#Its so impressive to have eldest daughter syndrome growing up in a one person home with no siblings and also you're a boy

[shinyobservationtree]

I NEED to go to sleep for work in five hours but you fuckers keep makin me think about dirk fucking strider

[clandonnachaidh]

Light Across The Seas That Sever (Ch6)

AO3

“Mind ye’ve got that meeting this afternoon?” Ian reminded him for the thousandth time as they all sat at the breakfast table and Jamie fought the urge not to roll his eyes, already mildly annoyed at the fact that his bowl of porridge wasn’t quite right. He should’ve made it himself without backing down when Jenny had insisted on doing it for him, that way it would’ve been thick enough to plaster a wall with, just how he liked it. But his sister would never surrender the spurtle, working it through the oats and milk until they became creamy and setting a large bowl of sugar on the table, much to Jamie’s distaste. Thick enough to clart a wall and with enough salt to make your eyes water, that was exactly how he’d had it since he was a bairn, their mother taking hers in the same way. Only Jenny and their father had preferred that their breakfast be covered in sugar and the sweetness of the Scottish strawberries that grew wild on Lallybroch estate.

“Aye, I ken fine well enough,” Jamie grunted without turning his eyes towards Ian who was trying to encourage a spoonful into Wee Ian’s mouth. “Whit was the name of the estate again?”

“’Tis the only estate in Tomich but did I no’ tell ye? He’s changed the meeting to the golf club.”

It had been his idea to begin with but now Jamie was uncertain about how their drunken plan was taking shape. After one too many whiskies of a night, he and Ian had been sprawled in front of the fire as they chastised the blend that they were imbibing, arrogantly announcing that the two of them could do much better. Jamie hadn’t thought anything of it as he’d stumbled to his bed and let sleep take him but a few days later he found himself mending a fence post in the back field as Ian continued his musing about Broch Mordha putting its stamp on the world as a new destination for a premier whisky distillery and the two of them, its innovative creators.

Jamie grunted as he rose to his feet and deposited his bowl into the deep sink, letting the tap run to soak the dish and refusing to turn his body to take in the picture perfect family scene that was sat at the kitchen table.

“Mr Dunsany—“

“He’s a Lord, is he no’?”

“Is there a reason yer being a particularly crabbit arse this morning, brother?” Jenny’s voice was dripping with irritation, not wanting her nice family breakfast to be ruined by the interminable grey cloud that had been brewing over Jamie’s head for the past few weeks.

“Jen, leave him be.”

“I will not. He’s been a moanin’ greetin’ face since he came back from that bloody reunion and ’tis hell time he snapped out of it,” she said a little louder to ensure that Jamie heard the emphasis that she placed on the insult as it flew from her mouth.

This caused him to turn on his heel and level his sister with a careful eye.

“I’m sorry, Janet, but sometimes I think ye forget that there is a world outside of Lallybroch. Life can be a damn sight more complicated than poppin’ out weans and tending tae chickens, ye ken.”

If her temper didn’t hit the roof, her eyebrows certainly made a good go of it. Silently, her fingers curled tightly around the spoon, stilling herself against the pull of Wee Ian’s chubby little hand that was fisted in the material of her shirt, demanding attention.

“I ken that fine well, James. But ye canna jus’ come home every time ye see her and sulk like a wee bairn that doesna get what he wants. Grow up a wee bit, aye?”

At the end of her parting shot, Jamie felt the anger licking at the sides of his throat. The rage that he’d been directing towards himself was now begging to be let loose on someone else, someone that would bite back and Christ, Jenny would do just that. It had been this way since he’d come home, the frustration melting into a sullenness that had punctured the idyllic bubble that the family lived in at Lallybroch. In his worst thoughts, he resented both his sister and his best friend and the happiness that they shared. Jamie loved them to their bones, of course he did, but after leaving Oxford with yet another memory of how he’d let Claire slip through his fingers, the last thing he wanted to see was the very evident love between Jenny and Ian and their three children.

And so he found himself, in a suit that was a bit tight across his shoulders but he’d purchased anyway in a department store on the Inverness High Street, shaking hands with Lord William Dunsany in the bar of a golf club that he’d never seen fit to frequent himself. Jamie tried his hardest not to let the glances from the club members get to him as they walked around the lounge with an understated belonging the he’d never feel himself. He made sure that he gave a strong handshake, looking the shorter man straight in the eye and made the informed decision to swap from his usual Scots to his best Received Pronunciation, assuming that Lord Dunsany was one of those people who claimed to be a ’Scotchman’ but was as English as they come with the age old story of inheriting Scottish land as a birthright. Jamie had realised, however, that the man certainly knew his whisky and would make a not-half-bad business partner with himself and Ian if he managed to convince him to part with some cash.

Jamie was fuzzy on the details of how’d they’d come to the agreement but two hours and four whiskies later, he found himself once more shaking hands with Dunsany. The Lord would foot the seed money in exchange for a fairly sizeable but not unfair amount of the business and as a personal favour, Jamie would escort his eldest daughter around Edinburgh the following evening.

“She’s up here with me to get away from some nonsense that’s gone on at home but she’s been cooped up in her hotel for days while her mother tries to organise a townhouse for her. I just want her to get out and see the city. Who better to show her around than a native?”

Late next afternoon, his slight hangover thankfully having subsided after a coffee and a square sausage roll, Jamie stepped off of the train and onto the platform of Waverley Station in the heart of Edinburgh.

The tang of the breweries immediately filled his nostrils and he breathed deeply as the ever present sound of bagpipes floated down from the upper level of the street. While Lallybroch where was his heart lived, and he loved the humour and familiarity of Glasgow, Edinburgh held a special place in his heart. He never got tired of grabbing a coffee and walking the length of George Street in the sun, the castle bursting into view if he turned his eyes to the east.

Slinging his bag over his shoulder, he made his way towards the hotel that Dunsany had insisted on to putting him up in, the same one as his daughter just to make things simple. Although Jamie had spent many a morning diving into the spectacular breakfasts put on at one of his favourite places in Edinburgh, The Huxley, he had never imagined staying at The Caledonian that loomed over the small establishment just metres from its door.

Jamie didn’t quite know what to do as the doorman who was wearing a bloody top hat opened the door to the hotel for him so he settled on giving the man a polite smile, resisting an absurd urge to give him some type of formal bow. He had been in nice hotels before but nothing like this with its polished marble floor and a huge vases of fresh cut flowers on most surfaces that he could see.

“Mr Fraser, we have you in the Robert Louis Stevenson Suite for two nights. Here is your room key and it also includes the number for the Concierge, should you have any need. We have a table booked in the Peacock Alley bar for you and Miss Dunsany at 6pm this evening and I would be happy to make any dinner reservations you would like to make, within or outwith the hotel. Michael can get the rest of your bags from the car,” a neat blonde woman smiled at him from the reception desk as she inclined her head to the bellboy hovering at a polite distance over Jamie’s right shoulder.

“It’s nae bother, lass, I’ve only got the one bag,” Jamie muttered with a hint of embarrassment as he pulled the bag from the floor and swiped the keycards from the desk, smiling back at her. “Thank ye.”

When he stepped through the door that bore the name of one of Scotland’s most beloved authors, his growing Imposter Syndrome ramped up a few notches. Crossing the floor towards the window, Jamie was greeted by a beautiful view of the castle as it loomed over the city. He didn’t quite know how to act, having never been in such a large and clearly expensive hotel room. In fact, it wasn’t even a room, the woman at the desk had called it a suite.

Flicking through the TV channels for a little while, settling on the new show about Billy Connolly’s upbringing in Scotland, his fingers lazily scratched at the bare patch of skin just above his belt buckle. Something about being in a different city and having some time to himself made him feel lighter than he had in weeks and he gave himself permission to laugh at a particularly lewd joke that spilled from The Big Yin’s mouth on the TV.

Jamie’s phone, lying face up on the mattress beside his left shoulder, startled him as it gave a firm buzz. Sitting up, he opened the latest message from Geneva, telling him that she wanted to go out for dinner somewhere nice tonight. He was under no illusion as to the fact that when someone like Geneva Dunsany used the words ‘somewhere nice’, she was actually saying ‘somewhere expensive’. But thankfully, Jamie knew just the place and sent her a reply saying that he had it in hand before phoning down to the reception and having the helpful woman book a table at a restaurant he knew would be impressive enough but not so posh that he would feel out of his depth by eating there.

Although they’d messaged back and forth that afternoon, he hadn’t bothered to enlarge the tiny picture next to her name at the top of the screen. Toying with his phone, Jamie resolved that he had to know what the lass looked like, not wanting to have to shuffle embarrassingly around the bar trying to figure out who he was there to meet.

Her picture brought to its full size, he looked at her for the first time and tried was pleasantly surprised. She was clearly beautiful. Dark hair that flowed in loose waves over bare shoulders, her skin a beautiful olive brown from a summer tanning on a beach somewhere. She was looking at the camera dead on with a surety that came from a privileged upbringing, her face painted perfectly and a twist of the lips that couldn’t really be called a smile, as if she didn’t want to be seen to be having fun. She looked like every posh girl that Jamie had met in his life, every girl at university who would air kiss their friends on both cheeks while their manicured hands clutched at bags that cost more than his first car.

Suppressing a groan at the thought of spending a weekend with a person who no doubt came from an entirely separate world than the one he’d grown up in, Jamie divested himself of his socks as he plodded, bare feet on plush carpet, through to the bathroom to take a shower and clean himself up ahead of his evening.

Later, he sat at the bar, his fingers playing with the patterns on the cut crystal glass that housed his double whisky, he felt a gentle hand rest on his shoulder.

“James Fraser?”

His stomach dropped into the floor.

The thought hadn’t even crossed his mind at what hearing his name fall from the lips of an Englishwoman would do to him. He felt an absurd wave of revulsion swipe through him in an instant and he took a quick drink before turning on his stool to face her, swallowing the bile that had risen up in his throat.

“Och, lass, nobody really calls me James. Ye can call me Mac. ’Tis another one of my family names,” he tried to sound light and not as if the sounds of his name leaving her lips felt like the flesh on his back had been ripped open to the bone.

There was a reluctance in her eyes and he immediately knew that she was uncomfortable so he did his best to send her his most charming smile, gesturing for her to sit and then signalling to the bartender.

“What would ye like tae drink?”

“Martini, if you would, extra dry, extra dirty,” she ordered confidently as the bartender nodded and turned to begin preparing it for her.

With her chin in the air, she asked, “So, my father said you were a business associate?”

“Aye, I suppose I am now. My brother-in-law and myself wish to start our own whisky company. Your father has kindly offered to help.”

“My father isn’t generally in the habit of helping out of kindness.”

“Aye, well, hopefully he trusts that we ken what we’re doing. Or that we’ll figure it out at the very least,” Jamie tried to joke but she gave him nothing. There was something cold in her demeanour that he hoped he wouldn’t have to fight against for the whole evening.

After watching the martini disappear down Geneva’s throat in record time, he offered her an arm as they left the hotel and were hit by the cool air of Edinburgh in the evening. As soon as Jamie took the first step towards Princes Street, Geneva halted.

“We’re walking?”

“’Tis no’ far, only ten minutes or so. We have time before our reservation,” he replied, gently tugging on the arm that she’d looped through his so that she would begin to walk with him. Her feet stayed firmly planted on the concrete.

“These are £500 shoes, I’m not walking anywhere.”

“Lass, Edinburgh is a city tae get lost in. If we get a taxi we’ll just be looking at the sides of buses and traffic lights. Yer father asked me tae show ye the city,” letting her arm slip from his, Jamie took a step forward and gestured towards the castle, atmospherically lit from beneath now that the sun had gone down. He turned back to her with a kind smile and held out his hand. “Let me, aye?”

Reluctantly, she acquiesced and let him lead her away from the hotel. Jamie’s skin tingled at the contact and he realised that he hadn’t touched a woman apart from Jenny since the university reunion with Claire. He flexed his fingers experimentally and felt something swell in the pit of his stomach when Geneva tightened her grip in response.

The two of them made small talk as they walked through Princes Street gardens and up towards the restaurant, Geneva seeming happy enough with the venue that he’d chosen. He’d heard good things about The Witchery before and as they sat down at a table covered in a pristine white cloth, surrounded by painted dark wood on the walls and ceilings, he noticed how pretty Geneva looked in the candlelight. Only a fool would try to argue that she wasn’t beautiful. But there was a coldness to her that hadn’t warmed yet and so he kept on being as charming as he could, hoping that another glass of wine might bring down the steely demeanour that she seemed to hold on to for dear life.

Oxford had been full of girls like Geneva Dunsany. Wealthy, privileged and confident. After four years of university, Jamie had perfected the art of tuning out their inane conversation about which exotic place they’d spent their summer, who’s guestlist they’d been placed on for the weekend and what they were planning on wearing. So he knew how to respond to her constant stream of speech, nodding and agreeing in the right places and sending dazzling smiles across the table when he felt like rolling his eyes. Though somehow, he found that he didn’t actually dislike Geneva Dunsany. Something in her eyes, or maybe it was the way she chose her words, showed Jamie that the poor little rich girl personality was an act. Underneath the mask, she felt the same way that he did—unfathomably sad.

Something inside of him felt sorry for her, recognising the pain that he knew all too well in another. And while he didn’t particularly care for the woman, Jamie decided to be kind to her. He leaned closer across the table and started to respond to her stories with anecdotes of his own. With the help of another two martinis, she began to blossom in his company and the two shared a relatively pleasant evening together.

When they reached the hotel elevator, Jamie had nothing on his mind other than stripping off his constricting shirt and sleeping off the whisky cloud that was hanging somewhere around his temples.

“What’s on the agenda now, then?” Geneva asked as they stood side by side.

“Shower then bed, I think.”

“Sounds good to me,” she all but whispered, Jamie’s head twisting to see the dark look of seduction that was painted on her face. “Mind if I join you?”

He didn’t say no.

It was shocking how easily he slipped into the worst version of himself. There had been a few nights in the past where he’d spent too much time and money in the pub in Broch Mordha and woken up the morning with some woman curled around him at whatever bed and breakfast they’d invited him back to. He only ever slept with women who were in the area for the moment, never anyone who he’d run into again. It was always when he was half gone with drink, his body acting solely on blind need that he succumbed to his baser instincts.

The doors of the elevator opened and Geneva walked in purposefully, turning to look at him with an alluring smile. Jamie walked in beside her and pressed the number for her floor.

They found pleasure in each other’s bodies but it was skin deep at best. A simple matter of scratching an itch that they both clearly had and had resolved to using the other to sate that particular need. There were no delicate touches or gazes held for any real length of time. Jamie set himself to work, making sure that she got hers before followed suit. It was perfunctory. Pleasant. And when they both uttered their subdued sounds of fulfilment, Geneva immediately rolled away from him, shielding herself once more.

“Do ye want me to go?” Jamie’s voice broke through the dark silence of the room.

Her response was barely a whisper, “Please.”

He dressed quickly, roughly, and scrambled around in the dark for his phone that had fallen from his pocket. Geneva was lying as still as a statue but Jamie could hear the odd sniff from her and realised that she had begun to cry. After dithering between his options, his inherent gentlemanliness won out.

“Is there anything I can do?”

There was no response for a few seconds and he took that as his answer, beginning to move towards the door of the room when a single word stopped his hand from turning the doorknob.

“Stay.”

Keeping his eye on her as though she was a frightened animal that might bolt at any provocation, he slowly began to undress. When she moved over slightly to give him room to get under the covers, he did just that and felt a strange sense of kinship as she wrapped her body around his. Jamie held her, stroking her hair until she fell asleep in his arms. The sound of her gentle breathing was the only thing filling the room until his phone suddenly pinged with a notification.

Facebook Congratulate Claire Beauchamp on their engagement!

Before he could stop himself, he opened the app and looked at the posed photograph of the two of them, her left ring finger showing off an almost comically large diamond ring.

After telling our friends and family, we are so happy to announce that we are engaged! We thank everyone so far for their kind words and well wishes. From the future Mr and Mrs Frank Randall.

Every muscle on his body was thrumming with energy. He couldn’t quite put his finger on what the energy was made from. Rage? Fear? Utter desolation? Whatever it was, it was coiling its way around his ribs, holding him in stasis and holding him hostage as he experienced it.

He wasn’t even considered a friend anymore, seeing as he hadn’t been given the privilege of a private message, having to find out through fucking Facebook. She had clearly changed in her time in Boston, the Claire he knew would never have given up her name and become Mrs Frank Randall. Randall-Beauchamp at the very least, for Christs sake.

Tasting the rare metallic nature of blood in his mouth, Jamie realised that he was biting the inside of his cheek. He felt the need to get up and do something, anything to expel the energy that was going to burst out of him if he didn’t channel it into something. But he was stilled by the feel of Geneva’s naked body against his and a rush of guilt tried to swallow him whole.

How dare he question Claire’s life, assume to know her situation all the while he was in bed with another woman. Reminding himself for the hundredth time that Claire had made her choice and it wasn’t him, he swallowed his pride and went to send her a message, even though he knew it wasn’t a smart idea.

He shouldn’t have had that final whisky.

Jamie: Just seen the news. Congratulations to you and yours.

A blatant lie but what was he supposed to say?

To his surprise, her reply was almost immediate.

Claire: Thank you!

Short and to the point. Two words that would shut down any further conversation, a feigned attempt at excitement and gratitude that he prided himself on being able to see through.

He knew that he would have been one of many to send the same sentiment that day but he had kidded himself that his text would receive a more personalised response. Maybe all she thought of him was a copy and paste response as she planted her phone down screen first on the sofa before climbing into the arms of her future husband.

In an attempt to hold the tears at bay, Jamie curled an arm around Geneva’s prone body, bringing up his hands to his arm and pressing his palms into his eyes until he saw stars.