie of stuffed animals and toy cars, gifts from the nurses who had felt such pity for the unparented wee waif. We had boarded the Jolok boat just in time for departure.

Perkaj’s dark eyes sparkled with delight as he glanced back at me. He crouched to come close to me and exclaimed above the roar of the engine and surf. “We go to your house now!”

“We will also see your mama and baba,” I said.

At that, he looked giddy. “I miss them,” he admitted, then with a smile at me went back to sit with Jamie.

He was equally excited during the bumpy ride in the back of the pickup truck from Arno Arno to Ine. I realized from his enthusiastic reactions to everything we saw that he must have had no memory of his own truck ride to the air strip and plane ride to Majuro, and that this could be his first adventure outside the confines of the island.

“Let’s stop at Perkaj’s house first,” Jamie suggested as we neared Ine. I watched Perkaj’s face as we got closer, sharing in his joy as we pulled up to park on his property. Our call to the Iroij had the desired effect, as the boy’s family members came spilling out of the house to greet him. His mama was in tears, holding him by the cheeks and gazing into his face, clucking at how much weight he had lost but obviously pleased to see him looking healthy again. His father smiled gravely as he shook Jamie’s hand.

They invited us to come in, and we entered their house, nodding at the relatives we found already inside. Perkaj’s mother and father ushered us to a pandanus mat and tried to urge food on us. Jamie gestured to his stomach and explained that he was full and couldn’t eat anything. I had a feeling that his stomach was still churning from the boat ride despite motion sickness pills.

I could pick out the occasional word as Jamie explained everything to them. At his invitation, Perkaj joined us on the mat and pulled out his zippered kit with lancets, tester, and insulin. At Jamie’s nod, he took a testing strip and inserted it into the tester. The room was silent as he twisted the plastic tip off the lancet, but there was a chorus of gasps as he poked his own finger and then touched the droplet of blood to the testing strip. Quiet murmurs followed, but when the tester beeped with the results, Perkaj held it up not to show his parents, but Jamie so he could see the LCD readout.

“Emmon, good,” said Jamie. “120. Show Baba and Mama.”

Perkaj scrambled over to them, squatted between them, and pointed and explained as he looked at the monitor.

I noticed that Maria was hanging back at the side of the room, so as the attention of the crowd was on Perkaj, I motioned to her to come outside. She hung her head shamefacedly, not meeting my eyes.

“I am not good aunt,” she muttered.

“Yes you are,” I said. “You came with Perkaj to Majuro. It is very hard to take care of someone with diabetes. You remember I am a nurse, so I can help Perkaj until he can manage it himself, but you can be a helper to him when he comes back home.”

Her eyelashes fluttered as she glanced quickly up at me. “Jolok bod,” she said. “Is bad he live in your house? You and Meester Shamie are just married. Is not time for nin-nins yet.”

“Ejjelok bod. It’s okay,” I said, trying as hard as I could to mean it.

Before long, Jamie had made our excuses, Maria helped me grab a few more pairs of clothing for Perkaj, and we had our driver take us the rest of the way to the clinic. Coming around the side of the truck, I felt a hand on my arm. It was Jamie, concern on his face. “Are you all right, hen?” he asked. Perkaj was pulling his backpack out of the truck, his focus elsewhere.

“Honestly? A little terrified,” I answered, meeting Jamie’s eyes. “Wondering how we’re going to manage all of this along with the rest of our lives.”

“Just do the next right thing,” Jamie said. “That’s what my da used to say when Jenny, Willie or I were overwhelmed by a task.”

I took a deep breath, grabbed my suitcase and swung it out of the bed of the truck.

“Well,” I said, with a hesitant smile at Jamie, “let’s get inside and make a spot for Perkaj.”

After dropping my luggage by the kitchen table, I went around the apartment opening up the louvered windows and curtains which had been closed for more than a week. Without a breeze to move the air it made little difference. It was still stuffy and hot.

Perkaj wandered around the apartment, stopping in front of the pantry with its rows of cans and tubs of dry goods. “Ebol mona,” he marveled, opening his arms to show how much food we seemed to have.

“Eh bowl?” I asked Jamie. “I know mona is food.”

“It means full… a lot.”

After pulling our bed closer to the west wall of the apartment, Jamie moved the couch to create a barrier between the table and the back wall to give Perkaj a spot of his own.

Glancing at me occasionally, Jamie set up the space. He pulled a quilt from our storage tub, folded it several times and laid it on the floor, topping it with the pandanus mat Perkaj’s mom had carefully rolled up for her son. I pulled one of the extra pillows from our bed and put on a fresh pillowcase, handing a sheet to Jamie to put on top of the mat.

Looking through the back window, I caught sight of my raised beds. Having seen the dry yellow grass along the sides of the road , the drooping palm fronds and wilting jungle plants on the way from Arno Arno, I’d had a sinking feeling. I still saw green peeking up above the wooden walls of the beds, so I invited Perkaj out to see my plants.

Though most of the plants looked a little limp, as I dug down into the soil surrounding them I discovered that just an inch under the surface of the ground there was moisture. It was only a minute later that Anni wandered over.

“Meester Shamie asked me to water the plants,” she said, smiling. Perkaj stood up on tiptoes to peek into the box, then grabbed the bucket to go to the well. He lugged it back having to use both hands to carry it, water sloshing out on his feet. But he was fascinated and helpful as we dipped cups of water and gently poured them at the base of each plant.

By the time we went back inside, Jamie had stretched wire from one rafter to the other and was hanging up a sheet to separate Perkaj's little room from ours.

“Let’s do coconut rice and fish,” Jamie suggested, nodding towards our little visitor. He had reached into the dresser, grabbed swim trunks, and was about to drop his pants when he thought again.

“Do you want to see how yer bed feels?” He asked Perkaj, rattling off the translation in Majol afterwards. Once Perkaj had rounded the curtain, Jamie whipped off his clothing and pulled on the trunks, his back to the room. After a pleasant eyeful, and having never seen the man sheepish about being naked, I couldn’t help but chuckle. Perkaj was still happily sitting on his bed, setting his zoo of stuffed animals around the perimeter when Jamie joined me in the kitchen.

“Obviously, I need to rethink the space,” he whispered. “No’ enough privacy yet,”

“You think he’s never seen a naked man before?” I asked in an undertone.

“Aye, I’m sure the lad has, but he doesna need to be subjected to the vision of a large, naked white Scotsman.”

“That would be a traumatizing nightmare,” I joked. Jamie smirked, kissed me, and headed out the door with his fish spear.

“Itok, Perkaj,” I called out. “Can you help me find a coconut for the rice?”

Prepping dinner took a good hour, followed by testing his blood sugar, giving Perkaj short-acting insulin, measuring portions, eating, and cleaning up after the meal. By 7:45 I couldn’t tell who was more exhausted--us or Perkaj. Jamie meticulously wrote down everything in the blood sugar/insulin log, and then we met each other’s eyes, an identical question on our faces. “What now?”

We were used to freedom in the evenings, our time being our own to read or write letters, to flirt and joke and laugh, to kiss and cuddle, to freely shed our clothing and make as much noise as we wanted. But now there was an unfamiliar guest in our sacred space.

For the first time, I thought I saw it register on Jamie’s face-the sense of anxiety and discomfort I was feeling. But then he frowned determinedly and turned to Perkaj.

“Ej awa in kiki,” he said. “It’s time to sleep. What do mama and baba do to help you rest?”

“Erro bwebwenato,” Perkaj replied. His voice held a tinge of sadness.

“They tell you a story?” Jamie repeated, translating. “Well, come & lie down in your bed, and I’ll tell ye a story. I have one that’s called Jock & his Mother.”

We turned on a lamp by our bed and turned off the main lights. While the boys were on one side of the sheet I put on my pajamas, choosing a longer pair of shorts in case Perkaj saw me in the morning.

The story was a little like one I’d heard before, where a simple-minded boy keeps following his mother’s advice a bit too late. Jock brings home a needle in a bundle of hay, and his mother tells him he should have put it in his hat. The next day he brings home a plough, and following his mother’s advice, puts it on his hat. Of course, it’s so heavy it falls into the river.

“She said to him, ‘You silly boy! Ye should have tied a rope to it and pulled it behind you!’” Jamie said, giving the mother the voice of an old crone. Perkaj giggled.

“The next day,” Jamie said, “The boy earned a leg o’ mutton... well, they dinna have those on Arno, so maybe it was a… roasted chicken. What do you think he did with it?”

“Tie it with rope?” Perkaj offered.

“And pulled it all the way home!” Jamie answered. The answering peal of laughter made me smile. I sat on the bed, arms hugged around my knees. All this time I hadn’t realized this talent of Jamie’s. My only bedtime story from him had been the boring recitation of Scottish history.

Poor Jock tried to carry a horse on his shoulder and then rode a cow, which of course helped a sad princess to laugh and so they got married. Jamie slowed his sentences and lowered his voice as the story continued, and just before I heard the floor creak with the movement of Jamie pushing himself up off the floor, I heard a little voice murmur something in Marshallese.

Jamie crept around the curtain, smiling when he saw me. He joined me on the bed and was reaching for a book when I whispered, “What did he say? I didn’t hear him well enough.”

I could have sworn there was a little mist in Jamie’s eyes as he answered. “He said ‘Ainikiom ekakiiki ao.’” He paused, the effort of translating wrinkling his forehead. “It means,” he blushed and met my eyes. “The sound of your voice lulls my soul to sleep.”

I felt a lump in my throat, the sting of tears in my own eyes as I leaned my head on Jamie’s shoulder. He pressed a kiss onto my forehead and wrapped an arm around me.

“Tired?” he asked.

“Exhausted,” I answered.

“I don’t even think I can read tonight,” he said, reaching over me to turn off the lamp.

“I won’t argue with that,” I responded, getting up to turn the covers down and pull up the single top sheet. It was still hot and windless.

Jamie cuddled me for a moment when he got under the covers, but then pulled away.

“It’s so hot,” he groaned. “I’m missing air conditioning already.”

It was pitch black inside and out when I startled awake.

“I want to go home,” a small voice quavered. “Ikonaan mama im baba. In my house, my brother sleeps next to me,” Perkaj cried. “I am alone here.”

“Jab jan”, Jamie said reassuringly. “Don’t cry. Here. You can sleep next to me.”

He flipped on the lamp, pushed the sheet out of the way, pulled the mat over until it was touching the side of our bed and tucked Perkaj in again. Jamie then got into bed, kindly turning toward the little boy and scooting closer to the edge that faced him.

For the next few minutes, I could hear Marshallese as Jamie murmured reassurances to Perkaj. The low rumble of foreign speech patterns soothed me as well, and soon I fell back asleep.

In the predawn hours, I was awakened by large, warm hands that gently stroked my back. They found their way to the tight muscles of my neck and shoulders, then ran fingers through my hair to massage my scalp.

I shivered at a kiss on my shoulder blade, at which Jamie scooted closer to me and put his arm over me.

“Cold, hen?” he asked.

“Actually, no,” I said, smiling to myself.

“Me neither,” he whispered, a hand meandering down my side, lazily tracing the waistband of my shorts before slipping fingers under the elastic.

“Whatcha doing?” I whispered playfully, rolling toward him and being rewarded by an enthusiastic caress of my breast and a thorough kiss.

“Dying,” was Jamie’s response. “A busy week at your parents’ house, then sleeping apart from ye at the hospital, and now we have an instant son? God, I'm starving for ye.”

No words were needed to tell him I felt the same. I’d been trying not to be selfish and resentful, but it was challenging to not feel deprived and disconnected.

I helped him finish what he had started, wriggling out of my shorts and kicking them onto the floor, then climbing atop Jamie, who made quick work of pulling off my tank top over my head, throwing it to the side to join its companion on the floor.

“Ifrinn,” he gasped as I used a hand to guide him in, lowering myself onto him.

Perkaj won’t wake up, I assured myself, confident the darkness would hide us. He was turned away from us anyway, his breath coming out in a low, even snore. I leaned toward him just to make sure he wasn’t looking in our direction.

Jamie must have noticed my movement because he hissed under his breath, “It won’t be the first time he’s heard these noi… Oh, God… oh, Christ...”

I put my hand over his mouth, increasing my pace. I was close, he was close, and then, a plaintive voice interrupted the process. “Meester Shamie?”

I froze. Jamie desperately tried to hold my hips to keep me in place, but I was instantly out of the mood, melting down next to Jamie like an ice cube on a hot car.

“No no no no no no no…” Jamie pleaded. I pulled the sheet up, panting. “Bollocks,” he swore, then modulated his voice after a deep sigh. “Ijin,” he said calmly, rolling away from me toward Perkaj. “I’m right here.”

Next up on Island Hopper:

Chapter 28b: Just Add Water, part 2 Shots & the “Shungle”

#Instant son #Jimjeran #BetweenScenes #BetweenScenesWriter #Island Hopper #Island Fever #Claire x Jamie #Carlie x Campbell #Trying to write instead of playing dumb computer games...#Gearing up for NaNiWriMo #And finally finishing book 2 #But there's still more story...

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boy-above · 3 years

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I get your thing about your passion for art dying out because of insufficient feedback, if I had a nickel for every time I’ve lost my love for painting I’d have four nickels, which isn’t a lot but it’s weird that it happened four times. Seriously though, I feel like in my experience it has been an idea that I’ve gotten only from publicising my art. At some point when you put yourself out there, you begin to expect something in return for your hard work and vulnerability, but a lot of the time you get nothing, which makes you believe your artwork is not worth anything. This is obviously not true because any creation is worthy of praise and support because it was MADE, but the thoughts are still swimming around. When you set those social expectations on yourself to succeed, you lose the point of why you ever started in the first place. You are literally 23 years old. Very few artists ever get recognition in their early twenties, and if they do it’s because of luck. Even if this art thing doesn’t work out for you, you’ll be okay. You have so much time to learn and grow and understand new things, and there are so many different ways to make yourself better as you go along. I think you need to keep drawing, even if you don’t want to. You need to find why it was you loved it in the first place and go back to doing THAT, even if it means making art that you can’t post or show to others - it needs to be for you. And if you can’t get back into it, take a step back and try again. Or try something new. Or eat something and try again. It’s clear through your art that you love doing it, and I’m sorry that love has seemed to dwindle, but I promise you’ll be okay, and you aren’t going to disappoint anyone if you decide to quit. You aren’t worthless without your art.

i mean that's the thing though, i don't really know if i even like art. i haven't enjoyed doing it since i was like, 14. it's not something that happened recently, i've been disillusioned with it for a long time. i Have been doing art even when i don't want to, for a Very long time actually. almost a decade. i know my art isn't worthless, that's not really the problem. my problem is how the landscape surrounding creators has changed over the years. i was around on tumblr back when the like to reblog ratio was actually even and people reblogged art, commented on it, and yknow, appreciated it?? art takes hours, days, weeks to create and only seconds to consume. and because social media makes it so easy to consume constantly, i feel like people just don't think about the work that's put into it anymore, a lot of non-creators kind of just take fanart of their favorite characters for granted, and artists are always looked down upon for pointing it out but people don't feel the need to support us anymore and its ruining a lot of us. reblogging our commission posts takes seconds but a lot of people just don't do it.

i feel like you're kind of misunderstanding my situation a little, because i've Had support on my art before, i used to be a popular fanartist and my art could get as much as 5000 notes. people reblogged it, commented on it, said nice things in the tags, were even intimidated by me. the wildest thing that would happen actually semi frequently was that people would actually be excited when i followed them and would screenshot it and stuff. like i Had support on my art, i know what it feels like to have it, i just lost it because people forget about you once you're not pumping out artwork that caters to their specific interests anymore.

i'm very aware that the quality of your work doesn't impact how popular you are bc back when i was popular, my art was obviously worse than it is now, and even Farther back, when i was a wee lad, i was a popular total drama island fanartist as well (dont @ little me for being cringe) and obviously at 12 years old my art was TERRIBLE but i was popular back then too, because i got lucky. that's something i always want to tell new artists, working hard and improving your art isn't necessarily going to make people like it and support you, it's about luck, and even if you Do get lucky, you can lose it just as quickly, just like i did.

i know you're trying to be nice and supportive and for the most part i appreciate it but the "you're literally 23 years old" part did kind of hit a nerve with me lol, cause it feels like i'm being talked down to. i know that's not what you intended but i figured i'd be honest about it. i also wanna make sure you're understanding my situation on the matter of my commissions as well, i'm not like trying to do art for a living or anything, ive never intended to because that sounds like a nightmare. so i'm not like waiting to be discovered or something. it's just right now it's my only source of income because my life is a nightmare, and for the last couple years most of what i've been doing is commissions, people have still been buying from me even while i've been doing hardly any fanart or personal work anymore. i was just venting bc doing commissions actually Gave me a reason to keep drawing, and of course having money to buy goods and services™️ is a pretty big deal to me too. i'm just very frustrated because i have to beg people to do the bare minimum to try to help me and almost nobody does. ive lost all those fans who actually cared about me yknow. i'm just sad about it. it's easy to feel really small and like nobody in the world cares about me. i know a lot of people feel that way in the world but it shouldn't be a normal feeling. it's not something people deserve to feel. it's just like, even if people don't reblog my art anymore, buy it anymore, whatever. i don't care anymore. it's just hard to see people ignoring the only important post i reblog. call me entitled, i don't mind. but i'm gonna be honest. it makes me upset. it makes me feel mad sometimes even.

#ask the marshmallow #anonymous

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renee-writer · 5 years

Text

Hitman Chapter 15 Feelings

Jamie woke from his nap when his nephew poked at his forehead. ‘’Uncle Jamie, wake up.’’ Punctuated his poking finger.

‘’Mo bheannachd, I am awake.’’ He says tucking him up against him.

‘’Why you napping with me? Ye ain't nae bairn.’’

‘’Well, I felt like one after spending a few hours with Father Bane. I needed a rest. Ye, ye wee rascal, looked so comfy sae, I just had tae join ye.’’ A partial truth. He needed the feeling of the weans life against him tae keep the nightmares away.

‘’That's okay Uncle Jamie.’’ He giggles and it knits something back together in his uncle's heart.

When he gets up, he finds that Claire has returned his phone call. He calls her back.

‘’Good morning.’’ She sounds sleepy and he can picture her in bed, hair tussled, eyes barely opened, wearing his shirt. Ah Dhai!

‘’Good morning love. Do you still wear my shirt?’’

‘’I do. I woke up and saw you had called. I miss you too.’’

‘’I miss you a lot. Did you get ahold of Ned? I love you.’’

‘’I love you too. I did. He says not to worry. That she is owed nothing from Frank's estate and that she and her child are fine as a large amount of money was deposited in her account around the time of Frank’s death.’’

‘’Really! That is odd.’’

‘’Maybe he was paying her off. Either way.. Are you and your dad getting done what you need too?’’

‘’We are. Accomplishing a lot.’’

‘’Good. I must get ready for work. Talk later?’’

‘’Aye. Sweet lady get ready. You know I love you?’’

‘’I do. I love you too.’’

He decides to head to the stables after ringing off. He needs the company of the horses and the feel of his land beneath him. His head and heart is still full of anger. He walks up to his favorite.

‘’De do bhrachd air turas?’’ He asks him if he wishes a ride. He mounts the big black beast and is off. He lets him run through the countryside. His home. His land. His heritage. He longs to share this with his own child, his and Claire’s. But, he is still full of such anger. Anger at himself for harming a child. Rage at his ‘father’ for using him as a shield.

He had made his own, an impermeable guard over his heart after Saleem's death. But now, he is starting to feel again. It hurts. The pain is enough to cause him to unseat himself and drop to the ground. He let’s the horse graze as he screams. He lays in the field and screams up into heaven. He screams himself raw before he starts to cry. He weeps for Saleem, for himself, his family, for all the women and children he had tried to avenge. For Claire and the bairns he can see playing with Wee Jamie on their land, those that have her whisky eyes and his curls. He starts to feel.

Part of him wished he hadn't started this but, the bigger part is glad he was feeling again. For Claire, for themselves, but more for himself. For in the midst of the pain and anger, he is finding Jamie again and leaving Ghost behind. He weeps until he can’t anymore then goes to find his horse.

He hums songs he now recalls, songs his mam had sang to him when just a wee bairn. Songs of comfort. Songs of sorrow. He would ask her about them later. Songs he wished to sing to his own bairns should God grant.

He found the horse eating not fall from him. Still weeping, he rubbed the horses nose. ‘’A bheil the a smaoineachadh gur e leababh a th' annam?’’ He asks the beast if he thinks him a wee baby. The horse shook his head and Jamie's tears turns to laughter. He clings to the neck of the horse as his laughter turns a tad hysterical.

Once he is calmer, he climbs back up on the horse and rides back. He longs to hug his mam. Really hug her. He finds her and his sister, talking. He walks up behind his mam and wraps his arms around her, enveloping her in a bear hug.

‘’Jamie lad, what was that for?’’

‘’Just because. Come Jenny, I long to hug you too.’’ Tears still glisten in his eyes as he pulls her close. He had missed so much with his family. Years he had walked away from them. He hugs them both close. ‘’I have missed this, missed you.’’ He explains through his tears.

‘’Weep if ye need to lad. Nae judgement here.’’ His mam says. His nephew comes in and sees them all hugging together.

‘’Hugs too!’’ Laughing, they break apart. He lifts his nephew up, placing him in the middle, they embrace around him. His father came in a few minutes later. He leaves the wean and lasses and comes over to him.

‘’I am sorry da that I've not been here for ye.’’ Brian opened his arms and his son falls into them. They hold each other tight, both weeping. At the end, wee Jamie turns the tears to laughter when he softly touches his grandsire and uncle’s faces.

‘’Your faces are all wet.’’ He lifts him up and hugs him as he laughs. Then his phone rings. It is Claire.

#my writing #modern au #hitman #anti hero #feelings #outlander fanfic #outlander fandom

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three-drink-amy · 6 years

Text

In the Eye of a Hurricane

Sorry it’s been a bit since my last chapter! I hope you enjoy this one!

Note: there are descriptions of abuse and violence.

Chapter one - chapter two - chapter three- AO3

Chapter Four

Claire couldn’t sleep and sat up reading. She’d taken a stack of books from the Lallybroch family library for the nights she couldn’t sleep. It was fairly often, actually. Her eyes were starting to grow heavy as she sat in the chair in her room. The best strategy she had was reading until she could barely hold her eyes open any longer. If she crashed when she fell asleep, it tended to keep dreams about Frank at bay.

Just as she turned the page to start a new chapter, a deep scream ripped through the silence of the house. Claire threw her book to the floor and tore from her room. Once in the hall, she met Ian with a grim look on his face. “Was that Jamie?” she asked.

“Well it certainly wasna Wee Jamie,” Ian joked. Claire furrowed her brow, not appreciating Ian’s joke. Another shriek came from the door they stood in front of. “Look, he just has nightmares.”

Claire nodded, remembering how he had before. She occasionally had them herself. Shaking her head, she turned and walked in Jamie’s room.

“What are ye doing, Claire? Ye’re no’ supposed to wake someone wi’ night terrors!” Ian whispered as he followed her into the room.

“So what, you want him to just suffer?” she asked. They both looked to his bed where Jamie was thrashing and screaming. Claire could almost guarantee where he was in his dream. She couldn’t stop herself. With a gentle hand, she shook Jamie, trying to wake him as smoothly as possible.

He jolted awake, panting like he’d just run a race. A look of terror was clear on his face as his eyes bounced around, trying to figure out where he was.

“You’re okay, Jamie,” Claire assured him. “The war is over. You’re home at Lallybroch. No one is going to hurt you here. You’re safe.” Her hands tightened on his arms, trying to ground him in reality.

His breath was still ragged as his eyes focused on her. “Claire?”

She nodded to him. “Yes, it’s me. You’re safe.” Ignoring the voice in her head, Claire reached up and smoothed the hair out of his face. His hand grabbed on to hers, holding it tightly. “It was just a nightmare. I promise you.”

Jamie closed his eyes and nodded as his breathing began to slow. He looked at her and Ian. “I’m sorry to have woken up the whole house.”

“Nonsense,” Claire quickly replied. “I wasn’t asleep, actually. I was reading.”

“Aye, I wasna sleeping either,” Ian reassured. “And it doesna seem as though the wee one was bothered at all. No’ to worry, Bràthair.”

Jamie pinched the bridge of his nose between his fingers. “Still, I’m sorry.”

Claire ducked to make eye contact with Jamie, making sure he held her gaze. “You have nothing to be sorry for. I get them too. I think it’s rather hard to go through the war and not have them at least once.” She turned and looked back at Ian, lifting her eyebrows in encouragement.

“Aye, I get them as well sometimes,” Ian chimed in. “It’s been less frequent as time went on. I’m sure it will be the same for ye.”

“Thank ye. The both of ye,” Jamie responded, his eyes closed again.

“Dinna mention it. Twas nothing. Ye should try to sleep more,” Ian instructed. “We can go.”

Jamie reached out and grabbed Claire’s hand as she stood up from her perch on the edge of his bed. “No, please dinna go,” he cried, his voice raspy.

“Okay, I’ll stay,” she immediately answered. Claire sat back down, running a hand along Jamie’s arm. She tried to calm him back down. Her hand was still tightly grasped in his. “Shhhh,” she soothed. “You’re fine. Just try to go back to sleep.” She hummed a quiet melody to herself, hoping it put him at ease.

Jamie curled back in on himself, still holding her hand. His brow was furrowed as his eyes closed. Claire could tell the dream must have really rattled him. She moved her unoccupied hand up to stroke his hair. There wasn’t much she remembered about her mother, but that comforting motion was one thing that always stuck out to her.

It took a bit, but slowly Jamie’s breathing evened out, his grip on her hand lessened, and he seemed to be truly asleep. As Claire stood up to creep out of his room, she was overcome by the urge to plant a kiss on his forehead. Shaking her head, she tiptoed out of the room and turned to go back to hers. Her footsteps halted as she saw Ian waiting by her door.

“Is he asleep?”

Claire nodded.

“Ye’ve done that before, haven’t ye?” Ian questioned.

“Comforted someone after nightmares? Yes. During the war I found myself doing that a lot. Soldiers see enough horror during the day and it inevitably seeps into their dreams as well,” Claire replied.

“Aye, I’m sure so. But I meant, ye’ve calmed Jamie down from his nightmares before. Haven’t ye?” Ian asked again.

Claire took a deep breath. “Yes.”

“And ye ken all that happened to him?”

Claire stared at him. “Well, yes. I was there when he was brought into our camp. I do know all that happened to him.”

“I dinna ken it,” Ian remarked, looking down at the floor. “He told us that he was captured and tortured but no’ much more than that.”

Claire stood up straighter, crossing her arms. “I’m sorry, Ian, but that’s not my story to tell. If Jamie wants you to know what happened, he’s going to have to be the one to tell you.”

Ian shook his head. “Oh Christ, I wasna asking! I promise. I can see how ye would have thought that. No, I wasna. It’s just hard to not know. I mean, wi’ me, it’s fairly obvious what happened to me,” he said, gesturing down to his leg. “But wi’ Jamie, I dinna ken what happened to him, except that I assume it was something done to his back.”

“Why do you assume that?”

“Well, I grew up no’ far from here. Jamie and I have been friends since we were lads. We used to play around the lands and oftentimes we’d help Jamie’s da around the farm. And on a warm summer day, we’d take off our shirts if we werena comfortable. As ye do. But there have been days like that since he’s been back and the shirt has stayed on. Matter of fact, I havena seen him wi’out one since he returned and we live in the same house,” Ian informed her.

“Look, all I will say is that Jamie got captured with five other men,” Claire recalled, “and given that I saw all the other men’s injuries, I can accurately say that Jamie got the worst of it. I don’t know why they chose him. It wouldn’t surprise me if he tried to be brave or cocky or something, but he got it the worst of the six men. And that’s bound to come with scars and nightmares.”

Ian nodded. “Pardon me for asking, but it’s been on my mind since ye got here. And seeing what just happened, it only increases my need to ask ye.” Claire nodded for him to continue. “Did something happen with ye and Jamie?”

Claire shrugged. “It was the war. Is it hard to imagine that something could have happened to me or to Jamie?”

“No, tha’s no’ exactly wha’ I meant,” Ian admitted.

It took a moment before his true meaning occurred to Claire. With a small gasp, she gaped at him. “Are you trying to ask me if anything happened between me and Jamie?” Ian opened his mouth to answer but Claire kept speaking. “Good Lord, Ian, I was married!”

“Ye’re still married,” he reminded her.

“Yes, I am, thanks for the reminder,” she retorted. “But then I was married to a man I believed would never hurt me or treat me the way he has.” She paused for a moment, staring Ian down. “Nothing happened between me and Jamie. Nothing.”

Ian held up his hands in surrender. “Sorry. I didna mean to offend ye.” He shook his head a bit. “It’s just that ye’re so close.”

Claire sighed. “Well, I suppose we are,” she confessed. “Nothing romantic happened between us, but I guess something did. We became each other’s rocks. War was brutal and so we leaned on each other. He was healing from an unthinkable injury and I more or less assigned myself to his care. And I...I needed a friend. And that’s what he was to me. We helped each other through things we never thought we’d go through. I suppose that’s where the closeness stems from. For a while I felt dependant on him and I think he felt the same way.”

“I’m sorry for askin’, Claire,” Ian said. “I just wanted to understand better what it is between ye. But what ye say makes sense. Jamie’s always said ye saved his life but he never went into detail about it. I always assumed it was medically, but perhaps it wasna.” Claire took a deep breath, absorbing what Ian was saying. “Anyway, I should be getting sleep as well. Lord knows, the wee one will be up with the lark and wanting me to be up with him. Good night, Claire.”

“Good night, Ian,” she replied, watching Ian walk back down the hall to his room. Claire exhaled as she went back in her own room. Something about what Ian asked was eating at her and she couldn’t figure out why.

* * *

It had been a slow day in the medical tent. Naturally, that meant Claire was rooted near Jamie’s cot. They were talking about nothing in particular. For a split second, Claire almost forgot that they were in the middle of a war. Instead, she just felt like she was spending time with a friend. Jamie was shifting like he was going to sit up.

“Whoa, what do you think you’re doing?” Claire demanded.

Jamie rolled his eyes. “Do ye ken how uncomfortable it is to lay here like this?”

Claire shrugged. “I’m sure it is. But I’d think a bleeding back would be more uncomfortable in the grand scheme of things.”

Jamie sighed dramatically. “So when do ye think I’ll be able to move again? Or even sit up, for that matter.”

Claire tapped her finger on her chin. “Let me think. You’re 22, right?” Jamie narrowed his eyes at her as he nodded. “I’d say it will easily be before you’re 30.”

His eyes widened, but a smile betrayed him. “Ah, jokes, is it?”

She couldn’t help but laugh at herself. “Why not?” Claire squatted to be at his eye level. “Look, I know this must be brutally uncomfortable, but it’s all so you can heal. The shallow cuts have scabbed and are well into the healing process. But the deeper ones, the ones that will really hurt if torn open, they’re just a bit slower to close up. You survived being bloody flogged. I think you’ll be okay for a few more days.”

Jamie scoffed. “Dinna patronize me, Sassenach.”

“I’m truly not trying to,” she replied. “I’m simply trying to put it in perspective.”

“Alright,” he grumbled. “So what did ye find out about Nurse Dogface over there?”

“Jamie!” Claire scolded, trying to hold in a laugh.

“What? Ye’re the one who named her that!” he reminded her.

“Yes, well it seems wrong hearing someone else call her that,” Claire admitted. “I shouldn’t have said such a thing. She’s a fine person.”

Jamie made a face. “Sure she is. So she didna make comments about ye that ye overheard and told me about?” He gave her a pointed look.

“We’re in the middle of a war, not at school,” Claire said. “Things aren’t simple. If we were just two girls at school, perhaps I’d be catty right back, but I’m choosing to rise above it.”

“And just vent about it to me?”

Claire thought about it for a moment. “Yes. I don’t really have another alternative. If I said something to one of the other nurses, they’d want us to talk about it and I definitely don’t have the energy for that.” She got down closer so she could whisper and he would still hear. “Besides, I heard that the doctors are not at all pleased with her and are requesting her transfer to another medical camp. Perhaps even out of France.” Claire couldn’t hide the smile on her face.

Jamie grinned along with her. “Serves her right for trying to mess with Nurse Randall.”

Claire scoffed. “Please don’t make it sound like I had anything to do with it. I don’t want that reputation.”

Jamie chuckled. “Aye, my lips are sealed.”

“Anyway, I saw one of your men over here earlier, how did that go?” Claire asked, needing to change the subject.

“Och, they’re no’ my men. We’re all in the same regiment is all,” Jamie corrected her.

Claire rolled her eyes. “Whatever. You hadn’t talked to any of them since you were all freed and scattered throughout this medical compound. What did he have to say?”

“Well frankly, he couldna get much out after he took a look at my back,” Jamie admitted with a roll of his eyes. “It was what I feared. No one will be able to look at me the same way if they see what has happened to me. No’ wi’out sympathy. It would be easier if no one saw it.”

“You don’t mind me looking at your back?” Claire wondered.

Jamie shrugged as best he could in his situation. “I dinna have much of a choice when it comes to ye.” He paused, a thoughtful look on his face. “Besides, ye have a knack of letting me know ye feel sorry for it, wi’out making me feel pitiful about it.”

Claire felt a small smile spread across her face. She reached out and grabbed Jamie’s hand in hers, gripping tightly for a moment. Trying to find a way to reply, she got interrupted by one of the other nurses.

“Randall!” Claire looked up at her name. “Mail for you!”

She jumped up. “Excuse me,” she said to Jamie, patting him on the shoulder as she walked away from his cot. She grabbed the letter and settled on a chair at the edge of the tent, not too terribly far away from Jamie. “Oh, it’s from Frank,” she said, mostly to herself. A feeling of happiness bloomed within her. It had been a while since she’d heard from her husband.

Reading the first two lines of the letter crushed that feeling of happiness. Tears were falling down her face before she could even process why. Her body knew before her brain could catch up. She held her hand over her mouth to stop the audible sobs. Now, more than anything, she wished she hadn’t heard from Frank. Her body curled in on itself as her grief began to take hold.

Arms came to shelter her and she leaned into them without a second thought. She laid her head against Jamie’s shoulder, letting her tears fall freely. He whispered to her in English and in Gaelic, rubbing a hand along her back as he tried to calm her. “Claire, are ye alright?”

It was the first time he’d ever called her by her actual name and not “Sassenach” or “Randall.” She turned and looked at him, his eyes holding hers. “No,” she cried. “No, I’m not.”

“What’s happened?” Jamie asked in a gentle voice. He wasn’t demanding. Instead, he was offering her the chance to talk through her pain.

“It’s Uncle Lamb. He’s died,” she choked out through a sob.

“Ah, lass, I’m so sorry,” he said sincerely. “And he was the one who raised ye?”

Claire took a moment to realize that in the short couple of weeks that Jamie had been there, he’d learned so much about her life. She’d likely learned just as much about his as well. Claire nodded against him. “Yes, yes he was.”

Jamie’s hand came up to cradle her head, allowing it to rest against his shoulder. “I’m sorry. The pain of losing a loved one can be unbearable.”

It was her turn to share her knowledge of his life. “Of course. You’ve lost both your parents,” she recalled. He nodded against her. Suddenly, Claire jolted in Jamie’s arms. “Wait! Jesus, Jamie, you’re not supposed to get up!” she cried, pulling back from him to scold him.

He rolled his eyes at her. “Forget it. Ye needed someone. Might as well be me,” he reasoned. “And my back feels fine.” Jamie wiped a tear from her face before pulling her back into his arms.

Claire reread the letter as Jamie gently rocked her. She couldn’t stop the fresh stream of tears. “You expect that the people not fighting in this damn war are safe, but I guess not,” she remarked, breaking the silence between them.

“Was there another attack?” Jamie asked.

“No,” Claire replied. “No, apparently he had a heart attack. It was very sudden.” She began to sob harder. “And I couldn’t be there for him.”

“Shhh,” Jamie soothed. “I’m sure he knew how much ye cherished him, Sassenach.”

“I just wish I could have been there with him instead of here. I didn’t want to find out from Frank,” she insisted.

“Why did ye find out from Frank? Why did whoever not just contact ye directly?” Jamie wondered.

“Frank is still in London. I suppose he’s easier to get ahold of,” Claire explained. They sat there for a long moment, Jamie still rocking her. Suddenly, he tensed, inhaling sharply. “What just happened?” Claire asked.

Jamie breathed in through his teeth. “Ah, tis nothing.”

Claire started to stand up from his embrace. “Jamie, this didn’t seem like nothing.”

His face contorted in pain as he tried to straighten out his back. “Really, I’m alright.”

She walked around to look at his back and her suspicions were confirmed. He’d opened up one of the wounds. “Like I said, Jamie, you can’t move. Damn it. You’ve opened one up.” She pointed over at his cot. “Go lay down again.”

“Dinna tell me ye’re mad at me.” He laid down on his stomach again.

“I just wish you hadn’t hurt yourself while trying to comfort me,” she reasoned. “Seems silly now that both of us are hurting.”

“Aye, but mine is easily fixed with yer salves and such,” Jamie replied. “Yers canna be treated the same way.”

“What are you talking about? There’s a salve for emotional pain. It’s called alcohol,” she teased.

Jamie turned his head to look back at her. He gave her a disapproving look. “Claire,” he started.

“I’ll be fine,” she said, a few tears betraying her as they fell down her face. “It’s wartime, I should be used to losing people.”

She was starting to clean up his back when he reached back to hold her hand. “Still, if ye ever need to speak of it…”

Claire smiled down at him. “I’ll know who to come to. Thanks, Jamie.”

He returned her smile. “Of course, Sassenach.”

* * *

Jamie walked into the kitchen the next morning, still feeling ashamed from the night before. Ashamed and also grateful for Claire pulling him from the dream. Ian was the only one in the kitchen as he entered. “Morning,” Jamie greeted.

Ian looked up and smiled. “Morning. Sleep well?” He froze, sputtering out an apology.

Jamie waved him off. “After that, yes, I did.” Jamie sighed. “I’m sorry about that again.”

“It wasna the first time and I’m sure it willna be the last,” Ian reminded him. “Dinna fash.”

Jamie shrugged. It was a lot easier to say that than it was to actually do so. He felt guilty for pushing his fears and traumas on everyone else. “So where are Jamie and Claire? Out in the garden already?”

Ian chuckled as he closed the book he was holding. “No, Wee Jamie is in the library. I briefly saw Claire on her way to the bathroom but that was a while ago. I suspect she’s avoiding me.”

Jamie sat down at the table with Ian. “Why would she do that?”

“Well because I asked her something last night that I think made her feel a bit awkward,” Ian informed him. Jamie raised his eyebrows at his brother-in-law. Hundreds of possible questions flew through Jamie’s mind as he waited for Ian to confess what he’d actually asked. Ian huffed out a breath. “I asked her if anything had happened between the two of ye during the war.”

“Ye, what?” Jamie nearly yelled, standing up from the table. “Why would ye do that?”

“Well, because I’ve wondered. Ye’ve spoken so highly of her and ye look at her a certain way. And that’s no’ even discussing the way she acts towards ye. The two of ye just seem incredibly close,” Ian reasoned.

“We are, but it’s no’ because of that!” Jamie cried. “Good God, man.” He walked out of the kitchen to find Claire and apologize for Ian.

He wandered up the stairs, trying to decide how to bring it up with her. Perhaps he should start with thanking her for what she did for him. That would be a more comfortable conversation than acknowledging what Ian had accused them of. The truth was that Jamie didn’t really have a label for what things were between them. He felt reliant on Claire. He felt indebted to Claire. But above all, he felt desperate to be around Claire.

Shaking his head, he tried to clear out any confusion before entering her room. He knocked quickly on the door and walked in. “Hey, Sassenach, I wanted to - oh!” A shriek from Claire halted his steps. She turned away frantically, shielding her front with the shirt she was about to put on.

“Jesus Christ, Jamie. Don’t people usually wait for a response after they knock?” she asked in a heated voice, glancing over her shoulder at him.

He averted his eyes, looking down to the floor. “I’m sorry. I thought ye were just avoiding Ian.” They stood there silently for a long moment. Jamie felt too awkward to move and Claire was clearly waiting for him to leave.

“Are you just going to stand there?” she demanded.

Jamie sputtered a response. “Sorry, I’ll go, I -” He stopped as his eyes caught sight of something on her back. “Claire,” he breathed, inching closer to her. “What is that?”

“What is what?” she asked, looking back at him. She followed his eyeline to the scar on her shoulder. Her head turned back to face away from him, shame spreading in a look. “It’s nothing.”

“Was it him?” Jamie interrogated, unable to acknowledge her cues to drop the subject.

“Jamie,” she pleaded.

“Claire, please tell me,” Jamie urged. He stared at the long, jagged, red line that stretched across her shoulder.

Claire sighed deeply before she spoke. “Yes, it was him. One night he was drinking and I said something in a way he didn’t like and he smashed his bottle against my back. A piece of glass dug in a dragged across my shoulder.” She looked over her shoulder at the scar. “He wouldn’t let me go to the hospital because he thought he might get in trouble so I had to sew it shut after he passed out.” She delicately put her shirt on, making sure Jamie couldn’t see anything. “Happy now?” she demanded as she turned around.

“No,” Jamie replied. “Claire, that’s awful.”

She shook her head, unable to meet his eye. “Well sure, but there’s nothing I can do about it, right? I did the most I could. I ran away from him. Nothing to do for this now.” Her eyes lingered on him. “Besides, it’s nothing like your back.”

Jamie scoffed softly. “That’s fair. But then my back was torn by men who didna ken me. I was just the enemy. It wasna done by someone I trusted. Someone I loved.”

Tears glimmered in Claire’s eyes as she glared at him. “Well then congratulations, Jamie. Good for you that your scars are a trophy of war and mine is because I have an abusive husband. I hope that makes you feel really good about yourself.”

He closed his eyes, realizing his mistake. “Sassenach, I didna -”

“Now, if you’ll excuse me, Young Jamie wanted to show me something out in the garden so I shouldn’t keep him waiting,” Claire said storming past Jamie.

He turned around and watched her walk further and further from him. Voices in his head battled as he watched her leave. One voice urged him to run after her and apologize. The other told him to give her some space. He’d poked at a wound that was too sore and he’d hurt her. So Jamie stayed put and let her get further from him. Once he heard the front door open and shut, he walked downstairs, beating himself up the whole time.

* * *

“See?” Young Jamie asked in an excited voice.

Claire laughed as she looked down at what he presented in his hand. “You’re right, it’s a snail.”

“It’s so cool!” he said, bringing his hand to his eye level so he could watch the small creature.

“They’re something,” Claire responded. “Did you know in France they like to eat snails?”

His eyes widened in horror. “They do?”

“Mhmm.”

The little boy watched the snail in his hand, his brows furrowing. Suddenly he had a determined look on his face. “Okay, then.” He opened his mouth, moving to cup his hand to it and deposit the live snail there.

“No!” Claire cried, pulling his hand back. “They don’t eat them live! They cook them and such.”

“Oh. That makes more sense,” Young Jamie agreed. “I just wanted you to think I could eat them too.”

Claire laughed to herself. “Oh I’m sure you could. And maybe one day you will. I just don’t think you should eat them fresh out of the garden.”

“I thought you’d fancy me a brave lad,” he admitted.

She couldn’t fight the smile on her face as she brought the boy to sit on her lap. “You absolutely are brave, Jamie.”

“Someday I want to be brave like Uncle Jamie.” The boy looked off toward the field. She followed his eyeline and saw Jamie walking. “Mam and Da say he’s verra brave.”

Claire nodded even though the boy wasn’t watching her. “They’re right. He is brave.” She was still hurt by Jamie’s words, but that couldn’t be denied.

“Uncle Jamie said ye’re brave too,” he said, interrupting her thoughts.

“What?” Claire asked.

“He said a bad man hurt ye and that’s why ye’re here. That ye were brave to get away from him and we must keep ye safe,” Young Jamie explained, looking over at Claire.

She felt incredibly touched by all the boy had said. “He was right. I am hiding from someone.”

“Dinna worry, Miss Claire, I’ll be brave and protect ye,” he said with a big smile. Claire couldn’t help but wrap her arms around him in a big hug. They sat that way for a long, peaceful moment.

“I’m going to show Da!” Wee Jamie exclaimed, jumping up from Claire’s lap and running off with the snail toward the house.

Claire laughed as she watched him run away in search of Ian. She couldn’t help it as she turned to look back at Jamie. She was touched by what he’d told his nephew. It softened the way she was feeling a bit. But not entirely. Strengthening her resolve, she went to gather her tools, determined to keep her distance from Jamie for a bit.

There wasn’t anything incorrect about what he’d said that morning. She’d trusted and loved Frank and he’d still treated her like a punching bag. The injury may have been less than Jamie’s, but the lasting impression was likely deeper. Still, the way Jamie couldn’t read her mood and drop it had hurt. He’d seemed determined to make her speak of it, no matter how much she tried to deflect. In all the time she’d spent with him, he’d been able to read her better than that. But when it seemed to matter most, he kept pushing.

Claire shook her head and tried to focus on her work in the garden. Her hurt feelings would fade, she just had to let them. The last person she wanted to be constantly mad at was Jamie. He was her protector now, as she’d been his. Perhaps a day spent in the solitude of the garden and the lands at large would help re-calibrate things.

* * *

Jamie was keeping his distance from Claire. They both spent the day outside but he was constantly aware of her position so he could keep away from her. He was allowing her the space she needed from him and he wanted to maintain that. If he didn’t stay strong, he’d just as quickly run over and beg her forgiveness for his earlier idiocy. The guilt was eating at him. Why could he not have just dropped it? Why could he have not sensed her need for deflection when she brought up his own scars? No, instead he’d poked and he’d prodded at an emotional scab trying to heal. Sighing, Jamie shook his head at himself. There had been times where he’d felt he was truly good at reading Claire. Somehow that had disappeared. He prayed it was only temporary.

The sound of a car on approach pulled him from his thoughts. Turning back to the road, he saw their guest wander toward him. Her blonde hair was free, flying through the wind as she strode in his direction. Jamie looked back toward the house, spotting Claire in the garden only a few yards away.

“Hello, Jamie,” Laoghaire greeted with a smile.

“Laoghaire,” Jamie replied almost curtly. “What brings ye by?”

“Well a few weeks back ye said ye’d be coming by the house and ye havena been by,” she reminded him.

He nodded. “Well, I’ve been busy. I also recall saying I might be by. Yer grannie was bribing me wi’ her baking.”

“Aye, she likes to do that,” she agreed. “So is Jenny back yet?”

“No, she’s still across the sea in North Carolina,” Jamie confirmed. “Was that what brought ye? I’m sure Jenny will let ye know when she returns.”

Laoghaire nodded, a disappointed look crossing her face. She focused on a spot over Jamie’s shoulder and he turned to look at what she saw. Claire. As she stood up, the sun caught her hair, reflecting auburn in her curls. He’d always thought she was beautiful. Even in his delirious state when he first met her, he’d noticed her beauty. As he watched her now, Jamie couldn’t help but stare. Remembering himself, he turned back to see Laoghaire watching Claire with narrowed eyes. “Jamie, who is that woman?”

Jamie looked back and forth between the two women. “That’s Claire.”

“Well who is she?” Laoghaire demanded.

“She’s a friend of mine,” Jamie said, being purposefully vague. Laoghaire didn’t need to know all about who Claire really was. She certainly didn’t need to know Claire’s situation. He noticed the look on Laoghaire’s face. She wasn’t about to let this topic drop. Selfishly, Jamie called for Claire. He’d been so determined to give her space, but she was the only one who could likely set Laoghaire back on her way home.

* * *

Claire was tending to the garden, always aware when Jamie was nearby. She glanced up quickly to see him working near the closest fence. For no apparent reason, she couldn’t stop looking up at him every so often. But this time when she looked up, she spotted Jamie talking to some blonde girl. Claire was far enough away, but she could see the way the girl leaned eagerly toward him. She seemed young. Claire shook her head, trying not to worry herself with it. Focusing back on the plants, she desperately tried to find an explanation for the possessive way she was feeling.

Perhaps it was their current situation. Jamie had encouraged Ian to let Claire stay. Ian had easily agreed, but it had been Jamie’s idea. If Jamie was taking up with this blonde girl, would he care if Claire was safely tucked away at Lallybroch? Would he keep trying to protect her, no matter the cost? Claire was afraid of what that answer might be. Perhaps that’s why she was wary of the sight of Jamie chatting with a girl who was clearly besotted with him.

Digging ferociously into the ground, she tried to ignore Jamie again. She’d only been mildly successful throughout the afternoon. As she stood up to move toward the other side of the garden, she resisted the urge to look back at them. She’d just knelt back down when she swore she heard her name being called. Looking up, Jamie was staring at her, motioning for her to join them. With a sigh, she dropped her tools and walked the few yards over to them.

“Aye, so this is Claire,” Jamie introduced, gesturing for her to stand with him. “Claire, this is Laoghaire. She’s an old family friend.”

Laoghaire’s smile was tense as she appraised Claire. “Hello there,” Claire greeted. “It’s a pleasure to meet you.”

She gaped at Claire, turning back to Jamie. “She’s a sassenach?” she asked, her voice dripping in disdain.

“Aye, so?” Jamie asked, looking over at Claire.

“How did ye ever become friends wi’ a sassenach?” Laoghaire demanded. The way the gaelic term spewed from her lips made Claire wonder how Jamie had always made it seem endearing.

“We met in the war,” Jamie explained simply.

The woman’s eyes fell back on Claire. “How did ye meet during the war?”

“I was a nurse,” Claire replied. “I met Jamie when…” She cut off. There was no way for her to know if this friend knew of Jamie’s capture or if Claire would be telling her.

“When I was injured,” Jamie finished with a small smile for Claire.

“Ye were a nurse when Jamie was hurt?” she asked. Claire nodded, wary of the other woman. A bright smile crossed her face as she brought Claire into a tight hug. “Thank ye so much!” she cried.

Claire looked over at Jamie who seemed to be as bewildered as she was. She lightly patted the girl on the back. “Uh, it was no problem,” she replied, unsure of the right thing to say. Laoghaire released her and stared at her in awe. “It was my job,” Claire continued lamely.

Jamie must have felt as awkward as Claire by the tense way he was holding himself. A small voice carried from the house. “Uncle Jamie!” All three of the adults turned to look for the small boy.

A devious grin crossed Jamie’s face. “Ah, if ye’ll excuse me, I must see what the lad needs.”

Claire moved to go with him but Laoghaire grabbed her hand. Fighting a sigh, Claire turned back to look at her. “I seriously canna thank ye enough for what ye did for Jamie.”

Claire shrugged. “It was really nothing. Same thing I did for many men in the war.” Mentally, she corrected herself. What she did for Jamie went past what she did for any other patient she’d had. But this random girl didn’t need to know that.

“So why are you here at Lallybroch?”

It was the first time she’d had to address it with someone other than Jamie and Ian. There was no way she could tell this girl the truth. Claire only hoped that she’d get a chance to discuss it with Ian and Jamie before Laoghaire did. “Well, I was in Scotland for a holiday and I decided to look Jamie up. He and Ian were kind enough to allow me to stay for a bit. I’ve been trying to make up for Jenny’s absence as much as I can.”

Many different expressions crossed Laoghaire’s face before she smiled tightly. “That’s nice of them.”

Claire cleared her throat. “So Jamie said you are a family friend?”

“Well I suppose that’s one way of putting it,” she said with a smirk.

“I don’t understand the joke,” Claire asked.

Laoghaire leaned closer to Claire like she was about to share a secret. “Jamie and I are to be marrit,” she confessed with a large smile.

Claire plastered on a smile and nodded. How could Jamie have not told her something as big as that? In all the time they’d spent together, he’d never once mentioned the girl. Betrayal was probably too strong a word, but it was how she felt. “Well that’s just lovely,” she said halfheartedly. “Look, it’s about time I should go in and start on dinner. So I’ll talk to you later.”

“Nice to meet ye, Claire,” Laoghaire said in farewell.

“And you,” Clare replied, turning to walk back toward the house.

In the time since Jamie left her camp, Claire had often found herself thinking about him. What had happened to him? Had he survived? Had he gotten to go home? Did he ever get to meet the nephew he’d excitedly talked about? Was he as affected by their time together as she was? Did he miss their conversations the way she did?

Since coming to Lallybroch, she thought some of her questions had been answered. The close bond they’d shared as he healed had quickly returned as she sought shelter within the walls of his home. Or at least she thought it had. In all the weeks she’d been there, he’d never once told her he was getting married. She suddenly felt like she didn’t know him. When he was her patient and she was breaking rules to allow him time to heal, she felt she knew him completely. But perhaps she was wrong.

As she walked back to the house, Claire began to feel miserable. How could she have misread everything about their friendship? She’d relied heavily on him, but had it been the same way for him? It seemed not.

Jamie would tease her by telling her she had a glass face. When she walked in the house, she prayed her glass face wasn’t giving away her internal distress. One look from Jamie told her that her face had betrayed her.

“Sassenach, are ye alright?” he asked, still keeping his distance.

Claire decided to just come right out with it. “How could you not tell me?”

“Tell ye what?”

“About Laoghaire.” Claire sighed. “I mean we’ve talked about a lot of very important things but never once have you mentioned her.”

Jamie looked confused. “Because she’s no’ important.”

Claire gaped at him. “So your future wife isn’t important?”

It was Jamie’s turn to be shocked. “Excuse me, but where did ye get a notion like that?”

“From her,” Claire explained. “Laoghaire said you were to be married. Is that...not true?”

Jamie stared at her. “No, it’s no’ true! Christ, I’ve never - I would -” He sighed. “I canna imagine why Laogharie Mackenzie believes we’re getting marrit.” Ian walked in, whistling and immediately turned around at Jamie’s last sentence. “Ian! Stop!” Jamie called. Ian froze, not turning back to them. “Why does she think it?”

Ian rotated very slowly to face them. “I canna say why the lass would have such a crazy idea.” Jamie gave him a pointed look and Ian broke with a sigh. “Fine, it all happened when we were deployed. Jenny was worrit to death about both of us and Laoghaire and Jenny became close as Laoghaire would come over to sit wi’ Jenny. Well then Jenny and I got marrit and she had the bairn and then ye got captured. It all happened in the month or more we didna hear from ye. Jenny began to panic and nothing Laoghaire or I would say could calm her down. One day she was crying over how her brother was deid and ye’d never get to meet yer nephew and she’d never get to see ye again. And then, and I canna say why, she turned to Laoghaire and said “I was going to convince him to marry ye.” And then she kept prattling on.”

Claire and Jamie stared at Ian as he told his story, jaws dropping as it progressed. “What?” Jamie asked.

“Well so then we got a letter from ye while ye were healing telling us that ye were wounded but ye were alive and Jenny calmed right down,” Ian continued. “But I suppose she never called off that arranged marriage she accidentally set up. Perhaps she didna even ken that Laoghaire latched onto the idea as she did. I canna believe that the lass still believes ye’re to be marrit. The two of ye hardly ever speak.”

Jamie was about to reply when Claire giggled. Jamie and Ian both looked at her, though Ian looked more amused than Jamie. “Claire, it’s no’ funny.”

“It’s a little funny,” Claire defended. “Come on, she thinks she’s going to marry you and you don’t even talk to her.” She laughed harder as her meeting with the girl came back. “Dear God, that’s probably why she hugged me so tightly when she found out I was your nurse.” Claire honestly snorted as she laughed. It was the hardest she’d laughed in a long time. Even if it was wrong, it felt great. “I’m sorry, but that’s so sad.”

“Yes, sad. That’s the right word, Claire,” Ian agreed. “There’s certainly not another word for it.” It was obvious he was trying to protect Jenny even as she wasn’t there. “Anyway, dinner?”

“Yes, I’ll go start it,” Claire offered, starting for the kitchen.

“Actually, Ian, ye could handle it tonight. Could ye no’?” Jamie asked.

Ian narrowed his eyes at Jamie in confusion before he smiled and nodded. “Of course. I’ll have the lad help me.”

Claire turned back to Jamie, equally confused. They’d stopped trying to convince Claire not to cook. Since she’d arrived, she’d made most of the meals they all ate. “It’s nothing against yer cooking, I jus’ wanted a moment to talk to ye.” Claire nodded, stepping back toward him. “I wanted to apologize. For earlier, I mean.” Claire started to speak but he continued. “Please, let me say my piece first.”

She nodded for him. “I was wrong on every part of it. Ye were right, I should have waited for yer response before I just walked in. And I should have left right when I saw ye werena fully dressed. But more than that, I should have followed your cues and just dropped it. I am sorry, truly. Ye made it clear enough that ye didna want to speak of it.I dinna ken what I was trying to accomplish by continuing to talk about it. I was just horrified by the thought of it that I couldna let it go. But that’s no excuse for my behavior.”

Claire offered him a sad smile. “I never planned or thought I’d show anyone the physical damage done. It’s one thing to know that he hurt me but it’s another to see it. I didn’t want people to think of me as broken or as less because Frank hurt me.”

“I ken exactly what ye mean, Sassenach,” Jamie reminded her.

She nodded. “I know you do.”

“But to be clear, that wasna how I felt at all. I was angry with Frank for being able to treat ye in such a way,” Jamie explained. “But I never thought of ye as some defenseless creature. Ye patched up yer own wound when ye couldna do otherwise. Ye’re far from weak, Claire.”

“Thank you,” she whispered, her voice betraying her. “I’m sorry I mentioned your back.”

“Nah, I ken why ye did so. Dinna be sorry.” Claire nodded slightly, looking up at him. He still had a nervous look about him. “So are we good?”

Claire breathed out a laugh. “We were never really not good.” Jamie breathed a sigh of relief.

She opened her mouth to ask him something she knew she shouldn’t. Closing it, she turned toward the kitchen. “What is it?”

“Nothing. It’s not something I should ask.”

“Sassenach, ye can ask me anything,” Jamie insisted. “What is it?”

“Well you mentioned your back,” Claire began. “And I - I’ve just often wondered how it healed. Since you left, I mean.”

“Oh,” Jamie replied. “It’s fine. Doesna hurt anymore.”

She nodded, still feeling a bit timid. Taking a deep breath, she tried to draw enough courage. “Could - could I see it?”

“Ye want to see my back?” Jamie asked. She hated how well he controlled his face. There was no telling the thoughts running through his mind. “Sure,” he breathed. Jamie looked around the entryway. Ian and Young Jamie were both in the kitchen.

He started to pull up his shirt when Claire steered him to face the kitchen. Jamie looked back at her in confusion. “Well then even if one of them walks out of the kitchen, they still won’t see it,” she reasoned.

Jamie pulled his shirt back down and turned to look at her. “Thank ye, Sassenach. Truly.”

Claire smiled before he turned back around to face the hall. Slowly, he pulled his shirt up to reveal the massive web of scars that laid across his back. Claire instantly flashed back to the day he was brought into the camp, his back a mess of blood and torn tissue. She reached out a hand gently and touched the thickest scar. Jamie startled at her touch. “Sorry,” she said quickly.

“I was just surprised. Ye’re fine.”

She stood there for a long moment, taking in the way he’d healed. It was amazing to see the way his body had changed and improved since she’d last seen the damage done to him. She felt happy, knowing she’d gotten him the extra time to heal. Perhaps it had really made all the difference.

She patted his arm, letting him know he could put his shirt back on. “Thank you,” she said, walking around to face him. “I know that was an odd request.”

Jamie shrugged. “No’ that odd. Ye were likely the last one to see it anyway.”

“Really?” Claire asked. Jamie made an uncomfortable face. “They’ll look at you differently,” she recalled. “I remember.”

“Aye. I havena wanted to risk it,” Jamie added.

“I understand that,” Claire said, looking down at the floor.

“I didna,” he replied. She looked up in confusion. “I didna see ye any differently. I was mad at what happened to ye, but I do no’ see ye as any less than I’ve always seen ye, Claire. Just as ye always did wi’ me.”

Claire surprised Jamie, and herself, by throwing her arms around him and wrapping him in a hug. After a moment, he mimicked the gesture and held her to him. Standing there with him, Claire wondered how Jamie Fraser always helped her find such peace.

Next chapter

#Outlander #outlander fanfic #outlander fanfiction #my writing #in the eye of a hurricane

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fancifulwritings · 5 years

Text

The Song Remains The Same

Chapter Twelve

They stood in that silence for a moment. Minutes felt like they turned to hours, and then days. This sort of silence was all encompassing. Jimmy, the evil genius he was, had finally managed to do the impossible. What did you do with this? What were the repercussions down the road?

As far as Calypso, no one had ever come back to life, except for maybe Jesus, and certainly no one had ever de-aged. Did this count as desecration of corpse? Would they think that Bonzo had faked his death all those years ago? The other boys would be an even bigger problem. There was no way to explain this to people without telling them the whole truth. Therein laid the problem.

Perhaps now was not the best time to worry about this. Other issues had to be dealt with. Calypso was jumping ahead. Those were problems they could figure out in the months to come. That is, if she got to stay. It was still unclear. Robert might not want her to stay and she didn’t want to just assume she would be welcomed in.

“Well, shall you wake him or shall I?” Calypso asked in an attempt to break the silence. She held no intentions of waking John Bonham after a two-decade long nap.

Given his reputation, she was sure the idea of the situation wouldn’t be weird. An unknown woman waking him, granted this time in a graveyard. Calypso was sure the initial part must has happened time and time again in the past. But, again given his reputation, Calypso didn’t want to be that woman, didn’t want to risk it. A friendly face would be better.

John Paul would have to be that friendly face. No one else could be it. Calypso so wished that Robert would have come. He was the one that Bonzo was more likely to get in trouble with. This was a weird scenario. No, weird didn’t cover it. This was a downright bizarre place to be. Robert would make Bonzo question it a little less, at least for a bit. But, she understood why he had to stay back with Jimmy.

“I can,” John Paul chuckled. He must have heard the nerves in her voice. “As pretty of a face as you are, I think it’s best if I handle it. Someone he knows might be best,” he said with a smile. She was just glad she wouldn’t be causing the scene.

Jonesy’s eyes never seemed to leave Bonzo’s form. He walked over slowly, deliberately. He motioned for her to stay put and she just chuckled. Her last intention was to move. They would need a bit of space. She was sure of that. No need to crowd them around and rush into meeting Bonzo. It would be quite a moment.

It was a moment to remember forever. Seeing someone after a long time was always exciting. Seeing someone after an impossibly long time? These sort of reunions only happened in heaven. Calypso couldn’t imagine the joy in Jonesy’s heart. She could only touch it with daydreams of reuniting with her mother. Simply being involved overwhelmed her.

There was caution in the air, though. One wrong move and everything came crashing down around them. It was a sort of nightmare. Perhaps it was one that Jonesy had before. So close to waking his friend, saving him from the other side, only for him to disappear in the end.

Jonesy crouched down next to Bonzo, who’s back was to him, and he simply sat there for a moment. Did he ruin it yet?

His touch to Bonham’s shoulder was light. The mood shifted at once. This was all real. It was all real and none of it was going to melt away. “Hey Bonz,” Jonesy whispered. There was a familiar in John’s tone that touched Calypso’s heart. How long had he waited to say those words?

“Hey, John, you gotta get up. I need you to get up now,” he said. He nudged a bit more at the drummer’s shoulder. Clearly he was trying to rouse Bonham, but a second fear seemed to be gripping Jonesy.

John was physically in front of them, there was no arguing that. Jimmy’s magic had worked. It had repaired John’s body and restored it to how he looked in 1973. But what if that was it? Just a physical restoration and nothing past. The magic had been strong enough for this, but had it been strong enough to return his soul?

Bonzo’s eyes fluttered a little bit. That didn’t help Jonesy any, and the fear gripped him. Calypso thought for a second he might just slouch to the ground in defeat and despair. Bonzo shifted and turned toward Jonesy as his eyes opened.

“Yeah, yeah, sorry ‘bout that mate. Morning and shit,” he mumbled. He propped himself up with his right hand and wiped the sleep out of his eyes with the other.

The relief and joy on Jonesy’s face was clear and obvious. He had a grin painted ear to ear. For a second, it looked as if Jonesy might just grab Bonzo by the face and kiss him. Calypso prayed he didn’t.

“Didn’t mean to worry ya, just out like a…” He cut himself short and looked around, before flinging himself backwards. It was clear he was confused and trying to make space between himself and Jonesy.

Bonzo’s violent backward scoot stopped when he pressed himself against his grace. “Why the fuck do you look like nineteen seventy fucking two?” He demanded. He was frantically searching the area and clearly took in all the graves around him. He turned and looked at his own. From where Calypso stood, she assumed he could only make out his name and the day he died. That would be more than enough.

“A grave? A fucking grave? This shit isn’t funny Jones,” he screamed. It was a primal sort of rage she had never seen before. He attempted to stand up. To both Jonesy and Calypso, it was obvious his body was stiff. And for good reason, after all. Bonzo had no idea why, though.

“What a sick fucking joke. I don’t know how Robert got you in on this, but don’t deny it. I know that smile,” he said as he pointed a finger. “Where’s Percy? Where’s the wee lad? I’m gonna kick his fucking ass this time.”

“Hey John,” Jonesy said softly. Calypso was glad that John was the one handing this. It would have been too much for her to handle. Even as it was now, this was still too much. All she could hope was that she wouldn’t be noticed by Bonzo.

She didn’t look like Robert’s ex-wife, she knew that. She was a little tanner than the average white person, but nothing past that. She certainly wouldn’t be mistaken for a middle aged Indian woman. Thankfully, she seemed forgotten for the time.

“Hey, John,” Jonesy said softly. His hands were outstretched to help his friend up and to steady him. It was also not a bad point of control. Though, it wasn’t likely that the twig-like John stood a chance against the beasty John. “I need you to slow down, just listen to me, alright?” He kept his voice level and calm.

“Just tell me where the fuck Perce is and then we can deal with anything else later,” Bonzo demanded.

“There’s a lot we’ve got; I’ve got to tell you. There’s a lot,” he trailed off as he looked around.

Was there more fitting of a place than a graveyard to be having a mental breakdown? Calypso couldn’t think of one. The one Bonzo might be leading himself into though? That was something that needed to be dealt with privately. She knew this wasn’t the place, and Jonesy seemed to be thinking the same. Bonzo was having none of it, his friend’s words going in one ear and out the other.

“Just. Tell. Me. Where. Percy. Is.” Bonzo demanded. Calypso now understood why reporters hadn’t been allowed to look at him. “It can’t be that fucking hard, Jones.”

“John,” he said with a warning tone, “I’ll explain everything in the car. Hell, I plan on bringing you straight to Robert. It’s his bloody car we’re in. Just trust me,” he said.

There was a glimmer of fight in John. A waving that suggested he could go one of two ways. That fight was drowned out. By what, there was no way to know specifically. Something about Jonesy probably hit him, and Calypso understood now why Jonesy was the better choice than Robert. Would they both have just started fighting in the middle of the graveyard?

“Yeah, fine, as long as you know I’m kicking Robert’s ass the second I see him,” he said with a glare.

“Of course, whatever you want,” Jonesy said dismissively. He knew better than that. By the time they got back to Robert’s, Bonzo likely wouldn’t have any fight in him.

“Yeah, yeah. You’re not sneaking me off early to the tour, though, are ya? Pat was pissed the last time you did that,” Bonzo said.

“No, no tour this time Bonzo.”

“Well, then what the fuck was the point of rehearsals? Ain’t we got one in a month?” He asked. He turned to look at the grave. His eyes widened as he took in the details.

“Oh, well of course John. We’re just not sneaking you out early. No point in that.” Jonesy laughed nervously. “No games or anything or the like.”

Bonzo looked around again, locking eyes momentarily with Calypso. She held her breath, afraid he might say something about her. Would she refuel the fire? She was too afraid to blink for those few seconds, until he turned back to Jonesy, and then his gravestone.

Jonesy, naturally, noticed this. The last thing he wanted to do was give him the talk here. At least a car was a partially controlled situation. “C’mon John, we gotta get going. We’re bound to catch a cold out here,” he said. He gently tugged on Bonzo’s forearm. Bonzo moved with him. Fight, for now, seemed to have left his body.

Staring at one’s own grave easily silence a man, even if Bonzo believed it was a prank. Calypso felt like her brain had turned to soup. John was working on absolutely no knowledge of what was really going on. Waking up somewhere strange probably wasn’t weird. It came with the crowd. But this was a level of weird she doubted even Zeppelin could have touched back in the day.

Bonzo’s eyes scanned wildly as he and John walked. He needed to take everything in. He needed to find some sort of clue as to what was going on. As they walked by Calypso, Jonesy motioned for her to fall behind them.

“Who’s the lass following us?” Bonzo asked with a tilt of his head.

“A friend of Robert’s,” Jonesy answered softly.

“He’s keeping one in England now? He’s gotten daring, or he’s just fucking stupid. Especially finding one so quickly. She wasn’t with us last night, right?” Bonham continued. John Paul flinched.

“No, no she wasn’t with us last night. I’m not sure where he picked her up,” John Paul replied. She couldn’t imagine having to play it off like this. It was the best for now. Telling him that last night was over two decades ago might not be the best in the middle of a graveyard.

“And she’s with you? You never let them near you.”

“Yes, well, I suppose I’ve given up. Percy’s gonna do what he’s gonna do, I suppose,” John Paul said with a shrug. “Calypso, would you mind driving?” He asked her.

“I don’t mind at all,” she said with a smile. The idea of having to drive here unnerved her just a bit. She’d not been planning to. None of this was really anything she had been planning to do. Being stuck in the back of a car with John Bonham, freshly reanimated, wasn’t her idea of a fun day.

“I’ll tell you where to go its, just… best,” he said. He glanced at Bonham for a minute and she nodded. Thankfully, Bonham didn’t seem to notice. He was too focused on the car in front of them. He tossed her the car keys before she slipped into the driver’s seat.

“An American in London,” Bonzo chuckled. “He exporting them in too? You sure I’ve only been out in the graveyard a few hours?” He asked as he got in the car. Calypso was buckling herself as he spoke. Her stomach dropped. Without even knowing it, Bonzo had trapped Jonesy in the corner. His guts had to be spilled now, or somehow never.

They both slipped into the car, wordlessly. The uncomfort was obvious on Jonesy’s face. “John, actually, I think we need to talk,” he said softly. He never once glimpsed at Bonham.

“I’m only kidding, I know how long I’ve been out mate. I don’t have a drinking problem,” he said. There was a firmness in his voice. This was a conversation they had before, in the past. No doubt John Paul would try to get his friend to stop. John Paul, out of all of them, might have been the most levelheaded. He would have seen the writing on the wall.

“Actually, John, you did have a bit of a drinking problem.” Jonesy didn’t look at Bonzo when he talked. His eyes were starting to fill with tears. How do you tell someone about their own death? “Out of here, Calypso,” he said, his voice a bit more even. “You’re going to take the immediate right, and then go straight for quite some time,” he said.

Driving gave her something else to focus on, she realized. As much as she wanted to hear the conversation in the back, she knew that she couldn’t ease drop that much. The Johns would need a touch of privacy. She needed to make sure to stay on the left side of the road.

“We’ve gone through this Jones,” he said in a warning tone.

“No, John, there’s a few things you need to know before we get back to Robert’s.”

“What about Robert’s? We were at Jim’s last night, ain’t that where we’re supposed to be?” His tone was one still filled a bit with anger. More anger than Calypso felt totally comfortable with. Jonesy only seemed able to sigh.

“What’s today’s date, Bonz?”

“26th of September, unless I slept through more than a day.” Calypso couldn’t help the small chuckle that left her mouth.

“Oh, is it this right John?” She said, trying to play off her laugh. It was likely to only make Bonzo angrier.

“Yes, it is. This right and then there’s gonna be a left not long after, take that,” he answered before turning back to face his friend. “What year is it John?” There was a strain in his voice. He likely thought that this would be easier to do. Perhaps, in some odd way, John had hoped Bonzo would remember being dead, or at least not here.

“1980, like it has been all year, you twat,” Bonzo said with a roll of his eyes.

“Calypso, dear, would you mind telling me the year?” John asked without looking up to her.

“2007,” she mumbled gently. She didn’t want to be involved in this. It was the last thing she wanted to be dragged into. “December 12th, exactly if you want that too,” she said. She hoped this would absolve her from doing anything else.

“Very fucking funny,” John answer angrily. “She’s Robert’s girl, you can’t expect me to believe her, can you?” John talked with his hands. The movements seemed to get a bit jerkier and jerkier with every movement. Was this fear? Or was this him trying to restrain anger?

“Calypso, do you mind sharing your birthday? I know it’s not proper to ask a lady…”

“April 20th, 1986,” she said. Apparently there was no getting her out of this trap. Jonesy was going to drag her down the deep end with him. “This left, yes?”

“No, no, the next one. My apologies,” he said. “After that, you’ll just want to follow the road.”

“This isn’t a funny sort of joke, Jonesy. I don’t know what Robert set you up to do, but cut it out. Think you’re clever to get the girl in on it?” He rolled his eyes, glancing out the window. There was a pause for a moment.

“John Henry Bonham,” he said with a sigh, “you need to listen to me. You died, you died that night in 80. You choked to death on your own damn vomit.” Anger rose for the first time in John Paul.

Calypso couldn’t blame Jonesy. He had years and years of pent up emotions about Bonzo. They likely ranged anywhere from just pure sorrow to homicidal rage. With the man in front of him, how could Jonesy keep it together? How couldn’t he get mad at his friend who destroyed himself?

“If you don’t want to believe me, we can pull over and ask any damn person you want to. I don’t suggest that, but if you want it, by all means,” Jonesy said while shrugging. Calypso felt her stomach knot. The last thing she wanted to do was pull over in a car with two rock stars straight out the seventies.

“Because you don’t want to get caught in a lie.”

“No, because me and the other guys just had a gig last night, and those pictures are probably already everywhere, with pictures of us from back in the day. They might just recognize us now, and you’re not alive legally,” he said with a sigh.

“They won’t be in the press anytime soon. For that to happen, they’d have to go through Peter, and then the press still wouldn’t get them until tonight,” he said. It was clear that he didn’t want to believe this. Could she blame him? It was a line of thought that just didn’t seem possible.

“Grant can’t stop anything, Bonz. Peter Grant died in-“

“-1995,” John Paul and Calypso said together. She was already in the situation, and perhaps if they both knew that fact, he might just believe them. This back and forth would kill her. They just needed to get it over with.

There was a pause. An uncomfortable silence filled the car. Calypso would have fiddled with the radio to break the silence, but she didn’t know how to. Didn’t dare play around with things in Robert’s car. As it was, she had enough to focus on.

“Lass, what year did you say you were born in again?” Bonzo asked after a moment.

“86,” she said softly, “It’s this turn, right John?” She asked.

“Yes, this one. And then just keep going, I’ll tell you when the next turn gets close,” he said with a smile. From there, a silence once again filled the car. This one wasn’t uncomfortable, this one was heavy.

Peering into the review mirror, Calypso got a glimpse of Bonzo’s face. It looked concerned, angry, but mostly just extremely sad. It had to be a lot to take in at once for him. It seemed that perhaps now Bonzo was soaking in what was being told to him. Calypso let out a sigh of relief. John Paul looked just as relieved.

“So, this wasn’t some sort of elaborate joke put on by Perce? You swear?”

“I swear, Bonzo. You know I never side with him anyways,” he said. There was a sideways sort of smile on his face. “But, no Bonz, you’ve really been dead,” he said.

“That doesn’t explain all this, though. Doesn’t explain like we’re about to go record the third bloody album again,” he said. John hadn’t managed to see himself yet. Having seen John, he was a bit too scared to see what he looked like.

“John, I’m afraid straight isn’t an option anymore. Left or right?” Calypso asked gently. She hated to burst in. There was no other option, though. They needed to get home as fast as possible.

“My apologies, it’s the right,” he said. “After this, it really is going to be a straight away,” he said with a smile. “And Jimmy’s your explanation for all this, John. When isn’t he?” John Paul said with a smirk.

“He worked some sort of magic back in 73, after the filming to keep us there forever or something. Ask him when we get back,” he said with a shrug. He glanced at Calypso for a second. She prayed she didn’t mention anything about her right now. She couldn’t read John.

If John was angry about this, upset about it, then surely he would end up taking it out on her. She still blamed herself. At the end of the day, she was the magic switch that had set everything off. Jimmy set it up, but she was the first falling domino.

Bonham looked at her for a moment. She could feel his eyes on her. His mind was whirling, no doubt. Calypso just feared what he might be thinking. “Why now? What’s changed? Is it the lass?” He asked, cocking his head toward her for a second.

“Yeah, she and Robert are in love or something like that, something stupid,” he chuckled.

“And how’s his Mo feel about this?”

“They’ve been divorced forever, God probably since the 80s?” He said with a shrug. “It’s what they feel, I guess. And what Jimmy felt like doing,” he said.

“That little fucking,” Bonham mumbled. “I’m gonna throttle Jimmy when I see him.” There was no way of saying how genuine that was. Sure, it seemed like a mild inconvenience to everyone else. But Bonzo? Did he really have a leg to stand on when it came to being mad with Jimmy? Didn’t he have the most to gain from this?

“Hey, John, this looks familiar. Is it this right?” She asked softly.

“Yes, it is. This should be Robert’s house now, if I’ve remembered the right way.” He sighed before turning to face Bonzo yet again. “And if you could just calm down. It’s a long story, I’m sure he’ll be happy to give it you once we get back in,” Jonesy said.

“And your Mo, how’s she feel about this?”

“She’s just as young as us, I thought I woke up in a dream,” he said with a smile. He paused for a minute, clearly relieving it. To wake up not only young again, but to wake up to your loved one young as well? It seemed to be a fairytale come true.

Calypso drove slowly up the driveway, not remembering it being this long. As she glanced in the back, she couldn’t help but smile. It was written all over John Paul’s face how much he loved his face. To be so in love after forty something years of marriage? Calypso could only hope the same for herself.

“So my Pat?” Bonham’s voice was filled with hope. Perhaps for the first time since they had picked him up, he sounded something positive. Her heart broke when she knew what had to be said next.

“We haven’t heard from her,” John Paul paused. The hope and sheer love in Bonham’s eyes disappeared, fear and sadness replacing them. If Peter Grant could be dead, what of his Pat? “So we can’t know for sure. Jimmy has her contact information, though. So he might have a better answer for you,” he tacked on quickly.

“Do you mind if run on in head first, just to let them know we’re here and all?” She was sure that Robert had noticed the car. If she was them, she’d be sitting right by the window. Half the reason she had been happy to go was that she wouldn’t have to wait for the answer.

#the song remains the same #robert plant fanfiction #robert plant fanfic #led zeppelin fanfic #led zeppelin fanfiction

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lady-o-ren · 5 years

Text

The Witch and the Red Man

Chapter One / Chapter Two / Chapter Three / Chapter Four

Chapter Five

The air within the oakwood chamber was damp, cool and richly lush with the fresh, clean, fragrance of wild mint and lavender that overlapped the twisted bark above as the knotted walls bellowed like the rise and fall of a creatures ribs moaning hauntingly so.

Nevertheless, the creeping night had been a gift of peace for Claire, who laid enveloped in the healing depths of slumber of which she had been without for so long. Where anguish momentarily lifted from her heart steadying it to a calming rhythm, spreading warmth in a glowing blue of harmony that mended not only her bruises and scrapes but also the painful strain of another's cursed psyche that had been consuming her mind, tainting her blood.

And it was that link so quiet as not to stir her from the sanctity and unbothered bliss of a dreamless sleep that had Claire waking with a sense of unease, questioning if the damned red man had absconded stupidly into the night.

Throwing off the muslin sheets where she was bared to her stippled moonlit skin, Claire dressed hastily in clothes unfamiliar but wonderfully clean, even as the thundercloud of her own accursed curls and low-hanging ivy slithering as snakes, blinded her in the rush.

Out the room where she crushed soft pennytops springing through the crackled stone floors, past the clustering white hemlock still curling wildly with infatuation that she slapped away, Claire was met with the oddest of sights that had her palming her eyes.

There sat Jamie, hunched forward on his elbows over the clawed table that was dotted with piles of acorns and pebbles, across the raven known as Boromir and glowering like an adolescent over what seemed like a simple game of draughts.

"You wee fowl of a cheat," Jamie grumbled, causing the accused to ruffle feathers so black they lustered blue and glinted green, while throatily voicing a declaration of his innocence which was simply that of an offended caw.

"Dinna give me any of yer beak, beag suid,or I'll have yer feathers plucked 'till yer fleshed pink." Jamie then continued to argue with Boromir, who practically molting from his rapid flapping, which is when Claire interceded with a clearing of her throat.

Loudly so. Then another. Causing Jamie to flinch from ruddy brow to cornered lip in mid verbal assault, keeping his back decidedly turned knowing he'd find a mocking grin pinching her cheeks.

"What exactly am I interrupting here may I ask? Other than the obvious threat of a full grown man towards an innocent bird."

"Innocent?" He grunted, narrowing his eyes at the percieved guilty. "This bastard was the most decent thing I've met in years, apart from a hare roasted over fire - that is until he defiled our friendship with dirty underhanded play." The accusation was emphasized with a hard pointed finger to the tabletop.

Hand on her hip, "How?"

"I dinna ken, but his mistress is a dark one and I shouldna see why a soul eater as he canna be as well."

"Or just possibly his thumb sized intelligence is greater than yours."

Claire was met with a sideways glare meant to melt her spine down to it's marrow yet, it only prompted a fervent press of her hand to the delightfully spasming muscles of her belly. The first she had felt since her days with Raymond.

"This genius here as ye so believe tried to swallow an acorn whole. Had to pinch his throat for him to caw another day." Boromir denied such a humiliating mishap by chancing a pecking at the broad back of Jamie's hand that he in turn waved in a warning smack to his beak.

"So you're telling me you've lost to a bird that you yourself have given a lowly opinion of intelligence to. No offense to you Boromir," Claire was quick to add, looking over Jamie's burning thatch curling as his annoyance peaked. "I think you're the one with sense."

Jamie then muttered underbreath a garble of something surely belittling in gàidhlig towards her, which was a grand deal better than him directly saying so in words she could understand. And before he changed his mind on that, Claire decided (with sharp insistence of her stomach) she needed sustenance better than a laugh, no matter the small flickering warmth it brought her.

She sought the great iron pot gently steaming and spouting a bubbly croon over the black sooted hearth and stirred it's contents (what looked to be a delicious concoction of bobbling mushrooms, potatoes and other bountiful delights, spiced strongly with cloves of garlic and herbs that crossed enticingly under her nose), wondering where Geillis could be and for that matter the time of day it was. The light that sneaked through the crevices of the saplings glowed rather darkly like the haggard setting of the day and those hours lost ticked away in Claire's mind.

"Is it sundown already?" She asked with a furrowed brow to Jamie, who had been pawing at Boromir's loot of acorns before getting nicked by his beak.

"Aye," Jamie mumbled roughly past his lips where the injured finger was being nursed. "Of what day I canna say. One - two may have past that I've noticed. I suspect something in the water, even the air that's made a blur of it all and it must be something mighty to do us both in. Especially me."

"What makes you think so?"

Jamie's finger glistened with a small drop of blood near black that he smeared against thumb and forefinger before speaking again.

"I woke somewhere between the last we spoke to now, my mouth thirsting. I looked to that pitcher there beside ye as our fine feathered lad here deemed it well enough to drink. Next I knew I was on my face pooled wet in senseless dreams with Boromir pecking at my heid, clawing at my cheek."

Abuse Jamie welcomed as the dreams were nightmares echoing the past that threatened to choke him as the hangman's noose. The pool that drenched him his sweat from a brewing fever of fright with the black bird trying desperately to rouse him from his minds relentless torment. Jamie reluctantly lowered his head in gratitude to Boromir whose guarded stance relaxed to that of a dove.

"I dinna trust the water and that extends to the food. Been eating acorns and black currants from the vine that grows above us since noontide and no misfortune has befallen me yet."

While Claire knew Geillis had a perverse penchant for playing tricks, it wouldn't explain her own sedation as she was immune to all earthly poison. Pondering possibilities she deduced the most obvious.

"While I can't say Geillis isn't capable of doing such a thing, I think it was simply our bodies meeting their limits. Exhaustion overtaking us." Claire reasoned, spooning soup to two bowls crudely shaped from black walnut that sat purposefully aside for her and Jamie (Had Geillis been back since she left them that night?). She placed one in front of him that he wrinkled his nose to, then took her seat at Boromir's end who was ever the gentleman and shuffled aside.

"Even if I were inclined to believe ye, I'm no' touchin' food made from that woman’s baneful hand." Jamie shoved the bowl away, broth dripping down the rim as he reached instead for a large handful of acorns to gorge on without the squawking scorn.

"If we are ever to leave this place and never see one another again - which you've made quite clear is your desire as is mine, you will need your strength, Jamie. The faster you eat the better for us both."

Jamie fixed a single unblinking stare to Claire as he popped the acorns to his mouth, one after the other. Each louder than the last in stubborn emphasis.

"You child." Rolling her eyes, Claire left him to his chosen meal fit for bushy-tailed vermin and tucked in to hers. Lapping up a veggie stacked spoonful that swam hot across her tongue, a peculiar expression fell upon her face that had Jamie's brows pitched high.

"Poison." The word was spoken with an odd tone of smug validation.

"Pepper." Claire retorted flatly, with the heat of it catching in her throat. "Quite a lot too. Still, I'd wager it's a grand deal better than what you're having."

While Claire continued to eat, the steamy aroma relentlessly teased Jamie's fortitude that crumbled with every writhing lurch of his stomach, groaning so like a feral shriek it startled even himself.

Uttering, "Shit," Jamie grabbed for the spoon, provoking a smile that warmed Claire better than the soup. The heat of it spreading to her cheeks when her glowing amusement was mistaken for gloating and was met with a firm press of his boot over the tip of hers, 'Dinna say a word.'

She didn't.

Instead the whizzing and crackling fire did the talking with the nervous rustling of summers last verdant creation sneering back. Boromir's gurgling kraa filled the gaps between as he joined the feast at Jamie's urging. Bickering forgotten, forgiveness granted.

Time would have passed pleasantly, the silence preferable over a chancing of another snide remark taken farther then a jest, more cruel than a bite, if not for the entrance from the brisk outside of one who could see to the center of a man if evil be found there and relished in it so.

"Keep on wi' yer daggers stag and I'll tear yer eyes to crush beneath my shoon." Her white teeth gleaming in the dusky light, Geillis chuckled darkly at Jamie until Boromir shrieked in his defense, fingers tensing at the clasps of her cloak.

"Bleeding devil's, yer getting a mouth on ye. And the state of ye," she clicked her tongue sharply as she chucked her cloak to hang on the roots protruding from the walls. "Mussed as a drowned rat."

Despite his less than kind proclamations earlier, Jamie gently stroked his knuckle to Boromir's feathered back, softly speaking most sincere. "Ye've a most handsome feather about ye, lad. Dinna mind yer Mistresses foul withered tongue."

Defiant eyed, Jamie shrugged his shoulders dismissively as Claire hushed him, fingers curling in her lap as if to strike the words from his mouth but little too late.

Her unnatural feral eyes became entirely devoid of white, but upon hearing the hitch in Claire's throat pleading gaze, Geillis sighed and curled her lovely mouth so wide that it sent a chill through the three.

"Och, sweet on each other are ye now?" Her voice sopping with mockery. "Beware my kinsman, the glutton will shit on ye when his gullet is filled to the brim. Vomits when he dips his pecker in the drink too. But at the very least he swallows his own sick."

Amused with herself, Geillis walked to the hearth and raised her chilled palms to the fire, kindling bright as the flame. Her blonde lashes flicked nearly flittering closed when Claire asked where she had been.

"The sleep steal yer memories as well, mo calman geal? I shouldna be surprised what wi' the both of ye still-bodied as death when I shuffled about these days past." Her mossy eyes crinkled at the corners. "And ye ungrateful pair are welcomed for the clothes and food."

"You have our gratitude, Geillie. Immensely ," Claire's voice rose in appeasement, looking over her shoulder to Jamie who stared just as hard back. Geillis however hummed in appreciation.

"I've been asking around the wood to find ye both passage past where my name willna help ye. I conversed at great length wi' every spirit I have favor wi'. Exhausted me so." Her face flushed unabashed to the roots of her hair, giggling like a youth.

"But it was mo Aloisia, who held the way." She said fondly. "A nymph from the very waters of Iona, practically drowned me to do so. Had watercress in the crack of my arse."

Before she could detail any further where reeds and lily pads had caressed her, Claire hurriedly interrupted her. "So it's by the river we journey?"

"Aye, a wee boat long abandoned is drifting our way now to quickly set ye to Le Havre before the butcher can find ye. And he is searching mo leannan, the trees whisper it. Water is the answer."

"What do you think, Jamie?" Claire turned to Jamie who had been silent through it all to find his hands clapped to his face where he had gone green as the briny sea.

"Jamie?"

"Damn all ye soulless woman." He wretchedly groaned looking to retch right on the spot.

___

A/N: Thank you to all who continue to read this story.

#outlander #outlander fanfiction #outlander fanfic #jamie x claire #weird stuff #weird writing #wrm

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stormypaint · 5 years

Text

welcome to the sanders sides christmix au

also known as the “AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAu”

because i don’t even know what’s going on anymore

SUGGESTIONS AND IDEAS ARE SO FUCKING WELCOME

I MIGHT MAKE AN OFFICIAL BLOG FOR IT

okay so it’s just one really big mix of different christmas stories and trying to use as many possible characters.

we have

-(What Was Once) A Christmas Carol (one of the messiest right now)

(please note i’ve never actually read or watched a christmas carol. i know Overly Sarcastic Production’s sort of “in a nutshell” video on it, and then the my little pony a hearth’s warming carol episode because it was a good show don’t @ me)

I don’t know who Scrooge is yet. I’m thinking Logan or Deceit.

The Ghost of Christmas Past was originally Patton (Past-ton), then it was Virgil, then it was both (one looks back on the good, the other on the bad) but as of now it’s the King, because he’s from the past, and he can also look back on the good (roman) and the bad (remus). He’s a very very weird ghost, because he’s fighting himself.

Why?

Because all three ghosts are the same person, the King.

He splits apart, and Roman is the Ghost of Christmas Present, now. He, Remus, and whoever Scrooge ends up being look at the present - patton, dee/logan’s assistant, having a gay ol christmas as he celebrates it with the rest of the town while dee/logan is holed up at home

remus and roman aren’t getting along and dee/logan just want to go back home by now

then we have Remus’ time to shine, as the foreboding ghost of christmas yet to come, talking about how dee/logan won’t be remembered or loved if he goes on how he’s been going. i feel like dee would care more about if people hated him than logan would, but logan would NOT want to be forgotten.

anyway so logan/dee promises to turn it around and king reunites and vanishes. logan/dee celebrates christmas with patton and the townspeople.

and then some weird little reindeer and an elf wander into town.

Picani, as Hermy. picani doesn’t wanna make toys, he wants to be a therapist.

i don’t know who’ll be rudolph. I’m leaning towards Andy, aka Sanders Shorts Anxiety

i dont know what happens next.

i do know that whoever is NOT chosen as scrooge will be the grinch (so like if i choose logan to be scrooge, deceit will be the grinch), with (again) patton as cindy lou. patton is just helping all the troubled christmas-haters, isn’t he?

-klaus

klaus will be included because i love it - Joan as Jesper, Talyn as Alva, and Thomas as a younger, more bubbly Klaus. with this one, it’s set current-time, and is a mix between the santa clause and klaus. santa’s dead and joan has to find a new alternative to him, and runs across some smiley gay who makes toys for kids in his town, and decides “yeah here’s our new santa”

and then patton is actually more important than happy little christmas guy

-the polar express

that’s right, when wee patty boy was a young lad, he rode the polar express.

NOW

we have a few other movies and a bunch more characters to use and i’m getting tired of writing

we still haven’t touched on virgil, remy, any other sanders shorts characters except Andy, and a lot of thomas’ friends.

i also wanna include (although it is a halloween movie) The Nightmare Before Christmas, and maybe a few other ones such as Elf.

SO PLEASE EXPAND ON THIS IF YOU WANT TO!

MERRY CRMISISSDBFDASINFHMJYU,GFCB.N,KPL.-

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yourmajestyhasarrivedpeasant · 5 years

Text

COLD - PROLOGUE: Welcome back old man!

SYNOPSIS: England had always been the black sheep of Europe. He was seen as the cranky, grumpy man whose one foot was always in America. He is bad at cooking, he has got magical friends that no one else sees, he has got a weird relationship with his brothers, his eyebrows are bushy as can be. That is the Arthur Kirkland everyone knows. But despite all his tsundere behaviour, certainly, England is not cold.

This is an England centred fanfiction written by YourMajestyArrived. There will be some ships and other controversial topics that may occur in this fanfiction. It is advised that you heed the mature rating. The main ship will be AsaKiku. There will be past and present one-sided SpUk, past FrUk, brotherly UsUk, GerIta and PruMano.

You can also read this on wattpad, https://www.wattpad.com/story/189683577-cold-a-hetalia-fanfiction.

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America was at England's house, for a very specific reason at that. He sighed, an unusually serious expression on his face. He really couldn't help but feel bad about the situation, sure, it wasn't his fault but then again he was the hero. He was supposed to keep the ones close to him safe. No matter how grumpy England can be at times, America still cared for the old man a ton. That was no secret. After all, he was raised by England no less.

Next to him was Canada and France. Since they were all so close to England, they had come as soon as they heard that the war was over to check up on England. New Zealand, Australia and Hong Kong were supposed to come as well and now they were waiting for them. America was indeed impatient and didn't like the fact that they would have to wait for them but Scotland's rules...

Scotland didn't like the "American Brat" at all ever since the revolution, that was no secret and he was probably only telling them to wait because America was here. America knew this fact and couldn't help but glare at the table. England and he had already pushed past those issues! England had even renovated that weird-sounding bell even though he didn't ask for it once. He got a bit sick on his birthdays but he still tried to at least call. Why did everyone think England would be so stupid as to hold a grudge for centuries? That wasn't England at all! Yeah, he got drunk at times because of memories, but who could blame the old man? America certainly didn't. There were times that it got too overwhelming for America himself too.

Seeing as his glare might as well as just go through the table, France decided that the poor wooden table didn't deserve the young superpower's anger. "America, mon ami, please leave the table alone," he told the young nation.

America pouted, "I just don't understand why we have to wait here and can't just see Iggy."

France sighed, "America, you see, Angleterre's brothers and he always had a pretty shaky relationship. But they still care... in their own, um, unique way for Angleterre. And I have known Scotland for a very long time, he is just trying to care for his little brother." It was true. England and his brothers fought like dogs and cats. But they still cared, at least enough to not murder one another. Because if they didn't care, there would be blood on their hands long ago.

But his brothers were too prideful, just like England. They'd never admit how much they actually cared. It was the UK brothers general attitude. Prideful, sometimes too much for their own good.

"I know, I just don't get why Scotland hates me so much for the revolution. I mean, I and England had resolved those issues decades ago! Why does it still bother him?" America said, a tint of annoyance seen.

"Don't ask me, mon ami, you should resolve your issues with Scotland yourself by speaking," France said Scotland could be like that at times, speaking from personal experience. After their divorce with England, they didn't really get along for a while either. But then again, Angleterre and he never got along. So, Scotland didn't make a huge deal out of it. But America was England's most precious person, his heart shattered into a million pieces when the boy left him and it took decades to piece it back together. Of course, Scotland would be annoyed by him. But he wasn't the person that should say all this to America. He had to face it head-on and speak like a man with Scotland.

Just as America was about to whine a bit more, the doorbell rang, messaging the other colonies' arrival.

Soon enough, Hong Kong, New Zealand and Australia were inside too. "Where is ma?" Australia asked, unlike the American nation's unusually serious attitude, his was only cheerful. America was distressed and not like his usual self, Australia was still cheery yet a lot more hyperactive and excited. He really was worried when the news that a civil war had occurred in England came over to him. But he was fine and he Australia really wanted to see England just like New Zealand.

India and Japan originally wanted to come as well but it was already too crowded. So, they reluctantly let others go first. They'd be seeing England later on.

"We are waiting for Uncle Scotland to get down, then we can go," Canada spoke politely as always.

Just as he finished, a familiar redhead started to make his way down. "Are you all here lads?" he asked his eyes going over everyone.

"Yes! Can we now finally go see Iggy?" America's sudden outburst made Canada jump.

"Yeah sure, just don't tire wee Albion out, okay lads?" Scotland said, unusually he was not smoking. France thought it was because England was already sick and was just recovering. Scotland didn't show his love towards his little brother openly. He did small disclosed things like this, most of the time, only England himself noticed these. France would catch a glimpse of England secretly smiling at his older brother, yet never saying anything. The Kirkland's were truly weird.

"Follow me-" Scotland began but was shortly cut off rudely by the young American nation.

"We all had been to this house thousands of times! Of course, we all know where England's room is. This house has changed very little. I am sure everyone can navigate around." America snapped at Scotland who sighed in annoyance.

"Bloody hell," Scotland said but didn't engage in a further fight. He was too tired for this bullcrap. He just motioned them to come as he started going up the stairs.

They all got up to go upstairs but before America could go Canada put a hand on his brother's shoulder, "America, don't be so harsh on uncle Scotland, I know he does not show it as much, but he took the hardest fall out of all of us." Canada wanted to soothe his brother because he knew about his worries.

America did not take this well though, he was on the edge for months. How could Canada even imply that America did not care as much as Scotland did? Did Canada forget about all those times that they saw England have nightmares about that one time in the lake, where he almost drowned, because of Scotland? There were also many other things that his brothers did to England that were just outright horrible! America couldn't understand his twin brother Canada and simply growled, walking towards the stairs and going after Scotland hastily.

Canada sighed, his brother could be quite immature at times, combined with this situation plus the emotions he had been keeping in overflowing, America seemed to be like a time bomb ticking and ready to blow up any moment. Canada did not know how he could manage this situation, how he could comfort America. In the end, he decided that at the moment, England was the only one who could calm America down. But it was always like this, England was the one who valued America the most, he was the one who cared for America the most and he was the one that knew America the best. Though England was truly the one that needed help, knowing England and his soft spot for America, he would throw his own issues away and hold America close just like when he did when they were kids.

While on the other hand, Australia just glared behind America's back while New Zealand just tried to soothe the other. New Zealand knew that Australia was just too angry at America for many things. Australia thought that America was selfish. In such a situation that England was the one that needed support most, he just thought about himself and how he can get the most attention possible! They were all worried for England, even Hong Kong's normally calm demeanour has changed drastically.

New Zealand knew that this situation was only making things worse. Australia was always jealous of America because Australia thought that England loved America more than them. England always tried his best to stay by America, what did he get in return? A knife in the back. Of course, England forgave America for he was too good for the idiot, but that only made Australia angrier.

France just thought the children were a bit too young to fully register these things, they were getting too distracted by their own emotions. Not like it was a bad thing, but relationships between people don't work like that. You have to consider both your feelings and the feelings of the other. But France trusted that the kids would soon understand this anyways.

Though the tension was apparent in air, no one hesitated to follow behind American and Scotland. Looking around the house, Hong Kong thought about how little has changed since he has been here the last time, nothing has changed and nothing was thrown away. England sure was one to keep precious memories.

As they were walking, it seemed like America's pace quickened with every turn of the hallway until any of them could register what was happening, America was literally running towards England's room. Scotland and France wanted to shout after him, but he was ignored. Australia clenched his fists, growling in anger as he ran behind the blond American soon after.

"What will I do with him..." Canada whispered to himself, sighing as he held Kumajirou close to him, hugging the polar bear to comfort himself a bit.

The bear looked at Canada, "Why is America running away from us, whoever you are?"

That did not help poor Canada at all.

Meanwhile, America ran in the hallways of the big mansion, feeling memories flood back to the time that he and the other colonies used to play tag with England in this place. Bottling up his worry and sorrow did not help the poor American at all and now that he was so close to the door, he felt tears slowly prick at the corners of his eyes. The bottled up emotions were slowly spilling out.

He held the tears back, he did not want to burden England with his crying. He was the hero after all! England was the one that required their support now, he should not do this to England. He wiped his tears off with his sleeves as he took Texas off.

He took a deep breath, slowly pushing the wooden door as it creaked open. The door was still the same. But then again, many things in England's house seemed to be the same.

There, America saw a wooden bed with white sheets. The window was open, letting in a refreshing breeze. The air was smelling like dirt after rain, it was calming. The room wasn't messy- it was quite clean thanks to Scotland. Not a spot was missed!

On the bed, America caught the sight of a familiar blond with emerald green eyes, slightly smiling at him. "America?" England asked. America noticed that he had missed England's voice and felt dazzled, it was almost as if America had forgotten the thick British accent of the other.

"England!" America stared at the other for a few seconds, not knowing what to do. He did miss England and wanted to see him desperately, but he didn't know what to expect when he saw him again or what to do.

In the end, America decided to crush his own pride just this once. He felt tears that he had been holding back for so long spill, just like when he was a small kid. He dashed towards England, hugging the other tightly as he buried his head in his shoulder, crying.

"Welcome back, old man!" America said, forcing a silly smile through his tears before he rubbed his tears with his sleeve. "Don't ever do something like this again, please. We were all so worried about you."

"Thank you, America," England said, deciding to ignore the 'old man' comment just this once upon seeing how emotional the other is. But this was how America was, he wanted to be strong, to be the hero and bottled up his emotions too much before he explodes. He needed someone to soothe him at times like this. "Are you in puber-tea, crying like an emotional little boy America?"

"England, stop that!" America whined a little, getting his head up and looking at England in the eye. That was when America noticed that England's body was cold like ice, "England, you are so cold!" America commented in surprise. He then flashed a grin, wiping his tears to his sleeves, "Don't worry old man, I will close the window for you!"

"Thank you, Mr Hero," England said before some other nations burst into the room.

He should have raised them with better manners.

After much crying, laughing, yelling and showing affection it seemed that everyone calmed and was happier. It was obvious that everyone has missed England in the meanwhile that he was gone, even big brother France. Then again, they were friends, lovers and enemies once upon a time. We could never suggest it was only pure hatred these two shared.

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bee-kathony · 6 years

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FOUR YEARS - YEAR TWO | “August 18th, 2015″

August 18th, 2015

I thought that the honeymoon phase would last longer than it did.

Jamie and I had only been married a little more than two months, it’d been a year since I was tumor free and I was looking forward to going back to work twice a week next month.

If only we hadn’t gone out to lunch to celebrate my tumor free brain. If only… if only…

++++++

“What do you want to eat, Sassenach? Yer choice,” Jamie smiled as we walked out to the car. It was a beautiful day, and the first time this month that Jamie had spare time away from work to celebrate my diagnosis of being tumor free.

“Hmmm, how about that little place on Home Street? With the really good pancakes!” Licking my lips in anticipation, I got in the passenger seat.

“The cafe that ye stuffed yer face at?” Jamie laughed, starting the car and headed in the direction of Cafe Class.

“I did not stuff my face!” I gasped, eyes wide. “The blueberry syrup was delicious yes, but I did not stuff my face, I ate them in a graceful way.” Jamie laughed, his eyes crinkling like they always did when he was really happy.

“I’m so happy, Sassenach… to be here wi’ ye,” he said a moment later, his left hand sliding over my knee. I brushed my finger over his ring, feeling the cool metal against my skin, blushing when I remembered our recent nuptials.

“I’m very happy too, Jamie.” I placed a kiss on the back of his hand and his lips curved softly. I would never tire of seeing him smile.

We got to the cafe and thankfully it wasn't busy, so we took the table nearest the window, looking out at the street. People watching was one of my favorite things to do — imagining their lives, the little details that make up a person. I was doing just this while I waited for our pancakes to arrive — Jamie had stepped outside to take a work phone call, mouthing “sorry” as he walked out the door.

I was looking at a woman coming down the street, noticing how cute her jacket and shoes were, wondering where she got them from, when she stopped suddenly in front of Jamie. She pulled her sunglasses off, resting them on top of her head, short curly hair much like mine. My heart squeezed as Jamie saw her, muttered something into his phone, hung up and gave her a hug. A familiar, yet tense hug.

My eyes were focused on them, unable to tear away my gaze until Jamie turned towards the window, pointing at me and I blushed, trying to make it look like I hadn’t just been gawking. Then my palms started to sweat as they both came through the door of the cafe — Jamie, kind as ever, holding the door open for her.

I stayed seated, legs crossed, my left hand with my wedding ring resting on the top of the table. Jamie looked at me, his eyes wide and his ears pink. Christ… who was this woman to him?

I didn’t have to wait long to find out.

“Hi, I’m Gia.” She stuck her small hand out and I shook it. My eyes shifted from her face to Jamie’s and I saw him shrug, as if his shirt were too tight. “You’re Claire, right?”

“Yes,” I found my voice. “Jamie’s wife.” I thought I saw her flinch slightly at the word ‘wife’ but I could have been making things up.

“Aye, Claire and I just got married in June!” Jamie chimed in. About time lad.

Gia smiled, resting her hand on the back of Jamie’s arm, “Oh that’s great! Congratulations you two.” I wanted to yank her hand off of my husband’s arm, but I also didn’t want to cause a scene. The next words out of her mouth caught me so off guard, I knew if I had been standing, I would have fainted.

“Hope your wedding went a lot better than ours did!” Gia laughed awkwardly, looking up at Jamie, but his eyes were fixed on me… gauging my reaction.

I sat still, vision blurring, and in that moment, I heard my heart break. It was a small, clean sound, like the snapping of a flower's stem.

“It went just fine, thank you,” I replied shortly, crossed my arms over my chest, and bit the inside of my cheek to stop the tears that would inevitably come. Jamie was married before? To this woman?

A million thoughts raced through my head, and I was too busy staring at my fingers in my lap to notice that Gia had left and Jamie was now standing in front of me.

“Sassenach… we need to talk.”

“Fuck you,” I said quietly for the sake of the people around us and stood up, brushing past him and nearly ran out the door, in a hurry to escape the nightmare that had become my life.

++++++

Jamie found me sometime later, sitting on the same park bench that we had shared our first kiss at. Why had I bloody come here of all places?

Tears threatened to spill down my cheeks when I saw the tips of his shoes approach. He stood there, waiting for me to say something, but I didn’t have any words for him — no words at least, that would do any good.

“Claire,” he took a step forward, his hand reaching under my chin, but I pushed it away, my stomach in knots at the feeling of his skin on mine. Only two months ago, we had promised to love one another, to not keep secrets, and to not tell lies.

This was a secret I didn’t understand and I wasn’t sure I would ever be able to get over.

“Claire, please,” his voice wavered and I finally looked up to see his eyes red, full of tears of his own. “Talk to me.”

“What do you want me to say?” I felt weak, as if every emotion I had ever felt in my life had been sucked out of me — a hollow shell.

“Somethin’, anythin’… please tell me what’s goin’ on in that wee head of yers.” Jamie bent his legs, and fell forward onto his knees to the grass, his hand hovering to touch my knee, but he pulled back when he saw my expression.

“You were m-married?” I stuttered on the last word. “For how long?”

Jamie took a deep breath and laughed. Laughed! If we weren’t in a public place, I would have hit him against his chest, clawed at his skin, anything to make him hurt as he had hurt me by keeping this from me.

“No, Sassenach. I wasna married to Gia, but we were engaged,” he sighed and rose to his feet, his fingers tapping against his thigh. I focused on his ring finger, trying to remember the vows he had made me, trying to remember the shit we had been through… anything that would help me to keep loving him. In this moment I very much wanted to hate him.

“Then why did she say wedding as if it happened?”

“Because…” he took a deep breath and muttered something in gaelic. “Because I left her at the altar.”

I finally looked up at him, “What? Jamie… how could you do that to her? Why?”

Taking it as a good sign that I had made eye contact with him, Jamie came and took a seat next to me on the bench, still a good safe distance away however.

“I ken it sounds bad, and I’m no proud of what I did. I’ll never forgive myself for it, but damn it, Sassenach… I dinna regret it!” Jamie grabbed my hand, shaking it slightly in his. “If I had never left the church that day, then I wouldna have met you.”

I pulled back my hand firmly, squeezing it in my lap. “All this time though Jamie. Not just you… but your family, Jenny and Murtagh. Wait,” I paused, trying to do the math in my head. “When was this? Before or after the plane crash?”

“After.”

“Jamie… how long ago,” I didn’t want to know but I knew I needed to.

“I knew Gia from university, that’s where we met,” Jamie said and leaned back against the bench as he began to tell me everything. “After the plane crash, I wasna myself. Once I recovered from most of the damage, I went back to school, but ye ken that I wasna speakin’ to Jenny and barely Murtagh.”

I nodded, keeping my gaze transfixed on a butterfly on a flower nearby and Jamie continued.

“Gia…” he sighed, and I could see him running his hand through his hair, leaving it sticking up in places. “She is the complete opposite of ye, Claire. I knew from our first date that she wasna my type and that I was only seein’ her to try and get away from the pain. After my Da —“ his words got stuck in his throat, and silently, without looking at him, I slid my hand across the bench, offering this small gesture and he took it, squeezing lightly.

“Ye wouldn’t have liked who I was back then, Sassenach. I was bitter, and no a verra nice person. I ken I never shoulda proposed to her, but she kept talkin’ about weddin’s and well I didn’t see why not.”

I wanted to cry at the soft touch of Jamie’s fingers on the palm of my hand. The same touch I had felt hundreds of times before. The same strong hands that had helped me when I felt weak and couldn’t get out of bed.

“So you got all the way to the altar and then decided that was the best time to break it off?” I spat out, maybe a bit too harshly and I felt Jamie’s fingers pause on mine before continuing to trace patterns on my skin.

“Aye. I did. I was a coward, Claire.” Jamie slid towards me on the bench, bringing my hand into his lap. I was too numb to move, to do anything but sit there and listen. “I met Gia five months after the plane crash, I was only nineteen and by my twentieth birthday, we had plans to be marrit. She hasna even met Jenny or Murtagh, mo ghraidh, that’s why they never said anything.”

“So they don’t know about her either, Jamie?” I looked at him, more tears welling in my eyes. Who was this man that I had married…

His eyes were wide, sensing my doubt in him. “Christ, of course they know! I told them the day after I left Gia. I wasna willin’ to make amends wi’ them yet, but I needed them to know.”

“Did Jenny yell at you?” I attempted a laugh, imagining what the fearsome Jenny Murray would think about all of this.

“No. She only said she was sorry she couldna be there for me. The conversation wasna a long one, Claire.” He pulled my hand to rest over his heart and I looked at him, biting my bottom lip. “I’m so sorry.”

“After everything we’ve been through Jamie… I just don’t understand why you never told me.” A single tear slid down my cheek and I felt it drop onto my lap, wetting my jeans.

“There’s no good reason why I didna, Sassenach,” Jamie bent his head. “I am a coward, that’s all there is to it.”

“I went through having a bloody fucking brain tumor and you don’t think the fact that you had almost been married to another woman was important to tell me? Yes, Jamie… you’re a coward.” I pulled my hand away and stood from the bench.

“And to think,” I looked him in the eye. “We were so excited about getting on the adoption list,” I scoffed. “I wouldn’t dream of bringing a child into this… this web of lies!” Turning to leave, I prayed that Jamie wouldn’t follow me, but a larger part of me, the weaker part of me, wanted him to run after me and hold me in his arms, begging me to forgive him.

I made it all the way back to the car in front of the cafe, and with no sign of Jamie, I climbed in and headed home, my heart in pieces.

++++++

August 18th, 2015

5:08pm

I walked around for hours after Claire had left me at the park. The moment she called me a coward, her eyes no longer holding that spark I had come to love, I knew… she would never forgive me for this.

Or at least not easily.

Checking my phone every ten minutes, with no new messages from Claire, I steadied myself and started walking in the direction of our house. There was more she needed to know, and I hoped she would hear me out.

The water was on in the bathroom, most likely Claire runnin’ herself a bath. I didn’t want her to be shocked at my arrival home, so I slammed the door a little louder than normal and waited in the doorway until I heard the sound of the faucet creak and stop.

I walked down the hallway, past pictures of our life together. We’d only known each other for twenty months, but already those twenty months were the best of my life — no matter the hardships we had endured early on. Claire wasn’t in the bedroom, but I saw the bathroom door cracked open, steam drifting out.

“Sassenach, are ye in there?”

“Go away, Jamie. I can’t do this right now.” She didn’t sound like herself, not like my Sorcha.

“Please, ye dinna even need to come out of the bathroom, Claire. I just need to say somethin’ and then I’ll go and stay wi’ Jenny and Ian tonight.” I waited for her and let out a sigh of relief when she opened the bathroom door, padded across the room and took a seat on the bed.

“Go ahead, then.”

“I thought of tellin’ ye, Claire.” I walked over to her, sitting on my knees in front of her, ready to beg for her forgiveness. “I did. I almost told ye once, but then ye got diagnosed wi’ yer tumor and things happened so quickly after that.”

“You’re using my tumor as an excuse for your cowardice?” She rolled her eyes, biting her lip.

“No! Christ, no I’m not. It’s just that I didna want to cause ye more pain. Claire… be honest wi’ me, would ye have wanted me to tell ye about this when ye were ill?”

She took a deep breath, folding her robe tighter around her body. “No. But, I got better a year ago, Jamie. What about then?”

“I can’t give you a reasonable explanation other than as time went on, and the happier you became, I couldn’t dream of crushin’ ye, of hurtin’ ye,” my heart was racing, pounding out of my chest. I didn’t know what I would do if Claire couldn’t forgive me.

“I can try and understand that,” she looked down at me, her eyes and cheeks wet and it broke my heart to see her so. All I wanted was to hold her in my arms and promise to never hide anything from her ever again.

“Thank ye, Sassenach I —“

“I said try, Jamie. I didn’t say that I do or that I ever will.”

“Please, mo nighean, I’m a foolish man and I ken I’ve kept a secret from ye when we promised there would be no such thing between us.” I moved forward, gently resting my hand on her ankle. “But I didna marry her… I married you.”

Claire made a sound then that broke my heart completely. A sob like none I had ever heard from her, not even when she was in the most pain from her chemo. I looked up at her to see her shoulders shaking, tears freely flowing down her cheeks. I didn’t care if she tried to push me away, I rose to my feet and gathered her in my arms, sitting down on the bed and cradled her to my chest.

“Shhh,” I said through tears of my own. “I love you, mo cridhe, it’s you I chose and it’s ye who I’ll choose everyday.”

She buried her head into my neck, body still trembling.

“Claire, we’ve been through so much to let this come between us, I’m beggin’ ye lass,” I cried, my voice shaking. “Please forgive me for a mistake I made when I was an idiot. Christ —“

Her hand came to cup my face, and I weeped at the feel of her touch. “I dinna deserve ye, Claire.”

“No,” she whispered. “You don’t.” Her arms came around my neck then and I rose from the edge of the bed and laid her down, and then curled my body around hers. “Just hold me, Jamie. We’ll work this out tomorrow, but for now… just don’t let me go.”

That night, I cried until I had no more tears left to give and held her in my arms, thanking God that she hadn’t cursed my name and sent me out to the streets. Hours later, a small wet nose tickled the back of my neck and Annie, the furry wee beast crawled over my body to lay next to Claire, resting her head against her. Animals are loyal creatures… humans — they are flawed, and broken creatures.

#four years #august 18 2015 #jamie x claire #outlander fanfiction #mclairefras #jamie fraser #claire fraser

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barpurplewrites · 6 years

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Twist the nuts

@a-monthly-rumbelling Random Prompt ; “I’ve been fixing (x) and now I’m all sweaty.”

Lots of swearing in the one.

-x-x-x-

Buying the sofa bed on the cheep had seemed like such a good idea at the time.

-x-x-x-

Gold blew a lank lock of hair out of his face and wished for the millionth time that he’d never cut it. It had made sense after Milah handed him the divorce papers, but now it was in the awkward growing back stage, it just got in the way. He’d have probably kept it short if Neal hadn’t said it looked weird. Huffing at the irritating hair again he tightened his grip on the spanner and applied all the force he could muster. The nut started to move. The grin that appeared on his face slid away as the spanner slipped from his grip and flew across the room to clatter against the radiator.

“For fuck’s sake!”

He sat back and raked his sweaty fingers through his even sweatier hair as he glared at the fucking sofa bed. He’d picked it up cheap, an ex-display model that had seized up. At the time he’d been confident that he could get it working, but after four hours of solid work he’d only managed to release three of six bolts. The fucking thing was mocking him. It was tempting to give it a kick but knowing his luck he’d break his toe.

“You fucking bawbag. Useless cunting twat of a contraption. Fucking wee..."

The doorbell halted his rant. Gold glanced guiltily at the open window. It was only February and still cold, but after an hour of battling with the cursed sofa bed of doom he'd needed a breeze. He groaned and limped towards the front door wondering which of his neighbours he’d offended with his Glasgee gob.

"Please don't be the nun."

Mother Superior didn't think much of him anyway and struck him as the sort who would delight in offering the court a bad report of his conduct. Wouldn't look good having a nun say you were a bad father.

His relief at not finding the nun on his doorstep was short lived. Instead of having to placate an irate nun he found himself face to face with the lovely wee librarian.

"Hey there Gold."

He mumbled something close to hello. He always turned into an incoherent mess around the lovely Belle French. She was wearing leggings and a baggy jumper today, and as ever she looked gorgeous. In his paint stained jeans and tatty white t-shirt, he felt like a slob, a gross sweaty slob.

Belle smiled at him; "Are you okay? Just you've been cussing up a storm, so I wondered if anything was wrong."

"I'm trying to fix a sofa bed."

"Do you need a hand?"

In his head he politely declined her offer, on the grounds that she'd already done so much helping him prepare for the custody hearing. In his head he suavely asked to take her out to dinner to say thank you. In his head she said yes.

In fact, he hummed and hawed for a moment and then said; "Aye, come on in."

As Belle brushed by him, he winced at just how much of a sweaty mess he was, fuck he must stink. Belle gave no sign that she found his smell offensive. He led her into the living room and began babbling.

"I got it cheap you see, thought it would be good for when Neal stays, for me to sleep on I mean, the lad will have my bed, so he sleeps well, needs a good night's sleep growing lad like him..."

He trailed off as Belle touched his arm. Christ but she was warm.

“I think Neal would love to sleep on a bed that transforms."

Gold nodded dumbly. He'd considered that but worried that Milah might try to say it wasn't good enough and stop Neal’s over-night stays.

"Shall we see if we can beat it into submission?"

"Aye."

Gold crossed the room and scooped up the spanner that he'd tossed. All the air left his lungs as he turned around to find Belle stripping out of her baggy jumper. He hair fluffed out as she pulled it over her head, leaving her mussed. Gold struggled to get a breath at the sight of her. Belle French was standing in his house wearing blue leggings and a tight white tank top. When she leaned over to examine the sofa frame, he shook his head and dropped his eyes to the spanner in his hand.

"You got any lube?"

Gold's head jerked up so fast his neck cracked: "Erm, what?"

"Three in one oil, or WD-40?"

"Oh yeah right, just in the tool box."

He wasn't daft, he'd oiled to nuts and bolts before he'd started. Belle added a bit more and picked up a second spanner.

"Top or bottom?"

Gold blinked at her, silently cursing his mind for being in the gutter. He understood what she was suggesting, no need to be a dirty old man just because her words were a wee suggestive.

"I'll wriggle under if you'll go on, erm do the top one."

Nearly put his foot in it there, but saved himself, just about. Gold shifted into position and applied the spanner to the bolt. Once Belle was set she said; "Righty tighty, lefty loosey."

Gold gave her a nod and together they attacked the bolt. It came loose after a moment and with a cheer they moved on to the next one. The second one took a bit more umph, but they did it and Gold had managed to stop himself swearing out loud.

"One more to go."

From Gold's point of view the last one was a nightmare. In order to get leverage Belle had to stand astride his hips. The frame of the sofa bed was between them, but it didn't stop his filthy mind spinning images of what their position could lead to. He was sweating like a whore in church on Sunday now, and it didn't help that Belle was flushed from the effort. His hands were so slick that he lost his grip on the spanner twice before they got started.

“Sorry Belle just a moment.”

He wiped his hands off on his jeans and gripped the spanner.

“Okay. Ready.”

Gold's arm muscles strained. Belle grunted and shifted her stance, her foot nudging against his hip. He almost bit through his tongue at the contact.

“Stupid wee fucker.”

He wasn't sure if he was cursing the bolt or his own idiotic mind. Just because Belle was a kind and pretty woman who helped him out didn't mean that he had any right to think about her like that.

“Oh, come on you twat.”

If he'd had the breath to spare Gold would have laughed at Belle swearing. Somehow, she still sounded prim and proper. Maybe he should teach her some good old Glasgow swearing? That would be fun to hear.

The bolt finally gave.

“Got ye yer bastard.”

“Thank fuck for that.”

Belle wiped her hand over her face and then on her top before she offered it to him to help him up from the floor. They stood side by side breathing heavily for a moment.

“Okay what's next?”

“Ah that would be the really noisy bit I reckon.”

Working in tandem they applied oil to every moving part. While that was sinking in Gold closed the window. The breeze was cooling the sweat on his skin and making him feel sticky.

“You okay?”

Belle blew a wisp of hair out of her face; "I'm good, shall we give it a go?"

The sofa made the worst sort of metal scream as they tried to open it into a bed. There was a moment when it stuck. Gold wondered how the hell he'd be able to get the damn thing out of the house if it jammed like this. Belle and he grunted and threw all the weight they could at it and finally with a lurch and a groan of metal it sprung into place.

“Yay hey! Look at that!”

Belle offered him a hand for a high five. Neal had only been accepting fist bumps these days because ‘they were cooler’, so Gold bumped her palm with his fist. Belle curled her hand into a fist just as he opened his for a high five. They laughed together at the muddle. After more oil and a few more tries the change from sofa to bed and back was easy.

“Shall we test it out?”

Gold nodded happily, not really considering that Belle had suggested a test run while the damn thing was in bed position. The bed was solid as they both gingerly climbed on to it, no alarming creaks or groans. Gold lay on his bad and stared at the ceiling, very aware of Belle next to him.

“Not quite how I pictured this.”

Gold rolled his head to one side to look at her

“Pictured what?”

Belle looked at him and bit her bottom lip; “Being in a bed all sweaty with you. I've thought about it quite a lot.”

He licked his tongue over his lips and asked; “Have you now?”

She nodded, a shy smile on her lips that was going to be the death of him.

Gold took a quick breath and said; “I've thought about it too, quite a bit to be honest.”

Belle looked back at the ceiling, but he could see the smile still curling her lips.

“It should be one of our own beds, not Neal's.” - She looked at him again – “Come over to mine tonight about six? We can order some food in.”

Gold glanced at his watch, it was quarter after five; “Half six, so I've time to shower?”

Belle made a show of lifting her arm and sniffing her arm pit. Her nose wrinkled dramatically; “That is a very good idea for both of us.”

She rolled off the bed and picked her jumper up from where she'd left it on the back of a chair; “So dinner at half six and then...”

Gold stood up and moved close enough to take her hand; “And then we'll see hey?”

He walked her to the door and watched her as she crossed the lawn to her house. Once she'd given him a little wave and stepped inside Gold closed his front door and leaned against it.

“Fucking hell. Who'd have thought?”

He did a little celebration dance and caught a whiff of the sweat clinging to him. He needed a shower fast, and a shave wouldn't go amiss either. Grinning like fool Gold hurried into the front room and folded the bed back into a sofa. He patted the chocolate brown fabric fondly.

“Yer not such a fucker after all.”

#a monthly rumbelling #lime #swearing

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mymelodyheart · 4 years

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Forget Me Not Chapter 27 ~Obsessions~

"Claire! There ye are!"

She spun around in her chair to face Geillis. "Hey! Right on time. Just finishing."

Geillis crossed her arms, took a step back and studied her face. "Mmm ...ye look great. Nae dark circles under yer eyes, ye gained a bit of weight, and ye're no' cranky. Sleeping better?"

She grinned. The last few weeks had been perfect. She was finally sleeping without the nightmares and eating properly. Her work schedule had finally loosened up after the arrival of her new assistant, Mary McNab, a widower in need of a part-time job. And to her relief, her nauseousness and fainting spells seemed to have ebbed.

Then there was Jamie.

The thought of him made her smile. Since that night in the stable, they had been together almost every day and most nights. And when he wasn't with her, he was either busy rehabilitating Donas or overseeing and working on the renovation of the house he bought a while back. Although she had offered money from her inheritance to finance their eventual home's restoration, he was too stubborn and proud to accept. He was persistent and adamant that it was a man's job to provide for his family with his own sweat and hard work. Slightly annoyed but not wanting to disturb the peace, she conceded, thinking her money could be put to use for other things in the future. She really couldn't complain much about his stubbornness. After all, it was this particular trait that got him through his ordeal.

Although aware of the changes in her body, her pregnancy was still not visible, which was a great thing, since her rushed wedding was only a couple of weeks away, a few months before Jenny's. And for the first time in a very long time, she felt relaxed, and her spirit was light, and she wasn't about to stress over their upcoming nuptials. After what happened in the last few months, she realised life was too precious to be worrying. Whatever worries and expectations she had for the future, she had shoved them away and focused on the present. She did precisely what Ellen had advised her.

Take it one moment at a time. One day at a time.

Let your sense of control go and give it up to the higher power.

Believe you will be guided to the right path and have faith.

As for Jamie, pending fatherhood had changed him a lot. He had been slightly going overboard with baby proofing the house and buying heaps of reading materials on first-time parenthood. And slowly, despite protests from the family, he had also eased his way back to work in the hotel, doing only half-days so as not to compromise his recovery.

She refocused on Geillis. "Thank you. I'm finally sleeping through the night, so I'm more energetic."

"That's great, chick. It's about time. We don't want ye looking all gaunt and stressed out on yer big day."

"After what happened with Annalise, I think I have my priorities straightened out by now. Call it an awakening or whatever. I'm determined not to be one of those bridezillas. I'll just go with the flow. I'm just happy Jamie is on his feet and thriving even if he's back to being his stubborn self. But I must say, he's obsessing way too much about the baby to a point he was wondering if there was some sort of daddy boot camp around this area."

Geillis laughed. "Aye, weel, that's quite normal. He's definitely looking better too. He looks like a man truly well-loved. If ye ken what I mean." She winked to make a point.

"Ha, ha! Anyway, enough of me. How're things with Willie?"

Geillis rolled her eyes, feigning exasperation over the topic. But Claire knew her friend's feelings ran way deeper. "Weel, ye ken it took a while before he convinced me to go out to dinner with him ..." She paused to check her cuticles. "I tried to be all cool about it by telling him that I'm a big girl, and I could handle one night stands and that he didn't need to take me out to dinner as a thank ye. I was convinced I was some sort of transitional. Weel, he was appalled with my assumptions. But whatever ...I'm done fighting my feelings. Like ye, I'm just going with the flow. I like the lad, Claire but sometimes, I cannae forget that time when he called out yer name on our first night together. It keeps coming back."

"Oh, Geillis." Claire stood up and hugged her friend. When she finally pulled away, she looked at her friend in the eyes. "Listen. He announced to the family that you're his girlfriend, and he hasn't done that for years. Besides, how many times did he ask ye out before ye relented? That accounts for something. He must like you a lot to pursue you; otherwise, he wouldn't have been persistent. Stop worrying. He cares for you, and you know fine, Willie is not that sort of bloke, ok?"

"Aye," Geillis shrugged. "It's just that the Fraser lads are known for their gallantry, so ye never know if Willie was just trying to do right by me."

Claire shook her head. "Now, don't be daft. Willie hardly goes home to Lallybroch now. He's always in our house, and that's because he wants to spend more time with you. And that reminds me, I think he better start coughing up some cash for the rent. That man can eat!"

"Weel so does yer, Jamie. What's with men and midnight snacks?"

They looked at each other and giggled.

"Come on, lass, let's get ye out of here before more work is piled on yer desk." Geillis started to pull her hand as she grabbed her satchel. "I don't want to be late for our appointment."

Claire almost forgot about their appointment at a beauty salon. They were planning to have their nails done, including facial and Brazilian wax treatments. It was Geillis' advance bridal gift to her. "Erm Geillis, don't ye think I can skip the Brazilian wax part? It sounds like it's going to hurt. And aren't we supposed to do this before the wedding? You know all this pampering and stuff."

"Ach, shush. This one's on me. Jenny arranged the pamper session before the wedding already. And as for the Brazilian wax, Jamie will be please, and ye can consider it an early wedding present for him. And besides, I've wanted to do this for a long time, just ye and me. Even though we live in the same house, we hardly spend time together anymore," Geillis chattered as she continued to pull Claire along. "Ye ken what they say, no pain, no gain. Trust me ...men love it. It will be worth it."

"Well, Jamie has never complained before..."

"Of course, he hasn't complained. He doesn't know any better. Wait till ye see the look on his face when he sees yer fanny."

Self-consciousness crashed over her, and she yanked her friend by the arm. "Jesus H. Roosevelt Christ! Pipe down will you! Don't want the staff knowing what we're about to do."

"Don't want the staff to know what?" a deep voice came from behind them. The girls jumped as Willie approached them. After a quick kiss to Geillis, he eyed them both suspiciously.

"Aaah, a wee bit of a trim and some pampering. Girls' afternoon out, ye ken. Will be home before dinner," Geillis explained hurriedly. She stood on tiptoes to give Willie a quick peck before pulling Claire roughly.

"Wait ..." Willie called after them.

"We're late, sorry," Claire looked at him apologetically. "See you at home."

Damn Geillis! He will find out soon enough what they have been up to. Claire cringed at the thought as she allowed her friend to pull her away from the baffled looking Willie.

..........

It was early evening when Claire finally made it through her door. She had dropped off Geillis at the hotel for her impromptu dinner date with Willie before heading home. Other than the funny feeling between her legs after the Brazilian wax treatment, Claire felt shiny and brand new from her pampering session. Sneaky as her friend was, she appreciated their time together since it was long overdue and she very much needed some girl-talk.

"In here, Sassenach," Jamie's voice called out as she heard utensils and pans clacking. She inhaled deeply, and she smelled food.

Dropping her satchel and laptop on the coffee table, she made her way to the kitchen. "Oh, hi ...Whatever you're making, I hope you didn't make loads. Geillis and I were served snacks at the beauty salon."

She was just about to go over to Jamie when he stopped her on her tracks. "Stay where ye are, Sassenach. I need to blindfold ye."

"W-what?"

Jamie waved a hand in the air. "A wee degustation. It's straightforward - I blindfold ye, and ye let me know how each of the things I made taste. It's sort of a trial for a full course menu I'd like to make and suggest to Murtagh."

"Huh? Taste-testing? I don't know if I could go through a whole set of menu, Jamie. I might have loads of appetite these days but don't you think it's a bit late for that?" She eyed the paper bags on the countertop with suspicion. "And why do I have to be blindfolded?"

Jamie smiled. "They're just wee bite portions, Sassenach. I just want to know how the components go together, and ye have a great taste palate. As for the blindfold, I think one has a more open mind when ye can't visually peg the ingredients. Allows yer taste buds to take over as the primary sensory perception."

"Aaah, is that so, Chef Fraser?" she teased, grinning.

"Aye, it is so. Weel, are ye helping me out here or not?"

Her skin tingled with anticipation. "Fine, let's do this."

He lit up, pushing up the sleeves on his casual shirt as if prepping for something big. He put on Claire's girly pink apron hanging from the hook, which only made him look more masculine than ever, and dragged a chair for her to sit on.

"I can sit on the stool," she pointed out.

"No. A chair is sturdier, trust me."

Sturdier for what? She shrugged. "Alright, so what do I do?"

He pulled out a scarf from the back pocket of his jeans, grinning, a wicked gleam lighting his eyes. "First this."

"Oooh, kinky."

"Aye, I can do kinky," he whispered as he gently placed the scarf over her eyes and tied a loose knot, before planting a kiss on her cheek. "So, can ye see anything?"

"Nope."

"Right, sit tight and give me a few secs."

She heard cupboard doors open and close, and the rustle of bags. She smelled the scent of freshness and a variety of herbs, all mixed up. The refrigerator door squeaked, and then it went silent. Jamie's shuffling around the kitchen slowly relaxed her, and she allowed her mind to drift while she waited for the first taste.

Moments passed before she sensed him kneeling in front of her as a rush of his warm breath hit her lips. "Are ye ready for yer first taste, Sassenach?"

She twitched her nose and smiled. "Yes."

"Open up ...aaahhh."

Her lips parted. She expected the cool, smooth touch of the spoon, but Jamie used his fingers instead. He placed something small and soft on her tongue. The flavour of earth tickled her taste buds, and the firm bite against her teeth exploded juice in her mouth.

"Dumpling? With truffles and wild mushroom." A smile touched her lips as she caught the last bite of mirin. "Ooooh, the balance is incredible."

He wiped a trickle of moisture from her bottom lip. "Good lass. It was dumpling filled with porcini, chanterelles and truffle oil. Did you like it?"

She grinned, licking her lips. "Uh-huh. It was yum."

"Alright, next one." She waited, her senses going on high alert. "Open for me."

Her body relaxed as if trying to respond to the command. Before she could take a whiff of what's coming next, Jamie pushed the morsel into her mouth. She tasted something creamy, thick cheese combined with a hint of garlic, olive oil, sweet basil and crisp tomato.

"Mmmm," she moaned. "Mozzarella cheese, my favourite. And tomato ...so fresh and so good, like it was recently plucked from the vine. And basil ...this is so heaven!"

He chuckled, and his hand began stroking her cheek, soothing her into a more relaxed trance. The simplicity of the flavours flowed through her, and she allowed herself to lean back. "Ye're very good at this, Sassenach and the faces ye're making, is making it hard for me to concentrate," he said in a low voice, his finger trailing down her throat. "Do ye want more?"

She nodded eagerly this time. "Uh-huh."

"I want to take off yer top."

She was caught off-guard by his request. His outrageous demand was over the top, aware that there's a possibility Willie and Geillis could walk in on them anytime even though she knew they went out for dinner. But still, the whole scenario was turning her on and she felt brazen. "Do it for me, then."

Not saying another word, he unbuttoned her blouse with deft fingers, and the cool air rushed at once over her exposed skin. For her, it felt so outrageously decadent to be sitting in the kitchen, blindfolded and having Jamie feed her. As her mind began to wander and ponder what was going to come next, he took her by surprise when his mouth suddenly clamped on her nipple and started sucking through the lace fabric of her bra, flicking his tongue back and forth. She gasped and automatically arched toward him. Before her hands could grip his shoulders, he was gone, and she was grasping air. Next, she heard a clatter of utensil hitting the countertop, the rustle of paper and Jamie whistling. Each second twisted the tension in her stomach to another knot.

She tried to even out her breaths as she felt him come closer, but he spoke quite calmly. "Ready for yer next bite, Sassenach?"

She nodded.

"Open."

She did and bit down. It was flaky and smelled of the river. There was a hint of teriyaki sauce and spring onion, but it didn't overwhelm the natural flavour of the fish.

"Salmon! Oh ...and it's beautifully cooked."

"Mmm, very good." As she chewed and swallowed, he unhooked her bra, and her breasts spilt free into his waiting hands. The combination of his touch and the lingering flavour of food in her mouth made her shiver. Coasting his finger over her stomach, he traced the waistband of her skirt. "Lift yer hips, Sassenach, this is coming off."

Her inner rational voice wanted to tell him absolutely not, but her body had a mind of its own as her hips lifted to their own accord.

She heard his sharp intake of breath. "Beautiful ...so beautiful. It never stops, does it? The wanting ye?" he whispered as he stroked and caressed her calves and upward, gently parting her legs. She hissed, unable to get a word to pass her mouth. "We have two tastes left. Let's get ye something to wash it down with."

She could only whimper at the loss of his touch as he stood up and made his way back again in the kitchen. A cupboard door slammed, and the sound of liquid being poured into a glass echoed in her ears. "Just a wee sip because it's alcohol. Let me know what ye think."

He cupped her chin and tipped the glass to her lips. The wine trickled down her throat, the scent of blackberries drifting to her nostrils and soaking her mouth. She relished the intense tannins and boldness of flavour. "Red wine. I can taste berries. Cabernet Sauvignon?"

"Aye, it's Cabernet Sauvignon. Pregnancy has definitely heightened yer senses. Have a little more and then that's enough. It's not good for the baby."

As she took another sip, his palm cupped her between her thighs, taking her by surprise.

Her hips shot up, and the wine slid down her throat. "Stunning," Jamie murmured as if she was one of his scientific experiments.

A choked laugh escaped her throat. She thought they had both gone bonkers acting out a foodie sex scene, yet she didn't want him to stop and needed him to finish where he'd taken her. "Stop teasing me, Jamie," she said hoarsely. "I need ..."

"Hush, I ken what ye need, Sassenach. Lift up."

And she did, and he carefully slid down her panties.

She waited for his hands or his mouth, but there was only cold air. "Jamie?"

"Oh, holy Christ!"

Oh, holy Christ, what? She was confused for a moment and then she remembered the Brazilian wax treatment she had from earlier. All of a sudden, her face heated up and she tried to squeeze her legs together in embarrassment. "I guess I've gone over the top. Y-you don't like it?" she asked stammering.

He didn't answer her question. "Legs apart, Sassenach, I want to see," he demanded in a low voice.

She obeyed, completely helpless, wishing she could see his reaction. There was a long moment of silence. Jesus, why isn't he saying anything?

He didn't utter a word, as she felt him move away from her. Every muscle in her body was locked with tension as she waited for him to say something. Anything. Instead, when he came back, his fingers pushed past her lips and laid a sample on her tongue.

Chocolate truffle! Bittersweet, rich and creamy. The chocolate coated her tongue and melted in her mouth, making her smile. "Oh God! That's lush," she said huskily.

Without warning, the blindfold was suddenly ripped off, his mouth taking hers in an urgent kiss. Then his tongue slid in to taste the residual flavours in Claire's mouth while his fingers slid between her legs.

It didn't take long, and she came hard, bucking against the chair, a dozen sensations pulling her in different directions. Jamie muttered something incoherently, hiked her up against him and stumbled into her bedroom. In a few seconds, he dropped her on the bed and shed his clothes.

She was still shaking from the after-effects of her orgasm when he pushed her knees back and took her in one full, deep thrust. Sweat dripped from his brow as he locked gaze with her. At that moment, her heart burst open, filling her with light and immense love flowing out of her and surrounding them.

"You've always been mine," he whispered.

Her body welcomed him as her inner walls clamped hard around his cock. He took her wildly, and she gave it back to him, with the sting of her nails, with the ragged cries of his name and the thrust of her hips. And when they both exploded together, he wrapped his arms tight around her body, keeping her safe within the circle.

Racked with pleasure, he collapsed on top of her, muttering her name like a litany of prayer and worship.

It took a while before they got their heartbeats and breathing back to normal and reality broke through. Then Claire started to laugh against his chest, and he smiled down at her. "Wow, Jamie, what just happened there?"

"I dinna ken. I did plan on a slow seduction, but after I saw ye bare down there, I just lost it. I kinda feel like a dirty old man liking it, but I must admit, it looks verra pretty. Was I too rough?" he asked, pressing a kiss on her forehead.

She found it endearing how his accent became more pronounced when he was sex-drunk. Smiling, she propped herself on her elbow, her finger tracing the whorl of hair on his chest. "No ...it was everything, Jamie."

"Good. Now that mama is well-fed and satisfied, it's the baby's turn," he laughed, pulling her out of bed.

He was full of surprises of late, and she was only too happy for him to lead. "What did you have in mind?"

Scooping her up in his arms, he bit her earlobe gently. "First shower. Then I'll make us hot cocoa. And how about a film afterwards?"

"Sounds grand to me," she said, wrapping her arms around his neck, as he walked them to the bathroom.

An hour later, they were settled with their mugs of steaming hot cocoa in front of the television. Dressed in his t-shirt, she cuddled next to him under the blanket.

They were just getting to the exciting part of the film when there was a loud knock on the door, making Claire jump.

She was about to get up when Jamie pulled her back. "I'll get it."

"It could be Geillis and Willie. She sent me a message earlier that she left her keys in her office."

He nodded and made his way to the door. The next consecutive knocks were louder and more urgent. "Coming ..." Jamie's loud voice called out as he hurried, the limp still slightly evident in his stride.

Claire put down the mug on the coffee table and got up from the sofa. She had an unerring instinct it wasn't Geillis knocking on the door.

"Isobel! What are ye doing here?"

It was Geneva's sister looking stressed and worried. "Is Claire here?"

Claire walked up to them, a niggling sensation starting to stir in her belly. She knew the girl, but they had hardly exchanged a full sentence since coming back to Lallybroch. Confused, she wondered why the girl was asking after her. "Isobel, what's the matter?"

Jamie waved Isobel in and closed the door behind her, worry etching his brows. "Is it Donas?"

Isobel shook her head, her eyes filled with panic and dread. "No, no, Donas is fine. I-i-i-it's my sister. She plans to do something terrible. I-i found her diary and a lot of awful things are written about y-you and the things she wants to do. It's so horrible, I c-c-can't even say it, " she stammered, glancing at Claire. "A-and yesterday I found a bottle of sulfuric acid under her bed. At first, I didn't think much about it because my father uses it to clean metals on the farm. B-but earlier I looked it up and found articles about it being used in acid attacks. A-a-and I started to wonder why she had it under her bed."

Jamie ran a hand through his hair, ragged breath whooshing out of him.

Claire suppressed her panic, not wanting to jump to false conclusions. "Isobel, maybe she's just ranting in her diary. There has to be an explanation for the acid under her bed ..." She knew instantly her rationalisation sounded lame the moment it came out of her mouth.

"N-no, she's been obsessing about you ever since her job application at the hotel was turned down by Brian. I c-can't stand back and do nothing ...and ..."

Their conversation was interrupted by another knock on the door, making them all jump.

"It must be Geillis," Claire sighed as she looked at Jamie.

Before Jamie could respond, Isobel turned around and opened the door. Then everything happened in a blur. One minute they were all standing there, expecting Geillis to come in and in the next, Isobel was on the floor howling in pain as she clutched her upper body.

Standing in the doorway was Geneva holding an empty bottle, and her eyes widened in horror as she watched her sister collapsed. "No, no, Isobel ...no, no ...I'm so sorry. Oh my God, what have I done," she cried as she fell to her knees beside her sister.

It must have been adrenaline, fear or her heightened instinct but Claire didn't take any chances as she grabbed a decorative vase on the console table and smashed it on Geneva's head. Numbly, Claire watched her crumple beside her sister as she slowly backed away.

#melodyheart #forgetmenot #Claire Beauchamp/Jamie Fraser #outlanderfanfic

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accio-ambition · 6 years

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No Good Deed (3/15)

Summary: Killian Jones is a gentleman. He and his brother pride themselves on the matter, even if it ends with harm to them. So when an angry ex of Killian’s client bites him, he tends to the wound, watches it heal, and thinks no more of it.Until he wakes up in a closet on his ship with no memory of what happened the night of the full moon. Fleeing from the unknown, the brothers Jones find Storybrooke, and with it, Emma Swan, who is a lot more familiar with their situation than anyone could expect. And when an old foe comes to their new home, Killian has to rely on new talents to keep those he loves safe. Rating: M for language, violence, some sexual content. (better safe than sorry) Content warnings: violence

happy friday friends! time for another update, literally just in the nick of time (I PROMISE I’LL GET BETTER). anyway, hoping that the mods won’t hound me too bad about this chapter ;) as always, muchos gracias to Taylor aka @killiarious for her beta-ing skillz, @wellhellotragic for her art that I absolutely adore and will properly praise this weekend properly, and the mods at @captainswanbigbang who know what they’re doing and get me sucked into this project each and every time. :)

Ao3 if that’s the name of your game

Chapter Three

"Oy, Jones!"

Killian turns to see Gus running down the gangplank to catch him. He waits, though he's eager to get home, shower off today's grime, and settle down with a drink and the game of the night on the telly. In the few days since Gold’s attack, Killian’s been tired beyond belief. He’s also had more headaches, at least one a day, since the occurrence. It’s probably got something to do with the pills he’s downed to keep the pain of his bite at a minimum, or the lack of sleep caused by more frequent and vivid nightmares of that night.

All he wants to do is go home, but he waits for his coworker to catch up to him.

"I was hoping," Gus says, breathing deeply. Holding up a finger of pause, he bends over, hands on his knees, to catch his breath. Killian does all he can to keep himself from rolling his eyes at the man's dramatic action - he's in fine shape, he shouldn't be this winded from a slight jog. When Gus finally believes himself to be ready, he straightens.

"Sorry. I was hoping you could cover me next Tuesday. It's the night shift, which I know you don't normally do, but my son placed in the science fair and I-"

Holding up his own hand in interruption, Killian says, "No worries, Gus. I've enough warning so I can stock up on sleep." Grinning, he holds his hand out for a shake, one that Gus gratefully takes part in. "Tell the lad good luck."

"With pleasure!" Chuckling to himself, Gus claps Killian on the shoulder. "Thanks, man. You're a lifesaver."

When the Tuesday in question comes around, Liam, the sodding fool, hands Killian a brown lunch sack as he's on his way out the door.

"What the bloody hell is this?" Killian asks. "I'm not in school anymore, or have you forgotten that?"

"It's dinner, you arsewipe," Liam explains, flopping on the couch. "Nothing's going to be open by the time you get hungry, so I made you a sandwich and threw in some pretzels if you get hungry in the meantime."

His brows furrowed and a slight frown on his lips, Killian unravels the opening of the bag to peer inside. As he said, Liam had packed a sandwich, a ziploc bag of pretzels, and what looks like some cookies wrapped in plastic.

"If I didn't know any better, brother, I would say that you have a heart."

Liam laughs, his head falling on the back of the couch. "It's been known to come to life every once in a while."

The television clicks on and Jeopardy appears on the screen as Killian throws on his jacket and boots. "You'll need your strength and wits tonight. Supposed to be a full moon."

"And what, pray tell, does that mean?"

"Crazies come out in droves." Killian's popping his collar when he catches Liam's eye. "And, you know, werewolves and such."

"Ah yes, such a prevalent problem in the post-Twilight day and age," Killian quips. His keys jingle when he snatches them from the ring they rest on. "Alright, I'm off. Don't wait up."

"I won't."

“Thanks for caring.”

“Never a problem.” Killian’s scoff is overwhelmed by the slamming of the door shutting behind him.

The public transport ride down to the harbor is never been particularly notable. The occasional dancing crew or street musician sometimes serenades his ride, but at this hour, everyone is heading away from the water, for the most part. Sure, there’s a couple dressed nicely further into the car, probably heading down for a dinner cruise along the river. Everyone else has got families to attend to, laundry to do, errands to run before the shops close in Midtown.

Killian spends his time thinking mostly unconsciously on his wound. Especially as he comes up from the underground station, something about the sea breeze makes Killian scratch his injury a little more forcefully than he probably should. It's been hurting over the past couple of days, a soreness and itch that he attributes to healing, but currently is at its worst yet. The skin’s scarred over, flaked off, and knitted itself back together, but it's still obvious that the crazy man broke quite deeply into the skin. Frankly speaking, he should’ve probably gotten stitches, but Liam’s first responder skills seemed to the job well enough.

Still, he probably should have gotten it checked out. But, as he’s grown to do, Killian ignores it, jogging across the street in the last seconds of the crosswalk timer without a second thought. Thatch’s office window is alight, second story of the marina office building, one in from the corner. It’s a little quirk he’s picked up over the years, checking to see if the boss man was in and what the chances were of any surprise inspections or visits before setting sail. When that happened, Killian could always makes out his pacing figure in the lit window.

The windows are empty now, void of any person or object moving or otherwise. He’s safe from any surprise scolding for the night.

He strolls down the docks, head down as he makes his way past the line of anxious travelers. He walks up the gangplank, nodding to the lads in the crew he recognizes and the odd passenger whose boarded early due to age or disability. He’d stop to chat with them all, but he hasn’t the time. Gus’ men are good men, Killian knows that, or otherwise Thatch wouldn’t have hired them in the first place. Killian just doesn’t know them as well as he knows his own crew, and therefore can’t guarantee that they’d do all the tasks needed to safely get across the Hudson. With a final itch at his injury, Killian sets off to check all the stations, make sure proper switches are flicked and such before settling in at the captain’s wheel for the evening.

After checking everything and requesting his second in command for the night, Tom, double-check behind him, Killian waves at the man on the gangplank to let the line file on and find spots on board. He closes the door of the helm behind him, ready to get going. The lights are dimmer up here to make sure sailors can see whatever lies beyond the ship. Others’ faces only illuminate due to the dashboard lamps and button lights. Killian checks the place over quickly before opening up a window and waiting for the signal that the ropes were untied and secured.

It comes in and Killian pulls away with ease despite the darkness falling around them.

With a contented sigh, he sets course for Union City.

They make it over uneventfully the first time, and then they make the return trip without consequence. But the third time, as the saying goes, is the charm.

It comes on suddenly, his migraine. He's been known to have them on occasion, but they're usually more gradual, his body having courtesy enough to give him a wee bit of warning before his head feels like it's about to split in two. But this one strikes him harder than the rest: even the deck lights from passing vessels and the dull dashboard blinkers are too bright, the few thoughts in his own head are yelps and howls, and that thoughtful dinner Liam packed him is more than threatening to make a reappearance.

"Sorry, lads," Killian groans, the mere movement of the ship and the action of speaking worsening his condition. "I need to take a minute."

"Go for it, Jones," Tom says, "people aren't supposed to be that color."

Barely able to nod, Killian blessedly wanders below deck, off to find some secluded corner of the ship that's dark, quiet, and hopefully has something he can lay horizontal across.

He hasn't felt this ill in ages. The last time it was this bad, he must have been in high school and, though he retains his youthful glow, that was easily a decade ago. Could it be food poisoning of some sort, he questions himself. Maybe Liam was finally sick of some of his more dickish tendencies and decided to off him.

When he finds a closet big enough for him to lie down on the floor, Killian is hobbling instead of walking. The clang of the closet door as it shuts behind him throws him to his hands and knees. For some reason, he looks up, his eyes caught by the light of the full moon shining through the porthole window above him. This light source - nature's nightlight, a guardian that used to calm him before closing the bedroom door and submerging a purely frightened Killian into darkness - seems to be the only one that doesn't bother his vision. Curious, Killian thinks, before his stomach rolls and causes him to curl into the fetal position.

There might be something impeding him from laying down, but he's too far gone to even bother. Eyes closed, Killian focuses on his breathing, hoping that maybe settling that will settle the rest of him.

It doesn't work much.

He might fall asleep, but it's fitful to say the least. The strangest dreams plague him. They're animalistic in nature, but, for some odd reason, he's on the water. It's sort of calming: even in his subconscious, the water has that affect, makes him stop whatever he's doing in the dream and take a breath. Somehow, he can even tell it's the Hudson, the very body of water his physical body sails across. It's something in the scent, the dirt and oil and rubbish that New Yorkers and New Jerseyans constantly bash it with.

(He's never been a huge believer in dreams having hidden meanings, but the appearance of this water makes him at least contemplate googling it.)

When he comes to, Killian feels oddly refreshed. It feels like he's gone on a run, one meant rid him of all the excess energy he sometimes has, and his muscles are beautifully sore. He goes to sit up and then the pleasant feelings he's got start to disappear. His back is blessedly achy, and when he twists around to see why, Killian finds a loose nail right where his right shoulder blade was. That, and the floor of the closet he's for some reason still in is pure metal.

"That can't be good," he mumbles to himself, his voice hoarse speaking about the errant screw. Clearing his throat, he notices it feels sore, as if he's coming down with strep or something similar, or like he'd spent the evening before shouting imitating his favorite screamo band's top hits.

(He doesn't have one. A favorite screamo band.)

Shaking his head, Killian glances out the porthole window. It's bright, but not too much so. "Early," he says to himself. Liam's going to be worrying: Killian should've been home a couple hours ago. The ship isn't swaying anymore, meaning they must be docked, probably fueling up for the day's cross-river trips.

Going easy on his body, Killian stands, brushing his clothes off. Or, he should say, what's left of his clothes. His pants stop at the knees now, tatters dangling from the fabric. There's also a rather sizable hole near the seam of his crotch that wasn't there when he boarded last night. Killian grabs at his shirt. Half of his left sleeve is missing, the skin showing scratched up and crusted over with dry blood.

"What the -" Searching his surroundings for any clue as to what might have happened or who might have attacked him in such an odd manner, Killian sees something curious. As he approaches the door to the closet, his hand reaches out to trace what looks like claw marks, deep ones, in the grain of the door. "Bloody hell."

Everything after that seems a little bit fuzzy, or at least that's what he'll tell the psychologist he'll definitely have to see because of this incident. In the moment, Killian is disoriented, sure, but more so, he's hyper aware of exactly everything that happens to him: the smell of the diesel filling up tank, the face of everyone he passes. The bracingly cool feel of the Hudson as he stumbles getting off the gangplank and trips into the water. Sand and sludge greet his feet, the water pretty shallow, thankfully, and after a quick scan, Killian swims to the closest ladder unharmed. Dripping wet and even more confused, he makes his way down the docks and back to land. He doesn't have the patience to deal with public transportation and, at this hour, it's run is limited, so he calls for a Lyft.

(Thankfully, working on and around the water for so long has taught Killian to invest in waterproofing his phone. His wallet, however, and the other various small things in his pockets aren't so lucky.)

Once safely back in the apartment, Killian leans against the front door, his head tilting back and his eyes sliding shut. His breathing is harsh. When he tries to remember what happened last night, his memories fail him. He knows he wasn't feeling well, had told the lads that he needed a lie down to get rid of a migraine. And then waking up this morning. Something must have happened in between the two memories, especially taking in to account the injuries and state of his clothing.

"Killian? Is that you?" Liam's voice breaks him from the point of falling apart. It sounds like he's in the kitchen, meaning it's early enough for him to be getting ready for work, but not so late that his brother's rushing out of the house. That's comforting.

Pushing off the door, Killian heads toward his brother, asking, "What time is it?"

"What time is...?" Liam's scoff turns into a chuckle as he comes into view. He's fixing a cup of coffee, back to Killian. He's got his police department shirt on, yet hasn't changed out of his pajamas pants. "Little brother, where the hell have you..." Turning around, Liam trails off. Killian can see his eyes widen. Placing his mug carefully on the counter, Liam rushes up to him. "Killian, what the bloody hell? Are you alright?"

"Am I alright?" Killian laughs at the notion. Gesturing wildly, he adds, "Do I look like I'm alright?"

Liam's hands inspect the scratches on his arm, then frantically search the rest of his skin for marks. He finds some on his other arm, and even more on his neck, face, and calves. "What the fuck happened, Killian? Did you get in a fight?"

"No!" Running a hand through his hair, Killian sighs. He can feel his pulse speeding up again, and an irrational sense of anger and frustration wells up in him.

"Move," he growls at Liam. His brother takes a step back and watches him cautiously as Killian begins to pace.

When he calms down a bit, is more able to string words together sensibly, Killian breathes deeply and stops in front of Liam. "I don't know what happened," he tells him. "I was feeling ill around eleven, so I went to one of the closets to rest and I woke up this morning looking like this."

Liam's brow arches. "You woke up this morning in one of the closets looking like a drowned rat and smelling like sun-baked shit?"

"Ugh, no," Killian says, shaking his head emphatically, "I fell in the river trying to get back home."

Shrugging his shoulders, Liam makes a noise of understanding.

Killian grasps his brother's arms, forcing him to pay attention and focus. "Liam, I think something's wrong with me."

"I would be more concerned if you didn't believe there something to be wrong," he says.

Releasing himself from Killian's hold, Liam places a hand on his brother's shoulder.

"We'll figure it out together, little brother, worry not." He gives him a comforting smile and squeezes his shoulder gently. "But let's get you in the shower and then dressed in something clean. Then we'll figure out the rest in time."

0000

Confusion and slight trauma of blacking out aside, Killian recovers for the entire experience quite well. Nothing a shower, some sleep, and a bottle of rum couldn’t solve.

When he comes back to the Jolly Roger after a day off, Thatch, Gus, and the rest of the men welcome him back as if nothing had happened. They were worried for him, sure, but they thought he’d been struck by a bad 24 hour flu.

Killian asks Tom, Rob, and everyone else who was on the ship with him that night. All they could recall was him going down below complaining of a headache. No one saw him leave the ship, yet didn’t question it because, as captain, he was often the last one to leave as it was. No one checked on him, figuring that he would be angry if they woke him or would appreciate the chance to rest. It’s a wee bit disconcerting, but at least Killian can argue that his crew is thoughtful enough of his well being.

A few weeks go by with nothing unusual to report. Life goes on and on. Killian keeps reporting to the Jolly Roger, each time pushing away the concern of his blacked out night. Liam keeps his shifts at the station, sometimes staying on duty over 24 hours to follow that ‘good form’ he drilled into his younger brother. It’s not very often they get to share a meal together, but when they do, it’s over DVR-ed games and alcohol.

It’s the night before one of those nights - Killian’s off for the next couple days, but Liam’s working on his last graveyard shift of the week. Tomorrow, they’ll be able to spend the day together, or at least the afternoon depending on how late Liam decides to sleep, for the first time in a while. The forecast calls for rain - torrential downpours at times - so the chances of them spending all of their time in pajamas, probably unshowered, and a questionable amount of alcohol is quite likely.

Killian’s already preparing for it.

For his last night of solo freedom, he’s conquered the couch, sitting in the middle cushion and sprawled out. No cares. Chinese food on the coffee table and a beer in hand.

Save for the slight headache grinding his brain, the night is pretty perfect.

He’s zoned off enough to only catch the tail end of the local weather report, the meteorologist warning of thunderstorms and higher tides due to the full moon.

He rolls his eyes at the weather report, and instead, settles on a rerun of Friends, something familiar, funny, and mindless. If he falls asleep - a likely outcome, given the growing severity of his headache - he won’t feel like he missed out on anything.

(Liam never liked watching Friends, he was always more of a Seinfeld person, so that’s an additional reason to get in an episode while he can do so without complaints.)

Idly scratching the scar left Gold left behind, Killian relaxes on the couch, fixing his feet on the table. He takes a sip of his drink as one of the characters begins complaining about her hair. Throughout the first episode, he closes up his dinner and lays down on the couch. On about the fourth episode, his eyes begin to droop, his headache unwieldy. He stays conscious long enough to turn the volume almost all the way down, hoping that will help soothe his aching head, before fading off to sleep.

Shooting awake an hour and a half later, pain wrecks his entire body. Killian can’t help it: he howls. His headache is wreaking havoc, somehow having gotten worse as he rested. The grinding has evolved into pulsations and mumbling, incoherent voices and questions unanswered. His muscles feel like they’re ripping apart, the pain manifesting in another, longer howl. Waves hit him, radiating from his wrist, right where Gold bit him. The voices and noises he hears are getting louder by the minute. Thank gods Liam was working that night, though the same can’t be said for their neighbors. He’s definitely woken them: they might have already called the police or banged on their shared walls.

Despite his better judgement, Killian tries to stand from couch, immediately collapsing. His skin is too tight: he feels like he’s going to explode. His clothes already seem to be doing so, the seams of his sweatpants tearing and his shirt hanging from his shoulders.

He grasps for the coffee table, his fingers sinking into the wood like putty. His eyes shoot to his hand.

It’s not his hand.

Rationally, he knows it’s his hand, can feel the coffee table splintering beneath his grip, but it’s not his hand. It’s far too large, too hairy, too pawlike to even be human.

Pain ripples through him again, another wave curling him up on the floor. Whatever illness he has, or attack that’s struck him, is ending him. Killian is convinced this is how he dies, in the fetal position on his living room floor.

And then it’s done. The sinews of his muscles return to their spots. His organs have halted their threat of explosion. He is fine.

Except now his eye level barely reaches the top of the couch arm.

And something heavy hangs from his ass.

Panic starts to set in. Killian’s somehow shrunk, and the idea throws him off balance. He thumps into the couch seat, then slams into the destroyed coffee table. He looks down and, instead of seeing his knees and his bare feet as expected, he’s met with the floor.

And paws. Not paw-like hands. Paws.

His head whips over his shoulder. The heavy weight is connected to him, switching swiftly from side to side.

He’s got a tail.

“Oh fuck,” he says. But it doesn’t come out in words. It’s incomprehensible, something like a moan or a man without a tongue trying to speak.

There’s a banging on the ceiling that Killian can somehow differentiate from the nearly identical banging three floors door. It’s two couples having sex, the woman above him having a much more pleasurable time than the other. He’s not quite sure how he knows that, but he can pick up the hitches in her breath.

“FUCK!” Killian barks. An actual bark.

Before he’s sure he’s made up his mind, Killian’s barreling toward the front door. He needs to get out of here, but without opposable thumbs, he’s trapped. That flusters him even further, his tail wagging furiously and running him into the wall.

Killian tries to headbutt the door down to no avail. Anger floods him, brings a growl from the depths of his stomach in frustration. He pulls back, adrenaline coiling in the muscles of his legs, and jumps, throwing the whole of his body weight against the door. It budges, and with another, more forceful headbutt, the door gives, leading Killian to freedom.

He’s running: where, he knows not. Killian can already smell the dirt and garbage in the air from the stairwell. He hits the outdoors, the fresh air as stunning as the puddle of rain his paws splash in. The colors of neon business signs flash as he runs by them, the lights far too bright, and the noises he usually finds comforting enough to fall asleep to far too loud. He can hear the garbage truck six streets over, the drunk conversation in the pizza parlor on the corner of the block, the rumble of thunder rolling southeast. It’s overwhelming to the point of nausea.

That is until he reaches a wooded area. What little part of his rationality remains realizes he’s somehow made it to Central Park and over the fence. He’d made what was normally a 20 minute subway ride in maybe ten on foot. The pavement here smells differently, damp grass and dead leaves mingling and growing stronger in his nostrils. He slows down to a trot, his senses calming. He can feel his heartbeat slow, the adrenaline leaking from his muscles. The noises are quieter here, more natural. Nocturnal animals scurrying around in search of a meal. Zoo animals breathing deeply in sleep. The occasional couple passing on the outskirts of the park.

This is a side of New York no one really ever considers. Even as a self-professed New Yorker for life, Killian sometimes forgets how peaceful New York is at night, especially Central Park when it’s closed to the public eye.

It’s nice.

Breathing deeply through his nose, Killian lets out a contented sigh. A crack of wood to his left catches his attention, the noise far louder than he’s used to. It startles him. It startles him further when he can tell that, whatever creature broke the stick, is smaller than him.

And panicking because it knows it’s been heard.

Before he can realize what’s truly happening, Killian’s running. His breath comes hard and fast. His muscles stretch and contract more than he’s ever really realized possible. His legs feel stronger. There’s an ache in his shoulders he knows will be even worse come morning.

The animal’s a coyote, rare in the park, but not unheard of. It’s running, far and fast.

Killian’s faster.

He catches up to the creature in less than a half a mile, a good effort on both sides.

Unsure of killing it, Killian lets the animal in himself take over.

This primal side of him sated, Killian carefully ambles back to the apartment. He’s not quite sure what the hour is, but somehow knows it’s late enough to be considered early. He’s been out for far longer than he should have been. It’d be wise for him to watch where he strays. The last place he’d want to end this transformative night is the city pound, especially when he doesn’t know what might happen come sunrise.

(He hope he isn’t...whatever he is by sunrise. That’s put a damper in some plans.)

The front door is just as he left it, slightly unhinged, just as he feels. Killian crawls through the opening, his back bristling as the wood scratches his spine.

(Idly, he hopes he doesn’t have weirdly-placed splinters on his back tomorrow.)

The sun is barely peeking over the horizon, hardly shining through the grates of the fire escape outside the living room when he settles on the couch. He’s got nothing left to do but wait out this demonstration. Might as well catch up on some sleep while he does.

Killian nods off, only to come to when a noise pricks at his ears.

Someone’s coming up the building stairs. The gait is somewhat familiar, heavy.

They stop on his floor. Killian’s hackles rise.

The person stops short of the apartment door. There’s a brief scuffling, as if the person is looking around. In his throat, Killian feels a slight hum rising.

And then the door creaks open.

“Who’s there?” Liam’s threatening voice startles him and brings a growl from the back of his throat. Killian can feel the noise reverberate off the walls of the apartment. He hops off the couch and stalks toward the front door, hiding in the shadows of the couch.

When his brother comes into view, it’s a little unnerving. The door fully pushed in, much more wonky than it was when Killian came back earlier in the evening. Liam’s off duty, yes, but he’s still got his badge and his gun, leading him into the apartment. His eyes search the opening area quickly, methodically, until they land on Killian. Liam’s eyes go wide in shock, his arms falling slightly. He’s scared and Killian isn’t quite sure why.

And then Killian realizes: he’s the reason Liam is so frightened.

Coming out of the shadows, Killian cautiously approaches his brother, looking him straight in the eyes. When he’s within reach, he knocks his head against Liam’s knees, hoping that, somehow, his brother will get the message.

“Hoooooly shit,” Liam breathes. His eyes, if possible, go even wider. In an instant, his arms fall to his side and the gun goes back in its holster. His brother runs his hands through his hair, the exhaustion already on his face further emphasized with messy hair. He cocks his head for a moment, something like recognition washing over his expression, before asking, “Killian, is that you?”

Killian nods. There’s a weird sensation occurring on his head, high above his brows. He’s felt this sensation earlier tonight, but not enough for him to question it. New muscles are stretching behind him, and Liam’s voice becomes a wee bit fainter. His brother holds up his hands. “Don’t be afraid.” Killian tilts his head up to match gazes. Liam points at his head. “Your ears are back.”

Killian grumps. This weird body he’s inhabiting is so unusual. He already tends to wear his heart on his sleeve and now, it seems, his thoughts bubble up in his ears or his hackles. Killian stalks around the apartment, back toward the cushions and destroyed coffee table. Liam follows, as evidenced by his footfalls. Killian leaps onto the couch and sits, staring at his brother as he observes the damage inflicted.

“Christ alive, you’re a fucking wolf,” he mumbles. “What the fuck happened here?”

When he opens his mouth to explain, Killian is unfortunately reminded that his vocal chords aren’t as advanced as he’s accustomed to. His words come out as whimpers and grunts. With a groan, Killian rolls his eyes.

Liam chuckles. “Right,” he says, “I suppose you can’t really tell me anything that happened.” Looking around the living room, he must come to the conclusion that nothing more can be said - or barked - on the matter.

“Just tell me this. It’s a simple yes or no question. Are you okay?” Killian nods, his tail wagging behind him.

Nodding, Liam scrubs at his forehead and mumbles, “Go to bed, Killian. Or go to your bedroom. You don’t have to sleep, but I do.” Sighing, Liam stands, his joints crunching in protest. “Just stay in your room until morning and then we’ll discuss options.” He glances toward Killian once more. “Hopefully it won’t be as one-sided as this conversation.”

Killian watches as Liam heads to his bedroom. He hops off the couch and trots up to his brother’s side, his haunches coming up to Liam’s hips. Hoping his brother perceives it as the sign of affection it’s meant to be, Killian knocks his head against Liam’s knees again.

Liam chuckles, reaching his hand down to pat Killian’s head. “I know, brother,” he says.

“Don’t stress about things you don’t understand and can’t fix at the moment. Try and rest.” With a brush of Killian’s ears and a final pat to the head, Liam smiles tiredly and heads off to his room.

Following suit, Killian lopes into his own bedroom, bed still made from this morning and his sleep clothes still folded on the dresser. Unsure of what state he might be in come morning, all Killian can do is jump up on the bed, circle a spot in the center and plop down, his head resting on his paws. All he can do is close his eyes and hope that he can find some sleep and some answers tomorrow.

0000

A cold breeze wakes Killian. It runs over his shoulders, his bare back, and over his ass. He shivers so violently that his eyes shoot open and he inhales deeply and suddenly.

He’s caddywompus on the mattress, one foot hanging off one edge, a forearm and both hands hanging off the other. But they’re human hands, not paws anymore. Pushing himself up on his elbows, Killian takes a quick inventory. He’s naked, his clothes from last night mostly likely in tatters on the living room floor next to the destroyed furniture. He’s cold, yes, but goosebumps cover his skin, not his fur. All of his parts are in place and, save for a few scratches and bruises on his calves and arms, he’s unharmed.

Cautiously standing, his muscles scream from overexertion. Killian rifles through his drawers for some of his less-loved clothes just in case a repeat of last night occurs. Once clothed, he stretches further, reaching a high as he can and moaning.

Last night was interesting, to say the least. He remembers everything that happened, thankfully, and the migraine that preceded yesterday’s events has since disappeared.

That’s promising.

Shuffling out of his room, still a little disoriented, Killian makes his way into the kitchen. Liam stands at the counter, pouring out his own mug of coffee.

“Morning,” Killian grumbles, squinting at the light from the windows and the gravel in his own voice.

Liam glances over his shoulder with a chuckle. “Oh good,” he says. “I was wondering whether I’d have to go out and get some kibble for you, but it looks like you can find some breakfast on your own now.”

“Yeah, opposable thumbs are quite the invention.” He opens the cabinet and pulls out a coffee cup. He fills it to the brim before replacing the pot and taking a healthy swallow.

Turning to Liam, mug wafting steam up his nose, Killian asks, “How did you know it was me and not some stray dog?”

“Eyes,” Liam says solidly, pointing to his own. “I raised you, little brother. I’d know the family trait if I were blind.” Walking to the living room, Liam gestures for Killian to follow. He does, naturally, only to see the destruction from last night cleaned up. Liam sits on the couch as if nothing were unusual. “What happened, Killian?” he asks.

“I…” Clicking his tongue, Killian sits down on the other side of the couch. “I’m not quite sure. I think,” but that can’t be right, could it, “I think I ran to Central Park.”

Liam chokes, spitting his coffee messily back into his mug. “Excuse me?”

Killian shrugs. “It would explain the unhinged door.” The more he thinks about it, the more he’s sure that it’s the only logical explanation. “Yeah. The noises on the street, the lights.” He looks up. “It was a lot to take in.”

“What happened in the park?” Liam inquires.

“Nothing.” Eyebrows furrowed as he mentally reviews what he did, Killian tilts his head.

“It was quite lovely, actually. It was quiet and dark. I got to hunt. No one bothered me.”

“I should think not,” Liam says. “Did anyone see you?”

“I don’t know! I wasn’t paying them much attention.” He’s pretty sure no one saw him, though the more he ponders on the topic, the more concerned he grows. Matching his gaze with his brother’s, Killian professes, “We can’t stay here, Liam.”

“I agree.” Killian leans back against the couch arm, confused.

Liam shrugs, pointing toward the door. “What? You were a goddamn wolf mere hours ago! We live in one of the most populated cities in the entire world.”

Setting his cup down on the floor, Liam rests his elbows on his knees, fingers templed over his mouth. “Look, I know human you has a heart of gold, but how am I supposed to know that animal you won’t attack someone in the building or on the street?”

“I didn’t this time, did I?” Killian responds petulantly.

“Beginners’ luck, I guarantee it.”

“Technically, this would be my second time going through this transformation.”

“Killian, you don’t remember the first time this happened and you wrecked this place the second.” He has to concede: Liam does have a fair point. “Come now, let's get some food and then we can start looking for a new town.”

As his brother stands, Killian looks into his mug. The liquid is muddy, just like his mind. There’s so much running through it - transforming, ruining furniture, searching for a new home. He feels slightly hungover. Still, Killian hangs his head, bringing his cup down to his lap.

“I’m sorry, brother,” he apologizes morosely. His voice is soft, but he knows from years of experience that Liam’s listening.

“For breaking so much of this shitty furniture?” Liam asks with a chuckle. There’s a clink signaling he’s put his mug in the sink. “We’re due for some adult digs.”

“No, not that,” Killian says, standing himself. “You know how much I hated this table.” He makes his way back to the kitchen, pouring himself another cup unlike his brother.

“This is home. This is where we became a family again. This is our safe haven and I’ve ruined it.”

Liam’s shoulders sag as he sighs. “No you haven’t,” he replies, shaking his head. “We are home when we are together. Don’t ever forget that. The weather, the city, the blasted kitchen table might change, but our love for one another never will.”

His hand falls on Killian’s shoulder. He squeezes comfortingly, drawing his attention. “I love you, Killian. I don’t say it often, but I do. We’ll find a new place to settle and we will figure out this Twilight thing of yours.” Lightly punching him on the arm, Liam laughs.

“This is the weirdest way to reveal which side of that fight you’re on.”

Killian scoffs, pushing his brother away. “Team Jacob for the win,” he says half heartedly. That makes Liam guffaw, bending at the waist to help get air in his lungs.

“Shut up. You’re only laughing because you know exactly what I’m talking about.”

“I won’t pretend to.” He’s still laughing as he heads back to his room. “Get yourself together. We’ve got a long day of finding a house ahead of us.

#csbb #captain swan big bang #csbb fic #csbb art #cs ff #captain swan #ouat #storytime #my words #no good deed #i hate myself for not properly loving this whole project #im gonna remedy that this weekend #probably create a masterpost or something #that sounds like a good idea #maybe ill finally be able to catch up on all the stories

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