#*sweats* this thing is mammoth compared to every other chapter

[ellstersmash]

Three: Eight

Fandom: Dragon Age

Pairing: Solas x f!Lavellan (Modern!AU) / Minor Cullen x f!Lavellan

Rating: T for Teen

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They drive out to Dragon’s Peak on Friday morning. Early, and she sleeps the whole way, waking up when the car slows to find the mountains filling the windows and Cullen’s hand resting on her knee. Gravel crunches under the tires as they weave through the campsites. Most are unoccupied, but it’s nice not to have neighbors when there are no walls. After a while, Sera’s car comes into view, a round yellow rusted thing surrounded by more empty campsites and the color green. They park at the next site over, get out, and stretch their legs.

It’s beautiful. The trees here are limbless for the first twenty feet, all dark wood and wonder, reaching invariably for the bright blue that peeks down from between them. A tiny packed-dirt path between the sites leads through the edge of the woods, down to a wooden dock and a small sandy beach.

Athi pulls out a french press, sets up the camp stove, and helps Cullen with the tent until the water boils.

Sera finally shows, emerging from the woods with a roll of toilet paper and a bottle of sanitizer, and Athi pours her a cup. Then the three of them sit, quiet on the dock. Coffee in their hands and the wind in their hair and their toes in the water, soaking up too much sun.

Leliana, Josie, and Cassandra show up first. They come prepared with towels and suits and Leliana brings a raft made for lounging.

Bull, on the other hand, brings his new boyfriend, Dorian. One of those guys who are handsome enough to kick the wind right out of a perfectly healthy set of lungs. He’s funny and clever, with charisma coming out his ears.

And he insists that Cullen join them for a hike.

“So, frat-boy came after all,” Sera says once they’re gone. “That’s good, right?”

“He didn’t go to university.”

“Like that’s the point.” She kicks out her legs, inspecting their color as the water drips down, then grabs the sunscreen from behind her. “Blonde. Beefy. Boring. Frat-boy!”

“How would you know if he’s boring?”

“Is he?”

“He runs into burning buildings to save people for a living, how could that possibly be boring?”

Sera bumps her shoulder, cherry blossom streaked with white, into Athi’s. “That’s not a real answer.”

“Fine, he’s not boring!”

“If you say so. Ah, shite. Got too much of this mess. Take some?”

They swim and sit and float and play, jeans and sundresses stuffed into bags, abandoned on the beach, draped over the dock. Athi goads Cass into a race to the floating island, and then loses by more than a hair. The sun trades places, east to west, and suddenly the day is gone.

Athi pulls herself onto the dock and wriggles back into her jeans. Finds her tank top on Sera’s shoes, and twists her hair up to keep the lake water off her back. When she offers to go back to camp for drinks, the response is more than enthusiastic.

To be perfectly honest, it’d be nice if someone else would fetch the drinks for a change.

Back at the camp, Varric is crouched next to a rather pathetic excuse for a fire.

“Please tell me you’re not cooking,” she says.

“Oh, I’m not. Though I’d like to think I could rise to the occasion and warm up some hot dogs. You know, if the people needed me.”

A trunk slams shut, and she startles. “Thankfully, the people do not, or they would likely all starve.”

Solas walks toward her—no not her, just the campsite. But when she catches the flick of his eyes down her form, her heart still does an uncomfortable flip-flop inside of her ribs.

No, she tells it. No, keep it together.

But creators, she must be a mess. Rolled-up jeans, no makeup, no shoes, swim top soaking through her shirt, and a hasty bun. Probably fried and frizzy. Come to think of it, she’s not even sure she’s looked in a mirror yet today. Not that it matters, of course.

Then there’s Solas. Sharp features and ocean eyes. Somehow immaculate, despite the heat, in cuffed tan shorts and an easy olive v-neck. He’d worn it to that party, all those months ago. And it’s half tucked in over the bone of his hip, not that she dwells on it.

And he’s here.

Not that she cares.

He opens a cooler by a small blue tent. Comes back with three beers and a bottle opener, and he holds one out to her. It’s ice-cold and dripping. Off the bottle, into her hand, leaving cool wet tracks down her forearm.

“Hey,” she says softly. For such a small word, it comes out awfully shaky.

“Hello.” His smile, too, is an uncertain little thing, hanging crooked on his mouth like a—

Not that she’s looking at his—

Oh, fuck.

She tears her eyes away, resting them instead on Varric’s dying fire.

“Do you want some help with that?” she offers.

“You know, I thought you’d never ask.”

Setting her bottle beside her, she uses the end of a piece of firewood to push his blackened sticks to the center of the pit, extinguishing whatever flames actually managed to survive his efforts. Then she lays it in the ashes next to the pile. More logs, arranged crosswise, more kindling in the middle, and a burning match sets it freshly alight.

“Hey, Solas! Glad you made it, buddy!” Even coming from the edge of the campsite, Bull’s voice booms in her ears.

Cullen and Dorian trail a ways behind him, talking like old friends.

“You know each other?” she asks.

“Sort of, yeah!” Bull claps Solas on the back. “I was on the squad for some big deal museum thing a couple months back, and he was there, and we got to talking.”

Solas laughs softly. “As I recall, you asked if my companion was single.”

A log slips free of her grasp and clangs against the heavy metal fire guard, but no one seems to notice.

“Mmm. Yeah, I remember,” Bull says. “Redhead. Good times! Anyway, we’ve hung out a few times since then.”

Varric leans over. “I’ve tried to get in on it, but so far, no luck. Whatever they get up to, it’s gotta be good.”

“Oh, it’s good.” Bull waggles his eyebrows, but Solas only grins, tips his bottle up, and drinks.

“So, this is where you went!”

Cassandra, walking up the path from the lake with the others, has her you’re in trouble face on. Brows knit tight, eyes fierce, voice shrill, and Athi can’t help but wonder if this is what it feels like to be accused of murder.

But Varric cuts in before she can ask for a lawyer.

“Hey, Seeker!” he says. “Fancy meeting you here.”

The look Cassandra gives him is withering. “Oh, it’s you . I suppose I should have known.”

“Sorry, I was”—Athi gestures to the now-healthy fire—“waylaid.”

Varric laughs. “Taken captive by my charming vulnerability, she means.”

“Charming!” Cass rolls her eyes. “I have never heard anything so ridiculous.”

Dorian swoops in like the guest of honor, rather than somebody’s plus-one. “Well, this has been a delightful bit of repartee,” he says, “but might I suggest we consider our supper? I’m not sure about the rest of you lot, but the three of us did just climb a mountain.”

“Not the whole thing,” Cullen admits, and is quickly shushed by Dorian.

Athi lets the fire die a bit, and over the embers they cobble together a meal: Bull grills the veggie kebabs he’s had marinating, Sera roasts up some corn, Leliana tucks potatoes wrapped in tin foil into the warm ashes, and Cullen cooks the chicken they brought on hot-dog skewers.

They make a weird bunch, she thinks as they eat and talk and laugh and tease and argue. Humans and elves, a qunari, a dwarf. Different homelands, different jobs. With the exception of Leliana, who has known Josie since high school and Cass since college, all the connections between them are thin. Sera did a couple of Leliana’s tattoos. Varric was (briefly) a suspect in one of Cassandra’s investigations. Cullen and Dorian hadn’t even met before this afternoon. Yet those bonds were struck and somehow held fast in an instant.

It’s difficult to tell where she fits. What gap she fills, what role she plays, but then Bull tells the one about the time she took him shopping, and she decides it doesn’t matter. So long as she fits at all.

Seconds and thirds, then Bull stands and pulls a handful of cigars from his shirt pocket. “Anyone want to go down to the dock? Genuine Seherons, been looking forward to these babies. Dorian? Cass?”

“Thank you, but no.” Dorian grimaces. “I don’t smoke. Besides, I’d like to wear these clothes again someday, and ‘campfire’ is going to be difficult enough to get out.”

“I’ll join you,” says Cass.

Cullen goes as well, leaves her with a warm smile. She never expected him to be so interested in socializing. Not like he ever asked to meet her friends. She’d been worried about him, thought he’d feel out of place or something, but it was needless. He has charmed them all in a single afternoon just by being his polite, well-spoken, surprisingly funny self.

“Surprised you let her out of your sight,” Sera says to Varric, throwing a piece of onion across the fire at him.

He bats it away like he’s done this before. Knowing Sera, he probably has.

“I’m just giving her a chance to miss me, that’s all.”

Everyone seems finished, fed and content. Instinctively, Athi starts to clean up. Collects the trash and plastic plates, the empty bottles, then goes for water but Solas is already elbow-deep in suds. He tells her to sit with the others; instead, she picks up a towel and dries. Feels good to have her hands busy. Feels better to be near—

No.

Josephine gasps. “Oh, Leliana, we never set up our tent!”

“Now is as good a time as any, don’t you think, Josie?”

“Now it is dark! Do you know what you’re doing? I’ve never actually done this before.”

“Well,” Dorian says, “I shall volunteer my services, as I neither prepared dinner nor cleaned up after it.” He nods gratefully toward her and Solas. “Luckily for you, I’m a natural at pointing a flashlight.”

The three of them disappear into the darkness, chattering away.

After the dishes are done and the trash packed away, Athi adds another log to the fire. Another hour or so of Sera fixating on the marshmallows nobody brought, and Varric smacks his palms to his thighs.

“All right, I think it’s about time for me to head out,” he says. “That actual, sheltered, comfortable bed is calling my name.”

“Really?” Athi teases. “It’s barely nine! I’d have thought you had more life left in you than that.”

“Hey, not all of us want to have the same special loathe-hate relationship with mornings that you have, early bird.”

Solas chuckles. “You’ve noticed this as well?”

“Yeah, I made the mistake of calling for a favor at a perfectly reasonable time of day—”

“Reasonable for who, exactly?” she protests.

“—And she picked up, swore colorfully at me in, I believe, no less than three different languages, and disconnected.”

“Oh, please. That’s nothing,” Sera says with a scoff. “She shattered my guitar!”

“I apologized for that.”

“Can’t play an ‘I’m sorry,’ now can I?”

Athi groans. “Just go, Varric. Go to your mattress and mini-bar and room service and take your slander with you.”

“It’s only slander if it’s not true,” he says, and walks away with a casual wave of his wrist.

Sera yawns. “Think I’ll turn in, too.”

“Seriously?”

If Sera leaves, she’ll be alone with him. Really alone. And if they’re alone, he’ll almost certainly look at her at some point, and her heart will do that thing it always does and is not supposed to. Athi pleads with her eyes, begs her to stay, but Sera doesn't notice—or pretends not to. She walks behind the canvas chairs and plants a kiss atop Athi’s head with an exaggerated smacking sound.

“Be good!” And she slips into her tent.

Athi briefly considers following their lead, then remembers it’s been all of five minutes since she declared it too early to do so.

“I suppose you’re the next to fall,” she says to fill the silence, hoping he is.

Hoping he isn’t.

“I could not abandon you so easily.”

Seven words, and she melts. It’s not fair, how quickly he breaks her down, leaves her bare. It's not right. His nearness is intoxicating, their solitude is terrifying, and she’s stuck somewhere between the fear and the falling. Safe, though, like he’s the solid ground. Searching, and he's an answer. Brimful, satiated. Like she’s been trying to breathe underwater, and he’s the air above its surface.

Like she's a foolish, stupid girl with a foolish, stupid heart.

He’s abandoned her once already, practically ghosted her after that stupid fucking morning. Not that she can blame him; she’d disappeared too. And Cullen—

As if summoned by her guilt, his laughter drifts up from the dock. If she blocks out some light from the fire, she can see him from here—just a shadow among shadows.

“He seems nice,” Solas says, and stares intently through the flames like he can see what she does.

“He is.”

“And you are happy?”

Yes , she tries to say. It sticks in her throat. Instead says, “He’s a good guy,” as if that’s enough.

But he accepts it, nods and leans forward to add another piece of wood to the fire. It shifts, and sparks fly. Some disappear into the dirt around her bare brown feet, some float into the air and mix with the stars.

This time, he is the one to break the silence. “Before the world was changed and much of history concealed, magic came to some as easily as breathing.”

His voice, much like a hearty red wine, goes straight to her head and its cadence leaves her giddy.

He continues. “A fire could be summoned or extinguished with a thought; without need for wood or matches to ignite it. Many feared such power, and locked mages away to prevent what they might someday do.”

A story, like the ones about the stars. He settles back into it so quickly, so unexpectedly. On the rooftop at Varric’s with the music thundering beneath them—that’s when they had started. She’d matched his rhythm, once, and the counts of the syllables. Trying to see if he noticed. Trying to provoke him. Trying to see what his ruffled feathers looked like. But he hadn’t missed a beat, only looked at her as though she was all that existed, and begun another story.

Athi tucks her feet underneath her and watches the smoke curl up into the ink-black sky. Carefully, she considers her story and patiently, he waits.

“The Dalish have some stories still, of spells that sunk into the earth and made the forest twist and grow around them. A secret gift from silent gods to keep the world from chaos, because nature has a way of running wild. So they kept it to themselves, passed down from every Keeper to their First.”

“Very good.” His voice wears a smile and a hint of pride. “I’d hoped you had not forgotten.”

“It’s your turn,” she says, still looking up.

“You are right. Give me a moment.”

Feeling indulgent, she lets her eyes rove his face. The glow of the fire on the rise of his cheeks, the focused calm, the cut of his jaw.

“At night, when people slept, they’d dream—but not the empty flailing of a restless mind devoid of stimulation. They visited the Fade, a realm of spirits who reflected expectations, memories, even desires. Waking and sleeping, each world shaped and reflected the other.”

She grows too content, watches him for a split second too long, and it bubbles up in her chest before she can stop it. “I’ve missed you,” and it feels good. Feels honest.

His eyes shift to meet hers, the calm replaced by something soft, surprised, sorrowful.

“And I have missed you.”

Her heart beats wildly against her rib cage. She doesn’t know where to go from here, but then sees a head of yellow curls and the kindest face she’s ever kissed, and Cullen walks up to stand behind her. His hands on her shoulders, he leans down to whisper in her ear.

“Come to bed?”

She wants to say no, wants to stay, but she shouldn’t. She’s lost enough ground already. So she nods, takes his hand, and fills her smile with an apology.

“Goodnight, Solas.”

He smiles back, sort of.

Back in their tent with a flashlight hanging overhead, she roots around the bottom of her bag.

“Hey Cullen?” she asks. “Is my toothbrush in with your stuff?”

“I don’t know. Maybe? I’ll check when I get back.”

“Back? What happened to bed?”

“Yes, back. I need to go use—well, a tree.” He chuckles and kisses her on the forehead and rustles off into the darkness.

Athi changes out of her jeans and her tank top and sits there in the mostly-dark, watching the target-shaped circle of light sway slightly over the blankets. Then she grabs his backpack and starts looking.

It’s not in with his toiletries, or buried under his clothes. Last, she checks the side pockets, and her fingers brush something smooth and hard and suspiciously shaped. Her gut says leave it , but she pulls it out anyway. Just to look, so she won’t wonder.

It fits in her palm. A small square box with rounded edges, black and sleek and velvet, but there’s no way it is what she thinks it is. Still, she flips back the lid. Just to check, so she won’t worry.

Inside is a delicate silver-colored ring, engraved vines climbing toward a deep blue stone. Inside the band, a tiny engraving: everlasting.

The tent zips open again.

“Any luck? Maybe you . . .” He trails off when he sees what she holds in her hand.

“Cullen, what the fuck is this?”

[mymelodyheart]

Forget Me Not Chapter 9 ~A Storm of Wishes~

Claire scanned the room, gaze landing on all her boxed belongings in one swoop. On the other side of the living space were Geillis' suitcases. Although it was cold, sunlight streamed through the high Georgian windows, casting a shadow from the eight-panel grid onto the herringbone wooden floor. A flutter of excitement swept through her at the thought of sharing the rented house with Geillis. It was a hasty decision inspired by its proximity to her workplace, The Fraser Manor Inn, and the fact that she and Jamie were together. For her, it would have been weird on so many levels to continue living in Lallybroch, especially when everyone in the village knew she was the Frasers' foster daughter.

Her thoughts were interrupted when Jamie walked in with the last box containing her possessions. Her initial excitement was slightly dampened when the reality of his impending departure hits her in the guts. The last few days had been focused on re-discovering each other, emotionally and physically, resisting to dwell on Annalise's plight. Insensitive as it may have seemed to a neutral observer, Claire eased her guilt by reminding herself, that it was her idea to send Jamie away and that alone was already a selfless act.

She noticed a slight frown marred Jamie's face. Obviously, he was still not convinced with her choice of living away from their family home, mainly because he would be leaving for France the next day. Though she loved the Fraser family, she didn't want to be defined as their fostered orphan. Not that there was anything wrong with being an orphan, but there had been far too many stigmas attached to the word growing up. So it only made sense to have a place of her own, and more so, determined.

It was by chance, the morning after they first made love by the fireplace, Jamie and Claire had stopped by the village coffee shop for breakfast, owned for years by a Mrs Graham. While serving them coffee, she had announced she was looking for new tenants for her three-bedroom Georgian house on the outskirts of the hamlet. Knowing Geillis was looking for a place within walking distance to work and a pub, she made a snap decision, surprising herself and Jamie, by offering herself for the tenancy. After a few phone calls with Geillis and a couple of rounds of coffees, the arrangements were made, despite Jamie kicking up a fuss.

"Weel, this is the last of it, Sassenach," he said, putting down his load on the table. "I dinna ken why ye couldna wait 'til I come back to move. Ye're safer in Lallybroch while I'm away." It was his last attempt to convince her to stay in Lallybroch, but they both knew he was fighting a losing battle. He walked towards her, hitting her with his no-nonsense soap, sweat and mint gum scent, and eyed her suspiciously. "I'm no' sure if ye and Geillis living under the same roof is such a braw idea. She's bound to teach ye something I won't approve of." Pulling her by the waist, he drew her against him and pressed their foreheads together. Everything narrowed down to him, and up close, he studied her, with his soul searching blue.

"So this is what entails having a boyfriend...listening to you grumble and you trying to change my mind by looking at me like that," she whispered, in an amused tone, as she looped her arms around his neck. Four days on and she was still under Jamie's six-pack hypnosis. "Maybe you can enlighten me further what it's going to mean for me having a boyfriend as I have no idea what else to expect."

The last few days of them being together, have flown by in a hazy blur, their days and nights spent making love, having conversations until early hours in the morning and hiding from the world in Jamie's house. It was as if they're making up for the six years they were apart and making memories for the eventual indefinite separation. Claire wanted to hold on to these moments. Life moves fast, and people and opportunities can be snatched away in the space of a heartbeat, just like her parents and uncle Lamb. When happiness presented itself, she didn't want to take it for granted, and she intended to embrace it fully. 

His breath gusting into her neck, he lifted her up in a sudden swift move and carried her to the kitchen. Pushing aside papers and books, he gently set her on the island worktop and edged himself between her legs. "Mmmm...as yer boyfriend, ye can bank on me being overprotective. I want to make sure that ye're safe, so while I'm away I'll be checking up on you...a lot. I would want to know every detail of how ye spent yer day. And when ye're not with me, I will miss ye like hell, and when ye are with me, I will not be able to keep my hands of ye. There will be a lot of kissing and whispering in yer ears...like all sorts of naughty stuff."

"Naughty stuff, huh?" she leaned back to take a better look at him, one eyebrow arched. "What kind of naughty stuff, please do tell. I'm intrigued."

"Do ye really want to know? Ye blush so easily, and Willie and Geillis will be coming through that door any minute now." He pointed a chin toward the doorway. "They will take one look at ye, and they will know, I've been up to no good," he warned, his eyes crinkling in the corners.

"Go on, humour me," Claire cajoled playfully, tugging his hair at the nape of his neck.

Grabbing her buttocks with his large hands, he pressed her closer to him before taking a bite of her earlobe. "I want to fuck you into next Christmas, right now and right here," he said in a low voice against her ears.

Sure enough, red fluttered across Claire's face, choking on the breath she held. "Jamie!" she gasped. "You filth-spewing horny man!"

"I did warn ye, Sassenach. And speaking of filth, ye should hear yersel' while in the throes of passion...you can cuss like a..." he chuckled as he tried to avoid the onslaught of Claire's slaps.

Claire suddenly leaned forward for a kiss, stifling whatever next words he was about to say, making him laugh all the more against her lips. The way Jamie talked was turning her on like The Blackpool Illumination, and there was still much to be done in their rented house. "Alright, that's enough filth for one day," she stated vehemently, fanning her red cheeks with both hands, before pushing him away.

"Hang on a minute, we're not done here yet!" Jamie grabbed both her wrists before she could jump off the island worktop. "Ye haven't said anything yet... what is it going to mean to mean for me?" he asked between soft bites of her neck. "Having a girlfriend."

Damn those lips.  "Mmmm, it's quite simple really, Jamie me' lad," she whispered, mimicking his accent, unable to subdue a smile as Jamie caught her lower lip between his teeth. "It means this lass wishes ye to love her forever."

"It's a given, Sassenach," he muttered hoarsely against her neck, as his one hand reached for his back pocket.

Before Claire knew what was happening, Jamie raised his phone and snapped a photo of them, Claire looking dead straight into the camera while Jamie's lips were planted on her cheeks.

...........

Jamie and Willie drove in silence to the airport, preoccupied with their own thoughts. Usually, the two brothers would have had plenty to discuss like having a friendly argument about the latest game of Rugby Union or the football results on the Scottish Premiership. Or maybe the menu plans for the upcoming re-opening of  The Fraser Manor Inn . However, this morning was different. There was a strain in the air even if nothing was spoken between them. And Jamie was fairly sure, he might have an idea the reason behind Willie's silent treatment.

Earlier, after saying goodbye to Claire and urging her to go back to sleep, he hastily sent a message to Annalise to let her know he was on his way.  Be there soon,  Jamie wrote. Re-reading it on their way to the airport, it looked impersonal compared to her reply, letting him know how relieved she was that he was coming, and how much she had missed him. He felt like a cad. This was his ex-girlfriend who was terminally ill for Christ sake.

It had been him who broke up their relationship when he found out Claire was coming back to Lallybroch to stay for good. Though he felt guilty, he knew it was the right thing as his heart was never into Annalise. It had always been Claire. His Claire.

When they eventually reached the airport, Jamie remained in his seat, trying to string sentences he wished to say to his brother. He didn't want to leave knowing there was an unspoken tension between them, and he wasn't even sure if the strain had anything to do with Claire. Maybe he was misreading him, he thought. "Keep an eye on Claire for me will ye," Jamie finally said.

Willie cleared his throat, his tight smile clearly meant to reassure. "That goes without saying, lad."

Jamie knew there was this mammoth elephant in the room, and he wanted it off his chest. They haven't really spoken like they used to since Claire's revelation of their relationship in front of the family. "I heard yer conversation with Claire that night on the steps." Jamie looked at Willie, who acknowledged him with a nod that he knew what was meant. "I have nothing to be worried about have I, while I'm away?"

His brother's head snapped in his direction, the meaning of Jamie's question not lost on him. "What do ye take me for?"

"Just laying out the cards on the table, so we're both clear..."

Willie let out a big sigh, and Jamie wasn't sure if it was a sign of resignation or annoyance. "I'll watch over Claire, Jamie. Ye can rest assured I have her best interest at heart but mind ye, if she's hurt, I'll be there for her. And I don't need yer permission for that."

"Since when did ye care about what she feels?"

"I've always cared about her..."

"For fuck sake, Willie, ye ken fine what I meant..." Jamie interrupted impatiently, sucking in deep breaths to curb his exasperation.

Shaking his head, Willie gave him a pained laugh. "Ever since her first year away from home. I visited her in Switzerland while she was in school," he revealed.

Jamie was dumbfounded.  That long?  Of course, he knew Willie visited Claire when he was working in Italy. He wasn't that far from her school. In fact, they were literally across the border from one another, about an hour and a half train ride away. Jamie hadn't given it much thought as he had put down his brother's visitation as an excuse to ski and Claire lived in a village of a ski resort. "I never knew..."

"What was there to know...there was nothing. Claire missed ye, ye know. Why didn't ye visit her?" Willie's eyebrows lifted when Jamie didn't answer immediately.

"Ah...I thought she had this thing for Frank. Ye must have known I have always been in love with her and ye cannae judge me for staying away. But we talked a lot over the years, and if I had an inkling back then what she truly felt for me, my days off would have been spent in Switzerland...and there would have been no Annalise in my life," Jamie answered, feeling a sudden twinge of guilt at the mention of his ex-girlfriend's name. He couldn't even remember how he came to be with Annalise as he made a mental futile attempt to search his memories for answers.

"She has a drinking problem, Jamie. Did ye know that?" Willie confessed out of the blue, taking Jamie by surprise.

"Drinking problem? What do ye mean she has a drinking problem?"  Christ...more revelations.   Why is he telling me this now when I'm about to leave for France in an hour? Was there something I missed over the last six years?

"I'm not sure, but I intend to find out. Call it a hunch or whatever. I've caught Claire twice downing a shot of two from the drinks' cabinet quite early in the day. She might be a master in pretending she is fine, but she doesn't fool me. She's a terrible liar." Willie paused, swallowing hard before resuming. "I might be wrong, but I think she drinks to cope."

"Cope??" Jamie looked at his watch, and he knew he was running late. "Christ Willie...it's probably nothing. We're young, and it's normal. Almost every one our age drink excessively. It will soon peter out," Jamie explained, trying to sound unfazed, but why does he have a feeling there was more to what Willie was saying. And why does the image of Claire sneaking a drink, on the night before they went for Italian dinner on their "threesome dates," suddenly seem so vivid?

Sensing the conflict in Jamie, Willie softened his tone. "Go now, Jamie. Ye have a plane to catch. I promise to look out for Claire, and I promise I only have honourable intentions towards her. Ye're my brother, first and foremost and I have no plans jeopardising our relationship...unless ye start supporting the Rangers Football Team," he joked, to lighten the mood before continuing in a more serious note. "Sort out what ye need to sort out in France as quickly as possible and come back. I need ye in the kitchen for the re-opening. I'll keep ye posted on Claire, OK?"

After a minute of contemplation, Jamie turned to Willie and nodded. "Aye, I will be back as soon as I can." 

Before Jamie could get out of the car, Willie pulled him into a hug before their arms descended into a macho back slapping. "Take care, wee brother," he whispered gruffly. "Come back soon."

..........

Jamie was surprised to find out that he still had the keys to Annalise's apartment. She reminded him when he called to inform her of his flight details over the phone. Their split had been so amicable, that she had probably forgotten to ask for her keys back. In a way, it was a relief for Jamie that he could let himself into her home, being uncertain if Annalise was too ill to open the door when he arrived. Apprehensive of what to expect when he finally sees his ex, he had been racking his brains on the way from the airport, what awaited him and what it would mean if the baby she was carrying was his. Jamie was sure he had always been careful when it came to his past relationships, and it troubled him that Claire had to find out the predicament he was in, so early in their relationship.

He shut his eyes and took a deep breath before he slipped the key to Annalise's door and pushed it open. He hadn't bothered knocking as he knew he was expected.

"Annalise...it's me..." he said softly, in case she had fallen asleep. Although it was only late afternoon, he knew from stories he heard of cancer patients, they tend to tire quickly. So he was surprised when the voice that answered him back sounded lucid and clear.

"Jamie, in here," she replied. The sound came from the living room. Knowing his way in, he left his travelling bag by the doorway and made his way through, a sense of familiarity engulfing him. It wasn't too long ago when he would spend nights here after working late instead of going to his own apartment.

He found her sat on an armchair next to the French balcony window, and her seat was facing the sun. She stood up as soon as he walked in and he was shocked to see her mane of blonde hair gone, and its place was a faint fuzz visible only in the sunlight. It seemed she lost a bit of weight, but otherwise, Annalise looked strong and healthy. Without hesitation, she went to him, her arms encircling his waist as she laid her head on his chest. " Dieu merci!   I'm so grateful you could come," she whispered against him.

Finding the embrace too intimate, Jamie pulled away too abruptly but held her by the shoulders. "Christ Annalise, yer beautiful hair..."

"I know," she replied casually before turning away from him to sit. "It's the side effects of chemotherapy."

"Chemotherapy??" Jamie's eyes wandered down to her belly, and he could see there was a small bump. "Isn't chemo harmful to the baby?"

"It is harmful to the fetus, Jamie, especially during the first trimester. That is why the doctors waited until I was in my second trimester before administering the chemo drug, which should be safe enough at this stage. God willing, and hopefully, the baby will make it to 38th week, when it is deemed safe for it to be born," she explained calmly, revealing a flicker of fear in her eyes and then it was gone before he could blink.

Jamie ran one hand up and down his face, trying to absorb what Annalise was telling him. He pulled out a seat from the dining area and sat. "And how about the..." He wanted to say her one-night stand but thought it was highly inappropriate. "...the other guy, where is he?"

"Oh, yes...the other guy..." she started, looking embarrassed. "Some random guy I met in the bar and...oh God, oh God, I don't even know his name. It just happened...and we had plenty to drink." She shut her eyes and inhaled deeply before continuing. "I'm so sorry, Jamie, for all this. You're the only person I have now, and I have no one..." When Jamie remained silent, she continued. "And I'm grateful to your sister for setting up a crowdfunding page for me. She tagged you on Facebook so that I could see it."

"My sister? Jenny?"

"No. It was Claire. I've added her as a friend, so I could thank her. You talked about her a lot when we were together, and you were right...she is special," she recalled, a soft smile forming her lips.

"But she's not my..."

"Wait, let me finish," she interrupted. "I truly appreciate Claire's efforts, but they don't matter anymore. I am dying, Jamie and I'm hoping to hold on until the baby is born. I reached out to you because there is a possibility...a possibility the baby could be yours, even if that possibility is minuscule. I only have two wishes before I go."

Jamie straightened up from his chair, bracing himself for whatever was coming next. He tried to relax, but there was an uncomfortable tug in his chest, so he nodded instead, signalling her to resume.

"You don't have to fulfil those wishes, Jamie," she said quietly, sensing his discomfort. "I might not be the love of your life, but you are a good man. I sensed that when we were together. And you have great family support...I recognised that from all the stories you've told me. My first wish is...I don't want this baby to go to an orphanage. Whether the baby is yours or not, if you wish to raise it or not, can you please make sure the baby goes to a loving family. I don't want my baby to go through what I went through as an orphan. I wish a loving family for my baby. Call it my parting gift for my unborn child...it's the least I could do."

Jamie understood what Annalise was saying. Like Claire, Annalise was orphaned at a very young age. She had spoken very little of her adoptive parents, and the only explanation she offered was that they were abusive to her while living with them. As soon as she was old enough to fend for herself, she left her childhood home, never to return nor make contact again.

"I will see what I could do," he responded, trying to decipher her expressions. It had always been hard to read Annalise. It seemed she wore that same mask of calmness no matter what fate threw at her. Unlike Claire, who was an open book; pain, love, joy, dread - whatever she was feeling, it was there for him to see. Jamie wished he could tear away that mask, even for a flitting moment, so he could see what Annalise was thinking. "And what's yer other wish?"

She gazed out the window before turning to face him, blue eyes on blue. "Jamie, I don't have a year to live, and I will never know what it's like to have a family. I mean... a proper, loving family. I will never have that," she explained, and for the first time, her eyes started to fill with tears. "For the short period that I have left, I want to be a wife and know what it's like to be married. So, Jamie Fraser, for my second wish...I want to ask you...will you be my husband, until death takes hold of me? I don't want to die alone."